tiger who paces up and down before his bars and has long ago forgotten to attempt to break them.  They are a long-suffering race, who only now and then feel themselves stirred up to contest a point against their masters on the basis of starvation.  ’We. won’t work but on such and such terms, and, if we cannot get them, we will lie down and die.’  That I take it is the real argument of a strike.  But they never do lie down and die.  If one in every parish, one in every county, would do so, then the agricultural labourers of the country might live almost as well as the farmers’ pigs.

I was present the other day at the opening of Parliament.  It was a very grand ceremony, though the Queen did not find herself well enough to do her duty in person.  But the grandeur was everything.  A royal programme was read from the foot of the throne, of which even I knew all the details beforehand, having read them in the newspapers.  Two opening speeches were then made by two young lords,—­not after all so very young,—­which sounded like lessons recited by schoolboys.  There was no touch of eloquence,—­no approach to it.  It was clear that either of them would have been afraid to attempt the idiosyncrasy of passionate expression.  But they were exquisitely dressed and had learned their lessons to a marvel.  The flutter of the ladies’ dresses, and the presence of the peers, and the historic ornamentation of the house were all very pleasant; but they reminded me of a last year’s nut, of which the outside appearance has been mellowed and improved by time,—­but the fruit inside has withered away and become tasteless.

Since that I have been much interested with an attempt,—­a further morsel of cobbling, which is being done to improve the representation of the people.  Though it be but cobbling, if it be in the right direction one is glad of it.  I do not know how far you may have studied the theories and system of the British House of Commons, but, for myself, I must own that it was not till the other day that I was aware that, though it acts together as one whole, it is formed of two distinct parts.  The one part is sent thither from the towns by household suffrage; and, this, which may be said to be the healthier of the two as coming more directly from the people, is nevertheless disfigured by a multitude of anomalies.  Population hardly bears upon the question.  A town with 15,000 inhabitants has two members,—­whereas another with 400,000 has only three, and another with 50,000 has one.  But there is worse disorder than this.  In the happy little village of Portarlington 200 constituents choose a member among them, or have one chosen for them by their careful lord; whereas in the great city of London something like 25,000 registered electors only send four to Parliament.  With this the country is presumed to be satisfied.  But in the counties, which by a different system send up the other part of the House, there exists still a heavy property