tian and Giorgione and helped to invest wisely the moneys the merchants
of the Rialto made. Never a Gratiano had a greater contempt for a merchant
than he. Just to get him out of the way, his parents packed Isaac off to
Europe, where he acquired several languages, and some other things, with
that ease which the Jew always manifests. He dallied in art, pecked at
books, and made the acquaintance of many literary men.

When his father died and left him a goodly fortune, he had the sense to
turn the entire management of the estate over to his wife, a woman with a
thorough business instinct, while he busied himself with his books.

Benjamin was the second child of these parents. He had a sister older than
himself, and two brothers younger. Those philosophers who claim that
spirits have their own individuality in the unseen world, and the accident
of birth really does not constitute a kinship between brothers and
sisters, will find here something that looks like proof. Benjamin Disraeli
bore no resemblance in mental characteristics to his sister or brothers;
he did, however, possess the mental virtues of both father and mother,
multiplied by ten.

When twelve years of age he exhibited that intense disposition for mastery
which was through life his distinguishing trait. The Jew does not outrank
the Gentile in strength, but the average Jew surely does have the faculty
of concentration which the average Gentile does not possess. And that is
what constitutes strength--the ability to focus the mind on one thing and
compass it: to concentrate is power.

When Ben was sent to the Unitarian school at Walthamstow, aged fifteen, it
was his first taste of school life. Up to this time his father had been
his tutor. Now he found himself cast into that den of wild animals--an
English school for boys. His Jewish name and features and his dandy ways
and attire made him the instant butt of the playground. Ben very patiently
surveyed his tormentors, waited to pick his man, and then challenged the
biggest boy in the school to single combat. The exasperating way in which
he coolly went about the business set his adversary's teeth chattering
before the call of "time." The result of the fight was that, even if
"Dizzy" was not thoroughly respected from that day forth, no one ever
called, "Old clo'! Old clo'!" within his hearing. Of course it was not
generally advertised that the lad had been taking boxing lessons from
"Coster Joe" for three years,