Such are some of his leading features. They combine and reconcile the seeming contradictions of a nature at once calm and impetuous, deep and light, astute and far-seeing in affairs of importance; in trifles, careless. These contrasts, united by genius, pursue the forms of his mind--his ideas. He was, of course, no monster of consistency, but the ideas that animated his actions and utterance sprang from a singularly consistent outlook and a most definite personality. In every case they were the outcome on the one hand of his race, on the other of his nationality. The antithesis between nationality and mere race is most important, and too often ignored. There is no such thing as a nation of a single strain. The national idea is the fusion of reconcilable races, the creation of an artificial and ideal individuality, of a consolidating pattern; the absorption of discordant races and their replacement by a central idea which subordinates instinct to society. Later civilisation means little else, if we reflect, than a gradual process of this description; and it is not a little curious that the distinctive greatness of English literature is largely due to the admission and naturalisation of foreign influences--to England’s free trade in ideas, to the openness of her literary ports. What would it have proved had it remained purely insular; if Italy, France, and Germany had not infused both form and spirit; above all, if it had not been inspired by the noble rhythm of the Englished Bible and by the supreme models of Greece and Rome? Disraeli’s wit, which is to find a due consideration hereafter, is half eighteenth century in form, half talmudic. The shape of his ideas was also partly determined by the time of his birth and by the circumstances of his home.