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[Exact reprint of Longman's 36s. Edition.] 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS 
 
 OF 
 
 LORD MACAULAY 
 
 BY HIS NEPHEW 
 
 GEOEGE OTTO TEEYELYAN, M.P., 
 
 MEMBER OP PARLIAMENT FOR HAWICK, DISTRICT OF BURY. 
 
 TWO VOLUMES IN ONE. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LEIPSIC : 
 
 LEMMEEMANN A GO. 
 
 1876. 
 
J 
 
 A 
 
 
 
 I. 'A-.; 
 
 vir. 
 
 
 } 
 
 < 
 
 - .. j 
 
 A l/L .^*1 ■"•: ::1 ; 
 
B 
 
 ^™0TE STORAGE 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 T his work has been undertaken principally from a conviction 
 that it is the performance of a duty which, to the best of 
 my ability, it is incumbent on me to fulfil. Though even on this 
 ground I cannot appeal to the forbearance of my readers, I may 
 venture to refer to a peculiar difficulty which I have experienced 
 in dealing with Lord Macaulay’s private papers. 
 
 To give to the world compositions not intended for publication 
 may be no injury to the fame of writers who, by habit, were care- 
 less and hasty workmen ; but it is far otherwise in the case of one 
 who made it a rule for himself to publish nothing which was not 
 carefully planned, strenuously labored, and minutely finished. 
 Now, it is impossible to examine Lord Macaulay’s journals and 
 correspondence without being persuaded that the idea of their 
 being printed, even in part, never was present to his mind ; and I 
 should not feel myself justified in laying them before the public if 
 it were not that their unlabored and spontaneous character adds 
 to their biographical value all, and perhaps more than all; that it 
 detracts from their literary merit. 
 
 • 
 
 To the heirs and relations of Mr. Thomas Flower Ellis and 
 
 Mr. Adam Black ; to the Marquis of Lansdowne ; to Mr. Macvey 
 
 Napier; and to the executors of Dr. Whewell; my thanks are 
 
 iii 
 
 777821 
 
IV 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 due for the courtesy with which they have placed the different 
 portions of my Uncle’s correspondence at my disposal. Lady 
 Caroline Lascelles has most kindly permitted me to use as much 
 of Lord Carlisle’s journal as relates to the subject of this work ; 
 and Mr. Charles Cowan, my Uncle’s old opponent at Edinburgh, 
 has sent me a considerable mass of printed matter bearing upon 
 the elections of 1847 and 1852. The late Sir Edward Ryan, and 
 Mr. Fitzjames Stephen, spared no pains to inform me with regard 
 to Lord Macaulay’s work at Calcutta. His early letters, with 
 much that relates to the whole course of his life, have been pre- 
 served, studied, and arranged, by the affectionate industry of his 
 sister, Miss Macaulay; and material of high interest has been 
 entrusted to my hands by Mr. and the Hon. Mrs. Edward Crop- 
 per. I have been assisted throughout the book by the sympathy, 
 and the recollections, of Lady Holland, the niece to whose custody 
 Lord Macaulay’s papers by inheritance descend. 
 
 G. O. T. 
 
 March 1876. 
 
 / 
 
CONTENTS TO VOL. I, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 1800— i8i8. 
 
 Plan and scope of the work — History of the Macaulay family — Aulay — Kenneth — ^John- 
 son and Boswell — John Macaulay and his children — Zachary Macaulay — His career 
 in the West Indies and in Africa — His character — Visit of the French sqnadron to 
 Sierra Leone — Zachary Macaulay’s marriage — Birth of his eldest son — Lord Macau- 
 lay’s early years — His childish productions — Mrs. Hannah More — General Macaulay 
 —Choice of a school — Shelford — Dean Milner — Macaulay’s early letters — Aspenden 
 Hall — The boy’s habits and mental endowments — His home — The Clapham set — The 
 boy’s relations with his father — The political ideas amongst which he was brought up, 
 and their influence on the work of his life Page t 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 1818—1824. 
 
 Macaulay goes to the University — His love for Trinity College — His contemporaries at 
 Cambridge— Charles Austin — The Union Debating Society — University studies, suc- 
 cesses, and failures — The Mathematical Tripos — The Trinity Fellowship — William 
 the Third — Letters — Prize poems— Peterloo — Novel-Reading — The Queen’s Trial— 
 Macaulay’s feeling towards his mother — A Reading-party — Hoaxing an editor — 
 Macaulay takes pupils 47 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 1824-1830. 
 
 Macaulay is called to the bar — Does not make it a serious profession — Speech before the 
 Anti-slavery Society — Knight’s Quarterly Magazine— The Edinburgh Review and 
 the Essay on Milton — Macaulay’s personal appearance and mode of existence — His 
 defects and virtues, likings and antipathies — Croker — Sadler — Zachary Macaulay’s 
 circumstances — Description of the family habits of life in Great Ormond Street — Ma- 
 caulay’s Sisters — Lady Trevelyan — The Judicious Poet — Macaulay’s humor in con- 
 versation — His articles in the Review — His attacks on the Utilitarians and on South- 
 ey — Blackwood’s Magazine — Macaulay is made Commissioner of Bankruptcy — Enters 
 Parliament — Letters from Circuit and Edinburgh 71 
 
VI 
 
 CONTENTS TO VOL. L 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 1830-1832. 
 
 State of public affairs when Macaulay entered Parliament — His maiden speech — The 
 French Revolution of July 1830 — Macaulay’s letters from Paris — The Palais Royal— 
 Lafayette — Lardner’s Cabinet Cyclopaedia — The new Parliament meets — Fall of the 
 Duke of Wellington — Scene with Croker— The Reform Bill— Political success— 
 House of Commons life — Macaulay’s party spirit — London society — Mr, Thomas 
 Flower Ellis — Visit to Cambridge — Rothley Temple — Margaret Macaulay’s journal— 
 Lord Brougham — Hopes of office — Macaulay as a politician — Letters to Lady Trevel- 
 yan, Mr. Napier, and Mr. Ellis Page loi 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 1832-1834. 
 
 Macaulay is invited to stand for Leeds — ^The Reform Bill passes — Macaulay appointed 
 Commissioner of the Board of Control — His life in office — Letters to his sister — Con- 
 tested election at Leeds — Macaulay’s bearing as a candidate — Canvassing — Pledges— 
 Intrusion of religion into politics — Placemen in Parliament — Liverpool — Margaret 
 Macaulay’s marriage — How it affected her brother — He is returned for Leeds — Be- 
 comes secretary of the Board of Control — Letters to Lady Trevelyan — Session of 
 1832 — Macauley’s Speech on the India Bill — His regard for Lord Glenelg — Letters to 
 Lady Trevelyan — The West Indian question — Macaulay resigns office — He gains his 
 point, and resumes his place — Emancipation of the Slaves — Death of Wilberforce— 
 Letters to Lady Trevelyan — Macaulay is appointed Member of the Supreme Council 
 of India — Letters to Lady Trevelyan, Lord Lansdowne, and Mr. Napier — Altercation 
 between Lord Althorp and Mr. Sheil — Macaulay’s appearance before the Committee 
 of Investigation — He sails for India 163 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 1834-1838. 
 
 The outward voyage — Arrival at Madras— Macaulay is summoned to join Lord William 
 Bentinck in the Neilgherries — His journey up-country — His native servant — Arcot — 
 Bangalore — Seringapatam — Ascent of the Neilgherries — First sight of the Governor- 
 General — Letters to Mr. Ellis and the Miss Macaulays — A summer on the Neilgher- 
 ries — Native Christians — Clarissa — A tragi-comedy — Macaulay leaves the Neilgher- 
 ries, travels to Calcutta, and there sets up house — Letters to Mr. Napier and Mrs. 
 Cropper — Mr. Trevelyan — Marriage of Hannah Macaulay — Death of Mrs. Cropper^ 
 Macaulay’s work in India — His Minutes for Council — Freedom of the Press — Literary 
 gratitude — Second Minute on the Freedom of the Press — The Black Act — A Calcutta 
 public meeting — Macaulay’s defence of the policy of the Indian Government — His 
 Minute on Education — He becomes President of the Committee of Public Instruction 
 — His industry in discharging the functions of that post — Specimens of his official 
 writing — Results of his labors — He is appointed President of the Law Commission, 
 and recommends the framing of a Criminal Code — Appearance of the Code— Com- 
 ments of Mr. Fitzjames Stephen — Macaulay’s private life in India-^-Oriental delica- 
 cies — Breakfast-parties — Macaulay’s longing for England — Calcutta and Dublin— 
 Departure from India — Letters to Mr. Ellis, Mr. Sharp, Mr. Napier, and Mr. Z. 
 Macaulay 234 
 
LIFE AND LETTERS 
 
 OF 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 1800-18. 
 
 Plan and scope of the work — History of the Macaulay family— Aulay — Kenneth — Johnson 
 and Boswell — John Macaulay and his children — Zachary Macaulay — His career in the 
 West Indies and in Africa — His character — Visit of the French squadron to Sierra 
 Leone — Zachary Macaulay’s marriage — Birth of his eldest son — Lord Macaulay’s 
 early years — His childish productions — Mrs. Hannah More — General Macaulay — 
 Choice of a school — Shelford — Dean Milner — Macaulay’s early letters — Aspenden 
 Hall — The boy’s habits and mental endowments — His home — The Clapham set — 
 The boy’s relations with his father — The political ideas amongst which he was brought 
 up, and their influence on the work of his life. 
 
 H e who undertakes to publish the memoirs of a distinguished man 
 may find a ready apology in the custom of the age. If we measure 
 the effective demand for biography by the supply, the person commemor- 
 ated need possess but a very moderate reputation, and have played no 
 exceptional part, in order to carry the reader through many hundred pages 
 of anecdote, dissertation, and correspondence. To judge from the adver- 
 tisements of our circulating libraries, the public curiosity is keen with 
 regard to some who did nothing worthy of special note, and others who 
 acted so continuously in the face of the world, that, when their course was 
 run, there was little left for the world to learn about them. It may, there- 
 fore, be taken for granted that a desire exists to hear something authentic 
 about the life of a man who has produced works which are universally 
 known, but which bear little or no indication of the private history and the 
 personal qualities of the author. 
 
 VoL. I.— I » 
 
2 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. I, 
 
 This was in a marked degree the case with Lord Macaulay. His two 
 famous contemporaries in English literature have, consciously or uncons- 
 ciously, told their own story in their books. Those who could see between 
 the lines in “ David Copperfield ” were aware that they had before them 
 the most delightful of autobiographies : and all who knew how to read 
 Thackeray could trace him in his novels through every stage in his course, 
 on from the day when as a little boy, consigned to the care of English 
 relatives and schoolmasters, he left his mother on the steps of the land- 
 ing-place at Calcutta. The dates and names were wanting : but the man 
 was there ; while the most ardent admirers of Macaulay will admit that a 
 minute study of his literary productions left them, as far as any but an 
 intellectual knowledge of the writer himself was concerned, very much 
 as it found them. A consummate master of his craft, he turned out works 
 which bore the unmistakable marks of the artificer’s hand, but which did 
 not reflect his features. It would be almost as hard to compose a picture 
 of the author from his History, his Essays, and his Lays, as to evolve an 
 idea of Shakespeare from Henry the Fifth and Measure for Measure. 
 
 But, besides being a man of letters. Lord Macaulay was a statesman, a 
 jurist, and a brilliant ornament of society, at a time when to shine in 
 society was a distinction which a man of eminence and ability might justly 
 value. In these several capacities, it will be said, he was known well, and 
 known widely. But in the first place, as these pages will show, there was 
 one side of his life, (to him, at any rate, the most important,) of which 
 even the persons with whom he mixed most freely and confidentially in 
 London drawing-rooms, in the Indian Council chamber, and in the lobbies 
 and on the benches of the House of Commons, were only in part aware. 
 And in the next place, those who have seen his features and heard his 
 voice are few already and become yearly fewer ; while, by a rare fate in 
 literary annals, the number of those who read his books is still rapidly 
 increasing. For every one who sat with him in private company or at the 
 transaction of public business, for every ten who have listened to his ora- 
 tory in Parliament or from the hustings, there must be tens of thousands 
 whose interest in history and literature he has awaked and informed by his 
 pen, and who would gladly know what manner of man it was that has done 
 them so great a service. 
 
 To gratify that most legitimate wish is the duty of those who have the 
 means at their command. His lifelike image is indelibly impressed upon 
 their minds (for how could it be otherwise with any who had enjoyed so 
 close relations with such a man?) although the skill which can reproduce 
 that image before the general eye may well be wanting. But his own 
 letters will supply the deficiencies of the biographer. Never did any one 
 leave behind him more copious materials for enabling others to put together 
 a narrative which might bo the history, not indeed of his times, but of the 
 
iSoo— i8. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 3 
 
 man himself. For in the first place he so soon showed promise of being 
 one who would give those among whom his early years were passed reason 
 to be proud, and still more certain assurance that he would never afford 
 them cause for shame, that what he wrote was preserved with a care very 
 seldom bestowed on childish compositions, and the value set upon his 
 letters by those with whom he corresponded, naturally enough increased as 
 years went on. And in the next place he was by nature so incapable of 
 affectation or concealment that he could not write otherwise than as he 
 felt, and, to one person at least, could never refrain from writing all that 
 he felt ; so that we may read in his letters, as in a clear mirror, his opin- 
 ions and inclinations, his hopes and affections, at every succeeding period 
 of his existence. Such letters could never have been submitted to an 
 editor unconnected with both correspondents by the strongest ties : and 
 even one who stands in that position must often be sorely puzzled as to 
 what he has the heart to publish and the right to withhold. 
 
 I am conscious that in an undertaking of this nature a near relative has 
 peculiar temptations towards that partiality of the biographer which Lord 
 Macaulay himself so often and so cordially denounced : and the danger is 
 greater in the case of one whose knowledge of him coincided with his 
 later years : for it would not be easy to find a nature which gained more 
 by time than his, and lost less. But, believing, as I do (to use his own 
 words), that “ if he were now living he would have sufficient judgment and 
 sufficient greatness of mind ” to wish to be shown as himself, I will suppress 
 no trait in his disposition or incident in his career which might provoke 
 blame or question. Such in all points as he was, the world, which has 
 been so indulgent to him, has a right to know him : and those who best 
 love him do not fear the consequences of freely submitting his character 
 and his actions to the public verdict. 
 
 The most devout believers in the doctrine of the transmission of family 
 qualities, will be content with tracing back descent through four genera- 
 tions: and all favorable hereditary influences, both intellectual and 
 moral, are assured by a genealogy which derives from a Scotch Manse. 
 In the first decade of the eighteenth century Aulay Macaulay, the great- 
 grandfather of the historian, was minister of Tiree and Coll ; where he 
 was “ grievously annoyed by a decreet obtained after instance of the Laird 
 of Ardchattan, taking away his stipend.” The Duchess of Argyll of the 
 day appears to have done her best to see him righted : “ but his health 
 being much impaired, and there being no church or meeting-house, he was 
 exposed to the violence of the weather at all seasons ; and having no 
 manse or glebe, and no fund for communion elements, and no mortifica- 
 tion for schools or any pious purpose in either of the islands, and the air 
 being unwholesome, he was dissatisfied ; ” and so, to the great regret of the 
 
4 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. I 
 
 parishioners whom he was leaving behind, he migrated to Harris, where 
 he discharged the clerical duties for nearly half a century. 
 
 Aulay was the father of fourteen children, of whom one, Kenneth, the 
 minister of Ardnamurchan, still occupies a very humble niche in the 
 temple of literature. He wrote a History of St. Kilda which happened 
 to fall into the hands of Dr. Johnson, who spoke of it more than once 
 with favor. His reason for liking the book is characteristic enough. Mr. 
 Macaulay had recorded the belief prevalent in St. Kilda that, as soon as 
 the factor landed on the island, all the inhabitants had an attack which 
 from the account appears to have partaken of the nature both of influenza 
 and bronchitis. This touched the superstitious vein in Johnson, who 
 praised him for his “ magnanimity ” in venturing to chronicle so question- 
 able a phenomenon ; the more so because, — said the Doctor, — “ Macau- 
 lay set out with a prejudice against prejudice, and wanted to be a smart 
 modern thinker.” To a reader of our day the History of St. Kilda ap- 
 pears to be innocent of any trace of such pretension ; unless it be that the 
 author speaks slightingly of second-sight, a subject for which Johnson 
 always had a strong hankering. In 1773 Johnson paid a visit to Mr. Mac- 
 aulay, who by that time had removed to Calder, and began the interview 
 by congratulating him on having produced “ a very pretty piece of topog- 
 raphy,” — a compliment which did not seem to the taste of the author. 
 The conversation turned upon rather delicate subjects, and before many 
 hours had passed the guest had said to the host one of the very rudest 
 things recorded by Boswell. Next morning he atoned for his incivility 
 by giving one of the boys of the house a pocket Sallust, and promising 
 to procure him a servitorship at Oxford. Subsequently Johnson pro- 
 nounced that Mr. Macaulay was not competent to have written the book 
 that went by his name ; a decision which, to those who happen to have 
 read the w^ork, will give a very poor notion of my ancestor’s abilities. 
 
 The eldest son of old Aulay, and the grandfather of Lord Macaulay, 
 was John, born in the year 1720. He was minister successively of Barra, 
 South Uist, and Inverary: — the last appointment being a proof of the 
 interest which the family of Argyll continued to take in the fortunes of the 
 Macaulays. He, likewise, during the famous tour in the Hebrides, came 
 across the path of Boswell, who mentions him in an exquisitely absurd 
 paragraph, the first of those in which is described the visit to Inverary 
 Castle on October 25. Mr. Macaulay afterwards passed the evening with 
 the travellers at their inn, and provoked Johnson into what Boswell calls 
 warmth, and anyone else would call brutality, by the very proper remark 
 that he had no notion of people being in earnest in good professions if 
 their practice belied them. When we think what well-known ground 
 this was to Lord Macaulay it is impossible to suppress a wish that the 
 great talker had been at hand to avenge his grandfather and grand-uncle, 
 
i8cxd-i8. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 5 
 
 Next morning “ Mr. Macaulay breakfasted with us, nothing hurt or dis- 
 mayed by his last night’s correction. Being a man of good sense he had 
 a just admiration of Dr. Johnson.” He was rewarded by seeing Johnson 
 at his very best, and hearing him declaim some of the finest lines that ever 
 were written in a manner worthy of his subject. 
 
 There is a tradition that, in his younger days, the minister of Inverary 
 proved his Whiggism by giving information to the authorities which 
 almost led to the capture of the young Pretender. It is perhaps a matter 
 of congratulation that this item was not added to the heavy account that 
 the Stuarts have against the Macaulay family. John Macaulay was in 
 high reputation as a preacher, and especially renowned for his fluency. 
 In 1774 he removed to Cardross in Dumbartonshire, where, on the bank 
 of the noble estuary of the Clyde, he spent thb last fifteen years of a useful 
 and honored life. He was twice married. His first wife died at the birth 
 of his first child. Eight years afterwards, in 1757, he espoused Margaret, 
 daughter of Colin Campbell of Inverseger, who survived him by a single 
 year. By her he had the patriarchal number of twelve children, whom he 
 brought up on the old Scotch system, — common to the households of 
 minister, man of business, farmer, and peasant alike, — on fine air, simple 
 diet, and a solid training in knowledge human and divine. Two genera- 
 tions after, Mr. Carlyle, during a visit to the late Lord Ashburton at the 
 Grange, caught sight of Macaulay’s face in unwonted repose, as he was 
 turning over the pages of a book. “ I noticed ” said he “ the homely 
 Norse features that you find everywhere in the Western Isles, and I 
 thought to myself : ‘Well! anyone can see that you are an honest good 
 sort of fellow, made out of oatmeal.’ ” 
 
 Several of John Macaulay’s children obtained position in the world. 
 Aulay, the eldest by his second wife, became a clergyman of the Church 
 of England. His reputation as a scholar and antiquary stood high, and 
 in the capacity of a private tutor he became known even in royal circles. 
 He published pamphlets and treatises, the list of which it is not worth 
 while to record, and meditated several large works that perhaps never got 
 mucli beyond a title. Of all his undertakings the one best deserving 
 commemoration in these pages was a tour that he made into Scotland in 
 company with Mr. Thomas Babington, the owner of Rothley Temple in 
 Leicestershire, in the course of which the travellers paid a visit to the 
 manse at Cardross. Mr. Babington fell in love with one of the daughters 
 of the house. Miss Jean Macaulay, and married her in 1787. Nine years 
 afterwards he had an opportunity of presenting his brother-in-law Aulay 
 Macaulay with the very pleasant living of Rotjiley. 
 
 Alexander, another son of John Macaulay, succeeded his father as 
 minister of Cardross. Colin went into the Indian army, and died a 
 general. He followed the example of the more ambitious among his 
 
6 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. I. 
 
 brother officers, and exchanged military for civil duties. In 1799 he 
 acted as secretary to a political and diplomatic Commission which 
 accompanied the force that marched under General Harris against 
 Seringapatam. The leading Commissioner was Colonel Wellesley, and 
 to the end of General Macaulay’s life the great Duke corresponded with 
 him on terms of intimacy, and (so the family flattered themselves) even of 
 friendship. Soon after the commencement of the century Colin Macaulay 
 became resident at the important native state of Travancore. While on 
 this employment he happened to light upon a valuable collection of 
 books, and rapidly made himself master of the principal European 
 languages, which he spoke and wrote with a facility surprising in one who 
 had acquired them within a few leagues of Cape Comorin. 
 
 There was another son of John Macaulay who in force and elevation 
 of character stood out among his brothers, and who was destined to make 
 for himself no ordinary career. The path which Zachary Macaulay chose 
 to tread did not lead to wealth, or worldly success, or indeed to much 
 worldly happiness. Born in 1768, he was sent out at the age of sixteen 
 by a Scotch house of business as book-keeper to an estate in Jamaica, of 
 which he soon rose to be sole manager. His position brought him into 
 the closest possible contact with negro slavery. His mind was not pre- 
 possessed against the system of society which he found in the West Indies. 
 His personal interests spoke strongly in its favor, while the father, whom 
 he justly respected, could see nothing to condemn in an institution recog- 
 nized by Scripture. Indeed, the religious world still allowed the main- 
 tenance of slavery to continue an open question. John Newton, the real 
 founder of that school in the Church of England of which in after years 
 Zachary Macaulay was a devoted member, contrived to reconcile the bus- 
 ness of a slave trader with the duties of a Christian, and to the end of 
 his days gave scandal to his disciples, (who by that time were one and all 
 sworn abolitionists,) by refusing to see that there could be no fellowship 
 between light and such darkness. 
 
 But Zachary Macaulay had eyes of his own to look about him, a clear 
 head for forming a judgment on what he saw, and a conscience which 
 would not permit him to live otherwise than in obedience to its mandates. 
 The young Scotchman’s innate respect for his fellows, and his appreciation 
 of all that instruction and religion can do for men, was shocked at the 
 sight of a population deliberately kept ignorant and heathen. His kind 
 heart was wounded by cruelties practised at the will and pleasure of a thou- 
 sand petty despots. He had read his Bible too literally to acquiesce 
 easily in a state of matters under which human beings were bred and 
 raised like a stock of cattle, while outraged morality was revenged on the 
 governing race by the shameless licentiousness which is the inevitable ac- 
 companiment of slavery. He was well aware that these evils, so far from 
 
i8oo-i8. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 7 
 
 being superficial or remediable, were essential to the very existence of a 
 social fabric constituted like that within which he lived. It was not for 
 nothing that he had been behind the scenes in that tragedy of crime and 
 misery. His philanthropy was not learned by the royal road of tracts, 
 and platform speeches, and monthly magazines. What he knew he had 
 spelt out for himself with no teacher except the aspect of human suffering, 
 and degradation, and sin. 
 
 He was not one of those to whom conviction comes in a day : and 
 when convinced, he did nothing sudden. Little more than a boy in age, 
 singularly modest, and constitutionally averse to any course that appeared 
 pretentious or theatrical, he began by a sincere attempt to make the best 
 of his calling. For some years he contented himself with doing what he 
 could, (so he writes to a friend,) “ to alleviate the hardships of a consider- 
 able number of my fellow-creatures, and to render the bitter cup of serv- 
 itude as palatable as possible.” But by the time he was four-and-twenty 
 he became tired of trying to find a compromise between right and wrong, 
 and, refusing really great offers from the people with whom he was con- 
 nected, he threw up his position, and returned to his native country. This 
 step was taken against the wishes of his father, who was not prepared for 
 the construction which his son put upon the paternal precept that a man 
 should make his practice square with his professions. 
 
 But Zachary Macaulay soon had more congenial work to do. The 
 young West Indian overseer was not alone in his scruples. Already for 
 some time past a conviction had been abroad that individual citizens could 
 not divest themselves of their share in the responsibility in which the 
 nation was involved by the existence of slavery in our colonies. Already 
 there had been formed the nucleus of the most disinterested, and perhaps 
 the most successful, popular movement which history records. The ques- 
 tion of the slave trade was well before Parliament and the country. Ten 
 years had passed since the freedom of all whose feet touched the soil of 
 our island had been vindicated before the courts at Westminster, and not 
 a few negroes had become their own masters as a consequence of that 
 memorable decision. The patrons of the race were somewhat embar- 
 rassed by having these expatriated freedmen on their hands ; an opinion 
 prevailed that the traffic in human lives could never be efficiently checked 
 until Africa had obtained the rudiments of civilization ; and after long dis- 
 ' cussion a scheme was matured for the colonization of Sierra Leone by lib- 
 erated slaves. A company was organized, with a charter from the Crown, 
 and a board which included the names of Granville Sharpe and Wilber- 
 force. A large capital was speedily subscribed, and the chair was accep- 
 ted by Mr. Henry Thornton, a leading City banker and a member of Par- 
 liament, whose determined opposition to cruelty and oppression in every 
 form was such as might be expected in one who had inherited from his 
 
8 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. 1 
 
 father the friendship of the poet Cowper. Mr. Thornton heard Macaulay’s 
 story from Thomas Babington, with whom he lived on terms of close in- 
 timacy and political alliance. The Board, by the advice of its Chairman, 
 passed a resolution appointing the young man Second Member in the 
 Sierra Leone Council, and early in the year 1793 he sailed for Africa, 
 where soon after his arrival he succeeded to the position and duties of 
 of Governor. 
 
 The Directors had done well to secure a tried man. The colony was 
 at once exposed to the implacable enmity of merchants whose market the 
 agents of the new company spoiled in their capacity of traders, and slave- 
 dealers with whom they interfered in their character of philanthropists. 
 The native tribes in the vicinity, instigated by European hatred and jeal- 
 ousy, began to inflict upon the defenceless authorities of the settlement a 
 series of those monkey-like impertinences which, absurdly as they may 
 read in a narrative, are formidable and ominous w'hen they indicate that 
 savages feel their power. These barbarians, who had hitherto command- 
 ed as much rum and gunpowder as they cared to have by selling their 
 neighbors at the nearest barracoon, showed no appreciation for the com- 
 forts and advantages of civilization. Indeed, those advantages were 
 displayed in anything but an attractive shape even within the pale of the 
 company’s territory. An aggregation of negroes from Jamaica, London, 
 and Nova Scotia, who possessed no language except an acquired jargon, 
 and shared no associations beyond the recollections of a common servi- 
 tude, were not very promising apostles for the spread of Western culture 
 and the Christian faith. Things went smoothly enough as long as the 
 business of the colony was mainly confined to eating the provisions that 
 had been brought in the ships : but as soon as the work became real and 
 the commons short the whole community smouldered down into chronic 
 mutiny. 
 
 Zachary Macaulay was the very man for such a crisis. To a rare fund 
 of patience, and self-command, and perseverance, he united a calm 
 courage that was equal to any trial. These qualities were, no doubt, 
 inherent in his disposition : but no one except those who have turned over 
 his voluminous private journals could understand what constant effort 
 and what incessant watchfulness went to maintain throughout a long life a 
 course of conduct and a temper of mind which gave every appearance of 
 being the spontaneous fruit of nature. He was not one who dealt in 
 personal experiences : and few among even the friends who loved him 
 like father or brother, and who would have trusted him with all their 
 fortune on his bare word, knew how entirely his outward behavior was 
 the express image of his religious belief. The secret of his character and 
 of his actions lay in perfect humility and an absolute faith. Events did 
 not discompose him, because they were sent by One who best knew his 
 
i8oo-i8. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 9 
 
 own purposes. He was not fretted by the folly of others, or irritated by 
 :heir hostility, because he regarded the humblest or the worst of mankind 
 as objects, equally with himself, of the divine love and care. On all other 
 points he examined himself so closely that the meditations of a single 
 evening would fill many pages of diary, but so completely in his case had 
 the fear of God cast out all other fears that amidst the gravest perils and 
 the most bewildering responsibilities it never occurred to him to question 
 whether he was brave or not. He worked strenuously and unceasingly, 
 never amusing himself from year's end to year’s end, and shrinking from 
 any public praise or recognition as from an unlawful gratification, because 
 he was firmly persuaded that, when all had been accomplished and 
 endured, he was yet but an unprofitable servant, who had done that which 
 was his duty to do. Some, perhaps, will consider such motives as old- 
 fashioned, and such convictions as out of date ; but self-abnegation, self- 
 control, and self-knowledge that does not give to self the benefit of any 
 doubt, are virtues which are not oldfashioned, and for which, as time goes 
 on, the world is likely to have as much need as ever. 
 
 Sir James Stephen writes thus of his friend Macaulay ; “ That his un- 
 derstanding was proof against sophistry, and his nerves against fear, were, 
 indeed, conclusions to which a stranger arrived at the first interview with 
 him. But what might be suggesting that expression of countenance, at 
 once so earnest and so monotonous — by what manner of feelings those 
 gestures, so uniformly firm and deliberate, were prompted — whence the 
 constant traces of fatigue on those overhanging brows, and on that athlet- 
 ic though ungraceful figure — what might be the charm which excited 
 amongst his chosen circle a faith approaching to superstition, and a love 
 rising to enthusiasm, towards a man whose demeanor was so inanimate, if 
 not austere : it was a riddle of which neither Gall nor Lavater could have 
 found the key. ’ 
 
 That Sir James himself could read the riddle is proved by the con- 
 cluding words of a passage marked by a force and tenderness of feeling 
 unusual even in him : “ His earthward affections, active and all-enduring 
 as they were, could yet thrive without the support of human sympathy, 
 because they were sustained by so abiding a sense of the divine presence, 
 and so absolute a submission to the divine will, as raised him habitually 
 to that higher region where the reproach of man could not reach, and the 
 praise of man might not presume to follow him.” 
 
 Mr. Macaulay was admirably adapted for the arduous and uninviting 
 task of planting a negro colony. His very deficiencies stood him in good 
 stead ; for in presence of the elements with which he had to deal it was 
 well for him that nature had denied him any sense of the ridiculous. Un- 
 conscious of what was absurd around him, and incapable of being flurried, 
 frightened, or fatigued, he stood as a centre of order and authority amidst 
 
10 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. I. 
 
 the seething chaos of inexperience and insubordination. The staff was 
 miserably insufficient, and every officer of the Company had to do duty 
 for three in a climate such that a man is fortunate if he can find health 
 for the work of one during a continuous twelvemonth. The Governor had 
 to be in the counting-house, the law-court, the school, and even the chap- 
 el. He was his own secretary, his own paymaster, his own envoy. He 
 posted ledgers, he decided causes, he conducted correspondence with the 
 Directors at home, and visited neighboring potentates on diplomatic mis- 
 sions which made up in danger what they lacked in dignity. In the ab- 
 sence of properly qualified clergymen, with whom he would have been the 
 last to put himself in competition, he preached sermons and performed 
 marriages — a function which must have given honest satisfaction to one 
 who had been so close a witness of the enforced and systematised immorali- 
 ty of a slave-nursery. Before long something fairly resembling order was 
 established, and the settlement began to enjoy a reasonable measure of 
 prosperity. The town was built, the fields were planted, and the schools 
 filled. The Governor made a point of allotting the lightest work to the 
 negroes who could read and write ; and such was the stimulating effect of 
 this system upon education that he confidently looked forward “ to the 
 time when there would be few in the colony unable to read the Bible.” A 
 printing-press was in constant operation, and in the use of a copying-ma- 
 chine the little community was three quarters of a century ahead of the 
 London public offices. 
 
 But a severe ordeal was in store for the nascent civilization of Sierra 
 Leone. On a Sunday morning in September, 1794, eight French sail 
 appeared off the coast. The town was about as defensible as Brighton, 
 and it is not difficult to imagine the feelings which the sansculottes inspir- 
 ed among Evangelical colonists whose last advices from Europe dated 
 from the very height of the Reign of Terror. There was a party in 
 favor of escaping into the forest with as much property as could be re- 
 moved at so short a notice, but the Governor insisted that there would be 
 no chance of saving the Company’s buildings unless the Company’s ser- 
 vants could make up their minds to remain at their posts and face it out. 
 The squadron moored within musket-shot of the quay, and swept the 
 streets for two hours with grape and bullets : a most gratuitous piece of 
 cruelty that killed a negress and a child, and gave one unlucky English 
 gentleman a fright which ultimately brought him to his grave. The in- 
 vaders then proceeded to land, and Mr. Macaulay had an opportunity of 
 learning something about the condition of the French mariner during the 
 heroic period of the Republic. 
 
 A personal enemy of his own, the captain of a Yankee slaver, brought 
 a party of sailors straight to the Governor’s house. What followed had 
 best be told in Mr. Macaulay’s own words. “ Newell, who was attended 
 
i8oo-i8. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 II 
 
 by half-a-dozen sansculottes, almost foaming with rage, presented a pistol 
 to me, and with many oaths demanded instant satisfaction for the slaves 
 who had run away from him to my protection. I made very little reply, 
 but told him he must now take such satisfaction as he judged equivalent to 
 his claims, as I was no longer master of my actions. He became so very 
 outrageous that, after bearing with him a little while, I thought it most 
 prudent to repair myself to the French officer, and request his safe-conduct 
 on board the Commodore’s ship. As I passed along the wharf the scene 
 was curious enough. The Frenchmen, who had come ashore in filth and 
 rags, were now many of them dressed out with women’s shifts, gowns, 
 and petticoats. Others had quantities of cloth wrapped about their 
 bodies or perhaps six or seven suits of clothes upon them at a time. 
 The scene which presented itself on my getting on board the flag-ship was 
 still more singular. The quarter-deck was crowded by a set of ragamuf- 
 fins whose appearance beggared every previous description, and among 
 whom I sought in vain for some one who looked like a gentleman. The 
 stench and filth exceeded anything I had ever witnessed in any ship, and 
 the noise and confusion gave me some idea of their famous Mountain. I 
 was ushered into the Commodore’s cabin, who at least received me civilly. 
 His name was Citizen Allemand. He did not appear to have the right of 
 excluding any of his fellow-citizens even from this place. Whatever 
 might be their rank they crowded into it, and conversed familiarly with 
 him.” Such was the discipline of the fleet that had been beaten by Lord 
 Howe on the First of June : and such the raw material of the armies 
 which, under firm hands and on an element more suited to the military 
 genius of their nation, were destined to triumph at Rivoli and Hohen- 
 linden. 
 
 Mr. Macaulay, who spoke French with ease and precision, in his anx« 
 iety to save the town used every argument which might prevail on the 
 Commander, whose Christian name, ( if one may use such a phrase with 
 reference to a patriot of the year two of the Republic,) happened oddly 
 enough to be the same as his own. He appealed first to the traditional 
 generosity of Frenchmen towards a fallen enemy, but soon discerned that 
 the quality in question had gone out with the old order of things, if in- 
 deed it ever existed. He then represented that a people who professed 
 to be waging war with the express object of striking off the fetters of 
 mankind would be guilty of flagrant inconsistency if they destroyed an 
 asylum for liberated slaves : but the Commodore gave him to understand 
 that sentiments which sounded very well in the Hall of the Jacobins were 
 out of place on the West Coast of Africa. The Governor returned on 
 shore to find the town already completely gutted. It was evident at every 
 turn that, although the Republican battalions might carry liberty and 
 fraternity through Europe on the points of their bayonets, the Republican 
 
12 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CII .1. 
 
 sailors had found a very different use for the edge of their cutlasses, 
 “ The sight of my own and of the accountant’s offices almost sickened 
 me. Every desk and every drawer and every shelf, together with the 
 printing and copying-presses, had been completely demolished in the 
 search for money. The floors were strewed with types, and papers, and 
 leaves of books, and I had the mortification to see a great part of my 
 own labor and of the labor of others for several years totally destroyed. 
 At the other end of the house I found telescopes, hygrometers, barome- 
 ters, thermometers, and electrical machines, lying about in fragments. 
 The view of the town library filled me with lively concern. The volumes 
 were tossed about and defaced with the utmost wantonness, and if they 
 happened to bear any resemblance to Bibles they were torn in pieces 
 and trampled on. The collection of natural curiosities next caught my 
 eye. Plants, seeds, dried birds, insects, and drawings were scattered 
 about in great confusion, and some of the sailors were in the act of killing a 
 beautiful musk-cat, which they afterwards ate. Every house was full of 
 Frenchmen who were hacking, and destroying, and tearing up everything 
 which they could not convert to their own use. The destruction of live 
 stock on this and the following day was immense. In my yard alone they 
 killed fourteen dozen of fowls, and there were not less than twelve hun- 
 dred hogs shot in the town.” It was unsafe to walk in the streets of 
 Freetown during the forty-eight hours that followed its capture because 
 the French crews, with too much of the Company’s port wine in their 
 heads to aim straight, were firing at the pigs of the poor freedmen over 
 whom they had achieved such a questionable victory. 
 
 To readers of Erckmann-Chatrian it is unpleasant to be taken thus be- 
 hind the curtain on which those skilful artists have painted the wars of 
 the early Revolution. It is one thing to be told how the crusaders of 
 ’93 and’94 were received with blessings and banquets by the populations 
 to whom they brought freedom and enlightenment, and quite another to 
 read the journal in which a quiet accurate-minded Scotchman tells us 
 how a pack of tipsy ruffians sat abusing Pitt and George to him over a 
 fricassee of his own fowls, and among the wreck of his lamps and mirrors 
 which they had smashed as a protest against aristocratic luxury. 
 
 “ There is not a boy among them who has not learnt to accompany 
 the name of Pitt with an execration. When I went to bed, there was no 
 sleep to be had on account of the sentinels thinking fit to amuse me the 
 whole night through with the revenge they meant to take on him when 
 they got him to Paris. Next morning I went on board the ‘ Experiment.’ 
 The Commodore and all his officers messed together, and I was admitted 
 among them. They are truly the poorest-looking people I ever saw. 
 Even the Commodore has only one suit which can at all distinguish him, 
 not to say from the officers, but from the men. The filth and confusion 
 
i8oo-i8. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 13 
 
 of their meals was terrible. A chorus of boys usher in the dinner with 
 the Marseilles hymn, and it finishes in the same way. The enthusiasm of 
 all ranks among them is astonishing, but not more so than their blindness. 
 They talk with ecstasy of their revolutionary government, of their bloody 
 executions, of their revolutionary tribunal, of the rapid movement of their 
 revolutionary army with the Corps of Justice and the flying guillotine 
 before it : forgetting that not one of them is not liable to its stroke on the 
 accusation of the greatest vagabond on board. They asked me with 
 triumph if yesterday had not been Sunday. ‘ Oh,’ said they, ‘the National 
 Convention have decreed that there is no Sunday, and that the Bible is 
 all a lie.’ ” After such an experience it is not difficult to account for the 
 keen and almost personal interest with which, to the very day of Water- 
 loo, Mr. Macaulay watched through its varying phases the rise and the 
 downfall of the French power. He followed the progress of the British 
 arms with a minute and intelligent attention which from a very early date 
 communicated itself to his son : and the hearty patriotism of Lord Ma- 
 caulay is perhaps in no small degree the consequence of what his father 
 suffered from the profane and rapacious sansculottes of the revolutionary 
 squadron. 
 
