At twenty years he was a young fellow of seemingly rather sluggish character, without social tendencies, without the common ambitions of his class, much given to absence of mind.

About that time he came across one of the volumes of the elder D'Israeli, and, behold, he had found himself.
Reading of things utterly unknown to him, he was inspired with strange delights; a mysterious fascination drew him on amid names which were only a sound; a great desire was born in him, and its object was seen in every volume that met his eye.

Had he then been given means and leisure, he would have become at the least a man of noteworthy learning.

No such good fortune awaited him.

Daily his thirteen hours went to the manufacture of candles, and the evening leisure, with one free day in the week, was all he could ever hope for.
At five-and-twenty he had a grave illness.