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 whips, and the Irish Nationalists never came to the top. I told him I was chiefly anxious to see him because a memorial was about to be presented to Lord Palmerston requesting that Smith O'Brien might be allowed to return to Ireland. I trusted he was not unfavourable to that design? Not at all, he said; the time has come when Mr. O'Brien might properly be allowed to reside wherever he thought fit. I inquired if I was at liberty to mention this opinion. Certainly, he said; if the Government blotted out all the penalties he should not criticise their conduct unfavourably. I said I wished we were asking the favour from him rather than Lord Palmerston who had no sympathy with a generous career, who apparently did not understand nationality, and with all his airy gaiety was at bottom a dry, hard Whig, who cared for nothing in politics but a majority. My countrymen, Mr. Disraeli observed smilingly, were not of my opinion—they constantly supported the gay old man. Yes, I said; and that disposition made the House of Commons intolerable to me. He did me the honour to speak with great openness of the Irish question and I ventured to tell him that Conservatives, by a generous policy, might make themselves more acceptable to Ireland than the Whigs, whom Lord John Russell's conduct had rendered detestable. He said he had taken great pains to induce the Cabinet to accept Napier's land reforms, and meditated other concessions, and he had sent Naas to Ireland to get rid of the old jog-trot of the Castle.

"Taking up a volume of Disraeli's early novels which lay on the table I said I would take the liberty of saying something which was permissible because I was probably seeing him for the last time. I differed widely about his books from the public, who preferred 'Coningsby,' but in my opinion several of the early novels were much better. They had the inspiration and enthusiasm of youth. The 'Wondrous Tale of Alroy,' as it used to be called, was the most entrancing romance since 'Ivanhoe.' 'Contarini Fleming' could not be compared with any other English book, because it was sui generis an insight into the desires and dreams of a youth of genius; and 'Ixion in Heaven' was of the genre of 'Candide' and worthy to be set on the same shelf. His early novels, he said, had been judged hardly, and perhaps they deserve