 Towards the middle of October the Republicans took their departure. 
 Even at this distance of time it is provoking to learn that they got back 
 to Brest without meeting an enemy that had teeth to bite. The African 
 climate, however, reduced the squadron to such a plight, that it was well 
 for our frigates that they had not the chance of getting its fever-stricken 
 crews under their hatches. The French never revisited Freetown. In- 
 deed, they had left the place in such a condition that it was not worth 
 their while to return. The houses had been carefully burned to the 
 ground, and the live stock killed. Except the clothes on their backs, and 
 a little brandy and flour, the Europeans had lost everything they had in 
 the world. Till assistance came from the mother country they lived upon 
 such provisions as could be recovered from the reluctant hands of the 
 negro settlers, who providentially had not been able to resist the tempta- 
 tion of helping the Republicans to plunder the Company’s stores. Judi- 
 cious liberality at home, and a year’s hard work on the spot, did much to 
 repair the damage : and, when his colony was again upon its feet, Mr. 
 Macaulay sailed to England with the object of recruiting his health which 
 had broken down under an attack of low fever. 
 
 On his arrival he was admitted at once and for ever within the inner- 
 most circle of friends and fellow-laborers who were united round Wilber- 
 force and Henry Thornton by indissoluble bonds of mutual personal 
 regard and common public ends. As an indispensable part of his initia- 
 tion into that very pleasant confederacy he was sent down to be intro- 
 duced to Hannah More, who was living at Cowslip Green, near Bristol, 
 
14 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. I. 
 
 in the enjoyment of general respect mixed with a good deal of what even 
 those who admire her as she deserved must in conscience call flattery. 
 He there met Selina Mills, a former pupil of the school which the Miss 
 Mores kept in the neighboring city, and a lifelong friend of all the sisters. 
 The young lady is said to have been extremely pretty and attractive, as 
 may well be believed by those who saw her in later years. She was the 
 daughter of a member of the Society of Friends, who at one time was a 
 bookseller in Bristol, and who built there a small street called “Mills 
 Place,” in which he himself resided. His grandchildren remembered 
 him as an old man of imposing appearance, with long white hair, talking 
 incessantly of Jacob Boehmen. Mr. Mills had sons, one of whom edited 
 a Bristol journal exceedingly well, and is said to have made some figure 
 in light literature. This uncle of Lord Macaulay was a very lively, clever 
 man, fu.l of good stories, of which only one has survived. Young Mills, 
 while resident in London, had looked in at Rowland Hill’s chapel and 
 had there lost a new hat. When he reported the misfortune to his father, 
 the old Quaker replied: “John, if thee’d gone to the right place of wor- 
 ship, thee’d have kept thy hat upon thy head.” Lord Macaulay was 
 a customed to say that he got his “joviality” from his mother’s family. 
 If his power of humor was indeed of Quaker origin, he was rather un- 
 grateful in the use to which he sometimes put it. 
 
 Mr. Macaulay fell in love with Miss Mills, and obtained her affection 
 in return. He had to encounter the opposition of her relations, who were 
 set upon her making another and a better match, and of Mrs. Patty More, 
 (so well known to all who have studied the somewhat diffuse annals of 
 the More family,) who, in the true spirit of romantic friendship, wished 
 her to promise never to marry at all, but, to domesticate herself as a 
 youngest sister in the household at Cowslip Green. Miss Hannah, how- 
 ever, took a more unselfish view of the situation, and advocated Mr. 
 Macaulay’s cause with firmness and good feeling. Indeed, he must have 
 been, according to her particular notions, the most irreproachable of 
 lovers, until her own Coelebs was given to the world. By her help he 
 carried his point in so far that the engagement was made and recognized, 
 but the friends of the young lady would not allow her to accompany him 
 to Africa : and, during his absence from England, which began in the 
 early months of 1796, by an arrangement that under the circumstances 
 was very judicious, she spent much of her time with his sister, Mrs. 
 Babington, in Leicestershire. 
 
 His first business after arriving at Sierra Leone was to sit in judgment 
 on the ringleaders of a formidable outbreak which had taken place in the 
 colony, and he had an opportunity of proving by example that negro 
 disaffection, from the nature of the race, is peculiarly susceptible to treat- 
 ment by mild remedies, if only the man in the post of responsibility has 
 
i8oo-i8. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 15 
 
 got a heart and can contrive to keep his head. He had much more 
 trouble with a batch of missionaries whom he took with him in the ship, 
 and who were no sooner on board than they began to fall out, ostensibly 
 on controversial topics, but more probably from the same motives that 
 so often set the laity quarrelling during the incessant and involuntary 
 companionship of a sea-voyage. Mr. Macaulay, finding that the warmth 
 of these debates furnished sport to the captain and other irreligious 
 characters, was forced seriously to exert his authority in order to separate 
 and silence the disputants. His report of these occurrences went in due 
 time to the Chairman of the Company, who excused himself for an 
 arrangement which had turned out so ill by telling a story of a servant, 
 who, having to carry a number of gamecocks from one place to another, 
 tied them up in the same bag, and found on arriving at his journey’s end 
 that they had spent their time in tearing each other to pieces. When his 
 master called him to account for his stupidity he replied : “ Sir, as they 
 were all your cocks, I thought they would be all on one side.” 
 
 Thing did not go much more smoothly on shore. Mr. Macaulay’s offi- 
 cial correspondence gives a curious picture of his difficulties in the char- 
 acter of Minister of Public Worship in a black community. “ The Bap- 
 tists under David George are decent and orderly, but there is observable 
 in them a great neglect of family worship, and sometimes an unfairness 
 in their dealings. To Lady Huntingdon’s Methodists, as a body, may 
 with great justice be addressed the first verse of the third chapter of the 
 Revelation. The lines of many of them are very disorderly, and rank an- 
 tinomianism prevails among them.” But his sense of religion and decen- 
 cy was most sorely tried by Moses Wilkinson, a so-called Wesleyan 
 Methodist, whose congregation, not a very respectable one to begin with, 
 had recently been swollen by a revival * which had been accompanied by 
 circumstances the reverse of edifying. The Governor must have looked 
 back with regret to that period in the history of the colony when he was 
 underhanded in the clerical department. 
 
 But his interest in the negro could bear ruder shocks than an occa- 
 sional outburst of eccentric fanaticism. He liked his work because he liked 
 those for whom he was working. “ Poor people,” he writes, “ one cannot 
 
 * Lord Macaulay had in his youth heard too much about negro preachers and negro, 
 administrators to permit him to entertain any very enthusiastic anticipations with regard 
 to the future of the African race. He writes in his journal for July 8, 1858 : “ Motley 
 called. I like him much. We agree wonderfully well about slavery, and it is not often that 
 I meet any person with whom I agree on that subject. For I hate slavery from the bot- 
 tom of my soul ; and yet I am made sick by the cant and the silly mock reasons of the 
 Abolitionists. The nigger driver and the negrophile are two odious things to me. I 
 must make Lady Macbeth’s reservation : ‘ Had he not resembled .’ ” 
 
i6 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. I. 
 
 help loving them. With all their trying humors, they have a warmth o£ 
 affection which is really irresistible.” P'or their sake he endured all the risk 
 and worry inseparable from a long engagement kept by the lady among dis- 
 approving friends, and by the gentleman at Sierra Leone. He stayed till the 
 settlement had begun to thrive, and the Company had almost begun to pay, 
 and until the Home Government had given marked tokens of favor and 
 protection which some years later developed into a negotiation under which 
 the colony was transferred to the Crown. It was not till 1799 that he 
 finally gave up his appointment, and left a region which, alone among men, 
 he quitted with unfeigned, and, except in one particular, with unmixed re- 
 gret. But for the absence of an Eve, he regarded the West Coast of 
 Africa as a veritable Paradise, or, to use his own expression, as a more 
 agreeable Montpelier. With a temper which in the intercourse of soci- 
 ety was proof against being ruffled by any possible treatment of any con- 
 ceivable subject, to the end of his life he showed faint signs of irritation if 
 anyone ventured in his presence to hint that Sierra Leone was unhealthy. 
 
 On his return to England he was appointed Secretary to the Company, 
 and was married at Bristol on the 26th of August 1799. A most close 
 union it was, and, (though in latter years he became fearfully absorbed in 
 the leading object of his existence, and ceased in a measure to be tljie 
 companion that he had been, ) his love for his wife, and deep trust and 
 confidence in her, never failed. They took a small house in Lambeth for 
 the first twelve months. When Mrs. Macaulay was near her confinement, 
 Mrs. Babington, who belonged to the school of matrons who hold that the 
 advantage of country air outweighs that of London doctors, invited her 
 sister-in-law to Rothley Temple, and there in a room panelled from ceiling 
 to floor, like every corner of the ancient mansion, with oak almost black 
 from age — looking eastward across the park, and southward through an ivy- 
 shaded window into a little garden — Lord Macaulay was born. It was on the 
 25th of October, 1800, the day of St. Crispen, the anniversary of Agin- 
 court, (as he liked to say,) that he opened his eyes on a world which he 
 was destined so thoroughly to learn and so intensely to enjoy. His fath- 
 er was as pleased as a father could be ; but fate seemed determined that 
 Zachary Macaulay should not be indulged in any great share of personal 
 happiness. The next morning a spinning-jenny set off in a cottage as he 
 was riding past. His horse started and threw him : both arms were bro- 
 ken : and he spent in a sick-room the remainder of the only holiday worth 
 the name which (as far as can be traced in the family records,) he ever 
 took during his married life. Owing to this accident the young couple 
 were detained at Rothley into the winter, and the child was baptized, in 
 the private chapel which formed part of the house, on the 26th November, 
 1800, by the names of Thomas Babington ; the Rev. Aulay Macaulay, and 
 Mr. and Mrs. Babington, acting as sponsors. 
 
i8oo-i8, 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 17 
 
 The two years which followed were passed in a house in Birchin Lane 
 where the Sierra Leone Company had its office. The only place where 
 the child could be taken for exercise, and what might be called air, was 
 Drapers’ Garden, which (already under sentence to be covered with 
 bricks and mortar at an early date) lies behind Throgmorton Street and 
 within a hundred yards of the Stock Exchange. To this dismal yard, 
 containing as much gravel as grass, and frowned upon by a board of 
 Rules and Regulations almost as large as itself, his mother used to convoy 
 the nurse and the little boy through the crowds that towards noon swarmed 
 along Cornhill and Threadneedle Street, and thither she would return 
 after a due interval to escort them back to Birchin Lane. So strong was 
 the power of association upon Macaulay’s mind that in after years Dra- 
 pers’ Garden was among his favorite haunts. Indeed, his habit of roaming 
 for hours through and through the heart of the City, (a habit that never 
 left him as long as he could roam at all,) was due in part to the recollec- 
 tion which caused him to regard that region as native ground. 
 
 Baby as he was when he quitted it, he retained some impression of his 
 earliest home. He remembered standing up at the nursery window by 
 his father’s side, looking at a cloud of black smoke pouring out of a tall 
 chimney. He asked if that was hell : an inquiry that was received with 
 a grave displeasure which at the time he could not understand. The 
 kindly father must have been pained almost against his own will at finding 
 what feature of his stern creed it was that had embodied itself in so very 
 material a shape before his little son’s imagination. When in after days 
 Mrs. Macaulay was questioned as to how soon she began to detect in the 
 child a promise of the future, she used to say that his sensibilities and 
 affections were remarkably developed at an age which to her hearers ap- 
 peared next to incredible. He would cry for joy on seeing her after a 
 few hours’ absence, and (till her husband put a stop to it) her power of 
 exciting his feelings was often made an exhibition to her friends. She 
 did not regard this precocity as a proof of cleverness, but, like a foolish 
 young mother, only thought that so tender a nature was marked for early 
 death. 
 
 The next move which the family made was into as healthy an atmos- 
 phere, in every sense, as the most careful parent could wish to select. 
 Mr. Macaulay took a house in the High Street of Clapham, in the part 
 now called the Pavement, on the same side as the Plough inn, but some 
 doors nearer to the Common. It was a roomy comfortable dwelling, 
 with a very small garden behind, and in front a very small one indeed, 
 which has entirely disappeared beneath a large shop thrown out towards 
 the roadway by the present occupier, who bears the name of Heywood. 
 Here the boy passed a quiet and most happy childhood. From the time 
 that he was three years old he read incessantly, for the most part lying on 
 VoL. I . — 2 
 
i8 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. I. 
 
 the rug before the fire, with his book on the ground, and a piece of bread 
 and butter in his hand. A very clever woman who then lived in the 
 house as parlor-maid told how he used to sit in his nankeen frock, perched 
 on the table by her as she was cleaning the plate, and expounding to her 
 out of a volume as big as himself. He did not care for toys, but was very 
 fond of taking his walk, when he would hold forth to his companion, 
 whether nurse or mother, telling interminable stories out of his own head, 
 or repeating what he had been reading in language far above his years. 
 His memory retained without effort the phraseology of the book which he 
 had been last engaged on, and he talked, as the maid said, “quite printed 
 words,” which produced an effect that appeared formal, and often, no 
 doubt, exceedingly droll. Mrs. Hannah More was fond of relating how 
 she called at Mr. Macaulay’s, and was met by a fair, pretty, slight child, 
 with abundance of light hair, about four years of age, who came to the 
 front door to receive her, and tell her that his parents were out, but that 
 if she would be good enough to come in he would bring her a glass of 
 old spirits ; a proposition which greatly startled the good lady, who had 
 never aspired beyond cowslip wine. When questioned as to what he 
 knew about old spirits he could only say that Robinson Crusoe often had 
 some. About this period his father took him on a visit to Lady Walde- 
 grave at Strawberry Hill, and was much pleased to exhibit to his old 
 friend the fair bright boy, dressed in a green coat with red collar and 
 cuffs, a frill at the throat, and white trousers. After some time had been 
 spent among the wonders of the Orford Collection, of which he ever after 
 carried a catalogue in his head, a servant who was waiting upon the com- 
 pany in the great gallery spilt some hot coffee over his legs. The hostess 
 was all kindness and compassion, and when, after a while, she asked how 
 he was feeling, the little fellow looked up in her face and replied : “ Thank 
 you, madam, the agony is abated.” 
 
 But it must not be supposed that his quaint manners proceeded from 
 affectation or conceit : for all testimony declares that a more simple and 
 natural child never lived, or a more lively and merry one. He had at his 
 command the resources of the Common ; to this day the most unchanged 
 spot within ten miles of St. Paul’s, and which to all appearance will ere 
 long hold that pleasant pre-eminence within ten leagues. That delightful 
 wilderness of gorse bushes, and poplar groves, and gravel-pits, and ponds 
 great and small, was to little Tom Macaulay a region of inexhaustible 
 romance and mystery. He explored its recesses ; he composed, and al- 
 most believed, its legends ; he invented for its different features a nomen- 
 clature which has been faithfully preserved by two generations of children. 
 A slight ridge intersected by deep ditches towards the west of the Com- 
 mon, the very existence of which no one above eight years old would 
 notice, was dignified with the title of the Alps ; while the elevated island, 
 
i8oo-i8. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 19 
 
 covered with shrubs, that gives a name to the Mount pond, was regarded 
 with infinite awe as being the nearest approach within the circuit of his 
 observation to a conception of the majesty of Sinai. Indeed at this period 
 his infant fancy was much exercised with the threats and terrors of the 
 Law. He had a little plot of ground at the back of the house, marked 
 out as his own by a row of oyster-shells which a maid one day threw 
 away as rubbish. He went straight to the drawing-room, where his 
 mother was entertaining some visitors, walked into the circle, and said 
 very solemnly : “ Cursed be Sally : for it is written. Cursed is he that re- 
 moveth his neighbor’s land-mark.” 
 
 While still the merest child he was sent as a day scholar to Mr. Greaves, 
 a shrewd Y orkshireman with a turn for science, who had been originally 
 brought to the neighborhood in order to educate a number of African * 
 youths sent over to imbibe Western civilization at the fountain-head. The 
 poor fellows had found as much difficulty in keeping alive at Clapham as 
 Englishmen experience at Sierra Leone : and, in the end, their tutor set 
 up a school for boys of his own color, and at one time had charge of al- 
 most the entire rising generation of the Common. Mrs. Macaulay ex- 
 plained to Tom that he must learn to study without the solace of bread 
 and butter, to which he replied: “Yes, mamma, industry shall be my 
 bread and attention my butter.” But, as a matter of fact, no one ever 
 crept more unwillingly to school. Each several afternoon he made pit- ' 
 eous entreaties to be excused returning after dinner, and was met by the 
 unvarying formula, “No, Tom, if it rains cats and dogs, you shall go.” 
 
 His reluctance to leave home had more than one side to it. Not 
 only did his heart stay behind, but the regular lessons of the class took 
 him away from occupations which in his eyes were infinitely more delight- 
 ful and important : for these were probably the years of his greatest litera- 
 ry activity. As an author he never again had more facility, or anything 
 like so wide a range. In September 1808, his mother writes : “ My dear 
 Tom continues to show marks of uncommon genius. He gets on wonder- 
 fully in all branches of his education, and the extent of his reading, and, 
 of the knowledge he has derived from it, are truly astonishing in a boy 
 not yet eight years old. He is at the same time as playful as a kitten. 
 
 To give you some idea of the activity of his mind I will mention a few 
 circumstances that may interest you and Colin. You will believe that to 
 him we never appear to regard anything he does as anything more than a 
 school-boy’s amusement. He took it into his head to write a compendium 
 of Universal History about a year ago, and he really contrived to give a 
 tolerably connected view of the leading events from the Creation to the 
 present time, filling about a quire of paper. He told me one day that he 
 had been writing a paper which Henry Daly was to translate into Malaba\ 
 to persuade the people of Travancore to embrace the Christian religion. 
 
20 
 
 LIFE aND letters OF 
 
 CH. I 
 
 On reading it I found it to contain a very clear idea of the leading facts 
 and doctrines of that religion, with some strong arguments for its adop- 
 tion. He was so fired with reading Scott’s Lay and Marmion, the former 
 of which he got entirely and the latter almost entirely by heart, merely 
 from his delight in reading them, that he determined on writing himself a 
 poem in six cantos which he called the ‘ Batde of Cheviot.’ After he 
 had finished about three of the cantos of about 120 lines each, which he did 
 in a couple of days, he became tired of it. I make no doubt he would 
 have finished his design, but as he was proceeding with it the thought 
 struck him of writing an heroic poem to be called ‘ Glaus the Great, or the 
 Conquest of Mona,’ in which, after the manner of Virgil, he might intro- 
 duce in prophetic song the future fortunes of the family ; — among others 
 those of the hero who aided in the fall of the tyrant of Mysore, after hav- 
 ing long suffered from his tyranny ; and of another of his race who had 
 exerted himself for the deliverance of the wretched Africans. He has just 
 begun it. He has composed I know not how many hymns. I send you 
 one as a specimen in his own handwriting, which he wrote about six 
 months ago on one Monday morning while we were at breakfast.” 
 
 The affection of the last generation of his relatives has preserved all 
 these pieces, but the piety of this generation will refrain from submitting 
 them to public criticism. A marginal note in which Macaulay has ex- 
 pressed his cordial approval of Uncle Toby’s * remark about the great 
 Lipsius, indicates his own wishes in the matter too clearly to leave any 
 choice for those who come after him. But there still may be read in a 
 boyish scrawl the epitome of Universal History, from “a new king who 
 knew not Joseph,” — down through Rameses, and Dido, and Tydeus, 
 and Tarquin, and Crassus, and Gallienus, and Edward the Martyr, — 
 to Louis, who “ set off on a crusade against the Albigenses,” and 
 Oliver Cromwell, who “was an unjust and wicked man.” The hymns 
 remain, which Mrs. Hannah More, surely a consummate judge of 
 the article, pronounced to be “ quite extraordinary for such a baby.” 
 To a somewhat later period probably belongs a vast pile of blank verse, 
 entitled “ Fingal, a poem in xii. books,” two of which are in a complete 
 and connected shape, while the rest of the story is lost amidst a labyrinth 
 of many hundred scattered lines, so transcribed as to suggest a conjecture 
 that the boy’s demand for foolscap had outrun the paternal generosity. 
 
 Of all his performances that which attracted most attention at the 
 time was undertaken for the purpose of immortalizing Glaus Magnus, 
 King of Norway, from whom the clan to which the bard belonged was 
 supposed to derive its name. Two cantos are extant, of which there 
 are several exemplars, in every stage of calligraphy from the largest 
 
 * Tristram Shandy, chapter clxiii. 
 
i8oo-i8. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 21 
 
 round hand downwards, a circumstance which is apparently due to the 
 desire on the part of each of the little Macaulays to possess a copy of the 
 great family epic. The opening stanzas, each of which contains more 
 lines than their author counted years, go swinging along with plenty of 
 animation and no dearth of historical and geograp Ideal allusion. 
 
 Day set on Cambria’s hills supreme. 
 
 And, Menai, on thy silver stream. 
 
 The star of day had reached the West. 
 
 Now in the main it sunk to rest. 
 
 Shone great Eleindyn’s castle tall ; 
 
 Shone every battery, every hall : 
 
 Shone all fair Mona’s verdant plain; 
 
 But chiefly shone the foaming main. 
 
 And again : 
 
 “ Long,” said the Prince, “ shall Olave’s name 
 Live in the high records of fame. 
 
 Fair Mona now shall trembling stand 
 That ne’er before feared mortal hand. 
 
 Mona, that isle where Ceres’ flower 
 In plenteous autumn’s golden hour 
 ■ Hides all the fields from man’s survey 
 
 As locusts hid old Egypt’s day.” 
 
 The passage containing a prophetic mention of his father and uncle 
 after the manner of the sixth book of the .^neid, for the sake of which, 
 according to Mrs. Macaulay, the poem was originally designed, can no- 
 where be discovered. It is possible that in the interval between the con- 
 ception and the execution the boy happened to light upon a copy of the 
 Rolliad. If such was the case, he already had too fine a sense of humor 
 to have persevered in his original plan after reading that masterpiece of 
 drollery. It is worthy of note that the voluminous writings of his child- 
 hood dashed off at headlong speed in the odds and ends of leisure from 
 school-study and nursery routine, are not only perfectly correct in spelling 
 and grammar, but display the same lucidity of meaning, and scrupulous 
 accuracy in punctuation and the other minor details of the literary art, 
 which characterize his mature works. 
 
 Nothing could be more judicious than the treatment that Mr. and Mrs. 
 Macaulay at this time adopted towards their boy. They never handed 
 his productions about, or encouraged him to parade his powers of con- 
 versation or memory. They abstained from any word or act which might 
 foster in him a perception of his own genius with as much care as a wise 
 millionaire expends on keeping his son ignorant of the fact that he is 
 destined to be richer than his comrades. “ It was scarcely ever,” writes 
 one wh ^ knew him well from the very first, “ that the consciousness was 
 
22 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. I. 
 
 expressed by either of his parents of the superiority of their son over other 
 children. Indeed, with his father I never remember any such expression. 
 What I most observed myself was his extraordinary command of language. 
 When he came to describe to his mother any childish play I took care to 
 be present, when I could, that I might listen to the way in which he ex- 
 pressed himself, often scarcely exceeded in his later years. Except this 
 trifle, I remember him only as a good-tempered boy, always occupied, 
 playing with his sisters without assumption of any kind.” One effect of 
 this early discipline showed itself in his freedom from vanity and suscep- 
 tibility, those qualities which, coupled together in our modern psychologi- 
 cal dialect under the head of “ self-consciousness,” are supposed to be the 
 besetting defects of the literary character. Another result was his habit- 
 ual over-estimate of the average knowledge possessed by mankind. Judg- 
 ing others by himself, he credited the world at large with an amount of 
 information which certainly few have the ability to acquire or the capacity 
 to retain. If his parents had not been so diligent in concealing from him 
 the difference between his own intellectual stores and those of his neigh- 
 bors it is probable that less would have been heard of Lord Macaulay’s 
 schoolboy. 
 
 The system pursued at home was continued at Barley Wood, the 
 place where the Misses More resided from 1802 onwards. Mrs. Macau- 
 lay gladly sent her boy to a house where he was encouraged without being 
 spoiled, and where he never failed to be a welcome guest. The kind old 
 ladies made a real companion of him, and greatly relished his conversa- 
 tion : while at the same time, with their ideas on education, they would 
 never have allowed him, even if he had been so inclined, to forget that he 
 was a child. Mrs. Hannah More, who had the rare gift of knowing how 
 to live with both young and old, was the most affectionate and the wisest 
 of friends, and readily undertook the superintendence of his studies, his 
 pleasures, and his health. She would keep him with her for weeks, list- 
 ening to him as he read prose by the ell, declaimed poetry by the hour, 
 and discussed and compared his favorite heroes, ancient, modern, and 
 fictitious, under all points of view and in every possible combination : 
 coaxing him into the garden under pretence of a lecture on botany ; send- 
 ing him from his books to run round the grounds, or play at cooking in 
 the kitchen ; giving him Bible-lessons which invariably ended in a theo- 
 logical argument, and following him with her advice and sympathy through 
 his multifarious literary enterprises. She writes to his father in 1809 : 
 “ I heartily hope that the sea air has been the means of setting you up, 
 and Mrs. Macaulay also, and that the dear little poet has caught his share 
 
 of bracing Tell Tom I desire to know how ‘ Olaus’ goes 
 
 on. The sea, I suppose, furnished him with some new images.” 
 
 The broader and more genial aspect under which life showed itself to 
 
i8oo-i8. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 23 
 
 the boy at Barley Wood has left its trace in a series of childish squibs 
 and parodies, which may still be read with an interest that his Cambrian 
 and Scandinavian rhapsodies fail to inspire. The most ambitious of these 
 lighter efforts is a pasquinade occasioned by some local scandal, entitled 
 “ Childe Hugh and the laborer, a pathetic ballad.” The “ Childe ” of 
 the story was a neighboring baronet, and the “Abbot” a neighboring 
 rector, and the whole performance, intended, as it was, to mimic the spirit 
 of Percy’s Reliques, irresistibly suggests a reminiscence of John Gilpin. 
 It is pleasant to know that to Mrs. Hannah More was due the commence- 
 ment of what eventually became the most readable of libraries, as is shown 
 in a series of letters extending over the entire period of Macaulay’s edu- 
 cation. When he was six years old she writes ; “ Though you are a little 
 boy now, you will one day, if it please God, be a man ; but long before 
 you are a man I hope you will be a scholar. I therefore wish you to 
 purchase such books as will be useful and agreeable to you then, and that 
 you employ this very small sum in laying a little tiny corner-stone for 
 your future library.” And a year or two afterwards she thanks him for 
 his “ two letters, so neat and free from blots. By this obvious improve- 
 ment you have entitled yourself to another book. You must go to Hatch- 
 ard’s and choose. I think we have nearly exhausted the Epics. What 
 say you to a little good prose? Johnson’s Hebrides, or Walton’s Lives, 
 unless you would like a neat edition of Cowper’s poems or Paradise Lost 
 for your own eating ? In any case choose something which you do not 
 possess. I want you to become a complete Frenchman, that I may give 
 you Racine, the only dramatic poet I know in any modern language that 
 is perfectly pure and good. I think you have hit off the Ode very well, 
 and I am much obliged to you for the Dedication.” The poor little 
 author was already an adept in the traditional modes of requiting a patron. 
 
 He had another Maecenas in the person of General Macaulay, who 
 came back from India in 1810. The boy greeted him with a copy of 
 verses, beginning 
 
 Now safe returned from Asia’s parching strand, 
 
 Welcome, thrice welcome to thy native land. 
 
 To tell the unvarnished truth, the General’s return was not altogether of 
 a triumphant character. After very narrowly escaping with his life from 
 an outbreak at Travancore, incited by a native minister who owed him a 
 grudge, he had given proof of courage and spirit during some military 
 operations which ended in his being brought back to the Residency with 
 flpng colors. But, when the fighting was over, he countenanced, and 
 perhaps prompted, measures of retaliation which were ill taken by his 
 superiors at Calcutta. In his congratulatory effusion the nephew pre« 
 
34 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. I. 
 
 sumcs to remind the uncle that on European soil there still might be found 
 employment for so redoubtable a sword. 
 
 For many a battle shall be lost and won 
 
 Ere yet thy glorioua labors shall be done. 
 
 The General did not take the hint, and spent the remainder of his life 
 peacefully enough between London, Bath, and the Continental capitals. 
 He was accustomed to say that his travelling carriage was his only free- 
 hold ; and, wherever he fixed his temporary residence, he had the talent 
 of making himself popular. At Geneva he was a universal favorite ; he 
 always was welcome at Coppet ; and he gave the strongest conceivable 
 proof of a cosmopolitan disposition by finding himself equally at home at 
 Rome and at Clapham. When in England he lived much with his rela- 
 tions, to whom he was sincerely attached. He was generous in a high 
 degree, and the young people owed to him books which they otherwise 
 could never have obtained, and treats and excursions which formed the 
 only recreations that broke the uniform current of their lives. They 
 regarded their uncle Colin as the man of the world of the Macaulay family. 
 
 Zachary Macaulay’s circumstances during these years were good, and 
 constantly improving. For some time he held the post of Secretary to 
 the Sierra Leone Company, with a salary of 500/. per annum. He sub- 
 sequently entered into partnership with a nephew, and the firm did a large 
 business as African merchants under the names of Macaulay and Babington. 
 The position of the father was favorable to the highest interests of his 
 children. A boy has the best chance of being well brought up in a house- 
 hold where there is solid comfort combined with thrift and simplicity; and 
 the family was increasing too fast to leave any margin for luxurious ex- 
 penditure. Before the eldest son had completed his thirteenth year he had 
 three brothers and five sisters. 
 
 In the course of 1812 it began to be evident that Tom had got beyond 
 the educational capabilities of Clapham : and his father seriously con- 
 templated the notion of removing to London in order to place him as a 
 day-scholar at Westminster. Thorough as was the consideration which the 
 parents gave to the matter, their decision was of more importance than 
 they could at the time foresee. If their son had gone to a public school 
 it is more than probable that he would have turned out a different man 
 and have done . different work. So sensitive and home-loving a boy 
 might for a while have been too depressed to enter fully into the ways of 
 the place ; but, as he gained confidence, he could not have withstood the 
 irresistible attractions which the life of a great school exercises over a 
 vivid eager nature, and he would have sacrificed to passing pleasures and 
 emulations a part, at any rate, of those years which, in order to be what 
 he was, it was necessary that he should spend wholly among his books. 
 
i8oo-i8. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 25 
 
 Westminster or Harrow might have sharpened his faculties for dealing 
 with affairs and with men. but the world at large would have lost more 
 than he could by any possibility have gained. If Macaulay had received 
 the usual education of a young Englishman, he might in all probability 
 have kept his scat for Edinburgh, but he could hardly have written the 
 Essay on Von Ranke, or the description of England in the third chapter of 
 the History. 
 
 Mr. Macaulay ultimately fixed upon a private school, kept by the Rev. 
 Mr. Preston, at Little Shelford, a village in the immediate vicinity of Cam- 
 bridge. The motives which guided this selection were mainly of a re- 
 ligious nature. Mr. Preston held extreme Low Church opinions, and stood 
 in the good books of Mr. Simeon, whose word had long been law in the 
 Cambridge section of the Evangelical circle. But, whatever had been the 
 inducement to make it, the choice proved singularly fortunate. The tutor, 
 it is true, was narrow in his views, and lacked the taste and judgment to 
 set those views before his pupils in an attractive form. Theological topics 
 dragged into the conversation at unexpected moments, inquiries about their 
 spiritual state, and long sermons which had to be listened to under the 
 dire obligation of reproducing them in an epitome, fostered in the minds 
 of some of the boys a reaction against the outward manifestations of re- 
 ligion : — a reaction which had already Begun under the strict system pur- 
 sued in their respective homes. But on the other hand Mr. Preston knew 
 both how to teach his scholars, and when to leave them to teach themselves. 
 The eminent judge who divided grown men into two sharply defined and 
 most uncomplimentary categories was accustomed to say that private 
 schools made poor creatures, and public schools sad dogs : but Mr. Pres- 
 ton succeeded in giving a practical contradiction to Sir William Maule’s 
 proposition. His pupils, who were limited to an average of a dozen at a 
 time, got far beyond their share of honors at the university and of dis- 
 tinction in after life. George Stainforth, a grandson of Sir Francis Bar- 
 ing, by his success at Cambridge was the first to win the school an 
 honorable name, which was more than sustained by Henry Malden, now 
 Greek Professor at University College, London, and by Macaulay himself. 
 Shelford was strongly under the influence of the neighboring university : 
 an influence which Mr. Preston, himself an ex-fellow of Trinity, wisely 
 encouraged. The boys were penetrated with Cambridge ambitions and 
 ways of thought, and frequent visitors brought to the table where master and 
 pupils dined in common, the freshest Cambridge gossip of the graver 
 sort. 
 
 Little Macaulay received much kindness from Dean Milner, the Presi- 
 dent of Queen’s College, then at the very summit of a celebrity which is 
 already of the past. Those who care to search among the embers of that 
 once brilliant reputation can fornl a fair notion of what Samuel Johnson 
 
26 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. 1 . 
 
 would have been if he had lived a generation later, and had been absolved 
 from the necessity of earning his bread by the enjoyment of ecclesiastical 
 sinecures, and from any uneasiness as to his worldly standing by the pos- 
 session of academical dignities and functions. The Dean, who had 
 boundless goodwill for all his fellow-creatures at every period of life, pro- 
 •nded that they were not Jacobins or sceptics, recognized the promise of the 
 boy, and entertained him at his college residence on terms of friendliness 
 and almost of equality. After one of these visits he writes to Mr. Macau- 
 lay : “ Your lad is a fine fellow. He shall stand before kings. He shall 
 not stand before mean men.” 
 
 Shelford: February 22, 1813. 
 
 My dear Papa, — As this is a whole holiday I cannot find a better time 
 for answering your letter. With respect to my health, I am very well, and 
 tolerably cheerful, as Blundell, the best and most clever of all the scholars 
 is very kind, and talks to me, and takes my part. He is quite a friend of 
 Mr. Preston’s. The other boys, especially Lyon, a Scotch boy, and Wil- 
 berforce, are very good-natured, and we hiight have gone on very well had 
 
 not one , a Bristol fellow, come here. He is unanimously allowed 
 
 to be a queer fellow, and is generally characterized as a foolish boy, and 
 by most of us as an ill-natured one. In my learning I do Xenophon every 
 day, and twice a week the Odyssey, in which I am classed with Wilberforce, 
 whom all the boys allow to be very clever, very droll, and very impudent. 
 We do Latin verses twice a week, and I have not yet been laughed at, as 
 Wilberforce is the only one who hears them, being in my class. We are 
 exercised also once a week in English composition, and once in I^atin 
 composition, and letters of persons renowned in history to each other. 
 We get by heart Greek grammar or Virgil every evening. As for sermon- 
 writing, I have hitherto got off with credit, and I hope I shall keep up my 
 reputation. We have had the first meeting of our debating society the 
 other day, when a vote of censure was moved for upon Wilberforce, but 
 he getting up said, “ Mr. President, I beg to second the motion.” By this 
 means he escaped. The kindness which Mr. Preston shows me is very 
 great. He always assists me in what I cannot do, and takes me to walk 
 out with him every now and then. My room is a delightful little chamber, 
 which nobody can enter, as there is a trick about opening the door. I sit 
 like a king, with my writing-desk before me ; for, (would you believe it ?) 
 there is a writing-desk in my chest of drawers ; my books on one side, my 
 box of papers on the other, with my arm-chair and my candle ; for every 
 boy has a candlestick, snuffers, and extinguisher of his own. Being 
 pressed for room, I will conclude what I have to say to-morrow and ever 
 remain, 
 
 Your affectionate son, 
 
 Thomas B. Macaulay. 
 
i8oo-i8. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 27 
 
 The youth who on this occasion gave proof of his parentage by his 
 readiness and humor was Wilberforce’s eldest son. A fortnight later on, 
 the subject chosen for discussion was “ whether Lord Wellington or 
 Marlborough was the greatest general. A very warm debate is expected.” 
 
 Shelf ord: April 20, 1813. 
 
 My dear Mamma, — Pursuant to my promise I resume my pen to write 
 to you wdth the greatest pleasure. Since I wrote to you yesterday, I 
 have enjoyed myself more than I have ever done since I came to Shel- 
 ford. Mr. Hodson called about twelve o’ clock yesterday morning with 
 a pony for me, and took me with him to Cambridge. How surprised and 
 delighted was I to learn that I was to take a bed at Queen’s College in 
 Dean Milner’s apartments ! Wilberforce arrived soon after, and I spent 
 the day very agreeably, the Dean amusing me with the greatest kindness. 
 I slept there and came home on horseback to-day just in time for dinner. 
 The Dean has invited me to come again, and Mr. Preston has given his 
 consent. The books which I am at present employed in reading to myself 
 are, in English, Plutarch’s Lives, and Milner’s Ecclesiastical History ; in 
 French, Fenelon’s Dialogues of the Dead. I shall send you back the 
 volumes of Madame de Genlis’s pdits romans as soon as possible, and I 
 should be very much obliged for one or two more of them. Everything 
 now seems to feel the influence of spring. The trees are all out. The 
 lilacs are in bloom The days are long, and I feel that I should be happy 
 were it not that I want home. Even yesterday, when I felt more real 
 satisfaction than I have done for almost three months, I could not help 
 feeling a sort of uneasiness, which indeed I have always felt more or less 
 since I have been here, and which is the ohly thing that hinders me from 
 being perfectly happy. This day two months will put a period to my 
 uneasiness. 
 
 Fly fast the hours, and dawn th’ expected mom. 
 
 Every night when I lie down I reflect that another day is cut off from the 
 tiresome time of absence. 
 
 Your affectionate son, 
 
 Thomas B. Macaulay. 
 
 Shelford: April 26, 1813. 
 
 My dear Papa, — Since I have given you a detail of weekly duties, I 
 hope you will be pleased to be informed of my Sunday’s occupations. It 
 is quite a day of rest here, and I really look to it with pleasure through 
 the whole of the week. After breakfast we learn a chapter in the Greek 
 Testament, that is with the aid of our Bibles, and without doing it with a 
 dictionary like other lessons. We then go to church. We dine almost 
 as soon as we come back, and we are left to ourselves till afternoon 
 
28 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. 1. 
 
 church. During this time I employ myself in reading, and Mr. Preston 
 lends me any books for which I ask him, so that I am nearly as well off 
 in this respect as at home, except for one thing, which, though I believe 
 it is useful, is not very pleasant. I can only ask for one book at a time, 
 and cannot touch another till I have read it through. We then go to 
 church, and after we come back I read as before till tea-time. After tea 
 we write out the sermon. I cannot help thinking that Mr. Preston uses 
 all imaginable means to make us forget it, for he gives us a glass of wine 
 each on Sunday and on Sunday only, the very day when we want to have 
 all our faculties awake ; and some do literally go to sleep during the 
 sermon, and look rather silly when they wake. I, however, have not 
 fallen into this disaster. 
 
 Your affectionate son, 
 
 Thomas B. Macaulay. 
 
 The constant allusions to home politics and to the progress of the 
 Continental struggle, which occur throughout Zachary Macaulay’s cor- 
 respondence with his son, prove how freely, and on what an equal foot- 
 ing, the parent and child already conversed on questions of public in- 
 terest. The following letter is curious as a specimen of the eagerness 
 with which the boy habitually flung himself into the subjects which 
 occupied his father’s thoughts. The renewal of the East India Company’s 
 Charter was just then under the consideration of Parliament, and the 
 whole energies of the Evangelical party were exerted in order to signalize 
 the occasion by securing our Eastern dominions as a field for the spread 
 of Christianity. Petitions against the continued exclusion of missionaries 
 were in course of circulation throughout the island, the drafts of which 
 had been prepared by Mr. Macaulay. 
 
 Shelford: May 8, 1813. 
 
 My dear Papa, — As on Monday it will be out of my power to write, 
 since the examination subjects are to be given out then, I write to-day 
 instead to answer your kind and long letter. I am very much pleased 
 that the nation seems to take such interest in the introduction of Chris- 
 tianity into India. My Scotch blood begins to boil at the mention of the 
 1750 names that went up from a single country parish. Ask Mamma and 
 Selina if they do not now admit my argument with regard to the superior 
 advantages of the Scotch over the English peasantry. 
 
