the knotted arms of men hold tight to mother earth.  Jimmy, however, has a passion for his ignoble calling; he sings at his work like the gravedigger in “Hamlet.”  And before the inflated Russell was able to explode, Jimmy had an hour or so to himself in the discussion of Mr. Mundella’s efforts to deal with labour.  It was on this occasion that Jimmy spread something like dismay in the bench on which he sate.  Mr. Schloss, who had been appointed as a correspondent by Mr. Mundella, has a name which shows a German origin.  Jimmy insisted on speaking of him accordingly as “Herr Schloss.”  And there, not a yard from Jimmy, sate the Baron de Worms, one of the most portentous and pretentious of English patriots, who bears not only a German name, but a German title.  I don’t know whether “Herr” Goschen was in the House at the same time; if so, his feelings must have been very poignant.  Mr. Mundella doesn’t know how to treat these Obstructives.  The main thing is not to take them seriously.  Jimmy, to tell the truth, makes no pretence of taking himself seriously, and grins through a horse-collar most of the time he is speaking.  But the poor President of the Board of Trade is conscious of doing everything man can do to help to the solution of the vexed questions of the time.  He cannot avoid allowing himself to be worked up into a frenzy by imputations which he ought to know are simply intended for the purpose of getting him out of temper, and so prolonging debate.

[Sidenote:  Sir John Gorst.]

Sir John Gorst is one of the men who have again been brought much into evidence by the turn events have taken.  I remember the time when he first made a Parliamentary figure.  It was in the days when Lord Randolph Churchill started out on his great and meteoric career, at the beginning of the Parliament of ’80.  Sir John Gorst was, in many respects, the cleverest of the brilliant little group—­at least, at the work which they were then doing.  He is cold-blooded, quick, and dexterous, and, above all things, he has supreme pessimism and cynicism.  To him, all political warfare is a somewhat squalid struggle, in which everybody is dishonest, and everybody playing for his own hand.  It is an advantage in some respects to take that view; it saves a man from anything like unduly passionate convictions—­enables him to keep cool even in trying circumstances.  I have seen Sir John as cold as ice in the very height and ecstasy of the most passionate moments in the fierce Parliament of 1880 to 1885, and a man who remains so cool is sure to be able to strike his blows deliberately and home.  My poor friend, Mr. Mundella, sometimes forgets this.  When Sir John Gorst accused him of slighting somebody—­I don’t know who; and, really, it doesn’t matter, for Sir John Gorst knew very well that the charge was entirely unfounded—­when, I say, Sir John did this, up jumped honest Mr. Mundella to indignantly deny that he had ever done anything of the kind.  Of course, he hadn’t, and Sir John Gorst knew that as well as Mr. Mundella.  But then, ten minutes were wasted in the encounter; and even ten minutes are not despised by Jimmy and his compeers.