"Dear, dear," said he deliberately; "and pray, how did _that_ happen?" "Killed in the hunting-field!" "How very dramatic!" said Disraeli solemnly. We stayed at Sandringham, and went for long walks together, during which Disraeli talked and laughed with the greatest enjoyment. But I remember how, in the pauses of {140} the conversation, he would stand still, and, glass in eye, dreamily surveying the landscape, would make some such observation as "The air is balmy ... and serene!" or "The foliage is stunted ... but productive!" with the most weighty and measured emphasis, as though these were prophetic utterances. I was quite bewildered; for I did not then know whether he were serious, or were indulging a recondite wit. He was a visionary, dwelling much in a world of his own; and I know now that he was perfectly natural and serious on these occasions. He and his wife were devotedly attached to each other. Having taken Lady Beaconsfield in to dinner one evening, I noticed some red marks upon her arm and her napkin. She was wearing red roses, and at first I thought some petals had fallen from them. Then I saw that she was wearing a bandage on her arm, and that blood was oozing from under it. I told her that her arm was bleeding. "Please don't say a word, Lord Charles," she said hastily, "it would distress Dizzy so much." And she furtively twisted her napkin about her arm. Lord Beaconsfield, who was sitting opposite to us, stuck his glass in his eye and stared across the table--I was afraid for a moment that he had overheard what his wife had said. Poor lady, she died shortly afterwards. When I entered Parliament in 1874 it was still the day of the great orators: of Disraeli, Gladstone, Bright, David Plunkett, O'Connor Power; whose like, perhaps, we shall not see again. There was a tradition of eloquence in the House of Commons of that time; members declined to listen to a bore; and debate was conducted almost entirely by the two Front Benches. It was in my first Parliament that Disraeli touched the zenith of his extraordinary and splendid career; during which he formulated the principles of a national policy, a part of which himself carried into execution, but whose complete fulfilment remains to be achieved. Disraeli established a tradition; and like all those who have a great ideal--whether right or wrong is {141} not here the question--he still lives in the minds of men, and his name still carries inspiration. His great rival, who wore him down at last, bequeathed no such national inheritance.