 As to my examination preparations, I will if you please give you a 
 sketch of my plan. On Monday, the day on which the examination sub- 
 jects are given out, I shall begin. My first performance will be my verses 
 and my declamation. I shall then translate the Greek and Latin. The 
 first time of going over I shall mark the passages which puzzle me, and 
 then return to them again. But I shall have also to rub up my Mathe* 
 
i8oo-i8. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 29 
 
 matics, (by the bye I begin the second book of Euclid to-day,) and t« 
 study whatever History may be appointed for the examination. I shall 
 not be able to avoid trembling, whether I know my subjects or not. I 
 am, however, intimidated at nothing but Greek. Mathematics suit my 
 taste, although before I came, I declaimed against them, and asserted 
 that, when I went to College, it should not be to Cambridge. I am 
 occupied with the hope of lecturing Mamma and Selina upon Mathematics, 
 as I used to do upon Heraldry, and to change Or, and Argent, and 
 Azure, and Gules, for squares, and points, and circles, and angles, and 
 triangles, and rectangles, and rhomboids, and in a word “all the pomp 
 and circumstance ” of Euclid. When I come home I shall, if my purse 
 is sufficient, bring a couple of rabbits for Selina and Jane. 
 
 Your affectionate son, 
 
 Thomas B. Macaulay. 
 
 It will be seen that this passing fondness for mathematics soon 
 changed into bitter disgust. 
 
 Clapham : May 28, 18x3. 
 
 My dear Tom, — I am Very happy to hear that you have so far advanced in 
 your different prize exercises, and with such little fatigue. I know you write 
 with great ease to yourself, and would rather write ten poems than prune 
 one : but remember that excellence is not attained at first. All your 
 pieces are much mended after a little reflection, and therefore take some 
 solitary walks, and think over each separate thing. Spare no time or 
 trouble to render each piece as perfect as you can, and then leave the 
 event without one anxious thought. I have always admired a saying of 
 one of the old heathen philosophers. When a friend was condoling with 
 him that he so well deserved of the gods, and yet that they did not shower 
 their favors on him, as on some others less worthy, he answered “ I will, 
 however, continue to deserve well of them.” So do you, my dearest. Do 
 your best because it is the will of God you should improve every faculty 
 to the utmost now, and strengthen the powers of your mind by exercise, 
 and then in future you will be better enabled to glorify God with all your 
 powers, and talents, be they of a more humble, or higher order, and you 
 shall not fail to be received into everlasting habitations, with the applaud- 
 ing voice of your Saviour, “ Well done, good and faithful servant.” You 
 see how ambitious your mother is. She must have the wisdom of her son 
 acknowledged before Angels, and an assembled world. My wishes can 
 soar no higher, and they can be content with nothing less for any of my 
 children. The first time I saw your face, I repeated those beautiful lines 
 of Watt’s cradle hymn, 
 
 Mayst thou live to know and fear Him, 
 
 Trust and love Him all thy days. 
 
 Then go dwell for ever near Him, 
 
 See His face, and sing His praise : — 
 
30 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. I. 
 
 and this is the substance of all my prayers for you. In less than a month 
 you and I shall, I trust, be rambling over the Common which now looks 
 quite beautiful. 
 
 I am ever, my dear Tom, 
 
 Your affectionate mother, 
 
 Selina Macaulay. 
 
 The commencement of the second half-year at school, perhaps the dark- 
 est season of a boy’s existence, was marked by an unusually severe and 
 prolonged attack of home-sickness. It would be cruel to insert the first 
 letter written after the return to Shelford from the summer holidays. That 
 which follows it is melancholy enough. 
 
 Shelford : August 14, 1813. 
 
 My dear Ma nma, — I must confess that I have been a little disappointed 
 at not receiving a letter from home to day. I hope, however, for one to- 
 morrow. My spirits are far more depressed by leaving home than they 
 were last half-year. Everything brings home to* my recollection. Every- 
 thing I read, or see, or hear, brings it to my mind. You told me I should 
 be happy when I once came here, but not an hour passes in which I do not 
 shed tears at thinking of home. Every hope, however unlikely to be re- 
 alized, affords me some small consolation. The morning on which I went, 
 you told me that possibly I might come home before the holidays. If you 
 can confirm this hope, believe me when I assure you that there is nothing 
 which I would not give for one instant’s sight of home. Tell me in your 
 next, expressly, if you can, whether or no there is any likelihood of my 
 coming home before the holidays. If I could gain Papa’s leave, I should 
 select my birthday on October 25 as the time which I should wish to 
 spend at that home which absence renders still dearer to me. I think I 
 see you sitting by Papa just after his dinner, reading my letter, and turning 
 to him, with an inquisitive glance, at the end of the paragraph. I think 
 too that I see his expressive shake of the head at it. O, may I be mis- 
 taken ! You cannot conceive what an alteration a favorable answer would 
 produce in me. If your approbation of my requests depends upon my 
 advancing in study, I will work like a cart-horse. If you should refuse it 
 you will deprive me of the most pleasing illusion which I ever experienced 
 in my life. Pray do not fail to write speedily. 
 
 Your dutiful and affectionate son, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 His father answered him in a letter of strong religious complexion, full 
 of feeling and even of beauty, but too long for reproduction in a biography 
 that is not his own. 
 
i8oo-i8. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 31 
 
 Mr. Macaulay’s deep anxiety for his son’s welfare sometimes induced 
 him to lend too ready an ear to busy-bodies who informed him of failings 
 in the boy which would have been treated more lightiy, and perhaps more 
 wisely, by a less devoted father. In the early months of 1814 he writes as 
 follows, after hearing the tale of some guest of Mr. Preston whom Tom 
 had no doubt contradicted at table in presence of the assembled house- 
 hold. 
 
 London : March 4, 1814. 
 
 My dear Tom, — In taking up my pen this morning a passage in Cow- 
 per almost involuntarily occurred to me. You will find it at length in his 
 Conversation. 
 
 Ye powers who rule the Tongue, if such there are, 
 
 And make colloquial happiness your care. 
 
 Preserve me from the thing I dread and hate, 
 
 A duel in the form of a debate. 
 
 Vociferated logic kills me quite. 
 
 A noisy man is always in the right. 
 
 You know how much such a quotation as this would fall in with my no- 
 tions — averse as I am to loud and noisy tones, and self-confident, over- 
 whelming, and yet perhaps very unsound arguments. And you will re- 
 member how anxiously I dwelt upon this point while you were at home. I 
 have been in hopes that this half-year would witness a great change in 
 you in this respect. My hopes, however, have been a little damped by 
 something w'hich I heard last week through a friend, who seemed to have 
 received an impression that you had gained a high distinction among the 
 young gentleman at Shelf ord by the loudness and vehemence of youi 
 tones. Now, my dear Tom, you cannot doubt that this gives me pain ; 
 and it does so not so much on account of the thing itself, as because I con- 
 sider it a pretty infallible test of the mind within. I do long and pray 
 most earnestly that the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit may be sub- 
 stituted for vehemence and self-confidence, and that you may be as much 
 distinguished for the former as ever you have been for the latter. It is a 
 school in which I am not ambitious that any child of mine should take a 
 high degree. 
 
 If the people of Shelford be as bad as you represent them in your let- 
 ters, what are they but an epitome of the world at large } Are they un- 
 grateful to you for your kindnesses ? Are they foolish, and wicked, and 
 wayward in the use of their faculties ? What is all this but what we our- 
 • selves are guilty of every day ? Consider how much in our case the guilt 
 of such conduct is aggravated by our superior knowledge. We shall not 
 have ignorance to plead in its extenuation, as many of the people of Shel- 
 ford may have. Now instead of railing at the people of Shelford, I think 
 
32 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. I. 
 
 the best thing which you and your schoolfellows could do would be to try 
 to reform them. You can buy and distribute useful and striking tracts, as 
 well as Testaments, among such as can read. The cheap Repository and 
 Religious Tract Society will furnish tracts suited to all descriptions of 
 persons : and for those who cannot read — why should you not institute a 
 Sunday school to be taught by yourselves, and in which appropriate re- 
 wards being given for good behavior, not only at school but through the 
 week, great effects of a moral kind might soon be produced ? I have ex- 
 hausted my paper and must answer the rest of your letter in a few days. 
 In the meantime 
 
 I am ever, your most affectionate father, 
 
 Zachary Macaulay. 
 
 A father’s prayers are seldom fulfilled to the letter. Many years were 
 to elapse before the son ceased to talk loudly and with confidence, and 
 the literature that he was destined to distribute through the world was of 
 another order from that which Mr. Macaulay here suggests. The answer, 
 which is addressed to the mother, affords a proof that the boy could 
 already hold his own. The allusions to the Christian Observer, of which 
 his father was editor, and to Dr. Herbert Marsh, with whom the ablest 
 pens of Clapham were at that moment engaged in hot and embittered 
 controversy, are thrown in with an artist’s hand. 
 
 Shelford : April ii, 1814, 
 
 My dear Mamma, — The news is glorious indeed. Peace! peace with a 
 Bourbon, with a descendant of Henri Quatre, with a prince who is bound 
 to us by all the ties of gratitude ! I have some hopes that it will be a 
 lasting peace, that the troubles of the last twenty years may make kings 
 and nations wiser. I cannot conceive a greater punishment to Buonaparte 
 than that which the allies have inflicted on him. How can his ambitious 
 mind support it ? All his great projects and schemes which once made 
 every throne in Europe tremble are buried in the solitude of an Italian 
 isle. How miraculously everything has been conducted ! We almost seem 
 to hear the Almighty saying to the fallen tyrant, “ For this cause have I 
 raised thee up, that I might show in thee My power.” 
 
 As I am in very great haste with this letter I shall have but little time 
 to write. I am sorry to hear that some nameless friend of Papa’s de- 
 nounced my voice as remarkably loud. I have accordingly resolved to 
 speak in a moderate key except on the undermentioned special occasions. 
 Imprimis^ when I am speaking at the same time with three others. 
 Secondly, when I am praising the Christian Observer. Thirdly, when I 
 am praising Mr. Preston or his sisters, I may be allowed to speak in my 
 loudest voice, that they may hear me. 
 
i8oo-i8. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 33 
 
 I saw to-day that greatest of churchmen, that pillar of Orthodoxy, that 
 true friend to the Liturgy, that mortal enemy to the Bible Society, — Herbert 
 Marsh, D. D. Professor of Divinity on Lady Margaret’s foundation. I 
 stood looking at him for about ten minutes, and shall always continue to 
 maintain that he is a very ill-favored gentleman as far as outward appear- 
 ance is concerned. I am going this week to spend a day or two at Dean 
 Milner’s, where I hope, nothing unforeseen preventing, to see you in about 
 two months’ time. 
 
 Ever your affectionate son, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 In the course of the year 1814 Mr. Preston removed his establishment 
 to Aspenden Hall near Buntingford, in Hertfordshire : a large old- 
 fashioned mansion, standing amidst extensive shrubberries and a pleasant 
 undulating domain sprinkled with fine timber. The house has been rebuilt 
 within the last twenty years, and nothing remains of it except the dark oak 
 panelling of the hall in which the scholars made their recitations on the 
 annual speech day. The very pretty church, which stands hard by within 
 the grounds, was undergoing restoration in 1873 • time the 
 
 only existing portion of the former internal fittings is the family pew, in 
 which the boys sat on drowsy summer afternoons, doing what they could 
 to keep their impressions of the second sermon distinct from their 
 reminiscences of the morning. Here Macaulay spent four most industrious 
 years, doing less and less in the class-room as time went on, but enjoying 
 the rare advantage of studying Greek and Latin by the side of such a 
 scholar as Malden. The two companions were equally matched in age 
 and classical attainments, and at the university maintained a rivalry so 
 generous as hardly to deserve the name. Each of the pupils had his own 
 chamber, which the others were forbidden to enter under the penalty of a 
 shilling fine. This prohibition was in general not very strictly observed, 
 but the tutor had taken the precaution of placing Macaulay in the room 
 next his own : a proximity which rendered the position of an intruder so 
 exceptionally dangerous that even Malden could not remember having 
 once passed his friend’s threshold during the whole of their stay at As- 
 penden. 
 
 In this seclusion, removed from the delight of family intercourse, (the 
 only attraction strong enough to draw him from his books, ) the boy read 
 widely, unceasingly, more than rapidly. The secret of his immense 
 acquirements lay in two invaluable gifts of nature, — an unerring memory, 
 and the capacity for taking in at a glance the contents of a printed page. 
 During the first part of his life he remembered whatever caught his fancy 
 without going through the process of consciously getting it by heart. As 
 a child, during one of the numerous seasons when the social duties devolved 
 upon Mr. Macaxilay, he accompanied his father on an afternoon call, and 
 VoL. I.-3 
 
34 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. r 
 
 found on a table the Lay of the Last Minstrel, which he had never before 
 met with. He kept himself quiet with his prize while the elders were 
 talking, and on his return home sat 4own upon his mother’s bed, and 
 repeated to her as many cantos as she had the patience or the strength to 
 listen to. At one period of his life he was known to say that, if by some 
 miracle of Vandalism all copies of Paradise Lost and the Pilgrims’s Pro- 
 gress were destroyed off the face of the earth, he would undertake to 
 reproduce them both from recollections whenever a revival of learning 
 came. In 1813, while waiting in a Cambridge coffee-room for a postchaise 
 which was to take him to his school, he picked up a county newspaper 
 containing two such specimens of provincial poetical talent as in those 
 days might be read in the corner of any weekly journal. One piece was 
 headed “ Reflections of an Exile,” while the other was a trumpery parody 
 on the Welsh ballad “Arhydynos,” referring to some local anecdote 
 of an ostler whose nose had been bitten off by a filly. He looked them 
 once through, and never gave them a thought for forty years, at the end 
 of which time he repeated them both without missing, or, as far as he 
 knew, changing, a single word. 
 
 As he grew older, this wonderful power became impaired so far that 
 getting by rote the compositions of others was no longer an involuntary 
 process. He has noted in his Lucan the several occasions on which he 
 committed to memory his favorite passages of an author whom he regarded 
 as unrivalled among rhetoricians, and the dates refer to the year 1836, 
 when he had just turned the middle point of life. During his last years, 
 at his dressing-table in the morning, he would learn by heart one of the 
 little idylls in which Martial expatiates on the enjoyments of a Spanish 
 country-house or a villa-farm in the environs of Rome — those delicious 
 morsels of verse which (considering the sense that modern ideas attach to 
 the name) it is an injustice to class under the head of epigrams. 
 
 Macaulay’s extraordinary faculty of assimilating printed matter at first 
 sight remained the same through life. To the end he read books faster 
 than other people skimmed them, and skimmed them as fast as anyone 
 else could turn the leaves. “ He seemed to read through the skin,” said 
 one who had often watched the operation. And this speed was not in his 
 case obtained at the expense of accuracy. Anything which had once ap- 
 peared in type, from the highest effort of genius down to the most detes- 
 table trash that ever consumed ink and paper manufactured for better 
 things, had in his eyes an authority which led him to look upon misquota- 
 tion as a species of minor sacrilege. 
 
 With these endowments, sharpened by an insatiable curiosity, from 
 his fouiteenth year onward he was permitted to roam almost at will over 
 the whole expanse of literature. He composed little beyond his school 
 exercises, which themselves bear signs of having been written in a per- 
 
i8oo-i8. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 35 
 
 functory manner. At this period he had evidently no heart in anything 
 but his reading. Before leaving Shelford for Aspenden he had already 
 invoked the epic muse for the last time. 
 
 Arms and the man I sing who strove in vain 
 To save green Erin from a foreign reign. 
 
 The man was Roderic, king of Connaught, whom he got tired of singing 
 before he had well completed two books of the poem. Thenceforward he 
 appears never to have struck his lyre except in the first enthusiasm 
 aroused by the intelligence of some favorable turn of fortune on the Con- 
 tinent. The flight of Napoleon from Russia was celebrated in a “ Pinda- 
 ric Ode ” duly distributed into strophes and antistrophes ; and, when the 
 allies entered Paris, the school put his services into requisition to peti- 
 tion for a holiday in honor of the event. He addressed his tutor in a 
 short poem which begins with a few sonorous and effective couplets, 
 grows more and more like the parody on Fitzgerald in Rejected Addresses, 
 and ends in a peroration of which the intention is unquestionably mock- 
 heroic : 
 
 Oh, by the glorious posture of affairs, 
 
 By the enormous price that Omnium bears. 
 
 By princely Bourbon’s late recovered Crown, 
 
 And by Miss Fanny’s safe return from town, 
 
 Oh, do not thou, and thou alone, refuse. 
 
 To show thy pleasure at this glorious news ! 
 
 Touched by the mention of his sister, Mr. Preston yielded : and young 
 Macaulay never turned another verse except at the bidding of his school- 
 master, until, on the eve of his departure for Cambridge ; he wrote be- 
 tween three and four hundred lines of a drama, entitled “Don Fernando,” 
 marked by force and fertility of diction, but somewhat too artificial to be 
 worthy of publication under a name such as his. Much about the same 
 time he communicated to Malden the commencement of a burlesque 
 poem on the story of Anthony Babington, who, by the part that he took 
 in the plots against the life of Queen Elizabeth, had given the family a 
 connection with English history which however questionable, was in 
 Macaulay’s view better than none. 
 
 Each, says the proverb, has his taste. ’Tis true. 
 
 Marsh loves a controversy ; Coates a play ; 
 
 Bennet a felon ; Lewis Way a Jew ; 
 
 The Jew the silver spoons of Lewis Way. 
 
 The Gipsy Poetry, to own the truth. 
 
 Has been my love through childhood and in youth. 
 
 It is perhaps as well that the project to all appearance stopped with the 
 first stanza, which in its turn was probably written for the sake of a single 
 
36 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. I. 
 
 line. The young man had a better use for his time than to spind it in 
 producing frigid imitations of Beppo. 
 
 He was not unpopular among his fellow-pupils, who regarded him 
 with pride and admiration, tempered by the compassion which his utter 
 inability to play at any sort of game would have excited in every school 
 private or public alike. He troubled himself very little about the opinion 
 of those by whom he was surrounded at Aspenden. It required the 
 crowd and the stir of a university to call forth the social qualities which 
 he possessed in so large a measure. The tone of his correspondence 
 during these years sufficiently indicates that he lived almost exclusively 
 among books. His letters, which had hitherto been very natural and 
 pretty, began to smack of the library, and please less than those written 
 in early boyhood. His pen was overcharged with the metaphors and 
 phrases of other men, and it was not till maturing powers had enabled him 
 to master and arrange the vast masses of literature which filled his mem- 
 ory that his native force could display itself freely through the medium of 
 a style which was all his own. In 1815 he began a formal literary corre- 
 spondence, after the taste of the previous century, with Mr. Hudson, a 
 gentleman in the Examiner’s office of the East India House. 
 
 Aspenden Hall : Augustas, 1815. 
 
 Dear Sir, — The Spectator observes, I believe in his first paper, that 
 we can never read an author with much zest unless we are acquainted 
 with his situation. I feel the same in my epistolary correspondence ; and 
 supposing that in this respect we may be alike, I will just tell you my 
 condition. Imagine a house in the middle of pretty large grounds, sur- 
 rounded by palings. These I never pass. You may therefore suppose 
 that I resemble the Hermit of Parnell. 
 
 As yet by books and swains the world he knew. 
 
 Nor knew if books and swains report it true. 
 
 If you substitute newspapers and visitors for books and swains you may 
 form an idea of what I know of the present state of things. Write to me 
 as one who is ignorant of every event except political occurrences. These 
 I learn regularly ; but if Lord Byron were to publish melodies or roman- 
 ces, or Scott metrical tales without number, I should never see them or 
 perhaps hear of them, till Christmas. Retirement of this kind, though it 
 precludes me from studying the works of the hour, is very favorable for 
 the employment of “ holding high converse with the mighty dead.” 
 
 I know not whether “ peeping at the world through the loopholes of 
 retreat ” be the best way of forming us for engaging in its busy and act- 
 ive scenes. I am sure it is not a way to my taste. Poets may talk of the 
 beauties of nature, the enjoyments of a country life, and rural innocence : 
 
i8oo-i8. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 37 
 
 but there is another kind of life which, though unsung by bards, is yet to 
 me infinitely superior to the dull uniformity of country life. London is 
 the place for me. Its smoky atmosphere and its muddy river charm me 
 more than the pure air of Hertfordshire, and the crystal currents of the 
 river Rib. Nothing is equal to the splendid varieties of London life, 
 “ the fine flow of London talk,” and the dazzling brilliancy of London 
 spectacles. Such are my sentiments, and, if ever I publish poetry, it 
 shall not be pastoral. Nature is the last goddess to whom my devoirs 
 shall be paid. 
 
 Yours most faithfully, 
 
 Thomas B. MacaulaY. 
 
 This votary of city life was still two months short of completing his 
 fifteenth year ! 
 
 Aspenden Hall : August 23, 1815. 
 
 My dear Mamma, — You perceive already in so large a sheet and so small 
 a hand the promise of a long, a very long, letter ; longer, as I intend it, 
 than all the letters which you send in a half year together. I have again 
 beguij my life of sterile monotony, unvarying labor, the dull return of dull 
 exercises in dull uniformity of tediousness. But do not think that I com- 
 plain. 
 
 My mind to me a kingdom is. 
 
 Such perfect joy therein I find 
 As doth exceed all other bliss 
 That God or nature hath assigned. 
 
 Assure yourself that I am philosopher enough to be happy, I meant to 
 say not particularly unhappy, in solitude ; but man is an animal made for 
 society. I was gifted with reason, not to speculate in Aspenden Park, 
 but to interchange ideas with some person who can understand me. This 
 is what I miss at Aspenden. There are several here who possess both 
 taste and reading, who can criticise Lord Byron and Southey with much 
 tact and “savoir du metier.” But here it is not the fashion to think. 
 Hear what I have read since I came here. Hear and wonder ! I have 
 in the first place read Boccacio’s Decameron, a tale of an hundred cantos. 
 He is a wonderful writer. Whether he tells in humorous or familiar 
 strains the follies of the silly Calandrino, or the witty pranks of Buffalmac- 
 co and Bruno, or sings in loftier numbers 
 
 Dames, knights, and arms, and love, the feats that spring 
 From courteous minds and generous faith, — 
 
 or lashes with a noble severity and fearless independence the vices of the 
 monks and the priestcraft of the established religion, he is always elegant, 
 ■ amusing, and what pleases and surprises most in a writer of so unpolished 
 
38 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. I. 
 
 an age, strikingly delicate and chastised. I prefer him infinitely to Chau- 
 cer. If you wish for a good specimen of Boccacio, as soon as you have 
 finished my letter (which will come, I suppose, by dinner-time), send Jane 
 up to the library for Dryden’s poems, and you will find among them sev- 
 eral translations from Boccacio, particularly one entitled “Theodore and 
 Honoria.” 
 
 But truly admirable as the bard of Florence is, I must not permit my- 
 self to give him more than his due share of my letter. I have likewise 
 read Gil Bias, with unbounded admiration of the abilities of Ix Sage. 
 Malden and I have read Thalaba together, and are proceeding to the 
 Curse of Kehama. Do not think, however, that I am neglecting more 
 important studies than either Southey or Boccacio. I have read the great- 
 er part of the History of James L, and Mrs. Montague’s essay on Shak- 
 speare, and a great deal of Gibbon. I never devoured so many books in 
 a fortnight. John Smith, Bob Hankinson, and I, went over the Hebrew 
 Melodies together. I certainly think far better of them than we used to 
 do at Clapham. Papa may laugh, and indeed he did laugh me out of my 
 taste at Clapham ; but I think that there is a great deal of beauty in the 
 first melody “ She walks in beauty,” though indeed who it is that walks in 
 beauty is not very exactly defined. My next letter shall contain a produc- 
 tion of my muse entitled “An Inscription for the Column of Waterloo,” 
 which is to be shown to Mr. Preston to-morrow. What he may think of it 
 I do not know. But I am like my favorite Cicero about my owm produc- 
 tions. It is all one to me what others think of them. I never like them 
 a bit less for being disliked by the rest of mankind. Mr. Preston has de- 
 sired me to bring him up this evening two or three subjects for a Declama- 
 tion. Those which I have selected are as follows : ist, a speech in the 
 character of Lord Coningsby impeaching the Earl of Oxford ; 2d, an 
 essay on the utility of standing armies ; 3d, an essay on the policy of Great 
 Britain with regard to continental possessions. I conclude with sending 
 my love to Papa, Selina, Jane, John, (“but he is not there,” as Fingal 
 pathetically says, when in enumerating his sons who should accompany 
 him to the chase he inadvertently mentions the dead Ryno,) Henry, Fan- 
 ny, Hannah, Margaret, and Charles. Valete. 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 This exhaustive enumeration of his brothers and sisters invites attention 
 to that home where he reigned supreme. Lady Trevelyan thus describes 
 their life at Clapham : “ I think that my father’s strictness was a good 
 counterpoise to the perfect worship of your uncle by the rest of the family. 
 To us he was an object of passionate love and devotion. Tons he could 
 do no wrong. His unruffled sweetness of temper, his unfailing flow of 
 spirits, his amusing talk, all made his presence so delightful that his wish- 
 
i8cx)-i8. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 39 
 
 es and his tastes were our law. He hated strangers, and his notion of 
 perfect happiness was to see us all working round him while he read aloud, 
 a novel, and then to walk all together on the Common, or, if it rained, to 
 have a frightfully noisy game of hide and seek. I have often wondered 
 how our mother could ever have endured our noise in her little house. My 
 earliest recollections speak of the intense happiness of the holidays, begin- 
 ning with finding him in Papa’s room in the morning ; the awe at the idea 
 of his having reached home in the dark after we were in bed, and the Satur- 
 nalia which at once set in ; — no lessons ; nothing but fun and merriment 
 for the whole six weeks. In the year i8i6wewere at Brighton for the 
 summer holidays, and he read to us Sir Charles Grandison. It was always 
 a habit in our family to read aloud every evening. Among the books se- 
 lected I can recall Clarendon, Burnet, Shakspeare (a great treat when my 
 mother took the volume). Miss Edgeworth, Mackenzie’s Lounger and 
 Mirror, and, as a standing dish, the Quarterly and the Edinburgh Reviews. 
 Poets too, especially Scott and Crabbe, were constantly chosen. Poetry 
 and novels, except during Tom’s holidays, were forbidden in the daytime, 
 and stigmatised as “ drinking drams in the morning.” 
 
 Morning or evening, Mr. Macaulay disapproved of novel-reading : but, 
 too indulgent to insist on having his own way in any but essential matters, 
 he lived to see himself the head of a family in which novels were more 
 read and better remembered than in any household of the U nited Kingdom. 
 The first warning of the troubles that were in store for him was an anony- 
 mous letter addressed to him as editor of the Christian Observer, defend- 
 ing works of fiction, and eulogizing Fielding and Smollett. This he in- 
 cautiously inserted in his periodical, and brought down upon himself the 
 most violent objurgations from scandalized contributors, one of whom in- 
 formed the public that he had committed the obnoxious number to the 
 flames, and should thenceforward cease to take in the Magazine. The 
 editor replied with becoming spirit, although by that time he was aware 
 that the communication, the insertion of which in an unguarded moment 
 had betrayed him into a controversy for which he had so little heart, had 
 proceeded from the pen of his son. Such was young Macaulay’s first ap- 
 pearance in print, if we except the index to the thirteenth volume of the 
 Christian Observer, which he drew up during his Christmas holidays of 
 1814. The place where he performed his earliest literary work can be 
 identified with tolerable certain'/. He enjoyed the eldest son^s privilege 
 of a separate bedchamber ; and there, at the front window on the top story, 
 furt^iest from the Common- and nearest to London, we can fancy him sit- 
 ting, apart from the crowded play-room, keeping himself warm as best he 
 might, and travelling steadily through the blameless pages the contents of 
 which it was his task to classify for the convenience of posterity. 
 
 Lord Macaulay used to remark that Thackeray introduced too much 
 
40 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. I. 
 
 of the Dissenting element into his picture of Clapham in the opening 
 chapters of the Newcomes. The leading people of the place, with the 
 exception of Mr. William Smith, the Unitarian member of Parliament, 
 were one and all staunch Churchmen; though they readily worked in 
 concert with those religious communities which held in the main the same 
 views and pursued the same objects as themselves. Old John Thornton, 
 the earliest of the Evangelical magnates, when he went on his annual 
 tour to the South Coast or the Scotch mountains, would take with him 
 some Independent or Wesleyan minister who was in need of a holiday; 
 and his followers in the next generation had the most powerful motives 
 for maintaining the alliance which he had inaugurated. They could not 
 neglect such doughty auxiliaries in the memorable war which they waged 
 against cruelty, ignorance, and irreligion, and in their less momentous 
 skirmishes with the votaries of the stage, the racecourse, and the card- 
 table. Without the aid of nonconformist sympathy, and money, and 
 oratory, and organization, their operations would have been doomed to 
 certain failure. The cordial relations entertained with the members of 
 other denominations by those among whom his youth was passed did 
 much to indoctrinate Macaulay with a lively and genuine interest in sec- 
 tarian theology. He possessed a minute acquaintance, very rare among 
 men of letters, with the origin and growth of the various forms of faith 
 and practice which have divided the allegiance of his countrymen ; not 
 the least important of his qualifications for writing the history of an epoch 
 when the national mind gave itself to religious controversy even more 
 largely than has been its wont 
 
 The method of education in vogue among the Clapham families was 
 simple without being severe. In the spacious gardens, and the commodi- 
 ous houses of an architecture already dating a century back, which sur- 
 rounded the Common, there was plenty of freedom, and good fellowship, 
 and reasonable enjoyment for young and old ' alike. Here again Thack- 
 eray has not done justice to a society that united the mental culture and 
 the intellectual activity which are developed by the neighborhood of a 
 great capital with the wholesome quiet and the homely ways of country 
 life. Hobson and Brian Newcome are not fair specimens of the effect of 
 Clapham influences upon the second generation. There can have been 
 little that was narrow, and nothing vulgar, in a training which produced 
 Samuel Wilberforce, and Sir James Stephen, and Charles and Robert 
 Grant, and Lord Macaulay. The plan on which children were brought 
 up in the chosen home of the Low Church party, during its golden age, 
 will bear comparison with systems about which, in their day, the world 
 was supposed never to tire of hearing, although their ultimate results 
 have been small indeed. 
 
 It is easy to trace whence the great bishop and the great writer derived 
 
i8oo-i8. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 41 
 
 their immense industry. Working came as naturally as walking to sons 
 who could not remember a time when their fathers idled, “Mr. Wilber- 
 force and Mr. Babington have never appeared downstairs lately, except 
 to take a hasty dinner, and for half-an-hour after we have supped. The 
 slave-trade now occupies them nine hours daily. Mr. Babington told me 
 last night that he had fourteen hundred folio pages to read, to detect the 
 contradictions, and to collect the answers which corroborate Mr. Wilber- 
 force’s assertions in his speeches. These, with more than two thousand 
 pages to be abridged, must be done within a fortnight, and they talk of 
 sitting up one night in every week to accomplish it. The two friends 
 begin to look very ill, but they are in excellent spirits, and at this moment 
 I hear them laughing at some absurd questions in the examination.” 
 Passages such as this are scattered broadcast through the correspondence 
 of Wilberforce and his friends. Fortitude, and diligence, and self-control, 
 and all that makes men good and great, cannot be purchased from pro- 
 fessional educators. Charity is not the only quality which begins at 
 home. It is throwing away money to spend a thousand a year on the 
 teaching of three boys if they are to return from school only to find the 
 older members of their family intent on amusing themselves at any cost 
 of time and trouble, or sacrificing self-respect in ignoble efforts to struggle 
 into a social grade above their own. The child will never place his aims 
 high and pursue them steadily unless the parent has taught him what 
 energy and elevation of purpose mean not less by example than by pre- 
 cept 
 
 In that company of indefatigable workers none equalled the labors of 
 Zachary Macaulay. Even now, when he has been in his grave for more 
 than the third of a century, it seems almost an act of disloyalty to record 
 the public services of a man who thought that he had done less than 
 nothing if his exertions met with praise, or even with recognition. The 
 nature and value of those services may be estimated from the terms in 
 which a very competent judge, who knew how to weigh his words, spoke 
 of the part which Mr. Macaulay played in one only of his numerous en- 
 terprises, — the suppression of slavery and the slave-trade. “ That God 
 had called him into being to wage war with this gigantic evil became his 
 immutable conviction. During forty successive years he was ever bur- 
 dened with this thought. It was the subject of his visions by day and of 
 his dreams by night. To give them reality he labored as men labor for 
 the honors of a profession or for the subsistence of their children. In 
 that service he sacrificed all that a man may lawfully sacrifice — health, 
 fortune, repose, favor, and celebrity. He died a poor man, though wealth 
 was within his reach. He devoted himself to the severest toil, amidst 
 allurements to luxuriate in the delights of domestic and social intercourse, 
 such as few indeed have encountered. He silently permitted some to 
 
42 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. I. 
 
 usurp his hardly-earned honors, that no selfish controversy might dese- 
 crate their common cause. He made no effort to obtain the praises of 
 the world, though he had talents to command, and a temper peculiarly 
 disposed to enjoy them. He drew upon himself the poisoned shafts of 
 calumny, and, while feeling their sting as generous spirits only can feel it, 
 never turned a single step aside from his path to propitiate or to crush 
 the slanderers.” 
 
 Zachary Macaulay was no common fanatic. It is difficult to under- 
 stand when it was that he had time to pick up his knowledge of general 
 literature, or how he made room for it in a mind so crammed with facts 
 and statistics relating to questions of the day that when Wilberforce was 
 at a loss for a piece of information he used to say : “ Let us look it out 
 in Macaulay.” His private papers, which are one long register of un- 
 broken toil, do nothing to clear up the problem. Highly cultivated, 
 however, he certainly was, and his society was in request with many who 
 cared little for the objects which to him were everything^ That he should 
 have been esteemed and regarded by Lord Brougham, Francis Horner, 
 and Sir James Mackintosh seems natural enough : but there is something 
 surprising in finding him in friendly and frequent intercourse with some 
 of his most distinguished French contemporaries. Chateaubriand, Sis- 
 mondi, the Due de Broglie, Madame de Stael, and Dumont, the inter- 
 preter of Bentham, corresponded with him freely in their own language, 
 which he wrote to admiration. The gratification that his foreign acquain- 
 tance felt at the sight of his letters would have been unalloyed but for 
 the pamphlets and blue-books by which they were too often accompanied. 
 It is not difficult to imagine the feelings of a Parisian on receiving two 
 quarto volumes, with the postage only in part pre-paid, containing the 
 proceedings of a Committee on Apprenticeship in the West Indies, and 
 including the twelve or fifteen thousand questions and answers on which 
 the Report was founded. It would be hard to meet with a more perfect 
 sample of the national politeness than the passage in which M. Dumont 
 acknowledges one of the less formidable of these unwelcome gifts. 
 “ Mon cher Ami, — Je ne laisserai pas partir Mr. Inglis sans le charger 
 de quelques lignes pour vous, afin de vous remercier du Christian Ob- 
 server que vous avez eu la bonte de m’envoyer. Vous savez que j’ai a 
 great taste for it ; mais il faut vous avouer une triste verite, e’est que je 
 manque absolument de loisir pour le lire. Ne m’en envoyez plus, car je 
 me sens peine d’avoir sous les yeux de si bonnes choses dont je n’ai pas 
 le temps de me nourrir.” 
 
 “ In the year 1817,” Lady Trevelyan writes, “ my parents made a 
 tour in Scotland with your uncle. Brougham gave them a letter to 
 Jeffrey, who hospitably entertained them, but your uncle said that Jeffrey 
 was not at all at his ease, and was apparently so terrified at mv father’s 
 
i8oo-i8. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 43 
 
 religious reputation that he seemed afraid to utter a joke. Your uncle 
 complained grievously that they travelled from manse to manse, and al- 
 ways came in for very long prayers and expositions. I think, with all the 
 love and reverence with which your uncle regarded his father’s memory, 
 there mingled a shade of bitterness that he had not met quite the encour- 
 agement and appreciation from him which he received from others. But 
 such a son as he was ! Never a disrespectful word or look, — always anx- 
 ious to please and amuse, and at last he was the entire stay and support 
 of his father’s declining years. 
 
 “ Y our uncle was of opinion that the course pursued by his father to- 
 wards him during his youth was not judicious. But here I am inclined to 
 disagree with hhn. There was no want of proof of the estimation in 
 which his father held him, corresponding with him from a very early age 
 as with a man, conversing with him freely, and writing of him most fond- 
 ly. But, in the desire to keep down any conceit, there was certainly in 
 my father a great outward show of repression and depreciation. Then 
 the faults of your uncle were peculiarly those that my father had no pa- 
 tience with. Himself precise in his arrangements, writing a beautiful hand, 
 particular about neatness, very accurate and calm, detesting strong expres- 
 sions, and remarkably self-controlled — while his eager impetuous boy, 
 careless of his dress, always forgetting to wash his hands and brush his 
 hair, writing an execrable hand, and folding his letters with a great blotch 
 for a seal, was a constant care and irritation. Many letters to your uncle 
 have I read on these subjects. Sometimes a specimen of the proper way 
 of folding a letter is sent him, (those were the sad days before envelopes 
 were known,) and he is desired to repeat the experiment till he succeeds. 
 General Macaulay’s fastidious nature led him to take my father’s line 
 regarding your uncle, and my youthful soul was often vexed by the con- 
 stant reprimands for venial transgressions. But the great sin was the 
 idle reading, which was a thorn in my father’s side that never was ex- 
 tracted. In truth, he really acknowledged to the full your uncle’s abili- 
 ties, and felt that if he could only add his own morale, his unwearied in- 
 dustry, his power of concentrating his energies on the work in hand, his 
 patient pains-taking calmness, to the genius and fervor which his son 
 possessed, then a being might be formed who could regenerate the world. 
 Often in later years I have heard my father, after expressing an earnest 
 desire for some object, exclaim ‘If I had only Tom’s power of speech! ’ 
 But he should have remembered that all gifts are not given to one, and 
 that perhaps such a union as he coveted is even impossible. Parents 
 must be content to see their children walk in their own path, too happy 
 if through any road they attain the same end, the living for the glory of 
 God and the good of man.” 
 
 From a marvellously early date in Macaulay’s life public affairs divided 
 
44 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. I. 
 
 his thoughts with literature, and, as he grew to manhood, began more 
 and more to divide his aspirations. His father’s house was much used as 
 a centre of consultation by members of Parliament who lived in the 
 suburbs on the Surrey side of London, and the boy could hardly have 
 had more incessant, and assuredly not more edifying, political talk if 
 he had been brought up in Downing Street. The future advocate and 
 interpreter of Whig principles was not reared in the Whig faith. At- 
 tached friends of Pitt, who in personal conduct and habits of life certainly 
 came nearer to their standard than his great rival, and warmly in favor of 
 a war which to their imagination never entirely lost its early character of 
 an internecine contest with atheism, the Evangelicals in the House of 
 Commons for the most part acted with the Tories. But it may be doubt- 
 ed whether in the long run their party would not have been better without 
 them. By the zeal,* the munificence, the laborious activity with which 
 they pursued their religious and semi-religious enterprises they did more 
 to teach the world how to get rid of existing institutions than by their 
 votes and speeches at Westminster they contributed to preserve them. 
 With their May meetings, and African institutions, and Anti-slavery Re- 
 porters, and their subscriptions of tens of thousands of pounds, aivl 
 their petitions bristling with hundreds of thousands of signatures, and all 
 the machinery for informing opinion and bringing it to bear on ministers 
 and legislators which they did so much to perfect and even to invent, they 
 can be regarded as nothing short of the pioneers and fuglemen of that 
 system of popular agitation which forms a leading feature in our internal 
 history during the past half-century. At an epoch when the Cabinet 
 
 • Macaulay, writing to one of his sisters in 1844, says ; “ I think Stephen’s article on 
 the Clapham Sect the best thing he ever did. I do not think with you that the Clap- 
 hamites were men too obscure for such delineation. The truth is that from that little knot of 
 men emanated all the Bible Societies and almost all the Missionary Societies in the world. 
 The whole organization of the Evangelical party was their work. The share which they 
 had in providing means for the education of the people was great. They were really the 
 destroyers of the slave-trade and of slavery. Many of those whom Stephen describes 
 were public men of the greatest weight. Lord Teignmouth governed India at Calcutta, Grant 
 governed India in Leadenhall Street. Stephen’s father was Perceval’s right-hand man 
 in the House of Conunons. It is needless to speak of Wilberforce. As to Simeon, if you knew 
 what his authority and influence were, and how they extended from Cambridge to the most 
 remote corners of England, you would allow that his real sway in the Church was far greater 
 than that of any primate. Thornton, to my surprise, thinks the passage about my father 
 unfriendly. I defended Stephen. The truth is that he asked my permission to draw a por- 
 trait of my father for the Edinburgh Review. I told him that I had only to beg that he 
 would not give it the air of a puff : a thing which, for myself and for my friends, I dread 
 far more than any attack. My influence over the Review is so well known that a mere 
 eulogy of my father appearing in that work would only call forth derision. I therefore am 
 really glad that Stephen has introduced into his sketch some little characteristic traits 
 which, in themselves, were not beauties.” 
 
i8oo-i8. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 45 
 
 which they supported was so averse to manifestations of political senti- 
 ment that a Reformer who spoke his mind in England was seldom long 
 out of prison, and in Scotland .ran a very serious risk of transportation, 
 Toryism sat oddly enough on men who spent their days in the committee- 
 room and their evenings on the platform, and each of whom belonged to 
 more Associations combined for the purpose of influencing Parliament 
 than he could count on the fingers of both his hands. 
 
