There have been marvels on the canvas so beautiful that one approaches the work of remodelling it with awe.  But not only is the picture imperfect,—­a thing of snatches,—­but with years it becomes less and still less like its original.

The necessity for remodelling it is imperative, and we shall be cowards if we decline the work.  But let us be specially careful to retain as much as possible of those lines which we all acknowledge to be so faithfully representative of our nation.  To give to a bare numerical majority of the people that power which the numerical majority has in the United States, would not be to achieve representation.  The nation as it now exists would not be known by such a portrait;—­but neither can it now be known by that which exists.  It seems to me that they who are adverse to change, looking back with an unmeasured respect on what our old Parliaments have done for us, ignore the majestic growth of the English people, and forget the present in their worship of the past.  They think that we must be what we were,—­at any rate, what we were thirty years since.  They have not, perhaps, gone into the houses of artisans, or, if there, they have not looked into the breasts of the men.  With population vice has increased, and these politicians, with ears but no eyes, hear of drunkenness and sin and ignorance.  And then they declare to themselves that this wicked, half-barbarous, idle people should be controlled and not represented.  A wicked, half-barbarous, idle people may be controlled;—­but not a people thoughtful, educated, and industrious.  We must look to it that we do not endeavour to carry our control beyond the wickedness and the barbarity, and that we be ready to submit to control from thoughtfulness and industry.

   I hope we shall find you helping at the good work early
   in the spring.

   Yours, always faithfully,

   JOSHUA MONK.

Phineas was up in London before the end of January, but did not find there many of those whom he wished to see.  Mr. Low was there, and to him he showed Mr. Monk’s letter, thinking that it must be convincing even to Mr. Low.  This he did in Mrs. Low’s drawing-room, knowing that Mrs. Low would also condescend to discuss politics on an occasion.  He had dined with them, and they had been glad to see him, and Mrs. Low had been less severe than hitherto against the great sin of her husband’s late pupil.  She had condescended to congratulate him on becoming member for an English borough instead of an Irish one, and had asked him questions about Saulsby Castle.  But, nevertheless, Mr. Monk’s letter was not received with that respectful admiration which Phineas thought that it deserved.  Phineas, foolishly, had read it out loud, so that the attack came upon him simultaneously from the husband and from the wife.

“It is just the usual claptrap,” said Mr. Low, “only put into language somewhat more grandiloquent than usual.”