rollope, and now and
then as bright as those of Thackeray. The love-making is tender,
pretty, and not nearly so mawkish as that of "Henrietta Temple" and
"Venetia." There is plenty of wit, epigram, squib, and _bon mot_.
There is almost none of that rhodomontade which pervades the other
romances, except as to "Sidonia" and the supremacy of the Hebrew
race--a topic on which Benjamin himself was hardly sane. _Coningsby_,
as a novel, is sacrificed to its being a party manifesto and a
political programme first and foremost. But as a novel it is good. It
is the only book of Disraeli's in which we hardly ever suspect that he
is merely trying to fool us. It is not so gay and fantastic as
_Lothair_. But, being far more real and serious, it is perhaps the
best of Disraeli's novels.

As a political manifesto, Coningsby has been an astonishing success.
The grand idea of Disraeli's life was to struggle against what he
called the "Venetian Constitution," imposed and maintained by the "Whig
Oligarchy." As Radical, as Tory, as novelist, as statesman, his ruling
idea was "to dish the Whigs," in Lord Derby's historic phrase. And he
did "dish the Whigs." The old Whigs have disappeared from English
politics. They have either amalgamated with the Tories, become
Unionist Conservatives, henchmen of Lord Salisbury, or else have become
Gladstonians and Radicals. The so-called Whigs of 1895, if any
politicians so call themselves, are far more Tory than the Whigs of
1844, and the Tories of 1895 are far more democratic than the Whigs of
1844. This complete transformation is very largely due to Disraeli
himself.

Strictly speaking, Disraeli has eliminated from our political arena
both "Whig" and "Tory," as understood in the old language of our party
history. And the first sketch of the new policy was flung upon an
astonished public in _Coningsby_, just fifty years ago. No doubt, the
arduous task of educating the Conservative Party into the new faith of
Tory Democracy was not effected by _Coningsby_ alone. But it may be
doubted if Mr. Disraeli would have accomplished it by his speeches
without his writings. As a sketch of the inner life of the
parliamentary system of fifty years ago, _Coningsby_ is perfect and has
never been approached. Both Thackeray and Trollope have painted
Parliament and public life so far as it could be seen from a London
club. But Disraeli has painted it as it was known to a man who threw
his whole life i