 There was something incongruous in their position, and as time went 
 on they began to perceive the incongruity. They gradually learned that 
 measures dear to philanthropy might be expected to result from the advent 
 to power of their opponents, while their own chief too often failed them at 
 a pinch oul of what appeared to them an excessive and humiliating defer- 
 ence to interest powerfully represented on the benches behind him. Their 
 eyes were first opened by Pitt’s change of attitude with regard to the ob- 
 ject that was next all their hearts. There is something almost pathetic in 
 the contrast between two entries in Wilberforce’s diary, of which the 
 first has become classical, but the second is not so generally known. In 
 1787, referring to the movement against the slave-trade, he says: “Pitt 
 recommended me to undertake its conduct, as a subject suited to my char- 
 acter and talents. At length, I well remember, after a conversation in the 
 open air at the root of an old tree at Holwood, just above the vale of Kes- 
 ton, I resolved to give notice on a fit occasion in the House of Commons 
 of my intention to bring the subject forward.” Twelve years later Mr. 
 Henry Thornton had brought in a bill for confining the trade within cer- 
 tain limits upon the coast of Africa. “ Upon the second reading of this 
 bill,” writes Wilberforce, “ Pitt coolly put off the debate when I had mani- 
 fested a design of answering P.’s speech, and so left misrepresentations 
 without a word. William Smith’s anger, — Henry Thornton’s coolness, — 
 deep impression on me, but conquered I hope in a Christian way,” 
 
 Besides instructing their successors in the art of carrying on a popular 
 movement, Wilberforce and his followers had a lesson to teach the value 
 of which not so many perhaps will be disposed to question. In public life, 
 as in private, they habitually had the fear of God before their eyes. A 
 mere handful as to number, and in average talent very much on a level 
 with the mass of their colleagues ; counting in their ranks no orator, or 
 minister, or boroughmonger, they commanded the ear of the House, and 
 exerted on its proceedings an influence the secret of which those who have 
 studied the Parliamentary history of the period find it only too easy to 
 understand. To refrain from gambling and ball-giving, to go much to 
 church and never to the theatre, was not more at variance with the social 
 customs of the day than it was the exception in the political world to meet 
 with men who looked to the facts of the case and not to the wishes of the 
 minister, and who before going into the lobby required to be obliged with 
 
46 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. 1. 
 
 a reason instead of with a job. Confidence and respect, and, (what in the 
 House of Commons is their unvarying accompaniment,) power, were 
 gradually, and to a great extent involuntarily, accorded to this group of 
 members. They were not addicted to crotchets, nor to the obtrusive and 
 unseasonable assertion of conscientious scruples. The occasions on which 
 they made proof of independence and impartiality were such as justified 
 and dignified their temporary renunciation of party ties. They interfered 
 with decisive effect in the debates on the great scandals of Lord Melville 
 and the Duke of York, and in more than one financial or commercial con- 
 troversy that deeply concerned the national interests, of which the ques- 
 tion of the retaining the Orders in Council was a conspicuous instance. 
 A boy who, like young Macaulay, was admitted to the intimacy, of politi- 
 cians such as these, and was accustomed to hear matters of state discussed 
 exclusively from a public point of view without any afterthought of ambi- 
 tion, or jealousy, or self-seeking, could hardly fail to grow up a patriotic 
 and disinterested man. “ What is far better and more important than all 
 is this, that I believe Macaulay to be incorruptible. You might lay rib- 
 bons, stars, garters, w'ealth, titles before him in vain. He has an honest 
 genuine love of his country, and the world would not bribe him to neglect 
 her interests.” Thus said Sydney Smith, who of all his real friends was 
 the least inclined to over-praise him. 
 
 The memory of Thornton and Babington, and the other worthies of their 
 day and set, is growing dim, and their names already mean little in our 
 ears. Part of their work was so thoroughly done that the world, as its 
 wont is, has long ago taken the credit of that work to itself. Others of 
 their undertakings, in weaker hands than theirs, seem out of date among 
 the ideas and beliefs which now are prevalent. At Clapham, as elsewhere, 
 the old order is changing, and not always in a direction which to them 
 would be acceptable or even tolerable. What was once the home of 
 Zachary Macaulay stands almost within the swing of the bells of a stately 
 and elegant Roman Catholic chapel, and the pleasant mansion of Lord 
 Teignmouth, the cradle of the Bible Society, is now turned into a convent 
 of monks. But in one shape or another honest performance always lives, 
 and the gains that accrued from the labors of these men are still on the 
 right side of the national ledger. Among the most permanent of those 
 gains is their undoubted share in the improvement of our political integri- 
 ty by direct, and still more by indirect, example. It would be ungrateful 
 to forget in how large a measure it is due to them that one whose judgments 
 upon the statesmen of many ages and countries have been delivered to an 
 audience vast beyond all precedent should have framed his decisions 
 in accordance with the dictates of honor and humanity, of ardent public 
 spirit and lofty public virtue. 
 
i8oo-i8. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 47 
 
 CHAPTER .II. 
 
 1818-1824. 
 
 Macaulay goes to the University — His love for Trinity College — His contemporaries at 
 Cambridge — Charles Austin — The Union Debating Society — University studies, suc- 
 cesses, and failures — The Mathematical Tripos — The Trinity Fellowship — William 
 the Third — Letters — Prize poems — Peterloo — Novel-Reading — The Queen’s Trial — 
 Macaulay’s feeling towards his mother — A Reading-party — Hoaxing an editor— 
 Macaulay takes pupils. 
 
 I N October 1818 Macaulay went into residence at Trinity College, Cam- 
 bridge. Mr. Henry Sykes Thornton, the eldest son of the member 
 for Southwark, was his companion throughout his university career. The 
 young men lived in the same lodgings, and began by reading with the same 
 tutor : a plan which promised well, because, in addition to what was his 
 own by right, each had the benefit of the period of instruction paid for by 
 the other. But two hours were much the same as one to Macaulay, in 
 whose eye% algebra and geometry were so much additional material for 
 lively and interminable argument. Thornton reluctantly broke through 
 the arrangement, and eventually stood highest among the Trinity wrang- 
 lers of his year : an elevation which he could hardly have attained if he 
 had pursued his studies in company with one who regarded every success- 
 ive mathematical proposition as an open question. A Parliamentary elec- 
 tion took place while the two friends w’ere still quartered in Jesus Lane. 
 A tumult in the neighboring street announced that the citizens were ex- 
 pressing their sentiments by the only channel which was open to them be- 
 fore the days of Reform : and Macaulay, to whom any excitement of a po- 
 litical nature was absolutely irresistible, dragged Thornton to the scene of 
 action, and found the mob breaking the windows of the Hoop hotel, the 
 headquarters of the successful candidates. His ardor was cooled by 
 receiving a dead cat full in the face. The man who was responsible for the 
 animal came up and apologized very civilly, assuring him that there was 
 no town and gown feeling in the matter, and that the cat had been meant 
 for Mr. Adeane. “ I wish,” replied Macaulay, “ the you had meant it for 
 me, and hit Mr. Adeane.” 
 
48 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. II. 
 
 After no long while he removed within the walls or Trinity, and 
 resided first in the centre rooms of Bishop’s Hostel, and subsequently in 
 the Old Court between the Gate and the Chapel. The door which once 
 bore his name is on the groundfloor, to the left hand as you face the stair- 
 case. In more recent years undergraduates who are accustomed to be 
 out after lawful hours have claimed a right of way through the window 
 which looks towards the town : — to the great annoyance Ji any occupant 
 who is too good-natured to refuse the accommodation to others, and too 
 steady to need it himself. This power of surreptitious entry had not been 
 discovered in Macaulay’s days; and, indeed, he would have cared very 
 little for the privilege of spending his time outside walls which contained 
 within them as many books as even he could read and more friends than 
 even he could talk to. Wanting nothing beyond what his college had to 
 give he revelled in the possession of leisure and liberty, in the almost 
 complete command of his own time, in the power of passing at choice 
 from the most perfect solitude to the most agreeable company. He 
 keenly appreciated a society which cherishes all that is genuine, and is 
 only too outspoken in its abhorrence of pretension and display : — a society 
 in which a man lives with those whom he likes and with those only : 
 choosing his comrades for their own sake, and so indifferent to the exter- 
 nal distinctions of wealth and position that no one who has entered fully 
 into the spirit of college life can ever unlearn its priceless lesson of manli- 
 ness and simplicity. 
 
 Of all his places of sojourn during his joyous and shining pilgrimage 
 through the world, Trinity, and Trinity alone, had any share with his 
 home in Macaulay’s affection and loyalty. To the last he regarded it as 
 an ancient Greek or a mediaeval Italian felt towards his native city. As 
 long as he had place and standing there, he never left it willingly or return- 
 ed to it without delight. The only step in his course about the wisdom 
 of which he sometimes expressed misgiving, was his preference of a Lon- 
 don to a Cambridge life. The only dignity that in his later days he was 
 known to covet was an honorary fellowship which would have allowed 
 him again to look through his window upon the college grass-plots, and to 
 sleep within sound of the splashing of the fountain ; again to breakfast on 
 commons, and dine beneath the portraits of Newton and Bacon on the 
 dais of the hall ; again to ramble by moonlight round Neville’s cloister 
 discoursing the picturesque but somewhat exoteric philosophy which it 
 pleased him to call by the name of metaphysics. From the door of his 
 rooms, along the wall of the Chapel, there runs a flagged pathway which 
 affords an acceptable relief from the rugged pebbles that surround it. 
 Here as a Bachelor of Arts he would walk, book in hand, morning after 
 morning throughout the long vacation, reading with the same eagerness 
 and the same rapidity whether the volume was the most abstruse of treat- 
 
1818-24. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 49 
 
 ises, the loftiest of poems, or the flimsiest of novels. That was the spot 
 where in his failing years he especially loved to renew the feelings of the 
 past, and some there are who can never revisit it without the fancy that 
 there, if anywhere, his dear shade must linger. 
 
 He was fortunate in his contemporaries. Among his intimate friends 
 were the two Coleridges — Derwent, the son, and Henry Nelson, who was 
 destined to be the son-in-law of the poet : and how exceptional that des- 
 tiny was the readers of Sara Coleridge’s letters are now aware. Hyde 
 Villiers, whom an untimely death alone prevented from taking an equal 
 place in a trio of distinguished brothers, was of his year, though not of 
 his college.* In the year below were the young men who now bear the 
 titles of Lord Grey, Lord Belper, and Lord Romilly ; t and after the same 
 interval came Moultrie, who in his “ Dream of Life,” with a fidelity which 
 he himself pronounced to have been obtained at some sacrifice of grace, 
 has told us how the heroes of his time looked and lived, and Charles 
 Villiers, who still delights our generation by showing us how they talked. 
 Then there was Praed, fresh from editing the Etonian, as a product of 
 collective boyish effort unique in its literary excellence and variety ; and 
 Sidney Walker, Praed’s gifted schoolfellow, whose promise was blighted 
 by permature decay of powers ; and Charles Austin, whose fame would 
 now be more in proportion to his extraordinary abilities had not his un- 
 paralleled success as an advocate tempted him before his day to retire from 
 the toils of a career of whose rewards he already had enough. 
 
 With his vigor and fervor, his depth of knowledge and breadth of 
 humor, his close reasoning illustrated by an expansive imagination, — set 
 off, as these gifts were by, the advantage, at that period of life so irresisti- 
 ble, of some experience of the world at home and abroad, — Austin was 
 indeed, a king among his fellows. 
 
 * Grave, sedate. 
 
 And, (if the looks may indicate the age,) 
 
 Our senior some few years : — no keener wit, 
 
 No intellect more subtle, none more bold. 
 
 Was found in all our host. 
 
 So writes Moultrie, and the testimony of his verse is borne out by John 
 Stuart Mill’s prose. ‘ The impression he gave was that of boundless 
 strength, together with talents which, combined with such apparent force 
 of will and character, seemed capable of dominating the world.” He 
 certainly was the only man who ever succeeded in dominating Macaulay. 
 Brimming over with ideas that were soon to be known by the name of 
 
 ♦ Lord Clarendon and his brothers were all Johnians. 
 
 t This paragraph was written in the summer of 1874. Three of Macaulay’s old col- 
 lege friends, Lord Romilly, Moultrie, and Charles Austin, died in the hard winter that 
 followed within a few days of each other. 
 
 VOL. I. -4 
 
50 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. II. 
 
 Utilitarian, a panegyrist of American institutions, and an unsparing assail- 
 ant of ecclesiastical endowments and hereditary privileges, he effectually 
 cured the young undergraduate of his Tory opinions, which were never 
 more than skin deep, and brought him nearer to Radicalism than he ever 
 was before or since. The report of this conversion, of which the most 
 was made by ill-natured talebearers who met with more encouragement 
 than they deserved, created some consternation in the family circle: 
 while the reading set at Cambridge was duly scandalized at the influerxe 
 which one whose classical attainments were rather discursive than exact 
 had gained over a Craven scholar. To this hour men may be found in 
 remote parsonages who mildly resent the fascination which Austin of 
 Jesus exercised over Macaulay of Trinity. 
 
 The day and the night together were too short for one who was enter- 
 ing on the journey of life amidst such a band of travellers. So long as a 
 door was open or a light burning in any of the courts Macaulay was always 
 in the mood for conversation and companionship. Unfailing in his atten- 
 dance at lecture and chapel, blameless with regard to college laws and 
 college discipline, it was well for his virtue that no curfew was in force 
 within the precincts of Trinity. He never tired of recalling the days 
 when he supped at midnight on milk-punch and roast turkey, drank tea in 
 floods at an hour when older men are intent upon anything rather than on 
 the means of keeping themselves awake, and made little of sitting over 
 the fire till the bell rang for morning chapel in order to see a friend off by 
 the early coach. In the license of the summer vacation, after some pro- 
 longed and festive gathering, the whole party would pour out into the 
 moonlight and ramble for mile after mile through the country till the noise 
 of their wideflowing talk mingled with the twittering of the birds in the 
 hedges which bordered the Coton pathway or the Madingley road. On 
 such occasions it must have been well worth the loss of sleep to hear 
 Macaulay plying Austin with sarcasms upon the doctrine of the Greatest 
 Happiness, which then had still some gloss of novelty; putting into an 
 ever-fresh shape the time-honored jokes against the Johnians for the 
 benefit of theVillierses; and urging an interminable debate onWordsworth’s 
 merits as a poet, in which the Coleridges, as in duty bound, were ever 
 ready to engage. In this particular field he acquired a skill of fence 
 which rendered him the most redoubtable of antagonists. Many years 
 afterwards, at the time when the Prelude was fre.sh from the press, he was 
 maintaining against the opinion of a large and mixed society that the poem 
 was unreadable. At last, overborne by the united indignation of so many 
 of Wordsworth’s admirers, he agreed that the question should be referred 
 to the test of personal experience ; and on inquiry it was discovered that 
 the only individual present who had got through the Prelude was Macau- 
 lay himself. 
 
1818-24. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 SI 
 
 It is not only that the witnesses of these scenes unanimously declare 
 that they have never since heard such conversation in the most renowned 
 of social circles. The partiality of a generous young man for trusted and 
 admired companions may well color his judgment over the space of 
 even half a century. But the estimate of university contemporaries was 
 abundantly confirmed by the outer world. While on a visit to Lord Lans- 
 downe at Bowood, Austin and Macaulay happened to get upon college 
 topics one morning at breakfast. When the meal was finished they drew 
 their chairs to either end of the chimney-piece, and talked at each other 
 across the hearth-rug as if they were in a first-room floor in the Old Court 
 of Trinity. The whole company, ladies, artists, politicians, and diners-out, 
 formed a silent circle round the two Cantabs, and, with a short break for 
 lunch, never stirred till the bell warned them that it was time to dress for 
 dinner. 
 
 It has all irrevocably perished. With life before them, and each in- 
 tent on his own future, none among that troop of friends had the mind to 
 play Boswell to the others. One repartee survives throwr off in the heat 
 of discussion, but exquisitely perfect in all its parts. Acknowledged with- 
 out dissent to be the best-applied quotation that ever was made within five 
 miles of the Fitzwilliam Museum, it is unfortunately too strictly classical 
 for reproduction in these pages. 
 
 We are more easily consoled for the loss of the eloquence which then 
 flowed so full and free in the debates of the Cambridge Union. In 1820 
 that Society was emerging from a period of tribulation and repression. 
 The authorities of the university, who, as old constituents of Mr. Pitt and 
 warm supporters of Lord Liverpool, had been never very much inclined 
 to countenance the practice of political discussion among the under- 
 graduates, set their faces against it more than ever at an epoch when the 
 temper of the time increased the tendency of young men to run into ex- 
 tremes of partisanship. At length a compromise was extorted from the 
 reluctant hands of the Vice Chancellor, and the Club was allowed to take 
 into consideration public affairs of a date anterior to the century. It re- 
 quired less ingenuity than the leaders of the Union had at their command 
 to hit upon a method of dealing with the present under the guise of the 
 past. Motions were framed that reflected upon the existing Government 
 under cover of a censure on the Cabinets of the previous generation. Res- 
 olutions which called upon the meeting to declare that the boon of Catho- 
 lic Emancipation should have been granted in the year 1795, that our 
 Commercial Policy previous to 1800 should have been founded on the basis 
 of Free Trade, were clearly susceptible of great latitude of treatment. And, 
 again, in its character of a reading club the Society, when assembled for 
 the conduct of private business, was at liberty to review the political creed 
 of the journals of the day in order to decide which of them it should take 
 
52 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. II. 
 
 in and which it should discontinue. The Examiner newspaper was the 
 flag of many a hard-fought battle ; the Morning Chronicle was voted in 
 and out of the rooms half-a-dozen times within a single twelvemonth; 
 while a series of impassioned speeches on the burning question of inter- 
 ference in behalf of Greek Independence were occasioned by a proposi- 
 tion of Malden’s “that // ' do lie upon the table. 
 
 At the close of the debates, which were held in a large room at the 
 back of the Red Lion in Petty Cury, the most prominent members met 
 for supper in the Hotel, or at Moultrie’s lodgings, which were situated 
 close at hand. They acted as a self-appointed standing Committee, which 
 watched over the general interests of the Union, and selected candidates 
 whom they put in nomination for its offices. The Society did not boast a 
 Hansard : an omission which, as time went on, some among its orators 
 had no reason to regret. Faint recollections still survive of a discussion 
 upon the august topic of the character of George the Third. “To whom 
 do we owe it,” asked Macaulay, “ that while Europe was convulsed with 
 anarchy and desolated with war, England alone remained tranquil, pros- 
 perous, and secure To whom but the Good Old King? Why was it 
 that w'hen neighboring capitals were perishing in the flames, our own was 
 illuminated only for triumphs? * You may find the cause in the same 
 three words : the Good Old King.” Praed, on the other hand, would 
 allow his late monarch neither public merits nor private virtues. “ A 
 good man ! If he had been a plain country gentleman with no wider op- 
 portunities for mischief he would at least have bullied his footman and 
 cheated his steward.” 
 
 Macaulay’s intense enjoyment of all that was stirring and vivid around 
 him undoubtedly hindered him in the race for university honors ; though 
 his success was sufficient to inspirit him at the time, and to give him 
 abiding pleasure in the retrospect. He twice gained the Chancellor’s 
 medal for English verse, with poems admirably planned, and containing 
 passages of real beauty, but which may not be republished in the teeth 
 of the panegyric which, within ten years after they were written, he pro- 
 nounced upon Sir Roger Newdigate. Sir Roger had laid down the rule 
 that no exercise sent in for the prize which he established at Oxford was 
 to exceed fifty lines. This law, says Macaulay, seems to have more foun- 
 dation in reason than is generally the case with a literary canon, “for the 
 world, we believe, is pretty well agreed in thinking that the shorter a 
 prize poem is, the better.” 
 
 * This debate evidently made some noise in the university world. There is an allu- 
 sion to it in a squib of Praed’ s, very finished and elegant, and beyond all doubt contem- 
 porary. The passage relating to Macaulay begins with the lines — 
 
 Then the favorite comes, with his trumpets and drums, 
 
 And his arms and his metaphors crossed. 
 
iSoo-24. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 53 
 
 Trinity men find it difficult to understand how it was that he missed get- 
 ting one of the three silver goblets given for the best English Declamations 
 of the year. If there is one thing which all Macaulay’s friends and all 
 his enemies admit it is that he could declaim English. His own version of 
 the affair was that the Senior Dean, a relative of the victoriou.; candidate, 
 sent for him and said : “ Mr. Macaulay, as you have not got the first cup, I 
 do not suppose that you will care for either of the others.” He was consoled 
 however, by the prize for Latin Declamation, and in 1821 he established 
 his classical repute by winning a Craven University scholarship in company 
 with his friend Malden, and Mr. George Long, who was subsequently 
 Professor of Latin at University College, London. 
 
 Macaulay detested the labor of manufacturing Greek and Latin verse in 
 cold blood as an exercise, and his Hexameters were never up to the best 
 Etonian mark, nor his lambics to the highest standard of Shrewsbury. 
 He defined a scholar as one who reads Plato with his feet on the fender. 
 When already well on in his third year he writes : “ I never practised 
 composition a single hour since I have been at Cambridge.” “ Soak your 
 mind with Cicero ” was his constant advice to students at that time of life 
 when writing Latin prose is the most lucrative of accomplishments. The 
 advantage of this precept was proved in the Fellowship examination of 
 the year 1824, when he obtained the honor which in his eyes was the most 
 desirable that Cambridge had to give. The delight of the young man at 
 finding himself one of the sixty masters of an ancient and splendid 
 establishment ; the pride with which he signed his first order for the col- 
 lege plate, and dined for the first time at the high table in his own right ; 
 the reflection that these privileges were the fruit, not of favor or inheritance 
 but of personal industry and ability, were matters on which he loved to 
 dwell long after the world had loaded him with its most envied prizes. 
 Macaulay’s feeling on this point is illustrated by the curious reverence 
 which he cherished for those junior members of the college who, some 
 ninety years ago, by a spirited remonstrance addressed to the governing 
 body, brought about a reform in the Trinity Fellowship examination that 
 secured to it the character for fair play and efficiency which it has ever 
 since enjoyed. In his copy of the Cambridge Calendar for the year 1859, 
 (the last of his life,) throughout the list of the old Mathematical Triposes 
 the words “ one of the eight ” appear in his hand-writing opposite the 
 name of each of these gentlemen. And one, at any rate, among his 
 nephews can never remember the time it was not diligently impressed upon 
 him that, if he minded his syntax, he might eventually hope to reach a 
 position which would give him three hundred pounds a year, a stable for his 
 horse, six dozen of audit ale every Christmas, a loaf and two pats of but- 
 ter every morning, and a good dinner for nothing, with as many almonds 
 and raisins as he could eat at dessert. 
 
54 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. II. 
 
 Macaulay was not chosen a fellow until his third trial, nominally for the 
 amazing reason, that his translations from Greek and Latin, while faithfully 
 representing the originals, were rendered into English that was ungracfully 
 bald and inornate. The real cause was, beyond all doubt, his utter neglect of 
 the special study of the place : a liberty which Cambridge seldom allows to 
 be taken with impunity even by her most favored sons. He used to profess 
 deep and lasting regret for his early repugnance to scientific subjects : but 
 the fervor of his penitence in after years was far surpassed by the heartiness 
 with which he inveighed against mathematics as long as it was his business to 
 learn them. Everyone who knows the Senate House may anticipate the 
 result. When the Tripos of 1822 made its appearance his name did not 
 grace the list. In short, to use the expressive vocabulary of the university 
 Macaulay was gulfed : — a mishap which disabled him from contending for 
 the Chancellor’s medals, then the crowning trophies of a classical career. 
 “ I well remember,” says Lady Trevelyan, “ that first trial of my life. 
 We were spending the winter at Brighton when a letter came giving an 
 account of the event. I recollect my mother taking me into her room to 
 tell me, for even then it was known how my whole heart was wrapped up 
 in him, and it was thought necessary to break the news. When your uncle 
 arrived at Brighton I can recall my mother telling him that he had better 
 go at once to his father, and get it over, and I can see him as he left the 
 room on that errand.” 
 
 During the same year he engaged in a less arduous competition. A cer- 
 tain Mr, Greaves of Fulbourn had long since provided a reward of ten 
 pounds for “ the Junior Bachelor of Trinity College who wrote the best 
 essay on the Conduct and Character of William the Third.” As the prize 
 is annual, it is appalling to reflect upon the searching analysis to which the 
 motives of that monarch must by this time have been subjected. The 
 event, however, may be counted as an encouragement to the founders of 
 endowments, for amidst the succession of Juvenile critics whose attention 
 was by his munificence turned in the direction of his favorite hero, Mr. 
 Greaves had at last fallen in with the right man. It is more than probable 
 that to this old Cambridgeshire Whig was due the first idea of that History 
 in whose pages William of Orange stands as the central figure. The essay 
 is still in existence, in a close neat hand which twenty years of Reviewing 
 never rendered illegible. Originally written as a fair copy, but so disfigur- 
 ed by repeated corrections and additions as to be unfit for the eyes of the 
 college authorities, it bears evident marks of having been held to the 
 flames, and rescued on second, and in this case it will be allowed, on better, 
 thoughts. The exercise, which is headed by the very appropriate motto, 
 
 Primus qui legibus urbem 
 Fundabit, Curibus parvis et paupere terrt 
 Missus in imperium magnum. 
 
1818-24. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 55 
 
 is just such as will very likely be produced in the course of next Easter 
 term by some young man of judgment and spirit who knows his Macaulay 
 by heart, and will paraphrase him without scruple. The characters of 
 James, of Shaftesbury, of William himself ; the Popish plot ; the struggle 
 over the Exclusion bill ; the reaction from Puritanic rigor into the license 
 of the Restoration, are drawn on the same lines and painted in the same 
 colors as those with which the world is now familiar. The style only wants 
 condensation, and a little of the humor which he had not yet learned to 
 transfer from his conversation to his writings, in order to be worthy of his 
 mature powers. He thus describes William’s lifelong enemy and rival, 
 whose name he already spells after his own fashion : “ Lewis was not a great 
 general. He was not a great legislator. But he was, in one sense of the 
 words, a great king. He was a perfect master of all the mysteries of the 
 science of royalty, — of all the arts which at once extend power and conciliate 
 popularity, — which most advantageously display the merits, or most dexter- 
 ously conceal the deficiencies, of a sovereign. He was surrounded by great 
 men, by victorious commanders, by sagacious statesmen. Yet, while he avail- 
 ed himself to the utmost of their services, he never incurred any danger from 
 their rivalry. His was a talisman which extorted the obedience of the proud- 
 est and mightest spirits. The haughty and turbulent warriors whose con- 
 tests had agitated France during his minority yielded to the irresistible spell 
 and, like the gigantic slaves of the ring and lamp of Aladdin, labored to 
 decorate and aggrandize a master whom they could have crushed. With 
 incomparable address he appropriated to himself the glory of campaigns 
 which had been planned and counsels which had been suggested by others. 
 The arms of Turenne were the terror of Europe. The policy of Colbert 
 was the strength of France. But in their foreign successes and their in- 
 ternal prosperity the people saw only the greatness and wisdom of Lewis.” 
 In the second chapter of the History much of this is compressed into the 
 sentence : “ He had shown, in an eminent degree, two talents invaluable 
 to a prince, — the talent of choosing his servants well, and the talent of 
 appropriating to himself the chief part of the credit of their acts.” 
 
 In a passage that occurs towards the close of the essay may be traced 
 something more than an outline of the peroration in which, a quarter of a 
 century later on, he summed up the character and results of the Revolu- 
 tion of 1688. “To have been a sovereign, yet the champion of liberty; 
 a revolutionary leader, yet the supporter of social order, is the peculiar 
 glory of William. He knew where to pause. He outraged no national 
 prejudice. He abolished no ancient form. He altered no venerable 
 name. He saw that the existing institutions possessed the greatest 
 capabilities of excellence, and that stronger sanctions and clearer defini- 
 tions were alone required to make the practice of the British constitution 
 as admirable as the theory. Thus he imparted to innovation the dignity 
 
LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. II. 
 
 56 
 
 .and stability of antiquity. He transferred to a happier order of things 
 the associations which had attached the people to their former govern- 
 ment. As the Roman warrior, before he assaulted Veii, invoked its 
 guardian gods to leave its walls, and to accept the worship and patronize 
 the cause of the besiegers, this great prince, in attacking a system of 
 oppression, summoned to his aid the venerable principles and deeply 
 seated feelings to which that system was indebted for protection.” 
 
 A letter written during the later years of his life expresses Macaulay’s 
 general views on the subject of University honors. “If a man brings 
 away from Cambridge self-knowledge, accuracy of mind, and habits of 
 strong intellectual exertion, he has gained more than if he had made a 
 display of showy superficial Etonian scholarship, got three or four Brown’s 
 medals, and gone forth into the world a school-boy and doomed to be a 
 schoolboy to the last. After all, what a man does at Cambridge is, in 
 itself, nothing. If he makes a poor figure in life, his having been Senior 
 Wrangler or University scholar is never mentioned but with derision. If 
 he makes a distinguished figure, his early honors merge in those of a later 
 date. I hope that I do not overrate my own place in the estimation of 
 society. Such as it is, I would not give a half-penny to add to the con- 
 sideration which I enjoy all the consideration that I should derive from 
 having been Senior Wrangler. But I often regret, and even acutely, my 
 want of a Senior Wrangler’s knowledge of physics and mathematics ; and I 
 regret still more some habits of minds which a Senior Wrangler is pretty 
 certain to possess.” Like all men who know what the world is, he regarded 
 the triumphs of a college career as of less value than its disappointments. 
 Those are most to be envied who soonest learn to expect nothing for 
 which they have not worked hard, and who never acquire the habit, (a 
 habit which an unbroken course of University successes too surely breeds,) 
 of pitying themselves overmuch if ever in after life they happen to work 
 in vain. 
 
 Cambridge ; Wednesday. 
 
 (Post-mark 1818.) 
 
 My dear Mother, — King, I am absolutely certain, would take no more 
 pupils on any account. And, even if he would, he has numerous applicants 
 with prior claims. He has already six, who occupy him six hours in the 
 day, and is likewise lecturer to the college. It would, however, be very 
 easy to obtain an excellent tutor. Lefevre and Malkin are men of first- 
 rate mathematical abilities, and both of our college. I can scarcely bear 
 to write on Mathematics or Mathematicians. Oh for words to express my 
 abomination of that science, if a name sacred to the useful and embellish- 
 ing arts may be applied to the perception and recollection of certain prop- 
 erties in numbers and figures 1 Oh that I had to learn astrology, or 
 demonology, or school divinity ! Oh that I were to pore over Thomas 
 
1818-24. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 57 
 
 Aquinas, and to adjust the relation of Entity with the two Predicaments, 
 so that I were exempted from this miserable study ! “ Discipline ” of the 
 mind 1 Say rather starvation, confinement, torture, annihilation ! But it 
 must be. I feel myself becoming a personification of Algebra, a living 
 trigonometrical canon, a walking table of Logarithms. All my percep- 
 tions of elegance and beauty gone, or at least going. By the end of the 
 term my brain will be “ as dry as the remainder biscuit after a voyage.” 
 Oh to change Cam for Isis ! But such is my destiny, and since it is so, be 
 the pursuit contemptible, below contempt, or disgusting beyond abhorrence, 
 I shall aim at no second place. But three years ! I cannot endure the 
 thought I cannot bear to contemplate what I must have to undergo. 
 Farewell then Homer and Sophocles and Cicero. 
 
 Farewell happy fields 
 
 Where joy for ever reigns ! Hail, horrors, hail. 
 
 Infernal world ! 
 
 How does it proceed ? Milton’s descriptions have been driven out of 
 my head by such elegant expressions as the following. 
 
 Cos X — i 1 
 
 1*2 I - 2 - 3-4 i - 2 * 3 - 4 ’ 5'6 
 
 , Tan a Tan b 
 
 Tan a-\- b — . 
 
 I — Tan a + Tan b 
 
 My classics must be Woodhouse, and my amusements summing an infinite 
 series. Farewell, and tell Selina and Jane to be thankful that it is not a 
 necessary part of female education to get a headache daily without acquir- 
 ing one practical truth or beautiful image in return. Again, and with 
 affectionate love to my Father, farewell wishes your most miserable and 
 mathematical son 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 Cambridge : November g, i8i8. 
 
 My dear Father, — Your letter, which I read with the greatest pleasure, 
 is perfectly safe from all persons who could make a bad use of it. The 
 Emperor Alexander’s plans as detailed in the conversation between him 
 and Clarkson * are almost superhuman ; and tower as much above the 
 common hopes and aspirations of philanthropists as the statue which his 
 Macedonian namesake proposed to hew out of Mount Athos excelled the 
 most colossal works of meaner projectors. As Burke said of Henry the 
 Fourth’s wish that every peasant in France might have the chicken in his 
 pot comfortably on a Sunday, we may say of these mighty plans, “ The 
 
 * Thomas Clarkson, the famous assailant of slavery. 
 
LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. IL 
 
 58 
 
 mere wish, the unfulfilled desire, exceeded all that we hear of the splendid 
 professions and exploits of princes.” Yet my satisfaction in the success 
 of that noble cause in which the Emperor seems to be exerting himself 
 with so much zeal is scarcely so great as my regret for the man who would 
 have traced every step of its progress with anxiety, and hailed its success 
 with the most ardent delight. Poor Sir Samuel Romilly ! Quando ullum 
 invenient parem ? How long may a penal code at once too sanguinary 
 and too lenient, half written in blood like Draco’s, and half undefined and 
 loose as the common law of a tribe of savages, be the curse and disgrace 
 of the country ? How many years may elapse before a man who knows 
 like him all that law can teach, and possesses at the same time like him a 
 liberality and a discernment of general rights which the technicalities of 
 professional learning rather tend to blunt, shall again rise to ornament 
 and reform our jurisprudence.'* For such a man, if he had fallen in the 
 maturity of years and honors, and been borne from the bed of sickness to 
 a grave the side of his prototype Hale amidst the tears of nobles and 
 senators, even then, I think, the public sorrow would have been extreme. 
 But that the last moments of an existence of high thoughts and great 
 virtues should have been passed as his were passed! In my feelings the 
 scene at Claremont * this time last year was mere dust in the balance in 
 comparison. 
 
 Ever your affectionate son, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 Cambridge: Friday, February 5, 1819. 
 
 My dear Father, — I have not of course had time to examine with at- 
 tention all your criticisms on Pompeii, t I certainly am much obliged to 
 you for withdrawing so much time from more important business to cor- 
 rect my effusions. Most of the remarks which I have examined are per- 
 fectly just : but as to the more momentous charge, the want of a moral, I 
 think it might be a sufficient defence that, if a subject is given which ad- 
 mits of none, the man who writes without a moral is scarcely censurable. 
 But is it the real fact that no literary employment is estimable or laudable ^ 
 which does not lead to the spread of moral truth or the excitement of 
 virtuous feeling ? Books of amusement tend to polish the mind, to im- 
 prove the style, to give variety to conversation, and to lend a grace to 
 more important accomplishments. He who can effect this has surely 
 done something. Is no useful end served by that writer whose works 
 
 * The death of Princess Charlotte. 
 
 t The subject of the English poem for the Chancellor’s prize of 1819 was the Destruc- 
 tion of Pompeii. 
 
i8i8-24. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 59 
 
 have soothed weeks of languor and sickness, have relieved the mind ex- 
 hausted from the pressure of employment by an amusement which de- 
 lights without enervating, which relaxes the tension of the powers without 
 rendering them unfit for future exercise ? I should not be surprised to 
 see these observations refuted ; and I shall not be sorry if they are so. 
 I feel personally little interest in the question. If my life be a life of 
 literature, it shall certainly be one of literature directed to moral ends. 
 
 At all events let us be consistent. I was amused in turning over an 
 old volume of the Christain Observer to find a gentleman signing him- 
 self Excubitor, (one of our antagonists in the question of novel-reading,) 
 after a very pious argument on the hostility of novels to a religious frame 
 of mind, proceeding to observe that he was shocked to hear a young lady 
 who had displayed extraordinary knowledge of modern ephemeral litera- 
 ture own herself ignorant of Dryden’s fables ! Consistency with a venge- 
 ance ! The reading of modern poetry and novels excites a worldly dis- 
 position and prevents ladies from reading Dryden’s fables ! There is a 
 general disposition among the more literary part of the religious world to 
 to cry down the elegant literature of our own times while they are not in 
 the slightest degree shocked at atrocious profaneness or gross indelicacy 
 when a hundred years have stamped them with the title of classical. I 
 say : “ If you read Dryden you can have no reasonable objection to 
 reading Scott.” The strict antagonist of ephemeral reading exclaims, 
 “ Not so. Scott’s poems are very pernicious. They call away the mind 
 from spiritual religion and from Tancred and Sigismunda.” But I am ex- 
 ceeding all ordinary limits. If these hasty remarks fatigue you, impute it 
 to my desire of justifying myself from a charge which I should be sorry 
 to incur with justice. Love to all at home. 
 
 Affectionately yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 With or without a moral, the poem carried the day. The subject for 
 the next year was Waterloo. The opening lines of Macaulay’s exercise 
 were pretty and simple enough to ruin his chance in an academical com- 
 petition. 
 
 It was the Sabbath mom. How calm and fair 
 Is the blest dawning of the day of prayer 
 Who hath not felt how fancy’s mystic power 
 With holier beauty decks that solemn hour ; 
 
 A softer lustre in its sunshine sees ; 
 
 And hears a softer music in its breeze ? 
 
 Who hath not dreamed that even the skylark’s throat 
 Hails that sweet morning with a gentler note ? 
 
 Fair mom, how gaily shone thy dawning smile 
 On the green valleys of my native isle 1 
 
6o 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS Ot 
 
 CH. II. 
 
 How gladly many a spire’s resounding height 
 With peals of transport hailed thy newborn light! 
 
 Ah ! little thought the peasant then, who blest 
 The peaceful hoQr of consecrated rest, 
 
 And heard the rustic Temple’s arch prolong 
 The simple cadence of the hallowed song. 
 
 That the same sun illumed a gory field, 
 
 Where wilder song and sterner music pealed ; 
 
 Where many a yell unholy rent the air. 
 
 And many a hand was raised, — ^but not in prayer. 
 
 The prize fell to a man of another college, and Trinity comforted itself 
 by inventing a story to the effect that the successful candidate had run 
 away from the battle. 
 
 In the summer of 1819 there took place a military affair, less attractive 
 than Waterloo as a theme for poets, but which, as far as this country is 
 concerned, has proved even more momentous in its ultimate consequences. 
 On the 1 6th of August, a Reform demonstration was arranged at Man- 
 chester resembling those which were common in the Northern districts 
 during the year 1866, except that in 1819 women formed an important 
 element in the procession. A troop of yeomany, and afterwards two 
 squadrons of hussars, were sent in among the crowd, which was assembled 
 in St. Peter’s Fields, the site on which the Free Trade Hall now stands. 
 The men used their swords freely, and the horses their hoofs. The peo- 
 ple, who meant anything but fighting, trampled each other down in the 
 attempt to escape. Five or six lives were lost, and fifty or sixty persons 
 were badly hurt : but the painful impression wrought upon the national 
 conscience was well worth the price. British blood has never since been 
 shed by British hands in any civic contest that rose above the level of a law- 
 less riot. The immediate result, however, was to concentrate and embitter 
 party feeling. The grand jury threw out the bills against the yeomen, 
 and found true bills against the popular orators w'ho had called the 
 meeting together. The Common Councilmen of the City of London, 
 who had presented an address to the Prince Regent reflecting upon the 
 conduct of the Government, were roundly rebuked for their pains. Earl 
 Fitzwilliam was dismissed from the office of Lord Lieutenant for taking 
 part in a Yorkshire county gathering which had passed resolutions in 
 the same sense as the Address from the City. On the other hand, a 
 Peterloo medal was struck, which is still treasured in such Manchester 
 families as have not learned to be ashamed of the old Manchester poli- 
 tics. 
 
