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Bound into the life of Disraeli is a peculiar incident in the romantic friendship that existed between him and Mrs. Willyums of Torquay, Cornwall.  About the year Eighteen Hundred Forty-nine, Disraeli began to receive letters from an unknown admirer, who expressed a great desire for an interview on “a most important business.”  All public men, especially if they have the brilliant mental qualities of Disraeli, receive such letters.  The sensitive neurotic female who is ill-appreciated in her own home and whose soul yearns for a “higher companionship” is numerous.  Disraeli’s secretary used to take care of such letters with a gentle explanation that the Chief was out of town, but upon his return, etc., etc., and that was the last of it.  But this Torquay correspondent was insistent, and finally a letter came from her saying she had come to London on purpose to meet her lord and master, and she would await him at a seat just east of the fountain in Crystal Palace at a certain hour.  Disraeli read the missive with impatience—­the idea of his meeting an unknown woman in this fishmonger manner at a hurdy-gurdy show!  He tossed the letter into the fire.  The next day another letter came, expressing much regret that he had not kept the appointment, but saying she would await him at the same place the following day, and begging him, as the matter was very urgent, not to fail her.

Disraeli smiled and showed the letter to his wife.  She advised him to go.  When his wife said he had better do a thing he usually did it; and so he ordered his carriage and went to the hurdy-gurdy show to meet the impressionable female of unknown age and condition at the seat just east of the fountain.  It was a silly thing for the leading member of Parliament to do—­to make an assignation in a public place with a fool-woman—­all London might be laughing at him tomorrow!  He was on the point of turning back.

But he reached the fountain and there was his destiny awaiting him—­a little woman in widow’s black.  She lifted her veil and showed a face wrinkled and old, but kindly.  She was agitated—­she really did not expect him—­and the great man gave a great sigh of relief when he saw that no flashily dressed creature had entrapped him.  Even if people stared at him sitting there it made no difference.  In pity he shook hands with the little old woman, sat down beside her, calmed her agitation, spoke of Cornwall and the weather, and inquired what he could do for her.  A rambling talk about nothing followed, and Disraeli was sure it was just a mild case of lunacy.

He arose to go, and the woman gave him an envelope, saying she had written out her case and begged him to read the letter when he had time.  The man was preoccupied, his mind on great affairs of state—­he simply crushed the letter into the side-pocket of his overcoat, bade the woman a dignified good-morning, and turned away.