In the happily-ended coercion days, letters constantly appeared in the newspapers, signed “George Wyndham.”  A certain flippancy and cynicism of tone, joined to a skilful though school-boyish delight in dialectics, suggested that though the name was George Wyndham, the writer was an eminent chief.  When at last Mr. George Wyndham made his appearance in the House and delivered himself of his maiden speech, Mr. Campbell-Bannerman—­one of the wittiest men in the House, though you would take him for a very serious Scotchman without a joke in him, at first sight—­expressed his satisfaction to find that there was such a person as Mr. Wyndham, as he had been inclined to rank him with Mrs.  ’Arris and other mythical personages of whom history speaks.  Mr. Wyndham is a tall, handsome, slight fellow—­with an immense head of black hair, regular features, hatchet but well-shaped face, and a fine nose, Roman in size, Norman in aquilinity and haughtiness.  He is a smart rather than a clever man, but has plenty of vanity, ambition, and industry, and may go far.

[Sidenote:  Who said “Rats"?]

Mr. Jesse Collings has changed from a respectable Radical, with good intentions and excellent sentiments, into a carping, venomous, wrong-headed hater of Mr. Gladstone and all the proposals which come from a Liberal Government.  On the 8th of February, he gave an extremely ugly specimen of his malignant temper, by complaining that there was no care for the agricultural labourer on the part of a Government which has undertaken the largest scheme of agricultural reform ever presented to a House of Commons.  This had the effect of rousing the Old Man to one of those devastating bits of scornful and quiet invective by which he sometimes delights the House of Commons.  Jesse had spoken of the proposals of the Queen’s Speech as a ridiculous mouse, and thereupon came the dread retort that mice were not the only “rodents” that infested ancient buildings; the words derived additional significance from the fact that, as he used them, the Prime Minister directed on Jesse those luminous, large, searching eyes of his, with all their infinite capacity for expressing passion, scorn, contempt, and disgust.  The House was not slow to catch the significance of the phrase, and jumped at it, and yelled delightedly until the roof rang again.

[Sidenote:  A tumble for Joe.]

This naturally called Joe, pliant creature, to the rescue of his beloved friend.  That, however, was far from a lucky week with Joe; he had begun to look positively hang-dog, with baffled hate.  He attempted to stem the splendid tide of enthusiasm on which the Grand Old Leader was swimming triumphantly, by stating that at one time Mr. Gladstone had separated himself from Mr. Collings’s proposals for the reform of the position of the agricultural labourers.  When anybody makes a quotation against Mr. Gladstone, the latter gentleman has a most awkward habit of asking for the date, the authority, and such like posers