 In this heated state of the political atmosphere the expiring Toryism of 
 the Anti-Slavery leaders flamed up once again. “ I declare,” said Wilber- 
 force, “ my greatest cause of difference with the democrats is their laying, 
 and causing people to lay, so great a stress on the concerns of this world 
 
1818-24. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 61 
 
 as to occupy their whole minds and hearts, and to leave a few scanty and 
 lukewarm thoughts for the heavenly treasure.” Zachary Macaulay, who 
 never canted, and who knew that on the i6th of August the Manchester 
 Magistrates were thinking just as much or as little about religion as the 
 Manchester populace, none the less took the same side as Wilberforce. 
 Having formed for himself by observations made on the spot a decided 
 opinion that the authorities ought to be supported he was much disturbed 
 by reports which came to him from Cambridge. 
 
 September, 1819. 
 
 ' - My dear Father, — My mother’s letter, which has just arrived, has given 
 me much concern. The letter which has, I am sorry to learn, given you 
 and her uneasiness was written rapidly and thoughtlessly enough, but can 
 scarcely I think, as far as I remember its tenor, justify some of the extraor- 
 dinary inferences which it has occasioned. I can only assure you most 
 solemnly that I am not initiated into any democratical societies here, and 
 that I know no people who make politics a common or frequent topic of 
 conversation, except one man who is a determined Tory. It is true that 
 this Manchester business had roused some indignation here, as at other 
 places, and drawn philippics against the powers that be from lips which I 
 never heard opened before but to speak on university contests or univer- 
 sitv scandal. For myself, I have long made it a rule never to talk on pol- 
 itics except in the most general manner; and I believe that my most inti- 
 mate associates have no idea of my opinions on the questions of party. I 
 can scarcely be censured, I think, for imparting them to you — which, how- 
 ever, I should scarcely have thought of doing, (so much is my mind occu- 
 pied with other concerns,) had not your letter invited me to state my sen- 
 timents on the Manchester business. 
 
 I hope that this explanation will remove some of your uneasiness. As 
 to my opinions, I have no particular desire to vindicate them. They are 
 merely speculative, and therefore cannot partake of the nature of moral 
 culpability. They are early formed, and I am not solicitous that you 
 should think them superior to those of most people at eighteen. I will, 
 however, say this in their defence. Whatever the affectionate alarm of 
 my dear mother may lead her to apprehend, I am not one of the “ sons of 
 anarchy and confusion” with whom she classes me. My opinions, good 
 or bad, were learnt, not from Hunt and Waithman, but from Cicero, from 
 Tacitus, and from Milton. They are the opinions which have produced 
 men who have ornamented the world and redeemed human nature from 
 the degradation of ages of superstition and slavery. I may be wrong as to 
 the facts of what occurred at Manchester ; but, if they be what I have seen 
 them stated, I can never repent speaking of them with indignation. When 
 I cease to feel the injuries of others warmly, to detest wanton cruelty, and 
 
62 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OP 
 
 CH. II. 
 
 to feel my soul rise against oppression, I shall think myself unworthy to 
 be your son. 
 
 I could say a great deal more. Above all I might, I think, ask, with 
 some reason, why a few democratical sentences in \ letter, a private letter, 
 of a collegian of eighteen, should be thought so alarming an indication of 
 character, when Brougham and other people, who at an age which ought 
 to have sobered them talk with much more violence, are not thought par- 
 ticularly ill of ? But I have so little room left that I abstain, and will only 
 add thus much. Were my opinions as decisive as they are fluctuating, and 
 were the elevation of a Cromwell or the renown of a Hampden the certain 
 reward of my standing forth in the democratic cause, I would rather have 
 my lips sealed on the subject than give my mother or you one hour of un- 
 easiness. There are not so many people in the world who love me that I 
 can afford to pain them for any object of ambition which it contains. If 
 this assurance be not sufficient, clothe it in what language you please, and 
 believe me to express myself in those words which you think the strongest 
 and most solemn. Affectionate love to my mother and sisters. Fare- 
 well. 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 Cambridge : January 5, 1820. 
 
 My dear Father, — Nothing that gives you disquietude can give me 
 amusement. Otherwise I should have been excessively diverted by the 
 dialogue which you have reported with so much vivacity ; the accusation ; 
 the predictions ; and the elegant agnomen of “the novel-reader” for which 
 I am indebted to this incognito. I went in some amazement to Malden, 
 Romilly, and Barlow. Their acquaintance comprehends, I will venture to 
 say, almost every man worth knowing in the university in every field of 
 study. They had never heard the appellation applied to me by any man. 
 Their intimacy with me would of course prevent any person from speak- 
 ing to them on the subject in an insulting manner : for it is not usual here, 
 whatever your unknown informant may do, for a gentleman who does not 
 wish to be kicked down stairs to reply to a man who mentions another as 
 his particular friend, “ Do you mean the blackguard or the novel-reader ? ” 
 But I am fully convinced that had the charge prevailed to any extent it 
 must have reached the ears of one of these whom I interrogated. At all 
 events I have the consolation of not being thought a novel-reader by three 
 or four who are entitled to judge upon the subject, and whether their opin- 
 ion be of equal value with that of this John-a-Nokes against whom I have 
 to plead I leave you to decide. 
 
 But stronger evidence, it seems, is behind. This gentleman was in com- 
 pany with me. Alas 1 that I should never have found out how accurate 
 an observer was measuring my sentiments, numbering the novels which I 
 criticised, and speculating on the probability of my being plucked. “ I 
 
1818-24. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 63 
 
 was familiar with all the novels whose names he had ever heard.” If so 
 frightful an accusation did not stun me at once, I mightperhaps hint at the 
 possibility that this was to be attributed almost as much to the narrow- 
 ness of his reading on this subject as to the extent of mine. There are men 
 here who are mere mathematical blocks, who plod on their eight hours a 
 day to the honors of the Senate House : who leave the groves which 
 witnessed the musings of Milton, of Bacon, and of Gray, without one lib- 
 eral idea or elegant image, and carry with them into the world minds con- 
 tracted by unmingled attention to one part of science, and memories stored 
 only with technicalities. How often have I seen such men go forth into 
 society for people to stare at them, and ask each other how it comes that 
 beings so stupid in conversation, so uninformed on every subject of his- 
 tory, of letters, and of taste, could gain such distinction at Cambridge ! 
 It is in such circles, which, I am happy to say, I hardly know but by 
 report, that knowledge of modern literature is called novel-reading : a 
 commodious name, invented by ignorance and applied by envy, in the 
 same manner as men without learning call a scholar a pedant, and men 
 without principle call a Christian a Methodist. To me the attacks of such 
 men are valuable as compliments. The man whose friend tells him that 
 he is known to oe extensively acquainted with elegant literature may sus- 
 pect that he is flattering him ; but he may feel real and secure satisfaction 
 when some Johnian sneers at him for a novel-reader. 
 
 As to the question whether or not I am wasting time, I shall leave that 
 for time to answer. I cannot afford to sacrifice a day every week in de- 
 fence and explanation as to my habits of reading. I value, most deeply 
 value, that solicitude which arises from your affection for me : but let it 
 not debar me from justice and candor. Believe me ever, my dear Father, 
 
 Your most affectionate son, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 The father and the son were in sympathy upon what, at this distance 
 of time, appears as the least inviting article of the Whig creed. They 
 were both partizans of the Queen. Zachary Macaulay was inclined in 
 her favor by sentiments alike of friendship and of the most pardonable re- 
 sentment. Brougham, her illustrious advocate, had for ten years been 
 the main hope and stay of the movement against Slavery and the Slave 
 Trade: while the John Bull, whose special mission it was to write her 
 down, honored the Abolitionist party with its declared animosity. How- 
 ever full its columns might be of libels upon the honor of the wives and 
 daughters of Whig statesmen, it could always find room for calumnies 
 against Mr. Macaulay which in ingenuity of fabrication and in cruelty of 
 intention were conspicuous even among the contents of the most discred- 
 itable publication that ever issued from the London press. When Queen 
 Caroline landed from the Continent in June 1820, the young Trinity under- 
 
64 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. II. 
 
 graduate greeted her Majesty with a complimentary ode, which certainly 
 little resembled those effusions that in the old courtly days an University 
 was accustomed to lay at the feet of its Sovereign. The piece has no liter- 
 ary value, and is curious only as reflecting the passion of the hour. The 
 first and last stanzas run as follows : — 
 
 Let mirth on every visage shine. 
 
 And glow in every soul. 
 
 r>ving forth, bring forth, the oldest wine, 
 
 And crown the largest bowl. 
 
 Bear to her home, while banners fly 
 F rom each resounding steeple. 
 
 And rockets sparkle in the sky, 
 
 The Daughter of the People. 
 
 E’en here, for one triumphant day. 
 
 Let want and woe be dumb. 
 
 And bonfires blaze, and school-boys play. 
 
 Thank Heaven our Queen is come ! 
 
 # * * 
 
 Though tyrant hatred still denies 
 Each right that fits thy station 
 To thee a people’s love supplies 
 A nobler coronation : 
 
 A coronation all unknown 
 To Europe’s royal vermin : 
 
 For England’s heart shall be thy throne, 
 
 And purity thine ermine ; 
 
 Thy Proclamation our applause, 
 
 Applause denied to some ; 
 
 Thy crown our love ; thy shield our laws, 
 
 Thank Heaven, our Queen is come ! 
 
 Early in November, warned by growing excitement outside the House 
 of Lords, and by dwindling majorities within. Lord Liverpool announced 
 that the King’s Ministers had come to the determination not to proceed 
 further with the Bill of Pains and Penalties. The joy which this decla- 
 ration spread through the country has been described as “ beyond the 
 scope of record.” 
 
 Cambridge : November 13, 1820. 
 
 My dear Father, — All here is ecstasy. “Thank God, the country is 
 saved,” were my first words when I caught a glimpse of the papers of Fri- 
 day night. “ Thank God the country is saved,” is written on every face and 
 echoed by every voice. Even the symptoms of popular violence, three 
 days ago so terrific, are now displayed with good humor and received with 
 cheerfulness. Instead of curses on the Lords, on every post and every wall 
 is written, “ All is as it should be : ” “ Justice done at last,” and similar 
 
1818-24. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 6s 
 
 mottoes expressive of the sudden turn of public feeling. How the case may 
 stand in London I do not know, but here the public danger, like all dan- 
 gers which depend merely on human opinions and feelings, has disappeared 
 from our sight almost in the twinkling of an eye. I hope that the result of 
 these changes may be the secure re-establishment of our commerce, which 
 I suppose political apprehensions must have contributed to depress. I 
 hope, at least, that there is no danger to our own fortunes of the kind at 
 which you seem to hint. Be assured however, my dear Father, that, be 
 our circumstances what they may, I feel firmly prepared to encounter the 
 worst with fortitude, and to do my utmost to retrieve it by exertion. The 
 best inheritance you have already secured to me, an unblemished name 
 and a good education. And for the rest, whatever calamities befal us, I 
 would not, to speak without affectation, exchange adversity consoled, as 
 with us it must ever be, by mutual affection and domestic happiness, for 
 anything which can be possessed by those who are destitute of the kind- 
 ness of parents and sisters like mine. But I think, on referring to your 
 letter, that I insist too much upon the signification of a few words. I hope 
 so, and trust that everything will go well. But it is chapel time, and I 
 must conclude. 
 
 Ever most affectionately yours, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 Trin. Coll. : March 25, 1821. 
 
 My dear Mother, — I entreat you to entertain no apprehensions about 
 my health. My fever, cough, and sore-throat have all disappeared for the 
 last four days. Many thanks for your intelligence about poor dear John’s 
 recovery, which has much exhilarated me. Yet I do not know whether 
 illness to him is not rather a prerogative than an evil. I am sure that it is 
 well worth while being sick to be nursed by a mother. There is nothing 
 which I remember with such pleasure as the time when you nursed me at 
 Aspenden. The other night, when I lay on my sofa very ill and hypoch- 
 ondriac, I was thinking over that time. How sick, and sleepless, and 
 weak I was, lying in bed, when I was told that you were come ! How well 
 I remember with what an ecstasy of joy I saw that face approaching me, 
 in the middle of people that did not care if I died that night except for 
 the trouble of burying me ! The sound of your voice, the touch of your 
 hand, are present to me now, and will be, I trust in God, to my last hour. 
 The very thought of these things invigorated me the other day ; and I al- 
 most blessed the sickness and low spirits which brought before me asso- 
 ciated images of a tenderness and an affection, which, however imperfect- 
 ly repaid, are deeply remembered. Such scenes and such recollections 
 are the bright half of human nature and human destiny. All objects of 
 ambition, all rewards of talent, sink into nothing compared with that af- 
 VoL. I.— 5 
 
66 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. 11. 
 
 fection which is independent of good or adverse circumstances, excepting 
 that it is never so ardent, so delicate, or so tender as in the hour of lan- 
 guor or distress. But I must stop. I had no intention of pouring out on 
 paper what I am much more used to think than to express. Farewell, 
 my dear Mother. 
 
 Ever yours affectionately, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 Macaulay liked Cambridge too well to spend the long vacation else- 
 where except under strong compulsion : but in 1821, with the terrors of 
 the Mathematical Tripos already close at hand, he was persuaded into 
 joining a reading party in Wales with a Mr. Bird as tutor. Eardley 
 Childers, the father of the statesman of that name, has preserved a 
 pleasant little memorial of the expedition. 
 
 To Charles Smith Bird, Eardley Childers, Thos. B. Macaulay, William 
 Clayton Walters, Geo. B. Paley, Robert Jarratt, Thos. Jarratt, 
 Edwin Kempson, Ebenezer Ware, Wm. Cornwall, John Greenwood, 
 J. Lloyd, and Jno. Wm. Gleadall, Esquires : 
 
 Gentlemen, — We the undersigned for ourselves and the inhabitants in 
 general of the town of Llanrwst in the county of Denbigh consider it 
 our duty to express to you the high sense we entertain of your general 
 good conduct and demeanor during your residence here, and we assure 
 you that we view with much regret the period of your separation and 
 departure from amongst us. We are very sensible of the obligation we 
 are under for your uniformly benevolent and charitable exertions upon 
 several public occasions, and we feel peculiar pleasure in thus tendering 
 to you individually our gratitude and thanks. 
 
 Wishing you all possible prosperity and happiness in your future avo- 
 cations, we subscribe ourselves with unfeigned respect. Gentlemen, 
 
 Your most obedient servants. 
 
 Rev. John Tiltey, 
 &c., &C. 
 
 (25 signatures.) 
 
 In one respect Macaulay hardly deserved his share of this eulogium. A 
 scheme was on foot in the town to found an auxiliary branch of the Bible 
 Society. A public meeting was called, and Mr. Bird urged his eloquent 
 pupil to aid the project with a specimen of Union rhetoric. Macaulay, 
 however, had had enough of the Bible Society at Clapham, and sturdily 
 refused to come forward as its champion at Llanrwst 
 
i 8 i 8 — 24* 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 67 
 
 Llanwrst : July — , 1821. 
 
 My dear Mother, — You see I know not how to date my letter. My 
 calendar in this sequestered spot is as irregular as Robinson Crusoe’s 
 after he had missed one day in his calculation. I have no intelligence to 
 send you, unless a battle between a drunken attorney and an impudent 
 publican which took place here yesterday may deserve the appellation. 
 Y ou may perhaps be more interested to hear that I sprained my foot, 
 and am just recovering from the effects of the accident by means of opo- 
 deldoc which I bought at the tinker’s. For all trades and professions 
 here lie in a most delightful confusion. The druggist sells hats; the 
 shoemaker is the sole bookseller, if that dignity may be allowed him on 
 the strength of the three Welsh Bibles and the guide to Caernarvon 
 which adorn his window ; ink is sold by the apothecary ; the grocer sells 
 ropes, (a commodity which, I fear, I shall require before my residence 
 here is over,) and toothbrushes. A clothesbrush is a luxury yet unknown 
 to Llanrwst. As to books, for want of any other English literature, I 
 intend to learn Paradise Lost by heart at odd moments. But I must 
 conclude. Write to me often, my dear Mother, and all of you at home, 
 or you may have to answer for my drowning myself, like Gray’s bard, in 
 “ Old Conway’s foaming flood,” which is most conveniently near for so 
 poetical an exit. 
 
 Ever most affectionately yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 Llanrwst : August 31, 1821. 
 
 My dear Father, — I have just received your letter, and cannot but 
 feel concerned at the tone of it. I do not think it is quite fair to attack 
 me for filling my letters with remarks on the King’s Irish expedition. It 
 has been the great event of this part of the world. I was at Bangor 
 when he sailed. His bows, and the Marquis of Anglesea’s fete, were the 
 universal subjects of conversation ; and some remarks on the business 
 were as natural from me as accounts of the coronation from you in Lon- 
 don. In truth I have little else to say. I see nothing that connects me 
 with the world except the newspapers. I get up, breakfast, read, play at 
 quoits, and go to bed. This is the history of my life. It will do for 
 every day of the last fortnight. 
 
 As to the King, I spoke of the business, not at all as a political, but 
 as a moral question, as a point of correct feeling and of private decency. 
 If Lord were to issue tickets for a gala ball immediately after re- 
 
 ceiving intelligence of the sudden death of his divorced wife, I should 
 say the same. I pretend to no great insight into party politics ; but the 
 question whether it is proper for any man to mingle in festivities while 
 
68 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. xl. 
 
 his wife’s body lies unburied is one, I confess, which I thought myself 
 competent to decide. But I am not anxious about the fate of my remarks, 
 which I have quite forgot, and which, I dare say, were very foolish. To 
 me it is of little importance whether the King’s conduct were right or 
 wrong ; but it is of great importance that those whom I love should not 
 think me a precipitate, silly, shadow sciolist in politics, and suppose that 
 every frivolous word that falls from my pen is a dogma which I mean to 
 advance as indisputable ; and all this only because I write to them with- 
 out reserve ; only because I love them well enough to trust them with 
 every idea which suggests itself to me. In fact, I believe that I am not 
 more precipitate or presumptuous than other people, but only more open. 
 You cannot be more fully convinced than I am how contracted my means 
 are of forming a judgment. If I chose to weigh every word that I ut- 
 tered or wrote to you, and, whenever I alluded to politics, were to labor 
 and qualify my expressions as if I were drawing up a state paper, my 
 letters might be a great deal wiser, but would not be such letters as I 
 should wish to receive from those whom I loved. Perfect love, we are 
 told, casteth out fear. If I say, as I know I do, a thousand wild and 
 inaccurate things, and employ exaggerated expressions about persons or 
 events in writing to you or to my mother, it is not, I believe, that I want 
 power to systematise my ideas or to measure my expressions, but because 
 I have no objection to letting you see my mind in dishabille. I have a 
 court dress for days of ceremony and people of ceremony, nevertheless. 
 But I would not willingly be frightened into wearing it with you ; and I 
 hope you do not wish me to do so. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 To hoax a newspaper has, time out of mind, been the special ambi- 
 tion of undergraduate wit. In the course of 1821 Macaulay sent tc the 
 Morning Post a burlesque copy of verses, entitled “ Tears of Sensibility.” 
 The editor fell an easy victim, but unfortunately did not fall alone. 
 
 No pearl of ocean is so sweet 
 As that in my Zuleika’s eye. 
 
 No earthly jewel can compete 
 With tears of sensibility. 
 
 Like light phosphoric on the billow, 
 
 Or hermit ray of evening sky, 
 
 Like ripplings round a weeping willow 
 Are tears of sensibility. 
 
 Like drops of Iris-colored fountains 
 By which Endymion loved to lie. 
 
 Like dew-gems on untrodden mountains 
 Are tears of sensibility. 
 
1818-24. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 69 
 
 While Zephyr broods o’er moonlight rill 
 The flowerets droop as if to die, 
 
 And from their chaliced cups distil 
 The tears of sensibility. 
 
 The heart obdurate never felt 
 One link of nature’s magic tie 
 If ne’er it knew the bliss to melt 
 In tears of sensibility. 
 
 The generous and the gentle heart 
 Is like that balmy Indian tree 
 Which scatters from the wounded part 
 The tears of sensibility. 
 
 Then oh! ye Fair, if Pity’s ray 
 E’er taught your snowy breasts to sigh, 
 
 Shed o’er my contemplative lay 
 The tears of sensibility. 
 
 November 2, 1821. 
 
 My dear Mother, — I possess some of the irritability of a poet, and it 
 has been a good deal awakened by your criticisms. I could not have im- 
 agined that it would have been necessary for me to have said that the ex- 
 ecrable trash entitled Tears of Sensibility was merely a burlesque on the 
 style of the magazine verses of the day. I coujd not suppose that you 
 could have suspected me of seriously composing such a farrago of false 
 metaphor and unmeaning epithet. It was meant solely for a caricature on 
 the style of the poetasters of newspapers and journals ; and, (though I say 
 it who should not say it, ) has excited more attention and received more 
 praise at Cambridge than it deserved. If you have it read it over again, 
 and do me the justice to believe that such a compound of jargon, nonsense, 
 false images, and exaggerated sentiment is not the product of my serious 
 labors. I sent it to the Morning Post, because that paper is the ordinary 
 receptacle of trash of the description which I intended to ridicule, and its 
 admission therefore pointed the jest. I see, however, that for the future 
 I must mark more distinctly when I intend to be ironical. 
 
 Your affectionate son, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 Cambridge : July 26, 1822. 
 
 My dear Father, — I have been engaged to take two pupils for nine 
 months of the next year. They are brothers whose father, a Mr. Stoddart, 
 resides at Cambridge. I am to give them an hour a day, each ; and am 
 to receive a hundred guineas. It gives me great pleasure to be able even 
 in this degree to relieve you from the burden of my expenses here. I be- 
 
70 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. II. 
 
 gin my tutorial labors to-morrow. My pupils are young, one being fifteen 
 and the other thirteen years old, but I hear excellent accounts of their pro- 
 ficiency, and I intend to do my utmost for them. 
 
 Farewell, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 A few days later on he writes : “ I do not dislike teaching ; whether it 
 is that I am more patient than I had imagined, or that I have not yet had 
 time to grow tired of my new vocation. I find alsp, what at first sight may 
 appear paradoxical, that I read much more in consequence, and that the 
 regularity of habits necessarily produced by a periodical employment which 
 cannot be procrastinated fully compensates for the loss of the time which 
 is consumed in tuition.” 
 
 Trinity College, Cambridge : October i, 1824. 
 
 My dear Father, — I was elected Fellow this morning, shall be sworn 
 in to-morrow, and hope to leave Cambridge on Tuesday for Rothley Tem- 
 ple. The examiners speak highly of the manner in which I acquitted my- 
 self, and I have reason to believe that I stood first of the candidates. 
 
 I need not say how much I am delighted by my success, and how much 
 I enjoy the thought of the pleasure which it will afford to you, my mother, 
 and our other friends. Till I become a Master of Arts next July the 
 pecuniary emolument -vyhich I shall derive will not be great For seven 
 years from that time it will make me almost an independent man. 
 
 Malden is elected. You will take little interest in the rest of our 
 Cambridge successes and disappointments. 
 
 Yours most affectionately, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
1824-30. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY, 
 
 71 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 1824-1830. 
 
 Macaulay is called to the bar — Does not make it a serious profession — Speech before the 
 Anti-Slavery Society — Knight’s Quarterly Magazine — The Edinburgh Review and 
 the Essay on Milton — Macaulay’s personal appearance and mode of existence — 
 His defects and virtues, likings and antipathies — Croker — Sadler — Zachary Macau- 
 lay’s circumstances — Description of the family habits of life in Great Ormond Street 
 — Macaulay’s Sisters — Lady Trevelyan — The Judicious Poet — Macaulay’s humor in 
 conversation — His articles in the Review — His attacks on the Utilitarians and on 
 Southey — Blackwood’s Magazine — Macaulay is made Commissioner of Bankruptcy — 
 Enters Parliament — Letters from Circuit and Edinburgh. 
 
 M acaulay was called to the bar in 1826, and joined the Northern 
 circuit at Leeds. On the evening that he first appeared at mess, 
 when the company were retiring for the night, he was observed to be care- 
 fully picking out the longest candle. An old King’s Counsel, who noticed 
 that he had a volume under his arm, remonstrated with him on the danger of 
 reading in bed, upon which he rejoined with immense rapidity of utterance : 
 “ I always read in bed at home, and if I am not afraid of committing par- 
 ricide and matricide and fratricide I can hardly be expected to pay any 
 special regard to the lives of the bagmen of Leeds.” And, so saying, he 
 left his hearers staring at one another, and marched off to his room, little 
 knowing that before many years were out he would have occasion to speak 
 much more respectfully of the Leeds bagmen. 
 
 Under its social aspect Macaulay heartily enjoyed his legal career. 
 He made an admirable literary use of the Saturnalia which the Northern 
 circuit calls by the name of “ Grand Night,” when personalities of the 
 most pronounced description are welcomed by all except the object of 
 them, and forgiven even by him. His hand may be recognized in a mac- 
 caronic poem, written in Greek and English, describing the feast at which 
 Alexander murdered Clitus. The death of the victim is treated with an 
 exuberance of fantastic drollery, and a song, put into the mouth of Near- 
 chus, the admiral of the Macedonian fleet, and beginning with the lines 
 
 When as first I did come back from ploughing the salt water 
 They paid me off at Salamis, three minae and a quarter, 
 
 is highly Aristophanic in every sense of the word. 
 
72 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. III. 
 
 He did not seriously look to the bar as a profession. No persuasion 
 would induce him to return to his chambers in the evening, according to 
 the practice then in vogue. After the first year or two of the period 
 during which he called himself a barrister he gave up even the pretence of 
 reading law, and spent many more hours under the gallery of the House 
 of Commons than in all the courts together. The person who knew him 
 best said of him : “ Throughout life he never really applied himself to 
 any pursuit that was against the grain.” Nothing is more characteristic 
 of the man than the contrast between his unconquerable aversion to the 
 science of jurisprudence at the time when he was ostensibly preparing 
 himself to be an advocate, and the zest with which, on his voyage to India, 
 he mastered that science in principle and detail as soon as his inaagination 
 was fired by the prospect of the responsibilities of a law-giver. 
 
 He got no business worth mention, either in London or on circuit. 
 Zachary Macaulay, who was not a man of the world, did what he could to 
 make interest with the attorneys, and, as a last resource, proposed to his 
 son to take a brief in a suit which he himself had, instituted against the 
 journal that had so grossly libelled him. “ I am rather glad,” writes Ma- 
 caulay from York in March 1827, “ that I was not in London, if your ad- 
 visers thought it right that I should have appeared as your counsel. 
 Whether it be contrary to professional etiquette I do not know : but I am 
 sure that it would be shocking to public feeling ; and particularly impru- 
 dent against adversaries whose main strength lies in detecting and expos- 
 ing indecorum or eccentricity. It would have been difficult to avoid a 
 quarrel with Sugden, with Wetherell, and with old Lord Eldon himself 
 Then the John Bull would have been upon us with every advantage. The 
 personal part of the consideration it would have been my duty, and my 
 pleasure and pride also, to overlook, but your interests must have suf- 
 fered.” 
 
 Meanwhile he was busy enough in fields better adapted than the law 
 to his talents and his temperament. He took a part in a meeting of the 
 Anti-Slavery Society held at Freemasons’ Tavern, on the 25th of June 
 1824, with the Duke of Gloucester in the chair. The Edinburgh Review 
 described his speech as “ a display of eloquence so signal for rare and 
 matured excellence that the most practised orator may well admire how it 
 should have come from one who then for the first time addressed a public 
 assembly.” 
 
 Those who know what the annual meeting of a well organized and dis- 
 ciplined association is, may imagine the whirlwind of cheers which greeted 
 the declaration that the hour was at hand when “ the peasant of the An- 
 tilles will no longer crawl in listless and trembling dejection round a 
 plantation from whose fruits he must derive no advantage, and a hut whose 
 door yields him no protection ; but, when his cheerful and voluntary 
 
1824-30. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 73 
 
 labor is performed, he will return with the firm step and erect brow of a 
 British citizen from the field which is his freehold to the cottage which is 
 his castle.” 
 
 Surer promise of aptitude for political debate was afforded by the 
 skill with which the young speaker turned to account the recent trial for 
 sedition, and death in prison, of Smith, the Demerara missionary: an 
 event which was fatal to Slavery in the West Indies in the same degree as 
 the execution of John Brown was its death-blow in the United States. 
 “ When this country has been endangered either by arbitrary power or 
 popular delusion truth has still possessed one irresistible organ, and jus- 
 tice one inviolable tribunal. That organ has been an English press, and 
 that tribunal an English jury. But in those wretched islands we see a 
 press more hostile to truth than any censor, and juries more insensible to 
 justice than any Star Chamber. In those islands alone is exemplified the 
 full meaning of the most tremendous of the curses denounced against the 
 apostate Hebrews, ‘I will curse your blessings.’ We can prove this as- 
 sertion out of the mouth of our adversaries. We remember, and God 
 Almighty forbid that we ever should forget, how, at the trial of Mr. Smith, 
 hatred regulated every proceeding, was substituted for every law, and al- 
 lowed its victim no sanctuary in the house of mourning, no refuge in the 
 very grave. Against the members of that court-martial the country has 
 pronounced its verdict. But what is the line of defence taken by its 
 advocates ? It has been solemnly and repeatedly declared in the House 
 of Commons that a jury composed of planters would have acted with far 
 more injustice than did this court : — this court which has never found a 
 single lawyer to stake his professional character on the legality of its 
 proceedings. The argument is this. Things have doubtless been done 
 which should not have been done The court-martial sat without a juris- 
 diction ; it convicted without evidence ; it condemned to a punishment not 
 warranted by law. But we must make allowances. We must judge by 
 comparison. ‘ Mr. Smith ought to have been very thankful that it was no 
 worse. Only think what would have been his fate if he had been tried by 
 a jury of planters ? ’ Sir, I have always lived under the protection of the 
 British laws, and therefore I am unable to imagine what could be worse ; 
 but, though I have small knowledge, I have a large faith ; I by no means 
 presume to set any limits to the injustice of a West Indian judicature. 
 And since the colonists maintain that a jury composed of their own body 
 not only possibly might, but necessarily must, have acted with more iniq- 
 uity than this court-martial, I certainly shall not dispute the assertion, 
 though I am utterly unable to conceive the mode.” 
 
 That was probably the happiest half-hour of Zachary Macaulay’s life. 
 “My friend,” said Wilberforce, when his turn came to speak, “would 
 doubtless willingly bear with all the base falsehoods, all the vile calumnies, 
 
74 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CII. iir. 
 
 all the detestable artifices which have been aimed against him, to render 
 him the martyr and victim of our cause, for the gratification he has this 
 day enjoyed in hearing one so dear to him plead such a cause in such a 
 manner.” Keen as his pleasure was, he took it in his own sad way. From 
 the first moment to the last, he never moved a muscle of his countenance, 
 but sat with his eyes fixed on a piece of paper, on which he seemed to be 
 writing with a pencil. While talking with his son that evening he re- 
 ferred to what had passed only to remark that it was ungraceful in so 
 young a man to speak with folded arms in the presence of royalty. 
 
 In 1823 the leading members of the cleverest set of boys who ever 
 were together at a public school found themselves collected once more at 
 Cambridge. Of the former staff of the Etonian, Praed, Moultrie, Der- 
 went Coleridge, and, among others, Mr. Edmond Beales, so well known 
 to our generation as an ardent politician, were now in residence at King’s 
 or Trinity. Mr. Charles Knight, too enterprising a publisher to let such 
 a quantity of youthful talent run to waste, started a periodical, which was 
 largely supported by undergraduates and Bachelors of Arts, among whom 
 the veterans of the Eton press formed a brilliant, and as he vainly hoped 
 a reliable nucleus of contributors. 
 
 Knight’s Quarterly Magazine is full of Macaulay, and of Macaulay 
 in the attractive shape which a great author wears while he is still writ- 
 ing to please no one but himself. He unfortunately did not at all please 
 his father. In the first number, besides a great deal of his that is still 
 worth reading, there were printed under his adopted signature of Tris- 
 tram Merton two little poems, the nature of which may be guessed from 
 Praed’s editorial comments. “ Tristram Merton, I have a strong curiosity 
 to know who Rosamond is. But you will not tell me : and, after all, as 
 far as your verses are concerned, the surname is nowise germane to the 
 matter. As poor Sheridan said, it is too formal to be registered in love’s 
 calendar.” And again; “Tristram, I hope Rosamond and your Fail 
 Girl of France will not pull caps : but I cannot forbear the temptation of 
 introducing your Roxana and Statira to an admiring public.” The verses 
 were such as any man would willingly look back to having written at two 
 and twenty; but their appearance occasioned real misery to Zachary 
 Macaulay, who indeed disapproved of the whole publication from begin- 
 ning to end, with the exception of an article on West Indian Slavery 
 which his son had inserted with the most filial intention, but which, it 
 must be allowed, was not quite in keeping with the general character of 
 the magazine, 
 
 July 9, 1823. 
 
 My dear Father, — I have seen the two last letters which you have 
 Bent to my mother. They have given me deep pain ; but pain without 
 
LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 1824-30. 
 
 75 
 
 remorse. I am conscious of no misconduct, and whatever uneasiness I 
 may feel arises solely from sympathy for your distress. 
 
 You seem to imagine that the book is edited, or principally written, 
 by friends of mine. I thought that you had been aware that the work is 
 conducted in London, and that my friends and myself are merely con- 
 tributors, and -form a very small proportion of the contributors. The 
 manners of almost all of my acquaintances are so utterly alien from 
 coarseness, and their morals from libertinism, that I feel assured that no 
 objection of that nature can exist to their writings. As to my own con- 
 tributions I can only say that the Roman Story was read to my mother 
 before it was published, and would have been read to you if you had hap- 
 pened to be at home. Not one syllable of censure was uttered. 
 
 The Essay on the Royal Society of Literature was read to you. I 
 made the alterations which I conceived that you desired, and submitted 
 them afterwards to my mother. As to the poetry which you parallel with 
 Little’s, if anything vulgar or licentious has been written by myself, I am 
 willing to bear the consequences. If anything of that cast has been 
 written by my friends, I allow that a certain degree of blame attaches to 
 me for having chosen them at least indiscreetly. If, however, a book- 
 seller of whom we knew nothing has coupled improper productions with 
 ours in a work over which we had no control, I cannot plead guilty to 
 anything more than misfortune ; a misfortune in which some of the most 
 rigidly moral and religious men of my acquaintance have participated in 
 the present instance. 
 
 I am pleading at random for a book which I never saw. I am defend- 
 ing the works of people most of whose names I never heard. I am 
 therefore writing under great disadvantages. I write also in great haste. 
 I am unable even to read over what I have written. 
 
 Affectionately yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 Moved by the father’s evident unhappiness, the son promised never 
 to write again for the obnoxious periodical. The second number was so 
 dull and decorous that Zachary Macaulay, who felt that, if the magazine 
 went on through successive quarters reforming its tone in the same pro- 
 portion, it would soon be on a level of virtue with the Christian Observer, 
 withdrew his objection ; and the young man wrote regularly till the short 
 life of the undertaking ended in something very like a quarrel between 
 the publisher and his contributors. It is not the province of biography 
 to dilate upon works which are already before the world, and the results 
 of Macaulay’s literary labor during the years 1823 and 1824 have been, 
 perhaps, only too freely reproduced in the volumes which contain his 
 miscellaneous writings. It is, however, worthy of notice that among his 
 
76 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. HI. 
 
 earlier efforts in literature his own decided favorite was “the Conversa- 
 tion between Mr. Abraham Cowley and Mr. John Milton touching the 
 great civil war.” But an author, who is exempt from vanity, is inclined 
 to rate his own works rather according as they are free from faults than 
 as they abound in beauties ; and Macaulay’s readers will very generally 
 give the preference to two fragmentary sketches of Roman and Athenian 
 society which sparkle with life, and humor, and a masculine vigorous 
 fancy that had not yet learned to obey the rein. Their crude but genuine 
 merit suggests a regret that he did not in after days enrich the Edinburgh 
 Review with a couple of articles on classical subjects, as a sample of 
 that ripened scholarship which produced the Prophecy of Capys, and 
 the episode relating to the Phalaris controversy in the Essay on Sir 
 William Temple. 
 
 Rothley Temple : October 7, 1824. 
 
 My dear Father, — As to Knight’s Magazine, I really do not think 
 that, considering the circumstances under which it is conducted, it can be 
 much censured. Every magazine must contain a certain quantity of mere 
 ballast, of no value but as it occupies space. The general tone and spirit 
 of the work will stand a comparison, in a moral point of view, with any 
 perodical publication not professedly religious. I will venture to say 
 that nothing has appeared in it, at least since the first number, from the 
 pen of any of my friends, which can offend the most fastidious. Knight 
 is absolutely in our hands, and most desirous to gratify us all, and me in 
 particular. When I see you in London I will mention to you a piece of 
 secret history which will show you how important our connection with 
 this work may possibly become. 
 
 Yours affectionately, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 The “ piece of secret history ” above referred to was beyond a doubt 
 the commencement of Macaulay’s connection with the Edinburgh Review. 
 That famous periodical, which for three and twenty years had shared in 
 and promoted the rising fortunes of the Liberal cause, had now attained 
 its height — a height unequalled before or since — of political, social, and 
 literary power. To have the entry of its columns was to command the 
 most direct channel for the spread of opinions, and the shortest road to 
 influence and celebrity. But already the anxious eye of the master seemed 
 to discern symptoms of decline. Jeffrey, in Lord Cockburn’s phrase, 
 was “growing feverish about new writers.” In January 1825 he says in 
 a letter to a friend in London : “Can you not lay your hands on some 
 clever young man who would write for us ? The original supporters of 
 the work are getting old, and either too busy or too stupid, and here the 
 
1824-30. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 77 
 
 young men are mostly Tories.” Overtures had already been made to 
 Macaulay, and that same year his article on Milton appeared in the Au- 
 gust number. 
 
 The effect on the author’s reputation was instantaneous. Like Lord 
 Byron, he awoke one morning and found himself famous. The beauties 
 of the work were such as all men could recognize, and its very faults 
 pleased. The redundance of youthful enthusiasm, which he himself un- 
 sparingly condemns in the preface to his collected essays, seemed grace- 
 ful enough in the eyes of others, if it were only as a relief from the pervert- 
 ed ability of that elaborate libel on our gr6at epic poet which goes by 
 the name of Dr- Johnson’s Life of Milton. Murray declared that it would 
 be worth the copyright of Childe Harold to have Macaulay on the staff of 
 the Quarterly. The family breakfast table in Bloomsbury was covered 
 with cards of invitation to dinner from every quarter of London, and his 
 father groaned in spirit over the conviction that thenceforward the law 
 would be less to him than ever. A warm admirer of Robert Hall, Macau- 
 lay heard with pride how the great preacher, then wellnigh worn out with 
 that long disease, his life, was discovered lying on the floor, employed in 
 learning by aid of grammar and dictionary enough Italian to enable him 
 to verify the parallel between Milton and Dante. But the compliment 
 that of all others came most nearly home, — the only commendation of his 
 literary talent which even in the innermost domestic circle he was ever 
 known to repeat, — was the sentence with which Jeffrey acknowledged the 
 receipt of his manuscript ; “ The more I think the less I can conceive 
 
 where you picked up that style.” 
 
