One amusing instance of Dizzy’s adjectival powers is worth recording. Sir William Harcourt had attacked him in one of his most telling speeches, with which he had evidently shown great self-satisfaction, as, indeed, was his right, though it was a little imprudent to do so, seeing with whom he had to deal. When Sir William sat down Dizzy got up to reply, and in his quiet, imperturbable way chaffed the honourable member about his “Herodian oratory.” This puzzled all the newspapers, who made many futile guesses at what the Prime Minister had meant. At last one paper—I think it was the _Pall Mall Gazette_—said that the word which Mr. Disraeli had used was Rhodian, not Herodian, the orators of Rhodes being in old times famous for their eloquence! The next day there was a luncheon party at Sir Stafford Northcote’s in Downing Street, and the conversation turned upon the speech and the much-discussed adjective. Lady Northcote asked Dizzy, who was present, what he really had said, and what he really had meant. “My dear lady,” was the very solemn answer, “are we not told that Herod made an oration and that he gave not God the glory?” There was a roar of laughter, in which we all joined. There was much sympathy between Sir William Harcourt and Disraeli. Indeed, so close was the affection which the two bore to one another that there was a moment when people imagined that they might join hands politically. But that could not be. Sir William, for all his blue blood, and his royal extraction, was too convinced a Radical to be able to palter with the Carlton Club. He was a delightful companion, witty, accomplished; it was a pleasure to the two heroes to fence socially, sharpening their blades when the buttons were on the foils; but politically, when the buttons were off, the tierce and quart were furious enough. Between Gladstone and Disraeli there was no love lost; the two rivals were utterly opposite and cordially disliked one another. Disraeli almost always spoke of Gladstone with a spice of contempt. Once he told us how the Emperor of Brazil had sent him and Mr. Gladstone the grand cordon of some order. “I wrote him a letter of warmest thanks which could make the dear man believe that he had satisfied the one ambition of my life; Gladstone sent his star back, with an expression of regret that his Sovereign did not permit him to accept foreign decorations. Clumsy fellow! Could he not have put it away in a drawer, as I did?” I remember well the gusto with which he accentuated the words “Clumsy fellow!” The truth is that there was in Gladstone a lack of that man-of-the-worldliness which Dizzy admired so much in Lord Granville.