Mr. Disraeli, in the more genial and less majestic days before 1874, used to tell a sardonic story of this time.

When he first entered Parliament, he used often to dine at the House of Commons, where he was generally served by a grim old waiter of prehistoric reputation, who was supposed to possess a secret treasure of political tradition. The young member sought by every gracious art to win his confidence and partake of these stores.

One day the venerable domestic relented. "You hear many lies told as history, sir," he said; "do you know what Mr. Pitt's last words were?"

"Of course," said Mr. Disraeli, "they are well known... `O my country! How I love my country!'" for that was then the authorised version.

"Nonsense," said the old man. "I'll tell you how it was. Late one night I was called out of bed by a messenger in a postchaise, shouting to me outside the window. 'What is it?' I said. 'You're to get up and dress and bring some of your pork pies down to Mr. Pitt at Putney.' So I went; and as we drove along he told me that Mr. Pitt had not been able to take any food, but had suddenly said, 'I think I could eat one of Bellamy's pork pies.' And so I was sent for post-haste. When we arrived Mr. Pitt was dead. Them was his last words 'I think I could eat one of Bellamy's pork pies.'"