I
In the choir of the old-fashioned church of Hughenden, that broods
amid the beautiful peace of English meadows, there stands, on the left
hand of the aisle, a black high-backed stall of polished oak, overhung
by the picturesque insignia of the Order of the Garter.
In the pavement behind it gleams a square slab, dedicated by "his
grateful sovereign and friend" to her great Prime Minister, and heaped
in the spring with primroses.
And on this white memorial is sculptured in bas-relief the profile of
the head of a Semitic Sphinx, round whose mute lips flickers in a
faint sardonic smile the wisdom of the ages.