 Macaulay’s outward man was never better described than in two sen- 
 tences of Praed’s Introduction to Knight’s Quarterly Magazine. “ There 
 came up a short manly figure, marvellously upright, with a bad neckcloth, 
 and one hand in his waistcoat pocket. Of regular beauty he had little to 
 boast ; but in faces where there is an expression of great power, or of 
 great good humor, or both, you do not regret its absence.” This picture, 
 in which every touch is correct, tells all that there is to be told. He had 
 a massive head, and features of a powerful and rugged cast, but so con- 
 stantly lit up by every joyful and ennobling emotion that it mattered little 
 if, when absolutely quiescent, his face was rather homely than handsome. 
 While conversing at table no one thought him otherwise than good-look- 
 ing ; but, when he rose, he was seen to be short and stout in figure. “ At 
 Holland House, the other day,” writes his sister Margaret in September 
 1831, “Tom met Lady Lyndhurst for the first time. She said to him : 
 Mr. Macaulay, you are so different to what I expected. I thought you 
 w^ere dark and thin, but you are fair, and really, Mr. Macaulay, you are 
 fat.” He at all times sat and stood straight, full, and square ; and in 
 this respect Woolner, in the fine statue at Cambridge, has missed what 
 
78 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. III. 
 
 was undoubtedly the most marked fact in his personal appearance. He 
 dressed badly, but not cheaply. His clothes, though ill put on, were good, 
 and his wardrobe was always enormously overstocked. Later in life he 
 indulged himself in an apparently inexhaustible succession of handsome 
 embroidered waistcoats, which he used to regard with much complacency. 
 He was unhandy to a degree quite unexampled in the experience of all 
 who knew him. When in the open air he wore perfectly new dark kid 
 gloves, into the fingers of which he never succeeded in inserting his own 
 more than half way. After he had sailed for India there were found in 
 his chambers between fifty and sixty strops, hacked into strips and splin- 
 ters, and razors without beginning or end. About the same period he 
 hurt his hand, and was reduced to send for a barber. After the operation, 
 he asked what was to pay. “ Oh, Sir,” said the man, “ whatever you 
 usually give the person who shaves you.” “ In that case,” said Macaulay, 
 “ I should give you a great gash on each cheek.” 
 
 During an epoch when, at our principal seats of education, athletic 
 pursuits are regarded as a leading object of existence rather than as a 
 means of health and recreation, it requires some boldness to confess that 
 Macaulay was utterly destitute of bodily accomplishments, and that he 
 viewed his deficiencies with supreme indifference. He could neither 
 swim, nor row, nor drive, nor skate, nor shoot. He seldom crossed a 
 saddle, and never wdllingly. When in attendance at Windsor as a cabinet 
 minister he was informed that a horse was at his disposal. “ If her 
 Majesty wishes to see me ride,” he said, “she must order out an elephant.” 
 The only exercise in which he can be said to have excelled was that of 
 threading crowded streets with his eyes fixed upon a book. He might be 
 seen in such thoroughfares as Oxford Street and Cheapside walking as 
 fast as other people walked, and reading a great deal faster than anybody 
 else could read. As a pedestrian he was, indeed, above the average. 
 Till he had passed fifty he thought nothing of going on foot from the 
 Albany to Clapham, and from Clapham on to Greenwich, and while still 
 in the prime of life he was for ever on his feet indoors as well as out. 
 “ In those days,” says his cou.sin Mrs. Conybeare, “ he walked rapidly up 
 and down a room as he talked. I remember on one occasion, when he 
 was making a call, he stopped short in his walk in the midst of a declama- 
 tion on some subject, and said, ‘You have a brick floor here.' The host- 
 ess confessed that it was true, though she hoped that it had been dis- 
 guised by double matting and a thick carpet. He said that his habit of 
 always walking enabled him to tell accurately the material he was tread- 
 ing on.” 
 
 His faults were such as give annoyance to those who dislike a man 
 rather than anxiety to those who love him. Vehemence, over-confidence, 
 the inability to recognize that there are two sides to a question or two 
 
1824 - 30 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 79 
 
 people in a dialogue, are defects which during youth are perhaps insepara- 
 ble from gifts like those with which he was endowed. Moultrie, speaking 
 of his undergraduate days, tells us that 
 
 To him 
 
 There was no pain like silence — no constraint 
 So dull as unanimity. He breathed 
 j An atmosphere of argument, nor shrank 
 
 From making, where he could not find, excuse 
 For controversial fight. 
 
 At Cambridge he would say of himself that whenever anybody enun- 
 ciated a proposition all possible answers to it rushed into his mind at once, 
 and it was said of him by others t-hat he had no politics except the oppo- 
 site of those held by the person with whom he was talking. To that 
 charge, at any rate, he did not long continue liable. He left college a 
 staunch and vehement Whig, eager to maintain against all comers and at 
 any moment that none but Whig opinions had a leg to stand upon. His 
 cousin George Babington, a rising surgeon, with whom at one time he 
 lived in the closest intimacy, was always ready to take up the Tory cudgels. 
 The two friends “ would walk up and down the room, crossing each other 
 for hours, shouting one another down with a continuous simultaneous 
 storm of words, until George at length yielded to arguments and lungs 
 combined. Never, so far as I remember, was there any loss of temper 
 It was a fair, good-humored battle in not very mannerly lists,” 
 
 Even as a very young man nine people out of ten liked nothing better 
 than to listen to him : which was fortunate ; because in his early days he 
 had scanty respect of persons either as regarded the choice of his topics or 
 the quantity of his words. But with his excellent temper, and entire 
 absence of conceit, he soon began to learn consideration for others in 
 small things as well as in great. By the time he was fairly launched in 
 London he was agreeable in company as well as forcible and amusing. 
 Wilberforce speaks of his “ unruffled good-humor.” Sir Robert Inglis, a 
 good observer with ample opportunity of forming a judgment, pronounced 
 that he conversed and did not dictate, and that he was loud but never 
 overbearing. As far back as the year 1826 Crabb Robinson gave a very 
 favorable account of his demeanor in society, which deserves credence as 
 the testimony of one who liked his share of talk, and was not willing to be 
 put in the background for anybody. *‘Iwent to James Stephen, and 
 drove with him to his house at Hendon. A dinner party. I had a most 
 interesting companion in young Macaulay, one of the most promising of 
 the rising generation I have seen for a long time. He has a good face, — 
 not the delicate features of a man of genius and sensibility, but the strong 
 lines and well-knit limbs of a man sturdy in body and mind. Very 
 
So 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. III. 
 
 eloquent and cheerful. Overflowing with words and not poor in thought. 
 Liberal in opinion, but no radical. He seems a correct as well as a full 
 man. He showed a minute knowledge of subjects not introduced by him- 
 self.” 
 
 So loyal and sincere was Macaulay’s nature that he was unwilling to 
 live upon terms of even apparent intimacy with people whom he did not 
 like, or could not esteem ; and, as far as civility allowed, he avoided their 
 advances and especially their hospitality. He did not choose, he said, to 
 eat salt with a man for whom he could not say a good word in all com- 
 panies. He was true throughout life to those who had once acquired his 
 regard and respect. Moultrie says of him : 
 
 His heart was pure and simple as a child’s 
 Unbreathed on by the world: in friendship warm, 
 
 Confiding, generous, constant ; and, though now 
 He ranks among the great ones of the earth 
 
 And hath achieved such glory as will last ■, 
 
 To future generations, he, I think. 
 
 Would sup on oysters with as right good will 
 In this poor home of mine as e’er he did 
 On Petty Cury’s classical first floor 
 Some twenty years ago. 
 
 He loved to place his purse, his influence, and his talents at the disposal 
 of a friend ; and anyone whom he called by that name he judged with 
 indulgence, and trusted with a faith that would endure almost any strain. 
 If his confidence proved to have been egregiously misplaced, which he 
 was always the last to see, he did not resort to remonstrance or recrimina- 
 tion. His course under such circumstances he described in a couplet 
 from an old French comedy ; * 
 
 Le bruit est pour le fat, la plainte pour le sot ; 
 
 L’honnete homme tromp^ s’dloigne et ne dit mot. 
 
 He was never known to take part in any family quarrel or personal broil 
 of any description whatsoever. His conduct in this respect was the result 
 of self-discipline, and did not proceed from any want of sensibility. “ He 
 is very sensitive,” said his sister Margaret, “ and remembers long as well 
 as feels deeply anything in the form of slight.” Indeed, at college his 
 friends used to tell him that his leading qualities were “ generosity and 
 vindictiveness.” Courage he certainly did not lack. During the years 
 when his spirit was high, and his pen cut deep, and when the habits of 
 society were different from what they are at present, more than one 
 
 * La Coquette corrig^e. Com^die par Mr. Delanoue, 1756. In his journal of Feb- 
 ruary 15, 1851, after quoting the couplet, Macaulay adds : “Odd that two lines of a 
 damned play, and, it should seem, a justly damned play, should have lived near a century 
 and have become proverbial.” 
 
1824-30* 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 81 
 
 adversary displayed symptoms of a desire to meet him elsewhere than on 
 paper. On these occasions, while showing consideration for his oppo- 
 nent, he evinced a quiet but very decided sense of what was due to himself 
 which commanded the respect of all who were implicated, and brought 
 difficulties that might have been grave to an honorable and satisfactory 
 issue. 
 
 He reserved his pugnacity for quarrels undertaken on public grounds 
 and fought out with the world looking on as umpire. In the lists of 
 criticism and of debate it cannot be denied that, as a young man, he 
 sometimes deserved the praise which Dr. Johnson pronounced upon a 
 good hater. He had no mercy for bad writers, and notably for bad poets, 
 unless they were in want of money, in which case he became, within his 
 means, the most open-handed of patrons. He was too apt to undervalue 
 both the heart and the head of those who desired to maintain the old 
 system of civil and religious exclusion, and who grudged political power 
 to their fellow-countrymen, or at any rate to those of their fellow-coun- 
 trymen whom he was himself prepared to enfranchise. Independent, frank, 
 and proud almost to a fault, he detested the whole race of jobbers and 
 time-servers, parasites and scandal-mongers, led-captains, led-authors, and 
 led-orators. Some of his antipathies have stamped themselves indelibly 
 upon literary history. He attributed to the Right Honorable John Wil- 
 son Croker, Secretary to the Admiralty during the twenty years preceding 
 1830, qualities which excited his disapprobation beyond control, and 
 possibly beyond measure. In a singularly powerful letter, written as late 
 as 1843, he recites in detail certain unsavory portions of that gentleman’s 
 private life which were not only part of the stock-gossip of every bow- 
 window in St. James’s Street, but which had been brought into the light 
 of day in the course either of Parliamentary or judicial investigations. 
 After illustrating these transactions with evidence which proved that he 
 did not take up an antipathy on hearsay, Macaulay comments on them in 
 such terms as clearly indicate that his animosity to Croker arose from 
 incompatibility of moral sentiments, and not of political opinions. He 
 then proceeds to remark on “ the scandals of Croker’s literary life ; ” 
 “his ferocious insults to women, to Lady Morgan, Mrs. Austin, and 
 others ; ” his twitting Harriet Martineau with deafness ; his twitting 
 Madame D’Arblay with concealing her age. “ I might add,” he says, 
 “ a hundred other charges. These, observe, are things done by a Privy 
 Councillor, by a man who has a pension from the country of 2,000/. a year, 
 by a man who affects to be a champion of order and religion.” Macaulay’s 
 judgment has been confirmed by the public voice, which, rightly or 
 wrongly, identifies Croker with the character of Rigby in Mr. Disraeli’s 
 Coningsby. 
 
 Macaulay was the more formidable as an opponent because he could 
 VoL. I.— 6 
 
82 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. Ill 
 
 be angry without losing his command of the situation. His first onset 
 was terrific : but in the fiercest excitement of the mel^e he knew when to 
 call a halt. A certain member of Parliament named Michael Thomas 
 Sadler had fallen foul of Malthus, and very foul indeed of Macaulay, who 
 in two short and telling articles * took revenge enough for both. He 
 writes on this subject to Mr. Macvey Napier, who towards the close of 
 1829 had succeeded Jeffrey in the editorship of the Edinburgh Review ; 
 “ The position which we have now taken up is absolutely impregnable, 
 and, if we were to quit it, though we might win a more splendid victory, 
 we should expose ourselves to some risk. My rule in controversy has 
 always been that to which the Lacedaemonians adhered in war ; never to 
 break the ranks for the purpose of pursuing a beaten enemy.” He had, 
 indeed, seldom occasion to strike twice. Where he set his mark, there 
 was no need of a second impression. The unduly severe fate of those 
 who crossed his path during the years when his blood was hot teaches a 
 serious lesson on the responsibilities of genius. Croker, and Sadler, and 
 poor Robert Montgomery, and the other less eminent objects of his wrath, 
 appear likely to enjoy just so much notoriety, and of such a nature, as he 
 has thought fit to deal out to them in his pages ; and it is possible that 
 even Lord Ellenborough may be better known to our grandchildren by 
 Macaulay’s oration on the gates of Somnauth than by the noise of his own 
 deeds or the echo of his own eloquence. 
 
 When Macaulay went to college he was justified in regarding himself 
 as one who would not have to work for his bread. His father, who be- 
 lieved himself to be already worth a hundred thousand pounds, had state- 
 edly declared to the young man his intention of making him, in a modest 
 way, an eldest son ; and had informed him that, by doing his duty at the 
 university, he would earn the privilege of shaping his career at choice. 
 In 1818 the family removed to London, and set up an establishment on a 
 scale suited to their improved circumstances in Cadogan Place, which, in 
 everything except proximity to Bond Street, was then hardly less rural than 
 Clapham. But the prosperity of the house of Macaulay and Babington 
 was short-lived. The senior member of the firm gave his whole heart, and 
 five-sixths of his time to objects unconnected with his business : and he 
 had selected a partner who did not possess the qualities necessary to com- 
 pensate for his own deficiencies. In 1819 the first indications of possible 
 disaster begin to show themselves in the letters to and from Cambridge ; 
 while waiting for a fellowship Macaulay was glad to make a hundred 
 
 • Macaulay writes to Mr. Napier in February 1831 : “ People here think that I have 
 answered Sadler completely. Empson tells me that Malthus is well pleased, which is a 
 good sigfn. As to Blackwood’s trash, I could not get through it. It bore the same rela- 
 tion to Sadler’s pamphlet that a bad hash bears to a bad ioint.” 
 
1824-30. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 83 
 
 guineas by taking pupils ; and, as time went on, it became evident that he 
 was to be an eldest son only in the sense that throughout the coming years 
 of difficulty and distress his brothers and sisters would depend mainly upon 
 him for comfort, guidance, and support. - He acknowledged the claim 
 cheerfully, lovingly, and, indeed, almost unconsciously. It was not in his 
 disposition to murmur over what was inevitable, or to plume himself upon 
 doing what was right. He quietly took up the burden which his father 
 was unable to bear j and, before many years had elapsed, the fortunes of 
 all for whose welfare he considered himself responsible were abundantly 
 assured. In the course of the efforts which he expended on the accom- 
 plishment of this result he unlearned the very notion of framing his meth- 
 od of life w'ith a view to his own pleasure ; and such was his high and 
 simple nature that it may well be doubted whether it ever -crossed his mind 
 that to live wholly for others was a sacrifice at all. 
 
 He resided with his father in Cadogan Place, and accompanied him 
 when, under the pressure of pecuniary circumstances, he removed to a 
 less fashionable quarter of the town. In 1823 the family settled in 50 
 Great Ormond Street, which runs east and west for some three hundred 
 yards through the region bounded by the British Museum, the Foundling 
 Hospital, and Gray’s Inn Road. It was a large rambling house, at the 
 corner of Powis Place, and was said to have been the residence of Lord 
 Chancellor Thurlow at the time when the Great Seal was stolen from his 
 custody. It now forms the east wing of an Homoeopathic hospital. Here 
 the Macaulays remained till 1831. “Those were to me,” says Lady Tre- 
 velyan, “ years of intense happiness. There might be money troubles, but 
 they did not touch us. Our lives w^ere passed after a fashion which would 
 seem indeed strange to the present generation. My father, ever more and 
 more engrossed in one object, gradually gave up all society, and my mother 
 never could endure it. We had friends, of course, with whom we stayed 
 out for months together, and we dined wfith the Wilberforces, the Buxtons, 
 
 Sir Robert Inglis, and others : but what is now meant by ‘ society ’ was 
 utterly unknown to us. 
 
 “ In the morning there was some pretence of work and study. In the - 
 afternoon your uncle always took my sister Margaret and myself a long 
 walk. We traversed every part of the City, Islington, Clerkenwell, and 
 the Parks, returning just in time for a six o’clock dinner. What anec- 
 dotes he used to pour out about every street, and square, and court, and 
 alley 1 There are many places I never pass without the tender grace of a 
 day that is dead coming back to me. Then, after dinner, he always walk- 
 ed up and down the drawing-room between us chatting till tea-time. Our 
 noisy mirth, his wretched puns, so many a minute, so many an hour. Then 
 we sang, none of us having any voices, and he, if possible, least of all ; 
 but still the old nursery songs were set to music and chanted. My father, 
 
84 
 
 LIFE /VND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. III. 
 
 sitting at his own table, used to look up occasionally, and push back his 
 spectacles, and, I dare say, wonder in his heart, how we could so waste our 
 time. After tea the book then in reading was produced. Your uncle very 
 seldom read aloud himself of an evening, but walked about listening, and 
 commenting, and drinking water./ 
 
 “ The Sundays were in some respects trying days to him. My father’s 
 habit was to read a long sermon to us all in the afternoon, and again after 
 evening service, another long sermon was read at prayer-time to the ser- 
 vants. Our doors were open to sons of relations or friends ; and cousins 
 who were medical students, or, clerks in merchants’ houses, came in regu- 
 larly to partake of our Sunday dinner and sermons. Sunday walking, for 
 walking’s sake, was never allowed, and even going to a distant church was 
 discourag,ed. When in Cadogan Place we always crossed the Five Fields 
 where Belgrave Square now stands, to hear Dr. Thorpe at the Lock Chap- 
 el, and bring him home to dine with us. From Great Ormond Street, 
 we attended St. John’s Chapel in Bedford Row, then served by Daniel 
 Wilson, afterwards Bishop of Calcutta. He was succeeded in 1826 by 
 the Rev. Baptist Noel. Your uncle generally went to church with us in 
 the morning, and latterly formed the habit of walking out of town, alone 
 or with a friend, in the after part of the day. I never heard that my father 
 took any notice of this, and, indeed, in the interior of his own family, he 
 never attempted in the smallest degree to check his son in his mode of life 
 or in the expression of his opinions. 
 
 “ I believe that breakfast was the pleasantest part of the day to my 
 father. His spirits were then at their best, and he was most disposed to 
 general conversation. He delighted in discussing the newspaper with his 
 son, and lingered over the table long after the meal was finished. On this 
 account he felt it extremely when, in the year 1829, your uncle went to 
 live in chambers, and often said to my mother that the change had taken 
 the brightness out of his day. Though your uncle generally dined with 
 us, yet my father was tired by the evening, so that the breakfast hour was 
 a grievous loss to him, as indeed it was to us all. Truly he was to old and 
 young alike the sunshine of our home ; and I believe that no one, who 
 did not know him there, ever knew him in his most brilliant, witty, and 
 fertile vein.” 
 
 That home was never more cheerful than during the eight years which 
 followed the close of Macaulay’s college life. There had been much 
 quiet happiness at Clapham, and much in Cadogan Place ; but it was 
 round the house in Great Ormond Street that the dearest associations 
 gathered. More than forty years afterwards, when Lady Trevelyan was 
 dying, she had herself driven to the spot, as the last drive she ever took, 
 and sat silent in her carriage for many minutes with her eyes fixed upon 
 those well-known walls. 
 
1824-30. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 8s 
 
 While warmly attached to all his nearest relations, Macaulay lived in 
 the closest and most frequent companionship with his sisters Hannah 
 and Margaret, younger than himself by ten and twelve years respectively. 
 His affection for these two, deep and enduring as it was, had in it no ele- 
 ment of blindness or infatuation. Even in the privacy of a diary, or the 
 confidence of the most familiar correspondence, Macaulay, when writing 
 about those whom he loved, was never tempted to indulge in fond exag- 
 geration of their merits. Margaret, as will be seen in the course of this nar- 
 rative, died young, leaving a memory of outward graces and sweet and noble 
 mental qualities which is treasured by all among whom her short existence 
 was passed. As regards the other sister, there are many alive who knew 
 her for what she was ; and, for those who did not know her, if this book 
 proves how much of her brother’s heart she had, and how well it was worth 
 having, her children will feel that they have repaid their debt even to her. 
 
 Education in the Macaulay family was not on system. Of what are 
 ordinarily called accomplishments the daughters had but few, and Hannah 
 fewest of any ; but ever since she could remember anything she had en- 
 joyed the run of a good standard library, and had been allowed to read 
 at her own time and according to her own fancy. There were two traits 
 in her nature which are seldom united in the same person : a vivid prac- 
 tical interest in the realities which surrounded her, joined with the power 
 of passing at will into a world of literature and romance in which she 
 found herself entirely at home. The feeling with which Macaulay and 
 his sister regarded books differed ' from that of other people in kind 
 rather than in degree. When they were discoursing together about a 
 work of history or biography, a bystander would have supposed that they 
 lived in ‘the times of which the author treated, and had a personal ac- 
 quaintance with every human being who was mentioned in his pages. 
 Pepys, Addison, Horace Walpole, Dr. Johnson, Madame de Genlis, the 
 Due de St. Simon, and the several societies in which those worthies 
 shoved, excited in their minds precisely the same sort of concern, and gave 
 matter for discussions of exactly the same type, as most people bestow 
 upon the proceedings of their own contemporaries. The past was to 
 them as the present, and the fictitious as the actual. The older novels which 
 had been the food of their early years, had become part of themselves to 
 such an extent that in speaking to each other they frequently employed 
 sentences from dialogues in those novels to express the idea, or even the 
 business, of the moment. On matters of the street or of the household 
 they would use the very language of Mrs. Elton and Mrs. Bennet, Mr. 
 Woodhouse, Mr. Collins, and John Thorpe, and the other inimitable ac- 
 tors on Jane Austen’s unpretending stage: while they would debate the 
 love affairs and the social relations of their own circle in a series of quo- 
 tations from Sir Charles Grandison or Evelina. 
 
86 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. Ill 
 
 The effect was at times nothing less than bewildering. When Lady 
 Trevelyan married, her husband, whose reading had lain anywhere 
 rather than among the circulating libraries, used at first to wonder who 
 the extraordinary people could be with whom his wife and his brother-in- 
 law appeared to have lived. This style of thought and conversation had 
 for young minds a singular and a not unhealthy fascination. Lady Tre- 
 velyan’s children were brought up among books (to use the homely 
 simile of an American author), as a stable-boy among horses. The 
 shelves of the library, instead of frowning on us as we played and talked, 
 seemed alive with kindly and familiar faces. But death came, and came 
 again and then all was changed, and changed as in an instant. There were 
 many favorite volumes out of which the spirit seemed to vanish at once and 
 for ever. We endeavored unsuccessfully to revive by our own efforts the 
 amusement which we had been taught to find in the faded flatteries and ab- 
 surdities that passed between Miss Seward and her admirers, or to retrace 
 for ourselves the complications of female jealousy which played round 
 Cowper’s tea-table at Olney. We awoke to the discovery that the charm 
 was not in us, nor altogether in the books themselves. The talisman 
 which endowed with life and meaning all that it touched had passed away 
 from among us, leaving recollections which are our most cherished, as 
 they must ever be our proudest, possession. 
 
 Macaulay thought it probable that he could re-write Sir Charles Grandi- 
 son from memory, and certainly he might have done so with his sister’s 
 help. But his intimate acquaintance with a work was no proof of its 
 merit. “There was a certain prolific author,” says Lady Trevelyan, 
 “named Mrs. Meek, whose romances he all but knew by heart; though 
 he quite agreed in my criticism that they were one just like another, turn- 
 ing on the fortunes of some young man in a very low rank of like who 
 eventually proves to be the son of a Duke. Then there was a set of 
 books by a Mrs. Kitty Cuthbertson, most silly, though readable produc- 
 tions, the nature of which may be guessed from their titles : — ‘ Santo 
 Sebastiano, or the Young Protector,’ ‘The Forest of Montalbano,’ 
 ‘ The Romance of the Pyrenees,’ and ‘ Adelaide, or the Countercharm.’ 
 I remember how, when ‘ Santo Sebastiano ’ was sold by auction in India, 
 he and Miss Eden bid against each other till he secured it at a fabulous 
 price ; and I possess it still.” 
 
 As an indication of the thoroughness with which this literary treasure 
 has been studied, there appears on the last page an elaborate compfita- 
 lion of the number of fainting-fits that occur in the course of the five 
 
 volumes. 
 
 Julia de Clifford ii 
 
 Lady Delamore 4 
 
 Lady Theodosia 4 
 
1824-30. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 87 
 
 Lord Glenbrook 2 
 
 Lord Delamore 2 
 
 Lady Enderfield z 
 
 Lord Ashgrove 1 
 
 Lord St. Orville i 
 
 Henry Mildmay i 
 
 A single passage, selected for no other reason than because it is the 
 shortest, will serve as a specimen of these catastrophes : “ One of the 
 sweetest smiles that ever animated the face of mortal now diffused itself 
 over the countenance of Lord St. Orville, as he fell at the feet of Julia in 
 a death-like swoon.” 
 
 The fun that went on in Great Ormond Street was of a jovial, and 
 sometimes uproarious, description. Even when the family was by itself, 
 the school-room and the drawing-room were full of young people ; and 
 friends and cousins flocked in numbers to a resort where so much merri- 
 ment was perpetually on foot. There • were seasons during the school 
 holidays when the house overflowed with noise and frolic from morning 
 to night ; and Macaulay, who at any period of his life would literally spend 
 whole days in playing with children, was master of the innocent revels. 
 Games of hide and seek, that lasted for hours, with shouting and the blow- 
 ing of horns up and down the stairs and through every room, were varied 
 by ballads, which, like the Scalds of old, he composed during the act of 
 recitation, while the others struck in with the chorus. He had no notion 
 whatever of music, but an infallible ear for rhythm. His knack of im- 
 provisation he at all times exercised freely. The verses which he thus 
 produced, and which he invariably attributed to an anonymous author 
 whom he styled “The Judicious Poet,” were exclusively for home con- 
 sumption. Some of these effusions illustrate a sentiment in his disposi- 
 sion which was among the most decided, and the most frequently and 
 loudly expressed. Macaulay was only too easily bored, and those whom 
 he considered fools he by no means suffered gladly. He once amused 
 his sisters by pouring out whole Iliads of extempore doggerel upon the 
 head of an unfortunate country squire of their acquaintance who had a 
 habit of detaining people by the button, and who was especially addicted 
 to the society of the higher order of clergy. 
 
 His Grace Archbishop Manners Sutton 
 Could not keep on a single button. 
 
 As for Right Reverend John of Chester, 
 
 His waistcoats open at the breast are. 
 
 Our friend * has filled a mighty trunk 
 With trophies tom from Doctor Monk, 
 
 • The name of this gentleman has been concealed, as not being sufficiently known by all 
 to give point, but well enough remembered by some to give pain. 
 
88 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. III. 
 
 And he has really tattered foully 
 The vestments of Archbishop Howley. 
 
 No button could I late discern on 
 The garments of Archbishop Vernon, 
 
 And never had his fingers mercy 
 Upon the garb of Bishop Percy. 
 
 The buttons fly from Bishop Ryder 
 Like corks that spring from bottled cyder, 
 
 and so on, throughout the entire bench, until, after a good half-hour of 
 hearty and spontaneous nonsense, the girls would go laughingly back to 
 their Italian and their drawing-boards. 
 
 He did not play upon words as a habit, nor did he interlard his talk with 
 far-fetched or overstrained witticisms. His humor, like his rhetoric, was 
 full of force and substance, and arose naturally from the complexion of the 
 conversation or the circumstance of the moment But when alone with 
 his sisters, and, in after years, with his nieces, he was fond of setting 
 himself deliberately to manufacture conceits resembling those on the he- 
 roes of the Trojan War which have been thought worthy of publication in 
 the collected works of Swift. When walking in London he would under- 
 take to give some droll turn to the name of every shopkeeper in the 
 street, and, when travelling, to the name of every station along the line. 
 At home he would run through the countries of Europe, the States of the 
 Union, the chief cities of our Indian Empire, the provinces of France, the 
 Prime Ministers of England, or the chief writers and artists of any given 
 century ; striking off puns, admirable, endurable, and execrable, but all 
 irresistibly laughable, which followed each other in showers like sparks 
 from flint. Capping verses was a game of which he never tired. “ In the 
 spring of 1829,” says his cousin Mrs. Conybeare, “ we were staying in Or- 
 mend Street. My chief recollection of your uncle during that visit is on 
 the evenings when we capped verses. All the family were quick at it, 
 but his astounding memory made him supereminent When the time came 
 for him to be off to bed at his chambers he would rush out of the room 
 after uttering some long-sought line, and would be pursued to the top of 
 the stairs by one of the others who had contrived to recall a verse which 
 served the purpose, in order that he might not leave the house victorious : 
 but he, with the hall-door open in his hand, would shriek back a crowning 
 effort and go off triumphant.” 
 
 Nothing of all this can be traced in his letters before the year 1830. 
 Up to that period he corresponded regularly with no one but his father, 
 between whom and himself there existed a strong regard, but scanty sym- 
 pathy or similarity of pursuits. It was not until he poured out his mind 
 almost daily to those who approached him more nearly in age and in tastes 
 that the lighter side of his nature began to display itself on paper. Most 
 
1824-30. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 89 
 
 of what he addressed to his parents between the time when he left Cam- 
 bridge and the time when he entered the House of Commons may be 
 characterized as belonging to the type of duty-letters, treating of politics, 
 legal gossip, personal adventures, and domestic incidents, with some reti- 
 cence and little warmth or ease of expression. The periodical insertion on 
 the son’s part of anecdotes and observations bearing upon the question of 
 Slavery reminds the reader of those presents of tall recruits with which 
 at judiciously chosen intervals Frederic the Great used to conciliate his 
 terrible father. As between the Macaulays, these little filial attentions 
 acquire a certain gracefulness from the fact that, in the circumstances of 
 the family, they could be prompted by no other motive than a dutiful and 
 disinterested affection. 
 
 It must not be supposed, — no one who examines the dates of his suc- 
 cessive essays will for a moment suppose, — that his attention was dis- 
 tracted or his energy dissipated by trifles. Besides the finished study of 
 Machiavelli, and the masterly sketch of our great civil troubles known as 
 the article on Hallam’s Constitutional History, he produced much that 
 his mature judgment would willingly have allowed to die, but which had 
 plenty of life in it when it first appeared between the blue and yellow 
 covers. His most formidable enterprise during the five earliest years of 
 his connection with the great Review was that passage of arms against the 
 champions of the Utilitarian philosophy in which he touched the mighty 
 shields of James Mill and Jeremy Bentham, and rode slashing to right and 
 left through the ranks of their less distinguished followers. Indeed, 
 while he sincerely admired the chiefs of the school, he had a young man’s 
 prejudice against their disciples, many of whom he regarded as “ persons 
 who, having read little or nothing, are delighted to be rescued from the 
 sense of their own inferiority by some teacher who assures them that the 
 studies which they have neglected are of no value, puts five or six phrases 
 into their mouths, lends them an odd number of the Westminster Review, 
 and in a month transforms them into philosophers.” It must be allowed 
 that there was some color for his opinion. The Benthamite training 
 may have stimulated the finer intellects (and there* were not few) which 
 came within its influence ; but it is impossible to conceive anything more 
 dreary than must have been the condition of a shallow mind, with a native 
 predisposition to sciolism, after its owner had joined a society composed 
 of young men agreeing in fundamental principles, acknowledging U tility 
 as their standard in ethics and politics, “ meeting once a fortnight to read 
 essays and discuss questions conformably to the premises thus agreed on,” 
 and “ expecting the regeneration of mankind, not from any direct action 
 on the sentiments of unselfish benevolence and love of justice, but from 
 the effect of educated intellect enlightening the selfish feelings.” John 
 Stuart Mill, with that candor which is the rarest of his great qualities. 
 
90 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. III. 
 
 gave a generous and authoritive testimony to the merit of these attacks 
 upon his father and his father’s creed which Macaulay himself lived to 
 wish that he had left unwritten. 
 
 He was already famous enough to have incurred the inevitable penalty 
 of success in the shape of the pronounced hostility of Blackwood’s 
 Magazine. The feelings which the leading contributors to that periodical 
 habitually entertained towards a young and promising writer were in his 
 case sharpened by political partisanship, and the just and measured 
 severity which he infused into his criticism on Southey’s Colloquies of 
 Society brought down upon him the bludgeon to whose strokes poetic 
 tradition has attributed the death of Keats. Macaulay was made of 
 harder stuff, and gave little heed to a string of unsavory invectives com- 
 pounded out of such epithets as “ugly,” “splay-footed,” and “shape- 
 less;” such phrases as “stuff and nonsense,” “malignant trash,” “ im- 
 pertinent puppy,” and “ audacity of impudence ; ” and other samples 
 from the polemical vocabulary of the personage who, by the irony of fate, 
 filled the Chair of Moral Philosophy at Edinburgh. The substance of 
 Professor Wilson’s attacks consisted in little more than the reiteration of 
 that charge of intellectual juvenility which never fails to be employed as 
 the last resource against a man whose abilities are undoubted and whose 
 character is above detraction : — a charge which came with an ill grace 
 from one who, at the age of forty-five, considered the production of 
 twenty columns a month of Bacchanalian gossip a worthy and becoming 
 occupation for his own powers. 
 
 “ North. He’s a clever lad, James. 
 
 “ Shepherd. Evidently ; and a clever lad he’ll rem.ain, depend ye upon 
 that, a’ the days of his life. A clever lad thirty years auld and some odds 
 is to ma mind the maist melancholy sight in nature. Only think of a 
 clever lad o’ three-score-and-ten, on his deathbed, wha can look back on 
 nae greater achievement than haeing aince, or aiblins ten times, abused 
 Mr. Southey in the Embro’ Review.” 
 
 The prophecies of jealousy seldom come true. Southey’s book died 
 before its author : with the exception of the passages extracted by Ma- 
 caulay, which have been reproduced in his essay a hundred times and 
 more for once that they were ‘ printed in the volumes from which he 
 selected them for his animadversion. 
 
 The chambers in which he ought to have been spending his days, and 
 did actually spend his nights between the years ’1829 and 1834, were 
 within five minutes’ walk of the house in Great Ormond Street.* The 
 building of which those chambers formed a part, 8 South Square, Gray’s 
 Inn, has since been pulled down to make room for an extension of the 
 Library ; a purpose which, in Macaulay’s eyes, would amply compensate 
 for the loss of such associations as might otherwise have attached them- 
 
1824-30. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 91 
 
 selves to the locality. His Trinity fellowship brought him in nearly three 
 hundred pounds annually, and the Edinburgh Review almost as much 
 again. In January 1828, during the interregnum that separated the res- 
 ignation of Lord Goderich and the acceptance of the Premiership by the 
 Duke of Wellington, Lord Lyndhurst made him a Commissioner of 
 Bankruptcy ; a rare piece of luck *t a time when, as Lord Cockburn tells 
 us, “ a youth of a Tory family, who was discovered to have a leaning to- 
 wards the doctrines of the opposition, was considered as a lost son.” 
 “ The Commission is welcome,” Macaulay writes to his father, “ and I 
 am particularly glad that it has been given at a time when there is no 
 ministry, and when the acceptance of it implies no political obligation. 
 To Lord Lyndhurst I of course feel personal gratitude, and I shall always 
 take care how I speak of him.” 
 
 The emoluments of the office made up his income, for the three or 
 four years during which he held it, to about a thousand pounds per 
 annum. His means were more than sufficient for his wants, but too 
 small and far too precarious for the furtherance of the political aspira- 
 tions which now were uppermost in his mind. “ Public affairs,” writes 
 Lady Trevelyan, “were become intensely interesting to him. Canning’s 
 accession to power, then his death, the repeal of the Test Act, the Eman- 
 cipation of the Catholics, all in their turn filled his heart and soul. He 
 himself longed to be taking his part in Parliament, but with a very hope- 
 less longing. 
 
 “ In February 1830, I was staying at Mr. Wilberforce’s at High wood 
 Hill when I got a letter from your uncle, enclosing one from Lord Lans- 
 downe, who told him that he had been much struck by the articles on 
 Mill, and that he wished to be the means of first introducing their author 
 to public life by proposing to him to stand for the vacant seat at Caine. 
 Lord Lansdowne expressly added that it was your uncle’s high moral and 
 private character which had determined him to make the offer, and that 
 he wished in no respect to influence his votes, but to leave him quite at 
 liberty to act according to his conscience. I remember flying into Mr. 
 Wilberforce’s study, and, absolutely speechless, putting the letter into his 
 hands. He read it with much emotion, and returned it to me, saying : 
 * Y our father has had great trials, obloquy, bad health, many anxieties. 
 One must feel as if Tom were given him for a recompense.’ He was 
 silent for a moment, and then his mobile face lighted up and he clapped 
 his hand to his ear, and cried : ‘ Ah 1 I hear that shout again. Hear I 
 Hear ! What a life it was 1 ’ ” 
 
 And so, on the eve of the most momentous conflict that ever was 
 fought out by speech and vote within the walls of a senate-house, the 
 young recruit went gayly to his post in the ranks of that party whose 
 coming fortunes he was prepared loyally to follow, and the history of 
 
92 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. nr. 
 
 whose past he was destined eloquently, and perhaps imperishably, to 
 record. 
 
 York : April 2, 1826. 
 
 My dear Father, — I am sorry that I have been unable to avail myself 
 of the letters of introduction which you forwarded to me. Since I re- 
 ceived them I have been confined to the house with a cold ; and, now 
 that I am pretty well recovered, I must take my departure for Pontefract. 
 But, if it had been otherwise, I could not have presented these recom- 
 mendations. Letters of this sort may be of great service to a barrister ; 
 but the barrister himself must not be the bearer of them. On this sub- 
 ject the rule is most strict, at least on our circuit. The hugging of the 
 Bar, like the Simony of the Church, must be altogether carried on by the 
 intervention of third persons. We are sensible of our dependence on 
 the attorneys, and proportioned to that sense of dependence is our affecta- 
 tion of superiority. Even to take a meal with an attorney is a high, misde- 
 meanor. One of the most eminent men among us brought himself into a 
 serious scrape by doing so. But to carry a letter of introduction, to wait 
 in the outer room while it is being read, to be then ushered into the 
 presence, to receive courtesies which can only be considered as the con- 
 descensions of a patron, to return courtesies which are little else than the 
 blessings of a beggar, would be an infinitely more terrible violation of our 
 professional code. Every barrister to whom I have applied for advice 
 has most earnestly exhorted me on no account, whatever to present the 
 letters myself. I should perhaps add that my advisers have been persons 
 who cannot by any possibility feel jealous of me. 
 
 In default of any thing better I will eke out my paper with some 
 lines which I made in bed last night, — an inscription for a picture of 
 Voltaire. 
 
 If thou would’ st vfew one more than man and less, 
 
 Made up of mean and great, of foul and fair. 
 
 Stop here ; and weep and laugh, and curse and bless, 
 
 And spurn and worship ; for thou seest Voltaire. 
 
 That flashing eye blasted the conqueror’s spear. 
 
 The monarch’s sceptre, and the Jesuit’s beads ; 
 
 And every wrinkle in that haggard sneer 
 Hath been the grave of Dynasties and Creeds. 
 
 In very wantonness of childish mirth 
 
 He puffed Bastilles, and thrones, and shrines away. 
 
 Insulted Heaven, and liberated earth. 
 
 Was it for good or evil ? Who shall say ? 
 
 . , Ever affectionately yours 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
1824-30- 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 93 
 
 York: July 21, 1826. 
 
 My dear Father, — The other day as I was changing my neckcloth 
 which my wig had disfigured, my good landlady knocked at the door or 
 my bedroom, and told me that Mr. Smith wished to see me and was in 
 my room below. Of all names by which men are called there is none 
 which conveys a less determinate idea to the mind than that of Smith. 
 Was he on the circuit ? For I do not know half the names of my com- 
 panions. Was he a special messenger from London? Was he a York 
 attorney coming to be preyed upon, or a be^ar coming to prey upon me, 
 a barber to solicit the dressing of my wig, or a collector for the Jews’ 
 Society ? Down I went, and to my utter amazement beheld the Smith of 
 Smiths, Sydney Smith, alias Peter Plymley. I had forgotten his very 
 existence till I discerned the queer contrast between his black coat and 
 his snow-white head, and the equally curious contrast between the clerical 
 amplitude of his person and the most unclerical wit, whim, and petulance 
 of his eye. I shook hands with him very heartily; and on the Catholic 
 question we immediately fell, regretted Evans,* triumphed over Lord 
 George Beresford, and abused the Bishops. He then very kindly urged 
 me to spend the time between the close of the Assizes and the commence- 
 ment of the Sessions at his house ; and was so hospitably pressing that I 
 at last agreed to go thither on Saturday afternoon. He is to drive me 
 over again into York on Monday morning. I am very well pleased at 
 having this opportunity of becoming better acquainted with a man who, 
 in spite of innumerable affectations and oddities, is certainly one of the 
 wittiest and most original writers of our times. 
 
