he was, as I have said, a model of sincerity. Not merely was he consistent with himself; he was consistent with his works, whose irony and cynicism were part of his own nature. His devotion to his family, his aptitude for friendship-what young man ever had stauncher friends than D'Orsay and Lyndhurst ?are another eloquent tribute to his character. Such was the man who, confident in his own gifts, entered Parliament in 1837 as member for Maidstone, and grew at last into the statesman who played a gallant part amid the clash of parties, in what he himself was wont to call the Senate.

II. IN PARLIAMENT

If Disraeli's career, after he had entered Parliament, lost something in the high spirits of adventurous youth, it gained much in a grave consistency of purpose. In 1837, Disraeli had sowed the wild oats of fancy, and none knew more confidently than he that the seeds of a wanton extravagance were to bring forth a rich harvest of political achievement. He had gained by a brilliant and deliberate eccentricity the goal of social success. And henceforth, until the end of his life, his eyes were fixed firmly upon the House of Commons. As member for Maidstone, as the colleague of Mr. Wyndham Lewis, he claimed and won a consideration which did not belong to the bold candidate still wavering between a reckless Radicalism and the philosophic Toryism of Boling

broke. But though the years of romance were finished, Disraeli still cherished an inveterate habit of optimism. Though the battle was by no means over, he saw himself always in the centre of the field, an easy victor. The demon of doubt never whispered a paralysing syllable in his ear. His home-letters still burn with a fiery confidence. He is conscious

that all eyes are upon him. He knows that he is singled out for particular favours. 'The dinner to-day,' says he, when as a member he is but a day old, 'is merely a House dinner of fourteen-all our great men with the exception of Lord Ramsay and myself, the only two new members. It has occasioned some jealousy and surprise.' If it was Disraeli's first Parliament, it was Queen Victoria's first Parliament also, and to the general wonder there was a division on the Address. It took an hour, and Disraeli entered into it with all the zest of a novice. 'I left the House at ten o'clock,' thus he writes, 'none of us having dined. The tumult and excitement great. I dined, or rather supped, at the Carlton with a large party off oysters, Guinness, and broiled bones, and got to bed at half-past twelve o'clock. Thus ended the most remarkable day hitherto of my life.'

He found every

The enthusiasm is characteristic. day remarkable, and the last the most remarkable of them all. He took up politics, as he took up Society, with a light heart and an iron hand, and his triumph was ensured. It was not the least of his good fortune

6

that his maiden speech, delivered on 7th December 1837, should have been received with an unparalleled demonstration of hostility. The occasion long ago claimed the place in history which it will never surrender. It was an Irish debate, and Disraeli deliberately elected to follow O'Connell, his ancient enemy. 'We shall meet again at Philippi '—this had been his challenge, and at Philippi they stood face to face. He attacked his ancient enemy in the admirable phrases of which he was master. O'Connell's speech was 'a rhetorical medley.' O'Connell's subscription was 'a project of majestic mendicancy.' If Disraeli's dandyism lost him the sympathy of many even in his own party, his spirited attack upon O'Connell roused a storm of fury among the Irish. Hisses, groans, hoots, cat-calls, drumming with the feet, loud conversation, and imitation of animals,' we are told, greeted every one of his sallies. Throughout it all he remained unperturbed. Not for one moment was his temper ruffled. Whenever there was an interlude of silence he spoke another period of his prepared speech in a cold, even, relentless voice. He twitted the noble Tityrus of the Treasury Bench and the learned Daphnis of Liskeard, and he painted a famous picture of Lord John Russell 'from his pedestal of power wielding in one hand the keys of St. Peter and waving with the other' The sentence was never completed, but Disraeli was not slow to inform his friends that had he been allowed to proceed he would have put in the noble lord's other hand the cap

of liberty. Thus, amid an unexampled uproar, he drew on to his memorable peroration: I sit down now, but the time will come when you will hear me.'

Henceforth Disraeli's place in the House was assured. A respectable speech, delivered and heard in silence, might have been his undoing. The hostility of the Irish had assured him a brilliant effect. Henceforth he was familiar to every gossip in the kingdom as the man who had been shouted down and had not winced at the punishment. For a moment, it is true, even his own serener confidence was shaken, but for a moment only. A breath of encouragement speedily blew away the cobwebs of his doubt. Chandos congratulated him in the lobby. I replied,' writes he to his sister, that I thought there was no cause for congratulations, and muttered "Failure!" "No such thing," said Chandos; "you are quite wrong. I have just seen Peel, and I said to him, ' Now, tell me exactly what you think of D." think of D." Peel replied, 'Some of my party are disappointed and talk of failure. I say just the reverse. He did all that he could do under the circumstances. I say anything but failure; he must make his way.'

Where Peel led, the others followed. Lyndhurst made light of the bullying of the Radicals. He was sure that Disraeli 'would have the courage to have at them again.' But the man whose eulogy most warmly gratified the orator was Sheil. 'Now, gentlemen,' said Sheil in Bulwer's hearing, I have heard all you have to say, and, what is more, I heard

this same speech of Mr. Disraeli, and I tell you this: if ever the spirit of oratory was in a man, it is in that man. Nothing can prevent him being one of the first speakers in the House of Commons [great confusion]. Ay! I know something about that place, I think, and I tell you what besides, that if there had not been this interruption, Mr. Disraeli might have made a failure. I don't call this a failure, it is a crush. My début was a failure, because I was heard, but my reception was supercilious, his malignant. A début should be dull. The House will not allow a man to be a wit and an orator unless they have the credit of finding it out.' It was a generous appreciation, which led to a friendship and much good counsel. Sheil, a master of Parliamentary tactics, not only praised Disraeli, he advised him: Get rid of your genius for a session,' said he. . . . 'Speak often, for you must not show yourself cowed, but speak shortly. Quote figures, dates, calculations. And in a short time the House will sigh for the wit and eloquence which they all know are in you.' Never was better advice given, nor more wisely received. The next time Disraeli spoke in the House he was careful to be dull.

As I have said, among the many reproaches hurled at Disraeli at the outset of his career was the charge of political tergiversation. He was still denounced for a renegade on a hundred platforms. His early adventures in the cause of Radicalism were recalled to his mind with a pompous iteration. Yet Disraeli