 Ever yours affectionately, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 Bradford : July 26, 1826. 
 
 My dear Father, — On Saturday I went to Sydney Smith’s. His 
 parish lies three or four miles out of any frequented road. He is, how- 
 ever, most pleasantly situated. “ Fifteen years ago,” said he to me as I 
 alighted at the gate of his shrubbery, “ I was taken up in Piccadilly and 
 set down here. There was no house, and no garden; nothing but a bare 
 field.” One service this eccentric divine has certainly rendered to the 
 Church. He has built the very neatest, most commodious, and most 
 appropriate rectory that I ever saw. All its decorations are in a pecu- 
 liarly clerical style, grave, simple, and gothic. The bedchambers are 
 excellent, and excellently fitted up , the sitting-rooms handsome ; and the 
 grounds sufficiently pretty. Tindal and Parke (not the judge of course), 
 two of the best lawyers, best scholars, and best men in England, were 
 
 * These allusions refer to the general election which had recently taken place. 
 
94 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. III. 
 
 there. We passed an extremely pleasant evening, had a very good din- 
 ner, and many amusing anecdotes. 
 
 After breakfast the next morning I walked to church with Sydney 
 Smith. The edifice is not at all in keeping with the rectory. It is a 
 miserable little hovel with a wooden belfry. It was, however, well filled, 
 and with decent people, who seemed to take very much to their pastor. 
 I understand that he is a very respectable apothecary ; and most liberal 
 of his skill, his medicine, his soup, and his wine, among the sick. He 
 preached a very queer sermon— the former half too familiar and the latter 
 half too florid, but not without some ingenuity of thought and expres- 
 sion. 
 
 Sydney Smith brought me to York on Monday morning, in time for 
 the stage-coach which runs to Skipton. We parted with many assurances 
 of good-will. I have really taken a great liking to him. He is full of 
 wit, humor, and shrewdness. He is not one of those show-talkers who 
 reserve all their good things for special occasions. It seems to be his 
 greatest luxury to keep his wife and daughters laughing for two or three 
 hours every day. His notions of law, government, and trade are surpris- 
 ingly clear and just. His misfortune is to have chosen a profession at 
 once above him and below him. Zeal would have made him a prodigy ; 
 formality and bigotry would have made him a bishop; but he could 
 neither rise to the duties of his order, nor stoop to its degradations. 
 
 He praised my articles in the Edinburgh Review with a warmth 
 which I am willing to believe sincere, because he qualified his compli- 
 ments with several very sensible cautions. My great danger, he said, 
 was that of taking a tone of too much asperity and contempt in contro- 
 versy. I believe that he is right, and I shall try to mend. 
 
 Ever affectionately yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 Lancaster : September i, 1827. 
 
 My dear Father, — Thank Hannah from me for her pleasant letter. 
 T would answer it if I had anything equally amusing to say in return ; 
 but here we have no news, except what comes from London, and is as 
 stale as inland fish before it reaches us. We have circuit anecdotes to 
 be sure ; and perhaps you will be pleased to hear that Brougham has 
 been rising through the whole of this struggle. At York Pollock decid- 
 edly took the lead. At Durham Brougham overtook him, passed him at 
 Newcastle, and got immensely ahead of him at Carlisle and Appleby, 
 which, to be sure, are the places where his own connections lie. We 
 have not been here quite long enough to determine how he will succeed 
 with the Lancastrians. This has always hitherto been his least favorable 
 place. He appears to improve in industry and prudence. He learns his 
 
1824-30. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 95 
 
 Story mor6 thoroughly, and tells it more clearly than formerly. If he 
 continues to manage causes as well as he has done of late he must rise 
 to the summit of the profession. I cannot say quite so much for his 
 temper, which this close and constant rivalry does not improve. He 
 squabbles with Pollock more than, in generosity Or policy, he ought to 
 do. I have heard several of our younger men wondering that he does 
 not show more magnanimity. He yawns while Pollock is speaking, a sign 
 of weariness which, in their present relation to each other, he would do 
 well to suppress. He has said some very good, but very bitter, things. 
 There was a case of a lead-mine. Pollock was for the proprietors, and 
 complained bitterly of the encroachments which Brougham's clients had 
 made upon this property, which he represented as of immense value. 
 Brougham said that the estimate which his learned friend formed of the 
 property was vastly exaggerated, but that it was no wonder that a person 
 who found it so easy to get gold for his lead should appreciate that heavy 
 metal so highly. The other day Pollock laid down a point of law 
 rather dogmatically. “ Mr. Pollock,” said Brougham, “ perhaps, before 
 you rule the point, you will suffer his Lordship to submit a few observa- 
 tions on it to your consideration.” 
 
 I received the Edinburgh paper which you sent me. Silly and spite- 
 ful as it is, there is a little truth in it. In such cases I always remember 
 those excellent lines of Boileau : 
 
 ” Mol, qu’une humeur trop libre, un esprit peu soumis, 
 
 De bonne heure a pourvu d’utiles ennemis, 
 
 Je dois plus i leur haine (il faut que je I’avoue) 
 
 Qu’au faible et vain talent dont la France me loue. 
 
 Sitot que sur un vice ils pensent me confondre, 
 
 C’est en me gu^rissant que je sais leur rdpondre. 
 
 This place disagrees so much with me that I shall leave it as soon as 
 the dispersion of the circuit commences — that is, after the delivery of the 
 last batch of briefs ; always supposing, which may be supposed without 
 much risk of mistake, that there are none for me. 
 
 Ever yours affectionately, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 It was about this period that the Cambridge Senate came to a resolu- 
 tion to petition against the Catholic Claims. The minority demanded a 
 poll, and conveyed a hint to their friends in London. Macaulay, with one 
 or two more to help him, beat up the Inns of Court for recruits, chartered 
 a stage-coach, packed it inside and out with young Whig Masters of Arts, 
 and drove up King’s Parade just in time to turn the scale in favor of 
 Emancipation. The whole party dined in triumph at Trinity, and got 
 back to town the same evening ; and the Tory journalists were emphatic 
 
LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. III. 
 
 96 
 
 in their indignation at the deliberate opinion of the University having been 
 overridden by a coachful of “ godless and briefless barristers.” 
 
 Court House, Pomfret : April 15, 1828. 
 
 My dear Mother, — I address this epistle to you as the least undeserv- 
 ing of a very undeserving family. You, I think, have sent me one letter 
 since I left London. I have nothing here to do but to write letters : and, 
 what is not very often the case, I have members of Parliament in abund- 
 ance to frank them, and abundance of matter to fill them with. My Edin- 
 burgh expedition has given me so much to say that, unless I write off some 
 of it before I come home, I shall talk you all to death, and be voted a bore 
 in every house which I visit. I will commence with Jeffrey himself. I 
 had almost forgotten his person : and, indeed, I should not wonder if even 
 now I were to forget it again. He has twenty faces almost as unlike each 
 other as my father’s to Mr. Wilberforce’s, and infinitely more unlike to 
 each other than those of near relatives often are ; infinitely more unlike, 
 for example, than those of the two Grants. When absolutely quiescent, 
 reading a paper, or hearing a conversation in which he takes no interest, 
 his countenance shows no indication whatever of intellectual superiority of 
 any kind. But as soon as he is interested, and opens his eyes upon you, 
 the change is like magic. There is a flash in his glance, a violent contor- 
 tion in his frown, an exquisite humor in his sneer, and a sweetness and 
 brilliancy in his smile, beyond anything that ever I witnessed. A person 
 who had seen him in only one state would not know him if he saw him in 
 another. For he has not, like Brougham, marked features which in all 
 moods of mind remain unaltered. The mere outline of his face is insig- 
 nificant. The expression is everything ; and such power and variety of 
 expression I never saw in any human countenance, not even in that of the 
 most celebrated actors. I can conceive that Garrick may have been like 
 him. I have seen several pictures of Garrick, none resembling another, 
 and I have heard Hannah More speak of the extraordinary variety of 
 countenance by which he was distinguished, and of the unequalled radi- 
 ance and penetration of his eye. The voice and delivery of Jeffrey resem- 
 ble his face. He possesses considerable power or mimicry, and rarely 
 tells a story without imitating several different accents. His familiar 
 tone, his declamatory tone, and his pathetic tone are quite different things. 
 Sometimes Scotch predominates in his pronunciation ; sometimes it is im- 
 perceptible. Sometimes his utterance is snappish and quick to the last 
 degree ; sometimes it is remarkable for rotundity and mellowness. I can 
 easily conceive that two people who had seen him on different days might 
 dispute about him as the travellers in the fable disputed about the chame- 
 leon. 
 
 In one thing, as far as I observed, he is always the same ; and that is 
 
1824 - 30 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 97 
 
 the warmth of his domestic affections. Neither Mr. Wilberforce nor my 
 uncle Babington come up to him in this respect. The flow of his kindness 
 is quite inexhaustible. Not five minutes pass without some fond expression 
 or caressing gesture to his wife or his daughter. He has fitted up a study 
 for himself ; but he never goes into it. Law papers, reviews, whatever he 
 has to write, he writes in the drawing-room or in his wife’s boudoir. When 
 he goes to other parts of the country on a retainer he takes them in the 
 carriage with him. I do not wonder that he should be a good husband : 
 for his wife is a very amiable woman. But I was surprised to see a man 
 so keen and sarcastic, so much of a scoffer, pouring himself out with such 
 simplicity and tenderness in all sorts of affectionate nonsense. Through 
 our whole journey to Perth he kept up a sort of mock quarrel with his 
 daughter ; attacked her about novel-reading, laughed her into a pet, kissed 
 her out of it, and laughed her into it again. She and her mother abso- 
 lutely idolize him, and I do not wonder at it. 
 
 His conversation is very much like his countenance and his voice, of 
 immense variety ; sometimes plain and unpretending even to flatness ; 
 sometimes whimsically brilliant and rhetorical almost beyond the license 
 of private discourse. He has many interesting anecdotes, and tells them 
 very well. He is a shrewd observer ; and so fastidious that I am not sur- 
 prised at the awe in which many people seem to stand when in his com- 
 pany. Though not altogether free from affectation himself, he has a 
 peculiar loathing for it in other people, and a great talent for discovering 
 and exposing it. He has a particular contempt, in which I most heartily 
 concur with him, for the fadaises of blue-stocking literature, for the mutual 
 flatteries of coteries, the handing about of versde societe, the albums, the 
 conversaziones, and all the other nauseous trickeries of the Sewards,Hay- 
 leys, and Sothebys. I am not quite sure that he has escaped the opposite 
 extreme, and that he is not a little too desirous to appear rather a man 
 of the world, an active lawyer, or an easy careless gentleman, than a dis- 
 tinguished writer. I must own that when Jeffrey and I were by ourselves, 
 he talked much and very well on literary topics. His kindness and hos- 
 pitality to me were, indeed, beyond description : and his wife was as pleas- 
 ant and friendly as possible. I liked everything but the hours. We were 
 never up till ten, and never retired till two hours at least after midnight. 
 Jeffrey, indeed, never goes to bed till sleep comes on him overpoweringly, 
 and never rises till forced up by business or hunger. He is extremely 
 well in health ; so that I could not help suspecting him of being very hy- 
 pochondriac ; for all his late letters to me have been filled with lamenta- 
 tions about his various maladies. His wife told me, when I congratulated 
 her on his recovery, that I must not absolutely rely on all his accounts of 
 his own diseases. I really think that he is, on the whole, the youngest- 
 looking man of fifty that I know, at least when he is animated. 
 
 VoL. I.— 7 
 
98 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. III. 
 
 His house is magnificent It is in Moray Place, the newest pile of 
 buildings in the town, looking out to the Forth on one side, and to a green 
 garden on the other. It is really equal to the houses in Grosvenor 
 Square! Fine, however, as is the new quarter of Edinburgh, I decidedly 
 prefer the Old Town. There is nothing like it in the island. You have 
 been there : but you have not seen the town : and no lady eyer sees a 
 a town. It is only by walking on foot through all corners at all hours 
 that cities can be really studied to good purpose. There is a new pillar 
 to the memory of Lord Melville : very elegant, and very much better than 
 the man deserved. His statue is at the top, with a wreath on the head 
 very like a nightcap drawn over the eyes. It is impossible to look at it 
 without being reminded of the fate which the original most richly merited. 
 But my letter will overflow even the ample limits of a frank, if I do not 
 conclude. I hope that you will be properly penitent for neglecting such 
 a correspondent when you receive so long a dispatch written amidst the 
 bellowing of justices, lawyers, criers, witnesses, prisoners, and prisoners* 
 wives and mothers. 
 
 Ever yours affectionately, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 Lancaster ; March 14, rSag. 
 
 My dear Father, — A single line to say that I am at Lancaster. Where 
 you all are I have not the very slightest notion. Pray let me hear. That 
 dispersion of the Gentiles which our friends the prophets foretell seems 
 to have commenced with our family. 
 
 Everything here is going on in the common routine. The only things 
 of peculiar interest are those which we get from the London papers. All 
 minds seem to be perfectly made up as to the certainty of Catholic Eman- 
 cipation having come at last. The feeling of approbation among the 
 barristers is all but unanimous. The quiet towns-people here, as far as I 
 can see, are very well contented. As soon as I arrived I was asked by 
 my landlady how things had gone. I told her the division, which I had 
 learned from Brougham at Garstang. She seemed surprised at the ma- 
 jority. I asked her if she was against the measure. “ No ; she only 
 wished that all Christians would live in peace and charity together.” A 
 very sensible speech, and better than one at least of the members for the 
 county ever made in his life. 
 
 I implore you above everything, my dear Father, to keep up your 
 health and spirits. Come what may, the conveniences of life, independ- 
 ence, our personal respectability, and the exercise of the intellect and the 
 affections, we are almost certain of retaining : and everything else is a 
 mere superfluity, to be enjoyed, but not to be missed. But I ought to be 
 
LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 1824-30. 
 
 99 
 
 ashamed of reading you a lecture on qualities which you are so much 
 more competent to teach than myself. 
 
 Ever yours very affectionately, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 To Macvey Napier y Esq, 
 
 so Great Ormond Street, London : 
 January 25, 1830. 
 
 My dear Sir, — I send off by the mail of to-day an article on Southey,— 
 too long, I fear, to meet your wishes, but as short as I could make it. 
 
 There were, by the bye, in my last article a few omissions made, of no 
 great consequence in themselves ; the longest, I think, a paragraph of 
 twelve or fourteen lines. I should scarcely have thought this worth men- 
 tioning, as it certainly by no means exceeds the limits of that editorial 
 prerogative which I most willingly recognize, but that the omissions seem- 
 ed to me, and to one or two persons who had seen the article in its 
 original state, to be made on a principle which, however sound in itself, 
 does not I think apply to compositions of this description. The passages 
 omitted were the most pointed and ornamented sentences in the review. 
 Now, for high and grave works, a history for example, or a system of 
 political or moral philosophy. Doctor Johnson’s rule, — that every sentence 
 which the writer thinks fine ought to be cut out, — is excellent. But 
 periodical works like ours, which unless they strike at the first reading 
 are not likely to strike at all, whose whole life is a month or two, may, I 
 think, be allowed to be sometimes even viciously florid. Probably, in esti- 
 mating the real value of any tinsel which I may put upon my articles, you 
 and I should not materially differ. But it is not by his own taste, but by 
 the taste of the fish, that the angler is determined in his choice of bait. 
 
 Perhaps after all I am ascribing to system what is mere accident. Be as- 
 sured, at all events, that what I have said is said in perfect good humor, 
 and indicates no mutinous disposition. 
 
 The Jews are about to petition Parliament for relief from the absurd 
 restrictions which lie on them, — the last relique of the old system of in- 
 tolerance. I have been applied to by some of them in the name 'of the 
 managers of the scheme to write for them in the Edinburgh Review, I 
 would gladly further a cause so good, and you, I think, could have no 
 obj ection. 
 
 Ever yours truly, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 Bowood : February 10, 1830. 
 
 My dear Father, — I am here in a very nice room, with perfect liberty, 
 and a splendid library at my command. It seems to be thought desirable 
 
lOO 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. III. 
 
 that I should stay in the neighborhood and pay my compliments to my 
 future constituents every other day. 
 
 The house is splendid and elegant, yet more remarkable for comfort 
 than for either elegance or splendor. I never saw any great place so 
 thoroughly desirable for a residence. Lord Kerry tells me that his uncle 
 left everything in ruin, — trees cut down, and rooms unfurnished, — and 
 sold the library, which was extremely fine. Every book and picture in 
 Bowood has been bought by the present Lord, and certainly the collection 
 does him great honor. * 
 
 I am glad that I stayed here. A burgess of some influence, who, at 
 the last election, attempted to get up an opposition to the Lansdowne in- 
 terest, has just arrived. I called on him this morning, and, though he was 
 a little ungracious at first, succeeded in obtaining his promise. Without 
 him, indeed, my return would have been secure ; but both from motives of 
 interest and from a sense of gratitude I think it best to leave nothing undone 
 which may tend to keep Lord Lansdowne’s influence here unimpaired 
 against future elections. 
 
 Lord Kerry seems to me to be going on well. He has been in very 
 good condition, he says, this week ; and hopes to be at the election, and 
 at the subsequent dinner. I do not know when I have taken so much 
 to so young a man. In general my intimacies have been with my seniors ; 
 but Lord Kerry is really quite a favorite of mine, — kind, lively, intelligent, 
 modest, with the gentle manners which indicate a long intimacy with the 
 best society, and yet without the least affectation. We have oceans of beer 
 and mountains of potatoes for dinner. Indeed, Lady Lansdowne drank beer 
 most heartily on the only day which she passed with us, and, when I told her 
 laughing that she set me at ease on a point which had given me much trouble, 
 she said that she would never suffer any dandy novelist to rob her of her 
 beer or her cheese. 
 
 The question between law and politics is a momentous one. As far 
 as I am myself concerned, I should not hesitate : but the interest of my 
 family is also to be considered. We shall see, however, before long what 
 my chance of success as a public man may prove to be. At present it 
 would plearly be wrong in me to show any disposition to quit my profes- 
 sion. 
 
 I hope that you will be on your guard as to what you may say to 
 Brougham about this business. He is so angry at it that he cannot keep 
 his anger to himself. I know that he has blamed Lord Lansdowne in the 
 robing-room of the Court of King’s Bench. The seat ought, he says, to 
 have been given to another man. If he means Denman, I can forgive 
 and even respe«t him, for the feeling which he entertains. 
 
 Believe me ever yours most affectionately, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
1830-32. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 lOI 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 1830-1832. 
 
 State of public affairs when Macaulay entered Parliament — His maiden speech— The 
 French Revolution of July 1830 — Macaulay’s letters from Paris— The Palais Royal — 
 Lafayette — Lardner’s Cabinet Cyclopedia — The new Parliament meets— Fall of the 
 Duke of Wellington — Scene with Croker — The Reform Bill — Political success — 
 House of Commons life — ^Macaulay’s party spirit— London society — Mr. Thomas 
 Flower Ellis — Visit to Cambridge — Rothley Temple — Margaret Macaulay’s Journal- 
 Lord Brougham — Hopes of office — Macaulay as a politician — Letters to Lady Trevel- 
 yan, Mr. Napier, and Mr. Ellis. 
 
 T hroughout the last two centuries of our history there never 
 was a period when a man conscious of power, impatient of public 
 wrongs, and still young enough to love a fight for its own sake, could have 
 entered Parliament with a fairer prospect of leading a life worth living 
 and doing work that would requite the pains than at the commencement 
 of the year 1830. 
 
 In these volumes, which only touch politics in order to show to what 
 extent Macaulay was a politician, and for how long, controversies cannot 
 appropriately be started or revived. This is not the place to enter into a 
 discussion on the vexed question as to whether Mr. Pitt and his succes- 
 sors, in pursuing their system of repression, were justified by the neces- 
 sities of the long French war. It is enough to assert, what few or none 
 will deny, that, for the space of more than a generation from 1790 on- 
 wards, our country had, with a short interval, been governed on declared 
 reactionary principles. We in whose days Whigs and Tories have often 
 exchanged office, and still more often interchanged policies, find it difficult 
 to imagine what must have been the condition of the kingdom when one 
 and the same party almost continuously held not only place, but power, 
 over a period when to an unexampled degree “ public life was exasperated 
 by hatred and the charities of private life soured by political aversion.” 
 Fear, religion, ambition, and self-interest, — everything that could tempt 
 and everything that could deter, — were enlisted on the side of the domi- 
 nant opinions. To profess Liberal views was to be hopelessly excluded 
 
102 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. IV. 
 
 from all posts of emolument, from all functions of dignity, from the oppor- 
 tunities of business, from the amenities of society. Quiet tradesmen, who 
 ventured to maintain that there was something in Jacobinism besides the 
 guillotine, soon found their town or village too hot to hold them, and 
 were glad to place the Atlantic between themselves and their neighbors. 
 Clergymen suspected of thinking that in the “ Vindiciae Gallicae ” Mackin- 
 tosh had got the better of Burke, were ousted from their College fellow- 
 ships as atheists, or left to starve without a curacy as radicals. Political 
 animosity and political favoritism made themselves felt in departments of 
 life which had hitherto been free from their encroachments. Whig mer- 
 chants had a difficulty in getting money for their paper, and Whig 
 barristers in obtaining acceptance for their arguments. Whig statesmen, 
 while enjoying that security for life and liberty which even in the worst 
 days of our recent history has been the reward of eminence, were power- 
 less in the Commons and isolated in the Lords. No motive but disinter- 
 ested conviction kept a handful of veterans steadfast round a banner 
 which was never raised except to be swept contemptuously down by the 
 disciplined and overwhelming strength of the ministerial phalanx. Argu- 
 ment and oratory were alike unavailing under a constitution which was 
 indeed a despotism of privilege. The county representation of England 
 was an anomaly, and the borough representation little better than a 
 scandal. The constituencies of Scotland, with so much else that of right 
 belonged to the public, had got into Dundas’s pocket. In the year 1820 
 all the towns north of Tweed together contained fewer voters than are 
 now on the rolls of the single burgh of Hawick, and all the counties 
 together contained fewer voters than are now on the register of Roxburgh- 
 shire. So small a band of electors was easily manipulated by a party 
 leader who had the patronage of India at his command. The three 
 Presidencies were flooded with the sons and nephews of men who were 
 lucky enough to have a seat in a Town Council or a superiority in a rural 
 district ; and fortunate it was for our empire that the responsibilities of 
 that noblest of all careers soon educated young Civil Servants into some- 
 thing higher than mere adherents of a political party. 
 
 While the will of the nation was paralyzed within the senate, effectual 
 care was taken that its voice should not be heard without. The press was 
 gagged in England, and throttled in Scotland. Every speech, or sermon, 
 or pamphlet, the substance of which a Crown lawyer could torture into a 
 semblance of sedition, sent its author to the jail, the hulks, or the pillory. 
 In any place of resort where an informer could penetrate men spoke their 
 minds at imminent hazard of ruinous fines and protracted imprisonment. 
 It was vain to appeal to Parliament for redress against the tyranny of 
 packed juries and panic-driven magistrates. Sheridan endeavored to 
 retain for his countrymen the protection of Habeas Corpus j but he could 
 
1830-32. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 103 
 
 only muster forty-one supporters. Exactly as many members followed 
 Fox into the lobby when he opposed a bill, which, interpreted in the spirit 
 that then actuated our tribunals, made attendance at an open meeting 
 summoned for the consideration of Parliamentary Reform a service as 
 dangerous as night-poaching and far more dangerous than smuggling. 
 Only ten more than that number ventured to protest against the introduc- 
 tion of a measure, still more inquisitorial in its provisions and ruthless in 
 its penalties, which rendered every citizen who gave his attention to the 
 removal of public grievances liable at any moment to find himself in the 
 position of a criminal : — that very measure in behalf of which Bishop 
 Horsley had stated in the House of Peers that he did not know what the 
 mass of the people of any country had to do with the laws except to obey 
 them. 
 
 Amidst a population which had once known freedom, and was still fit 
 to be entrusted with it, such a state of matters could not last for ever. 
 Justly proud of the immense success that they had bought by their resolu- 
 tion, their energy, and their perseverance, the Ministers regarded the fall 
 of Napoleon as a party triumph which could only serve to confirm their 
 power. But the last cannon-shot that was fired on the i8th of June 1815 
 was in truth the death-knell of the golden age of Toryism. When the 
 passion and ardor of the war gave place to the discontent engendered by 
 a protracted period of commercial distress, the opponents of progress 
 began to perceive that they had to reckon, not with a small and dishearten- 
 ed faction, but with a clear majority of the nation led by the most enlight- 
 ened and the most eminent of its sons. Agitators and incendiaries 
 retired into the background, as will always be the case when the country 
 is in earnest ; and statesmen who had much to lose, but were not afraid 
 to risk it, stepped quietly and firmly to the front. The men, and the sons 
 of the men, who had so long endured exclusion from office embittered by 
 unpopularity, at length reaped their reward. Earl Grey, who forty years 
 before had been hooted through the streets of North Shields with cries of 
 “ No Popery,” lived to bear the most respected name in England ; and 
 Brougham, whose opinions differed little from those forexpressing which 
 Dr. Priestley in 1791 had his house burned about his ears by the Birming- 
 ham mob, was now the popular idol beyond all comparison or competition. 
 
 In the face of such unanimity of purpose, guided by so much worth 
 and talent, the Ministers lost their nerve, and, like all rulers who do not 
 possess the confidence of the governed, began first to make mistakes and 
 then to quarrel among themselves. Throughout the years of Macaulay’s 
 early manhood the ice was breaking fast. He was still quite young when 
 the concession of Catholic Emancipation* gave a moral shock to the 
 
 * Macaulay was fond of repeating an answer made to him by Lord Clarendon in the 
 
104 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. IV. 
 
 Tory party from which it never recovered until the old order of things had 
 finally passed away. It was his fortune to enter into other men’s labors 
 after the burden and heat of the day had already been borne, and to be 
 summoned into the field just as the season was at hand for gathering in a 
 ripe and long-expected harvest of beneficent legislation. 
 
 On the 5th of April 1830 he addressed the House of Commons on the 
 second reading of Mr. Robert Grant’s bill for the Removal of Jewish Dis- 
 abilities. Sir James Mackintosh rose with him, but Macaulay got the ad- 
 vantage of the preference that has always been conceded to one who 
 speaks for the first time after gaining his seat during the continuance of a 
 Parliament : — a privilege which, by a stretch of generosity, is now extend- 
 ed to new members who have been returned at a general election. Sir 
 James subsequently took part in the debate; not, as he carefully assured 
 his audience, “ to supply any defects in the speech of his honorable friend, 
 for there were none that he could find, but principally to absolve his own 
 conscience.” Indeed, Macaulay, addressing himself to his task with an 
 absence of pretension such as never fails to conciliate the good-will of the 
 House towards a maiden speech, put clearly and concisely enough the ar- 
 guments in favor of the bill : — arguments which, obvious and almost com- 
 monplace as they appear under his straightforward treatment, had yet to 
 be repeated during a space of six-and-thirty years before they commended 
 themselves to the judgment of our Upper Chamber. 
 
 “ The power of which you deprive the Jew consists in maces, and gold 
 chains, and skins of parchment with pieces of wax dangling from their 
 edges. The power which you leave the Jew is the power of principal over 
 clerk, of master over servant, of landlord over tenant. As things now 
 stand, a Jew may be the richest man in England. He may possess the 
 means of raising this party and depressing that : of making East Indian 
 directors : of making members of Parliament. The influence of a Jew 
 may be of the first consequence in a war which shakes Europe to the cen- 
 tre. His power may come into play in assisting or thwarting the greatest 
 plans of the greatest princes : and yet, with all this confessed, acknowl- 
 edged, undenied, you would have him deprived of power.? Does not 
 wealth confer power .? How are we to permit all the consequences of that 
 wealth but one .? I cannot conceive the nature of an argument that is to 
 bear out such a position. If we were to be called on to revert to the day 
 when the warehouses of Jews were torn down and pillaged, the theory 
 would be comprehensible. But we have to do with a persecution so deli- 
 cate that there is no abstract rule for its guidance. Y ou tell us that the 
 
 year 1829. The young men were talking over the situation, and Macaulay expressed 
 curiosity as to the terms in which the Duke of Wellington would recommend the Catholic 
 Relief Bill to the Peers “ Oh,” said the other, “it will be easy enough. He’ll say ; 
 * My lords, attem^’on ! Right about face ! March ! ’ ” 
 
I 
 
 1830-32. LORD MACAULAY. 105 
 
 Jews have no legal right to power, and I am bound to admit it : but in 
 the same way, three hundred years ago they had no legal right to be in 
 England, and six hundred years ago they had no legal right to the teeth 
 in their heads. But, if it is the moral right we are to look at, I hold that 
 on every principle of moral obligation the Jew has a right to political 
 power.” 
 
 He was on his legs once again, and once only, during his first Session : 
 doing more for future success in Parliament by his silence than he could 
 have effected by half a dozen brilliant perorations. A crisis was rapidly 
 approaching when a man gifted with eloquence, who by previous self-re- 
 straint had convinced the House that he did not speak for speaking’s sake, 
 might rise almost in a day to the very summit of influence and reputation. 
 The country was under the personal rule of the Duke of Wellington, who 
 had gradually squeezed out of his Cabinet every vestige of Liberalism and 
 even of independence, and who at last stood so completely alone that he 
 was generally supposed to be in more intimate communication with Prince 
 Polignac than with any of his own colleagues. The Duke had his own 
 way in the Lords ; and on the benches of the Commons the Opposition 
 members were unable to carry, or even visibly to improve their prospect 
 of carrying, the measures on which their hearts were set. The Reformers 
 were not doing better in the division lobby than in 1821, and their question 
 showed no signs of having advanced since the day when it had been 
 thrown over by Pitt on the eve of the French Revolution. 
 
 But the outward aspect of the situation was very far from answering to 
 the reality. While the leaders of the popular party had been spending 
 themselves in efforts that seemed each more abortive than the last, — divid- 
 ing only to be enormously outvoted, and vindicating with calmness and 
 moderation the first principles of constitutional government only to be 
 stigmatized as the apostles of anarchy, — a mighty change was surely but 
 imperceptibly effecting itself in the collective mind of their fellow-country- 
 men. 
 
 F or, while the tired waves, vainly breaking, 
 
 Seem here no painful inch to gain. 
 
 Far back, through creeks and inlets making. 
 
 Comes silent, flooding in, the main . 
 
 Events were at hand which unmistakably showed how different was the 
 England of 1830 from the England of 1790. The King died : Parliament 
 was dissolved on the 24th of July : and in the first excitement and bustle of 
 the elections, while the candidates were still on the road and the writs in 
 the mail-bag, came the news that Paris was in arms. The troops fought 
 as well as Frenchmen ever can be got to fight against the tricolor, but by 
 the evening of the 29th it was all over with the Bourbons. The Minister 
 
io6 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. III. 
 
 whose friendship had reflected such unpopularity on our own Premier 
 succumbed to the detestation of the victorious people, and his sacrifice 
 did not save the dynasty. What was passing among our neighbors for 
 once created sympathy and not repulsion on this side the Channel. One 
 French Revolution had condemned English Liberalism to forty years of 
 subjection, and another was to be the signal which launched it on as long 
 a career of supremacy. Most men said, and all felt, that Wellington must 
 follow Polignac ; and the public temper was such as made it well for the 
 stability of our throne that it was filled by a monarch who had attracted to 
 himself the hopes and affection of the nation, and who shared its prefer- 
 ences and antipathies with regard to the leading statesmen of the day. 
 
 One result of political disturbance in any quarter of the globe is to fill 
 the scene of action with young members of Parliament, who follow Revo- 
 lutions about Europe as assiduously as Jew brokers attend upon the 
 movements of an invading army. Macaulay, whose re-election for Caine 
 had been a thing of course, posted off to Paris at the end of August, jour- 
 neying by Dieppe and Rouen, and eagerly enjoying a first taste of conti- 
 nental travel. His letters during the tour were such as, previously to the 
 age of railroads, brothers who had not been abroad before used to write 
 for the edification of sisters who expected never to go abroad at all. He 
 describes in minute detail manners and institutions that to us are no longer 
 novelties, and monuments which an educated Englishman of our time 
 knows as well as Westminster Abbey, and a great deal better than the 
 Tower. Everything that he saw, heard, ate, drank, paid, and suffered, was 
 noted down in his exuberant diction to be read aJfcud and commented on 
 over the breakfast table in Great Ormond Street. 
 
 ‘‘ At Rouen I was struck by the union of venerable antiquity with 
 extreme liveliness and gayety. We have nothing of the sort in England. 
 Till the time of James the First, I imagine, our houses were almost all of 
 wood, and have, in consequence, disappeared. In York there are some 
 very old streets ; but they are abandoned to the lowest people, and the 
 gay shops are in the newly-built quarter of the town. In London, what 
 with the fire of 1666, and what with the natural progress of demolition 
 and rebuilding, I doubt whether there are fifty houses that date from the 
 Reformation. But in Rouen you have street after street of lofty stern- 
 looking masses of stone, with Gothic carvings. The buildings are so high, 
 and the ways so narrow, that the sun can scarcely reach the pavements. 
 Yet in these streets, monastic in their aspect, you have all the glitter of 
 Regent Street or the Burlington Arcade. Rugged and dark above, below 
 they are a blaze of ribands, gowns, watches, trinkets, artificial flowers ; 
 grapes, melons, and peaches such as Covent Garden does not furnish, 
 filling the windows of the fruiterers ; showy women swimming smoothly over 
 the uneasy stO|jes, and stared at by national guards swaggering by in full 
 
LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 1830-32. 
 
 107 
 
 uniform. It is the Soho Bazaar transplanted into the gloomy cloisters of 
 Oxford.” 
 
 He writes to a friend just before he started on his tour : “ There is 
 much that I am impatient to see, but two things specially, the Palais 
 Royal, and the man who called me the Aristarchus of Edinburgh.” Who 
 this person might be, and whether Macaulay succeeded in meeting him 
 are questions which his letters leave unsolved ; but he must have been a 
 constant visitor at the Palais Royal if the hours that he spent in it bore 
 any relation to the number of pages which it occupies in his correspond- 
 ence. The place was indeed well worth a careful study : for in 1830 it 
 was not the orderly and decent bazaar of the Second Empire, but was 
 still that compound of Parnassus and Bohemia which is painted in vivid 
 colors in the “ Grand Homme de Provence ” of Balzac, — still the paradise 
 of such ineffable rascals as Diderot has drawn with terrible fidelity in his 
 “ Neveu de Rameau.” 
 
 “ If I were to select the spot in all the earth in which the good and 
 evil of civilization are most strikingly exhibited, in which the arts 
 of life are carried to the highest perfection, and in which all pleasures, 
 high and low, intellectual and sensual, are collected in the smallest space, 
 I should certainly choose the Palais Royal. It is the Covent Garden 
 Piazza, the Paternoster Row, the Vauxhall, the Albion Tavern, the 
 Burlington Arcade, the Crockford’s, the Finish, the Athenaeum of Paris 
 all in one. Even now, when the first dazzling effect has passed off, I 
 never traverse it without feeling bewildered by its magnificent variety. 
 As a great capital is a country in miniature, so the Palais Royal is a 
 capital in miniature, — an abstract and epitome of a vast community, 
 exhibiting at a glance the politeness which adorns its higher ranks, the 
 coarseness of its populace, and the vices and the misery which lie under- 
 neath its brilliant exterior. Everything is there, and everybody. States- 
 men, wits, philosophers, beauties, dandies, blacklegs, adventurers, artists, 
 idlers, the king and his court, beggars with matches crying for charity, 
 wretched creatures dying of disease and want in garrets. There is no 
 condition of life which is not to be found in this gorgeous and fantastic 
 Fairyland.” 
 
 He had excellent opportunities for seeing behind the scenes during the 
 closing acts of the great drama that was being played out through those 
 summer months. The Due de Broglie, then Prime Minister, treated him 
 with marked attention both as an Englishman of distinction and as his 
 father’s son. He was much in the Chamber of Deputies, and witnessed 
 that strange and pathetic historical revival when, after an interval of forty 
 such years as mankind had never known before, the aged La Fayette again 
 stood forth in the character of a disinterested dictator between the hostile 
 classes of his fellow-countrymen. 
 
io8 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. IV. 
 
 “De La Fayette is so overwhelmed with work that I scarcely knew 
 how to deliver even Brougham’s letter, which was a letter of business, and 
 should have thought it absurd to send him Mackintosh’s, which was a 
 mere letter of introduction. I fell in with an English acquaintance who 
 told me that he had an appointment with La Fayette, and who undertook 
 to deliver them both. I accepted his offer, for, if I had left them with 
 the porter, ten to one they would never have been opened. I hear that 
 hundreds of letters are lying in the lodge of the hotel. Every Wednesday 
 morning, from nine to eleven. La Fayette gives audience to anybody who 
 wishes to speak with him : but about ten thousand people attend on these 
 occasions, and fill, not only the house, but all the courtyard and half the 
 street. La Fayette is Commander in Chief of the National Guard of 
 France. The number of these troops in Paris alone is upwards of forty 
 thousand. The Government find a musket and bayonet, but the uniform, 
 which costs about ten napoleons, the soldiers provide themselves. All 
 the shopkeepers are enrolled, and I cannot sufficiently admire their 
 patriotism. My landlord, Meurice, a man who, I suppose, has realized a 
 million francs or more, is up one night in four with his firelock doing the 
 duty of a common watchman. 
 
 “ There is, however, something to be said as an explanation of the 
 zeal with which the bourgeoisie give their time and money to the public. 
 The army received so painful a humiliation in the battles of July that it is 
 by no means inclined to serve the new system faithfully. The rabble 
 behaved nobly during the conflict, and have since shown rare humanity 
 and moderation. Yet those who remember the former Revolution feel an 
 extreme dread of the ascendancy of mere multitude ; and there have been 
 signs, trifling in themselves, but such as may naturally alarm people of 
 property. Workmen have struck. Machinery has been attached. In- 
 flammatory handbills have appeared upon the walls. At present all is 
 quiet : but the thing may happen : particularly if Polignac and Peyronnet 
 should not be put to death. The Peers wish to save them. The lower 
 orders, who have had five or six thousand of their friends and kinsmen 
 butchered by the frantic wickedness of these men, will hardly submit. 
 ‘Eh! eh 1’ said a fierce old soldier of Napoleon to me the other day. 
 
 ‘ L’on dit qu’ils seront deportes : mais ne m’en parle pas. Non ! non ! 
 Coupez-leur le cou. Sacre ! Ca ne passera pas comme 9 a.’ 
 
 “ This long political digression will explain to you why Monsieur De 
 La Fayette is so busy. He has more to do than all the Ministers to- 
 gether. However, my letters were presented, and he said to my friend 
 that he had a soiree every Tuesday, and should be most happy to see me 
 there. I drove to his house yesterday night. Of the interest which the 
 common Parisians take in politics you may judge by this. I told my 
 driver to wait for me, and asked his number. ‘ Ah 1 monsieur, c’est un 
 
1830-32. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 109 
 
 beau numero. C’est un brave numero. C’est 221.’ You may remember 
 that the number of deputies who voted the intrepid address to Charles 
 the Tenth which irritated him into his absurd coup d’etat was 221. I 
 W'alked into the hotel through a crowd of uniforms, and found the recep- 
 tion-rooms as full as they could hold. I was not able to make my way to 
 La Fayette, but I was glad to see him. He looks like the brave, honest, 
 simple, good-natured man that he is.” 
 
 Besides what is quoted above, there is very little of general interest in 
 these journal letters; and their publication would serve no purpose 
 except that of informing the present leader of the Monarchists what his 
 father had for breakfast and dinner during a week of 1830, and of ena- 
 bling him to trace changes in the disposition of the furniture of the De 
 Broglie hotel. “I believe,” writes Macaulay, “that I have given the 
 inventory of every article in the Duke’s salon. You will think that I 
 have some intention of turning upholsterer.” 
 
 His thoughts and observations on weightier matters he kept for an 
 article on the State of Parties in France which he intended to provide 
 for the October number of the Edinburgh Review. While he was still 
 at Paris, this arrangement was rescinded by Mr. Napier in compliance 
 with the wish, or the whim, of Brougham ; and Macaulay’s surprise 
 and annoyance vented itself in a burst of indignant rhetoric* strong 
 enough to have upset a Government. His wrath, or that part of it, at 
 least, which was directed against the editor, did not survive an inter- 
 change of letters ; and he at once set to work upon turning his material 
 into the shape of a volume for the series of Lardner’s Cabinet Cyclopaedia 
 under the title of “The History of France, from the Restoration of the 
 Bourbons to the Accession of Louis Philippe.” Ten years ago proofs of 
 the first eighty-eight pages were found in Messrs Spottiswoode’s printing 
 office, with a note on the margin to the effect that most of the type was 
 broken up before the sheets had been pulled. The task, as far as it 
 went, was faithfully performed : but the author soon arrived at the con- 
 clusion that he might find a more profitable investment for his labor. 
 With his head full of Reform, Macaulay was loth to spend in epitomizing 
 history the time and energy that would be better employed in helping to 
 make it. 
 
 When the new Parliament met on the 26th of October it was already 
 evident that the Government was doomed. Where the elections were 
 open. Reform had carried the day. Brougham was returned for York- 
 shire, a constituency of tried independence, which before 1832 seldom 
 failed to secure the triumph of a cause into whose scale it had thrown its 
 enormous weight. The counties had declared for the Whigs by a majority 
 
 See on page 128 the letter to Mr. Napier of September 16, 1830. 
 
no 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. IV. 
 
 of eight to five, and the great cities by a majority of eight to one. Of the 
 close boroughs in Tory hands many were held by men who had not for- 
 gotten Catholic Emancipation, and who did not mean to pardon their 
 leaders until they had ceased to be Ministers. 
 
 In the debate on the Address the Duke of Wellington uttered his 
 famous declaration that the Legislature possessed, and deserved to pos- 
 sess, the full and entire confidence of the country ; that its existing con- 
 stitution was not only practically efficient but theoretically admirable ; 
 and that, if he himself had to frame a system of representation, he should 
 do his best to imitate so excellent a model, though he admitted that the 
 nature of man was incapable at a single effort of attaining to such mature 
 perfection. His bewildered colleagues could only assert in excuse that 
 their chief was deaf, and wish that every body else had been deaf too. 
 The second ministerial feat was of a piece with the first. Their Majesties 
 had accepted an invitation to dine at Guildhall on the 9th of November. 
 The Lord Mayor elect informed the Home Office that there was danger 
 of riot, and the Premier, (who could not be got to see that London was 
 not Paris because his own political creed happened to be much the same 
 as Polignac’s,) advised the King to postpone his visit to the City, and 
 actually talked of putting Lombard Street and Cheapside in military 
 occupation. Such a step taken at such a time by such a man had its 
 inevitable result. Consols, which the Duke’s speech on the Address had 
 brought from 84 to 80, fell to 77 in an hour and a half ; jewellers and sil- 
 versmiths sent their goods to the banks : merchants armed their clerks 
 and barricaded their warehouses : and, when the panic subsided, fear 
 only gave place to the shame and annoyance which a loyal people, whose 
 loyalty was at that moment more active than ever, experienced from the 
 reflection that all Europe was discussing the reasons why our King could 
 not venture to dine in public with the Chief Magistrate of his own capital. 
 A strong Minister, who sends the funds down seven per cent, in as many 
 days, is an anomaly that no nation will consent to tolerate ; the members 
 of the Cabinet looked forward with consternation to a scheme of Reform 
 which, with the approbation of his party. Brougham had undertaken to 
 introduce on the 15th of November; and when, within twenty-four hours 
 of the dreaded debate, they were defeated on a motion for a committee on 
 the Civil List, their relief at having obtained an excuse for retiring at least 
 equalled that which the country felt at getting rid of them. 
 
 Earl Grey came in, saying (and meaning what he said) that the prin- 
 ciples on which he stood were “ amelioration of abuses, promotion of 
 economy, and the endeavor to preserve peace consistently with the honor 
 of the country.” Brougham, who was very sore at having been forced to 
 postpone his notice on Reform on account of the ministerial crisis, had 
 gratuitously informed the House of Commons on two successive days that 
 
1830-32. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 Ill 
 
 he had no intention of taking office. A week later on he accepted the 
 Chancellorship with an inconsistency which his friends readily forgave 
 for they knew that, when he resolved to join the Cabinet, he was thinking 
 more of his party than of himself ; a consideration that naturally enough 
 only sharpened the relish with which his adversaries pounced upon this 
 first of his innumerable scrapes. When the new writ for Yorkshire was 
 moved, Croker commented sharply on the position in which the Chan- 
 cellor was placed, and remarked that he had often heard Brougham 
 declare that “ the characters of public men formed part of the wealth of 
 England,” — a reminiscence which was delivered with as much gravity and 
 unction as if it had been Mackintosh discoursing on Romilly. Unfortu- 
 nately for himself, Croker ruined his case by referring to a private conver- 
 sation, an error which the House of Commons always takes at least an 
 evening to forgive ; and Macaulay had his audience with him as he vindi- 
 cated the absent orator with a generous warmth which at length carried 
 him so far that he was interrupted by a call to order from the Chair. 
 “ The noble Lord had but a few days for deliberation, and that at a time 
 when great agitation prevailed, and when the country required a strong 
 and efficient Ministry to conduct the government of the State. At such a 
 period a few days are as momentous as months would be at another 
 period. It is not by the clock that we should measure the importance of 
 changes that might take place during such an interval. I owe no allegi- 
 ance to the noble Lord who has been transferred to another place, but as 
 a member of this House I cannot banish from my memory the extraordi- 
 nary eloquence of that noble person within these walls, — an eloquence 
 which has left nothing equal to it behind : and when I behold the de- 
 parture of the great man from amongst us, and when I see the place in 
 which he sat, and from which he has so often astonished us by the mighty 
 powers of his mind, occupied this evening by the honorable member who 
 has commenced this debate, I cannot express the feelings and emotions to 
 which such circumstances give rise.” 
 
 Parliament adjourned over Christmas, and on the 1st of March, 1831 
 Lord John Russell introduced the Reform Bill amidst breathless silence, 
 which was at length broken by peals of contemptuous laughter from the 
 Opposition benches as he read the list of the hundred and ten boroughs 
 which were condemned to partial or entire disfranchisement. Sir Robert 
 Inglis led the attack upon a measure that he characterized as Revolution 
 in the guise of a statute. Next morning, as Sir Robert was walking into 
 town over Westminster Bridge, he told his companion that up to the pre- 
 vious night he had been very anxious, but that his fears were now at an 
 end, inasmuch as the shock caused by the extravagance of the ministerial 
 proposals would infallibly bring the country to its senses. On the eve- 
 ning of that day Macaulay made the first of his Reform speeches. When 
 
II2 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. IV. 
 
 he sat down the Speaker sent for him, and told him that in all his pro- 
 longed experience he had never seen the House in such a state of excite- 
 ment. Even at this distance of time it is impossible to read aloud the 
 last thirty sentences without an emotion w^hich suggests to the mind what 
 must have been their effect when declaimed by one who felt every word 
 that he spoke, in the midst of an assembly agitated by hopes and appre- 
 hensions such as living men have never known or have long forgotten. 
 Sir Thomas Denman, who rose later on in the discussion, said, with uni- 
 versal acceptance, that the orator’s words remained tingling in the eajs of 
 all who heard them, and would last in their memories as long as they had 
 memories to employ. That sense of proprietorship in an effort of genius 
 which the House of Commons is ever ready to entertain, effaced for a 
 while all distinctions of party. “ Portions of the speech,” said Sir Robert 
 Peel, “ were as beautiful as anything I have ever heard or read. It re- 
 minded one of the old times.” The names of Fox, Burke, and Canning 
 were during that evening in everybody’s mouth, and Macaulay Overheard 
 with delight a knot of old members illustrating their criticisms by recol- 
 lections of Lord Plunket. He had reason to be pleased ; for he had been 
 thought worthy of the compliment which the judgment of Parliament re- 
 serves for a supreme occasion. In 1866, on the second reading of the 
 Franchise Bill, when the crowning oration of that memorable debate had 
 come to its close amidst a tempest of applause, one or two veterans of the 
 lobby, forgetting Macaulay on Reform, — forgetting, it may be, Mr. Glad- 
 stone himself on the Conservative Budget of 1852, — pronounced amidst 
 the willing assent of a younger generation that there had been nothing like 
 it since Plunket. 
 
 The unequivocal success of the first speech into which he had thrown 
 his full power decided for some time to come the tenor of Macaulay’s ca- 
 reer. During the next three years he devoted himself to Parliament, ri- 
 valling Stanley in debate and Hume in the regularity of his attendance. 
 He entered with zest into the animated and manysided life of the House 
 of Commons, of which so few traces can ordinarily be detected in w'hat 
 goes by the name of political literature. The biographers of a distinguished 
 statesman too often seem to have forgotten that the subject of their la- 
 bors passed the best part of his waking hours during the half of every 
 year in a society of a special and deeply marked character, the leading 
 traits of which are at least as well worth recording as the fashionable or 
 diplomatic gossip that fills so many volumes of memoirs and correspon- 
 dence. Macaulay’s letters sufficiently indicate how thoroughly he enjoyed 
 the ease, the freedom, the hearty good-fellowship, that reign within the 
 precincts of our national senate ; and how entirely he recognized that 
 spirit of noble equality, so prevalent among its members, which takes lit- 
 tle or no account of wealth, or title or indeed of reputation won in other 
 
1830-32. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 fields, but which ranks a man according as the value of his words, and 
 the weight of his influence, bear the test of a standard which is essentially 
 its own. 
 
 In February 1831 he writes to Whewell ; “ I am impatient for Praed’s 
 d^but. The House of Commons is a place in which I would not promise 
 success to any man. I have great doubts even about Jeffrey. It is the 
 most peculiar audience in the world. I should say that a man’s being a 
 good writer, a good orator at the bar, a good mob-orator, or a good orator 
 in debating clubs, was rather a reason for expecting him to fail than for ex- 
 pecting him to succeed in the house of Commons. A place where Wal- 
 pole succeeded and Addison failed ; where Dundas succeeded and Burke 
 failed ; where Peel now succeeds and where Mackintosh fails, where Ers- 
 kine and Scarlett were dinner-bells; where Lawrence and Jekyll, the two 
 wittiest men, or nearly so, of their time, were thought bores, is surely a very 
 strange place. And yet I feel the whole character of the place growing 
 upon me. I begin to like what others about me like, and to disapprove 
 what they disapprove. ’ Canning used to say that the House, as a body, 
 had better taste than the man of best taste in it, and I am very much in- 
 clined to think that Canning was right.” 
 
 The readers of Macaulay’s letters will from time to time find reason 
 to wish that the young Whig of 1830 had more frequently practised that 
 studied respect for political opponents which now does so much to cor- 
 rect the intolerance of party among men who can be adversaries without 
 ceasing to regard each other as colleagues. But that honorable sentiment 
 was the growth of later days ; and, at an epoch when the system of the 
 past and the system of the future were night after night in deadly wrestle 
 on the floor of St. Stephen’.s, the combatants were apt to keep their 
 kindliness, and even their courtesies, for those with whom they stood 
 shoulder to shoulder in the fray. Politicians, Conservative and Liberal 
 alike, who were themselves young during the Sessions of 1866 and 1867, 
 and who can recall the sensations evoked by a contest of which the issues 
 were far less grave and the passions less strong than of yore, will make al- 
 lowances for one who, with the imagination of a poet and the tempera- 
 ment of an orator, at thirty years old was sent straight into the thickest of 
 the tumult which then raged round the standard of Reform, and will ex- 
 cuse him for having borne himself in that battle of giants as a determined 
 and a fiery partisan. 
 
 If to live intensely be to live happily Macaulay had an enviable lot 
 during those stirring years : and, if the old song-writers had reason on 
 their side when they celebrated the charms of a light purse, he certainly 
 possessed that element of felicity. Among the earliest economical re- 
 forms undertaken by the new Government was a searching revision of 
 our Bankruptcy jurisdiction, in the course of which his Commissionership 
 VoL. I.— 8 
 
LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. IV. 
 
 II4 
 
 was swept away without leaving him a penny of compensation. “I 
 voted for the Bankruptcy Court Bill ” he said in answer to an inquisi- 
 tive constituent. “ There were points in that Bill of which I did not ap- 
 prove, and I only refrained from stating those points because an office 
 of my own was at stake.” When this source fell dry he was for a while 
 a poor man : for a member of Parliament, who has others to think of 
 besides himself, is anything but rich on sixty or seventy pounds a quarter 
 as the produce of his pen, and a college income which has only a few 
 more months to run. At a time when his Parliamentary fame stood at 
 its highest he was reduced to sell the gold medals which he had gained 
 at Cambridge ; but he was never for a moment in debt; nor did he pub- 
 lish a line prompted by any lower motive than the inspiration of his 
 political faith or the instinct of his literary genius. He had none but 
 pleasant recollections connected with the period when his fortunes were 
 at their lowest. From the secure prosperity of after life he delighted in 
 recalling the time when after cheering on the fierce debate for twelve or 
 fifteen hours together, he would walk home by daylight to his chambers, 
 and make his supper on a cheese which was a present from one of his 
 Wiltshire constituents, and a glass of the audit ale which reminded him 
 that he was still a fellow of Trinity. 
 
 With political distinction came social success more rapid and more 
 substantial, perhaps, than has ever been achieved by one who took so 
 little trouble to win or to retain it. The circumstances of the time were 
 all in his favor. Never did our higher circles present so much that would 
 attract a newcomer, and never was there more readness to admit within 
 them all who brought the honorable credentials of talent and celebrity. 
 In 1831 the exclusiveness of birth was passing away, and the exclusive- 
 ness of fashion had not set in. The Whig party, during its long period of 
 depression, had been drawn together by the bonds of common hopes, 
 and endeavors, and disappointments ; and personal reputation, whether 
 literary, political, or forensic, held its own as against the advantages of 
 rank and money to an extent that was never known before and never 
 since. Macaulay had been well received in the character of an Edin- 
 burgh Reviewer, and his first great speech in the House of Commons at 
 once opened to him all the doors in London that were best worth enter- 
 ing. Brought up, as he had been, in a household which was perhaps the 
 strictest and the homeliest among a set of families whose creed it was 
 to live outside the world, it put his strength of mind to tlie test when he 
 found himself courted and observed by the most distinguished, and the 
 most formidable personages of the day. Lady Holland listened to him 
 with unwonted deference, and scolded him with a circumspection that was 
 in itself a compliment. Rogers spoke ^him with friendliness and to him 
 with positive affection, and gave him the last proof of esteem and his 
 
1830-32. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 115 
 
 admiration by asking him to name the morning for a breakfast-party. 
 He was treated with almost fatherly kindness by the able and worthy 
 man who is still remembered by the name of Conversation Sharp. In- 
 deed, his deference for the feelings of all whom he liked and respected, 
 which an experienced observer could detect beneath the eagerness of his 
 manner and the volubility of his talk, made him a favorite among those of a 
 generation above his own. He bore his honors quietly, and enjoyed them 
 with the natural and hearty pleasure of a man who has a taste for society, 
 but whose ambitions lie eleswhere. For the space of three seasons he 
 dined out almost nightly, and spent many of his Sundays in those sub- 
 urban residences which as regards the company and the way of living, 
 are little else than sections of London removed into a purer air. 
 
 Before very long his habits and tastes began to incline in the direction 
 of domesticity, and even of seclusion : and indeed at every period of his 
 life he would gladly desert the haunts of those whom Pope and his contem- 
 poraries used to term “ the great,” to seek the cheerful and cultured sim- 
 plicity of his home, or the conversation of that one friend who had a share 
 in the familiar confidence which Macaulay otherwise reserved for his 
 nearest relatives. This was Mr. Thomas Flower Ellis, whose reports of 
 the proceedings in King’s Bench, extending over a whole generation, have 
 established and perpetuated his name as that of an acute and industrious 
 lawyer. He was older than Macaulay by four years. Though both fel- 
 lows of the same college, they missed each other at the university, and it 
 was not until 1827, on the Northern circuit, that their acquaintance began. 
 “Macaulay has joined,” writes Mr. Ellis an amusing person ; somewhat 
 boyish in his manner but very original.” The young barristers had 
 in common an insatiable love of. the classics : and similarity of character, 
 not very perceptible on the surface, soon brought about an intimacy which 
 ripened into an attachment as important to the happiness of both con- 
 cerned as ever united two men through every stage of life and 
 vicissitude of fortune. Mr. Ellis had married early ; but in 1839 he lost 
 his wife, and Macaulay’s helpful and heartfelt participation in his great 
 sorrow riveted the links of a chain that was already indissoluble. The 
 letters contained in these volumes will tell, better than the words of any 
 third person, what were the points of sympathy between the two compan- 
 ions, and in what manner they lived together till the end came. Mr. 
 Ellis survived his friend little more than a year ; not complaining or la- 
 menting, but going about his work like a man from whose day the light 
 has departed. 
 
 Brief and rare were the vacations of the most hard-worked Parliament 
 that had sate since the times of Pym and Hampden. In the late autumn 
 of 1831, the defeat of the Reform Bill in the House of Lords delivered 
 over the country to agitation, resentment, and alarm and gave a short holi- 
 
ii6 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. IV. 
 
 day to public men who were not Ministers, magistrates, or officers in the 
 yeomanry. Hannah and Margaret Macaulay accompanied their brother 
 on a visit to Cambridge, where they met with the welcome which young 
 Masters of Arts delight in providing for the sisters of a comrade of whom 
 they are fond and proud. 
 
 “ On the evening that we arrived,” says Lady Trevelyan, we met at 
 dinner Whewell, Sedgwick, Airy, and Thirlwall ; and how pleasant they 
 were, and how much they had made of us, two happy girls, who were 
 never tired of seeing, and hearing, and admiring !* We breakfasted,lunched, 
 and dined with one or the other of the set during our stay, and walked about 
 the colleges all day with the whole train. Whewell was then tutor : 
 rougher, but less pompous and much more agreeable than in after years : 
 though I do not think that he ever cordially liked your uncle. We then 
 went on to Oxford, which from knowing no one there seemed terribly dull 
 to us by comparison with Cambridge, and we rejoiced our brother’s heart 
 by sighing after Trinity.” 
 
 During the first half of his life Macaulay spent months of every year 
 at the seat of his uncle, Mr. Babington, who kept open house for his 
 nephews and nieces throughout the summer and autumn. Rothley Tem- 
 ple, which lies in a valley beyond the first ridge that separates the flat 
 unattractive country immediately round Leicester from the wild and 
 beautiful scenery of Charnwood Forest, is well worth visiting as a singu- 
 larly unaltered specimen of an old English home. The stately trees ; 
 the grounds, half park and half meadow; the cattle grazing up to the 
 very window’s ; the hall, with its stone pavement rather below than above 
 the level of the soil, hung with armor rude and rusty enough to dispel 
 the suspicion of its having passed through a collector’s hands ; the low 
 ceilings ; the dark oak wainscot, carved after primitive designs, that 
 covered every inch of wall in bedroom and corridor; the general air 
 which the whole interior presented of having been put to rights at the 
 date of the Armada and left alone ever since ; — all this antiquity con- 
 trasted quaintly, but prettily enough, with the youth and gayety that lit 
 up every corner of the ever-crowded though comfortable mansion. In 
 wet weather there was always a merry group sitting on the staircase or 
 marching up and down the gallery : and wherever the noise and fun were 
 most abundant, wherever there was to be heard the loudest laughter and 
 the most vehement expostulation, Macaulay was the centre of a circle 
 which was exclaiming at the levity of his remarks about the Blessed 
 Martyr ; disputing with him on the comparative merits of Pascal, Racine, 
 
 * A reminiscence from that week of refined and genial hospitality survives in the 
 Essay on Madame D’Arblay. The reception which Miss Burney would have enjoyed at 
 Oxford, if she had visited it otherwise than as an attendant on Royalty, is sketched oflE 
 with all the writer’s wonted spirit, and more than his wonted grace. 
 
1830-32. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 II7 
 
 Corneille, Moli^re, and Boileau ; or checking him as he attempted to 
 justify his godparents by running off a list of all the famous Thomases in 
 history. The place is full of his memories. His favorite walk was a 
 mile of field -road and lane which lead from the house to a lodge on the 
 highway ; and his favorite point of view in that walk was a slight ac- 
 clivity whence the traveller from Leicester catches his first sight of Roth- 
 ley Temple with its background of hill and greenwood. He is remem- 
 bered as sitting at the window in the hall, reading Dante to himself, or 
 translating it aloud as long as any listener cared to remain within ear- 
 shot. He occupied, by choice, a very small chamber on the ground floor, 
 through the window of which he could escape unobserved while after- 
 noon callers were on their way between the front door and the drawing- 
 room. On such occasions he would take refuge in a boat moored under 
 the shade of some fine oaks which still exist, though the ornamental 
 water on whose bank they stood has since been converted into dry land. 
 
 A journal kept at intervals by Margaret Macaulay, some extracts 
 from which have here been arranged in the form of a continuous narra- 
 tive, affords a pleasant and faithful picture of her brother’s home-life 
 during the years 1831 and 1832. With an artless candor from which his 
 reputation will not suffer she relates the alternations of hope and disap- 
 pointment through which the young people passed when it began to be a 
 question whether or not he would be asked to join the Administration. 
 
 “ I think I was about twelve when I first became very fond of my brother, and 
 from that time my affection for him has gone on increasing during a period of seven 
 years. I shall never forget my delight and enchantment when I first found that he 
 seemed to like talking to me. His manner was very flattering to such a child, for 
 he always took as much pains to amuse me, and to inform me on anything I wished 
 to know, as he could have done to the greatest person in the land. I have heard him 
 express great disgust towards those people who, lively and agreeable abroad, are a 
 dead weight in the family circle. I think the remarkable clearness of his style pro- 
 ceeds, in some measure, from the habit of conversing with very young people, to whom 
 he has a great deal to explain and impart. 
 
 “ He reads his works to us in the manuscript, and, when we find fault, as I very 
 often do with his being too severe upon people, he takes it with the greatest kind- 
 ness, and often alters what we do not like. I hardly ever, indeed, met with a 
 sweeter temper than his. He is rather hasty, and, when he has not time for an in- 
 stant’s thought, he will sometimes return a quick answer, for which he will be 
 sorry the moment he has said it. But in a conversation of any length, though it 
 may be on subjects that touch him very nearly, and though the person with whom 
 he converses may be very provoking and extremely out of temper, I never saw him 
 lose his. He never uses this superiority, as some do, for the purpose of irritating 
 another still more by coolness, but speaks in a kind, good-natured manner, as if he 
 wished to bring the other back to temper without appearing to notice that he had 
 Inst it. 
 
ii8 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. IV. 
 
 “ He at one time took a very punning turn, and we laid a wager in books, my 
 Mysteries of Udolpho against his German Theatre, that he could not make two 
 hundred puns in an evening. He did it, however, in two hours, and, although they 
 were of course most of them miserably bad, yet it was a proof of great quickness. 
 Sat icrday, February 26,1831. — At dinner we talked of the Grants. Tom 
 said he had found Mr. Robert Grant walking about in the lobbies of the House of 
 Commons, and saying that he wanted somebody to defend his place in the Govern- 
 ment, which he heard was going to be attacked. ‘ What did you say to him ? ’ we 
 asked. ‘ Oh, I said nothing ; but, if they’ll give me the place. I’ll defend it. When 
 1 am Judge Advocate, I promise you that I will not go about asking anyone to de- 
 fend me.’ 
 
 “ After dinner we played at capping verses, and after that at a game in which 
 one of the party thinks of something for the others to guess at. Tom gave the slug 
 that killed Perceval, the lemon that Wilkes squeezed for Docter Johnson, the pork- 
 chop which Thurtell ate after he had murdered Weare, and Sir Charles Macarthy’s 
 jaw which was sent by the Ashantees as a present to George the Fourth. 
 
 “Some one mentioned an acquaintance who had gone to the West Indies, hop- 
 ing to make money, but had only ruined the complexions of his daughters. Tom 
 said : — 
 
 Mr. Walker was sent to Berbice 
 
 By the greatest of statesmen and earls. 
 
 He went to bring back yellow boys, 
 
 But he only brought back yellow girls. 
 
 “ I never saw anything like the fun and humor that kindles in his eye when a 
 repartee or verse is working in his brain, 
 
 “ March 3, 1831. — Yesterday morning Hannah and I walked part of the way to 
 his chambers with Tom, and, as we separated, I remember wishing him good luck 
 and success that night. He went through it most triumphantly, and called down 
 upon himself admiration enough to satisfy even his sister. I like so much the man- 
 ner in which he receives compliments. He does not pretend to be indifferent, but 
 smiles in his kind and animated way, with ‘ I am sure it is very kind of you to say 
 so,’ or something of that nature. His voice from cold and over-excitement got quite 
 into a scream towards the last part. A person told him that he had not heard such 
 speaking since Fox. ‘You have not heard such screaming since Fox,’ he said. 
 
 March 24, 1831. — By Tom’s account, there never was such a scene of agita- 
 tion as the house of Commons presented at the passing of the second reading of the 
 Reform Bill the day before yesterday, or rather yesterday, for they did not divide 
 till three or four in the morning. When dear Tom came the next day he was still 
 very much excited, which I found to my cost, for when 1 went out to walk with him 
 he walked so very fast that I could scarcely keep up with him at all. With spark- 
 ling eyes he described the whole scene of the preceding evening in the most 
 graphic manner. 
 
 “ ‘ I suppose the Ministers are all in high spirits,’ said Mamma. ‘ In spirits, 
 Ma’am ? I’m sure I don’t know. In bed. I’ll answer for it.’ Mamma asked him 
 for franks, that she might send his speech to a lady * who, though of high Tory 
 * This lady was Mrs. Hannah More. 
 
1830-32. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 II9 
 
 principles, is very fond of Tom, and has left him in her will her valuable library. 
 
 ‘ Oh, no,’ he said, ‘don’t send it. If you do, she’ll cut me off with a prayer-book.’ 
 
 “ Tom is very much improved in his appearance during the last two or three 
 years. His figure is not so bad for a man of thirty as for a man of twenty-two. 
 He dresses better, and his manners, from seeing a great deal of society, are very 
 much improved. When silent and occupied in thought, walking up and down the 
 room as he always does, his hands clenched and muscles working with the intense 
 exertion of his mind, strangers would think his countenance stern ; but I remember 
 a writing-master of ours, when Tom had come into the room and left it again, say- 
 ing, ‘ Ladies, your brother looks like a lump of good-humor ! ’ 
 
 March 30, Tom has just left me, after a very interesting conversation. 
 
 He spoke of his extreme idleness. He said : ‘ I never knew such an idle man as 1 
 am. When I go in to Empson or Ellis their tables are always covered with books 
 and papers. I cannot stick at anything for above a day or two. I mustered industry 
 enough to teach myself Italian. I wish to speak Spanish. I know I could master 
 the difficulties in a week, and read any book in the language at the end of a month, 
 but I have not the courage to attempt it. If there had not been really something 
 in me, idleness would have ruined me.’ 
 
 “ I said that I was surprised at the great accuracy of his information, consider- 
 ing how desultory his reading had been . ‘ My accuracy as to facts,’ he said, ‘ I 
 owe to a cause which many men would not confess. It is due to my love of castle- 
 building. The past is in my mind soon constructed into a romance.’ He then 
 went on to describe the way in which from his childhood his imagination had been 
 fille'd by the study of history. ‘ With a person of my turn,’ he said, ‘ the minute 
 touches are of as great interest, and perhaps greater, than the most important 
 events. Spending so much time as I do in solitude, my mind would have rusted by 
 gazing vacantly at the shop windows. As it is, I am no sooner in the streets than 
 I am in Greece, in Rome, in the midst of the French Revolution. Precision in 
 dates, the day or hour in which a man was born or died, becomes absolutely necessary. 
 A slight fact, a sentence, a word, are of importance in my romance. Pepys’s 
 Diary formed almost inexhaustible food for my fancy. I seem to know every inch 
 of Whitehall. I go in at Hans Holbein’s gate, and come out through the matted 
 gallery. The conversations which I compose between great people of the time are 
 long, and sufficiently animated ; in the style, if not with the merits, of Sir Walter 
 Scott’s. The old parts of London, which you are sometimes surprised at my 
 knowing so well, those old gates and houses down by the river, have all played their 
 part in my stories.’ He spoke, too, of the manner in which he used to wander 
 about Paris, weaving tales of the Revolution, and he thought that he owed his 
 command of language greatly to this habit. 
 
 “ I am very sorry that the want both of ability and memory should prevent my 
 preserving with greater truth a conversation which interested me very much. 
 
 May 2T, rSjr — Tom was from London at the time my mother’s death occurred, 
 and things fell out in such a manner that the first information he received of it was 
 from the newspapers. He came home directly. He was in an agony of distress, 
 and gave way at first to violent bursts of feeling. During the whole of the week 
 he was with us all day, and was the greatest comfort to us imaginable. He talked 
 
120 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. IV. 
 
 a great deal of our sorrow, and led the conversation by degrees to other subjects, 
 bearing the whole burden of it himself, and interesting us without jarring with the 
 predominant feeling of the time. I never saw him appear to greater advantage — 
 never loved him more dearly. 
 
 September 1831 . — Of late we have walked a good deal. I remember pacing up 
 and down Brunswick Square and Lansdowne Place for two hours one day, deep in 
 the mazes of the most subtle metaphysics ; up and down Cork Street, engaged over 
 Dryden’s poetry and the great men of that time ; making jokes all the way along 
 Bond Street, and talking politics everywhere. 
 
 “Walking in the streets with Tom and Hannah, and talking about the hard 
 woY-k the heads of his party had got now, I said : ‘ How idle they must think you, 
 when they meet you here in the busy part of the day I ’ ‘Yes, here I am,’ said he, 
 ‘ walking with two * unidea’d girls. However, if one of the Ministry says to me 
 “ Why walk you here all the day idle ? ” I shall say, “ Because no man has hired 
 me.” ’ 
 
 “We talked of eloquence, which he has often compared to fresco-painting: the 
 result of long study and meditation, but at the moment of execution thrown off 
 with the greatest rapidity^ what has apparently been the work of a few hours being 
 destined to last for ages. 
 
 “ Mr. Tierney said he was sure Sir Philip Francis had written Junius, for he 
 was the proudest man he ever knew, and no one ever heard of anything he had done 
 to be proud of. 
 
 “ November 14, 1831, half-past ten, On Friday last Lord Grey sent for Tom. 
 
 His note was received too late to be acted on that day. On Saturday came 
 another asking him to East Sheen on that day, or Sunday. Yesterday, accordingly, 
 he went, and staid the night, promising to be here as early as possible to-day. So 
 much depends upon the result of this visit ! That he will be offered a place I have 
 not the least doubt. He will refuse a Lordship of the Treasury, a Lordship of the 
 Admiralty, or the Mastership of the Ordnance. He will accept the Secretaryship 
 of the Board of Control, but will not thank them for it ; and would not accept that 
 but that he thinks it will be a place of importance during the approaching discussions 
 on the East Indian monopoly. 
 
 “ If he gets sufficent salary, Hannah and I shall most likely live with him. 
 Can I possibly look forward to anything happier ? 1 cannot imagine a course of 
 
 life that would suit him better than thus to enjoy the pleasures of domestic life 
 without its restraints ; with sufficient business, but not, I hope, too much. 
 
 “At one o’clock he came. I went out to meet him. ‘ I have nothing to tell 
 you. Nothing. Lord Grey sent for me to speak about a matter of importance, 
 which must be strictly private.’ 
 
 “ November 27. 1 am just returned from a long walk, during which the 
 
 conversation turned entirely on one subject. After a little previous talk about a 
 certain great personage,t I asked Tom when the present coolness between them 
 
 * Boswell relates in his tenth chapter how Johnson scolded Langton for leaving 
 “his social friends, to go and sit with a set of wretched unidea’d girls.’’ 
 
 t The personage was Lord Brougham, who at this time was too formidable for the 
 poor girl to venture to write his name at length even in a private journal. 
 
1830-32. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 I2I 
 
 began. He said; ‘Nothing could exceed my respect and admiration for him in 
 early days. I saw at that time private letters in which he spoke highly of my 
 articles, and of me as the most rising man of the time. After a while, however, I 
 began to remark that he became extremely cold to me, hardly ever spoke to me on 
 circuit, and treated me with marked slight. If I were talking to a man, if he wished 
 to speak to him on politics or anything else that was not in any sense a private 
 matter, he always drew him away from me instead of addressing us both. When 
 my article on Hallam came out, he complained to Jeffrey that I took up too much 
 of the Review ; and, when my first article on Mill appeared, he foamed with rage, 
 ind was very angry with Jeffrey for having printed it.’ 
 
 “ ‘ But,’ said I, ‘ the Mills are friends of his, and he naturally did not like them 
 to be attacked.’ 
 
 On the contrary,’ said Tom, ‘ he had attacked them fiercely himself: but he 
 thought I had made a hit, and was angry accordingly. When a friend of mine de- 
 fended my articles to him, he said : “ I know nothing of the articles. I have not 
 read Macaulay’s articles.” What can be imagined more absurd than his keeping up 
 an angry correspondence with Jeffrey about articles he has never read? Well, the 
 next thing was that Jeffrey, who was about to give up the editorship, asked me if I 
 would take it. I said that I would gladly do so, if they would remove the head- 
 quarters of the review to London. Jeffrey wrote to him about it. He disapproved 
 of it so strongly that the plan was given up. The truth was that he felt that his 
 power over the Review diminished as mine increased, and he saw that he would 
 have little indeed if I were editor. 
 
 “ ‘ I then came into Parliament. I do not complain that he should have pre- 
 ferred Denman’s claims to mine, and that he should have blamed Lord Lansdowne 
 for not considering him. 1 went to take my seat. As I turned from the table at 
 which I had been taking the oaths, he stood as near to me as you do now, and he 
 cut me dead. We never spoke in the House, excepting once, that I can remember, 
 when a few words passed between us in the lobby. I have sat close to him when 
 many men of whom I knew nothing have introduced themselves to me to shake 
 hands, and congratulate me after making a speech, and he has never said a single 
 word. I know that it is jealousy, because I am not the first man whom he has 
 used in this way. During the debate on the Catholic claims he was so enraged be- 
 cause Lord Plunket had made a very splendid display, and because the Catholics 
 had chosen Sir Frances Burdett instead of him to bring the Bill forward, that he 
 
 threw every difficulty in its way. Sir Francis once said to him : “ Really, Mr. , 
 
 you are so jealous that it is impossible to act with you.” I never will serve in an 
 Administration of which he is the head. On that I have most firmly made up my 
 mind. I do not believe that it is in his nature to be a month in office without 
 caballing against his colleagues.* 
 
 “ ‘ He is, next to the King, the most popular man in England. There is no 
 
 * “ There never was a direct personal rival, or one who was in a position which, how- 
 ever reluctantly, implied rivalry, to whom he has been just ; and on the fact of this un- 
 generous jealousy I do not understand that there is any difference of opinion.” — Lord Cock- 
 bum’s Journal. 
 
122 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. IV. 
 
 other man whose entrance into any town in the kingdom would be so certain to be 
 with huzzaing and taking off of horses. At the same time he is in a very ticklish 
 situation, for he has no real friends. Jeffrey, Sydney Smith, Mackintosh, all speak 
 of him as I now speak to you. I was talking to Sydney Smith of him the other day, 
 and said that, great as 1 felt his faults to be, 1 must allow him a real desire to raise 
 the lower orders, and do good by education, and those methods upon which his 
 heart has been always set. Sydney would not allow this, or any other merit. Now, 
 if those who are called his friends feel towards him, as they all do, angry and sore 
 at his overbearing, arrogant, and neglectful conduct, when those reactions in public 
 feeling, which must come, arrive, he will have nothing to return upon, no place of 
 refuge, no band of such tried friends as Fox and Canning had to support him. You 
 will see that he will soon place himself in a false position before the public. His 
 popularity will go down, and he will find himself alone. Mr. Pitt, it is true, did not 
 study to strengthen himself by friendships ; but this was not from jealousy. I do 
 not love the man, but I believe he was quite superior to that. It was from a soli- 
 tary pride he had. I heard at Holland House the other day that Sir Philip 
 Francis said that, though he hated Pitt, he must confess there was something fine in 
 seeing how he maintained his post by himself. “ The lion walks alone,” he said. 
 “ The jackals herd together.” ’ ” 
 
 This conversation, to those who have heard Macaulay talk, bears un- 
 mistakable signs of having been committed to paper while the words, or, 
 at any rate, the outlines, of some of the most important sentences were 
 fresh in his sister’s mind. 'Nature had predestined the two men to mu- 
 tual antipathy. Macaulay, who knew his own range and kept within it, 
 and who gave the world nothing except his best and most finished work, 
 was fretted by the slovenly omniscience of Brougham, who affected to be 
 a walking encyclopaedia, “ a kind of semi-Solomon, half knowing every- 
 thing from the cedar to the hyssop.” The student, who, in his later 
 years, never left his library for the House of Commons without regret, 
 had little in common with one who, like Napoleon, held that a great repu- 
 tation was a great noise ; who could not change horses without making a 
 speech, see the Tories come in without offering to take a judgeship, or 
 allow the French to make a Revolution without proposing to naturalize 
 himself as a citizen of the new Republic. The statesman who never 
 deserted an ally or distrusted a friend could have no fellowship with a 
 free-lance, ignorant of the very meaning of loyalty ; who, if the surfeited 
 pen of the reporter had not declined its task, would have enriched our 
 collections of British oratory by at least one Philippic against every col- 
 league with whom he had ever acted. The many who read this conver- 
 sation by the light of the public history of Lord Melbourne’s Administra- 
 tion, and still more the few who have access to the secret history of Lord 
 Grey’s Cabinet, will acknowledge that seldom was a prediction so en- 
 tirely fulfilled, or a character so accurately read. And that it was not a 
 prophecy composed after the event is proved by the circumstance that it 
 
1830-32. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 123 
 
 stands recorded in the handwriting of one who died before it was accom- 
 plished. 
 
 “ "January 3, 1832. — Yesterday Tom dined at Holland House, and heard Lord 
 Holland tell this story. Some paper was to be published by Mr. Fox, in which 
 mention was made of Mr. Pitt having been employed at a club in a manner that 
 would have created scandal. Mr. Wilberforce went to Mr, Fox, and asked him to 
 omit the passage. ‘ Oh, to be sure,’ said Mr. Fox ; ‘if there are any good people 
 who would be scandalized, I will certainly put it out ! ’ Mr. Wilberforce then pre- 
 paring to take his leave, he said: ‘ Now, Mr. Wilberforce, if, instead of being about 
 Mr. Pitt, this had been an account of my being seen gaming at White’s on a Sun- 
 day, would you have taken so much pains to prevent it being known ? ’ ‘I asked 
 this,’ said Mr. Fox, ‘ because I wanted to see what he would say, for I knew he would 
 not tell a lie about it. He threw himself back, as his way was, and only answered ; 
 “ Oh, Mr. Fox, you are always so pleasant ! ” ’ 
 
 ^'January 8, 1832. — Yesterday Tom dined with us and stayed late. He talked 
 almost uninterruptedly for six hours. In the evening he made a great many im- 
 promptu charades in verse, I remember he mentioned a piece of impertinence of 
 Sir Philip Francis. Sir Philip was writing a history of his own time with charac- 
 ters of its eminent men, and one day asked Mr. Tierney if he should like to hear 
 his own character. Of course he said ‘ Y es,’ and it was read to him. It was very 
 flattering, and he expressed his gratification for so favorable a description of him- 
 self. ‘ Subject to revision, you must remember, Mr. Tierney,’ said Sir Philip, as 
 he laid the manuscript by : ‘ subject to revision according to what may happen in 
 the future.’ 
 
 “ I am glad Tom has reviewed old John Bunyan. Many are reading it who 
 never read it before. Yesterday, as he was sitting in the Athenaeum, a gentleman 
 called out : ‘ Waiter, is there a copy of the Pilgrim’s Progress in the library ? ’ As 
 might be expected, there was not. 
 
 ^'■February 12, 1832. — This evening Tom came in, Hannah and I being alone. 
 He was in high boyish spirits. He had seen Lord Lansdowne in the morning, who 
 had requested to speak with him. His Lordship said that he wished to have a talk 
 about his taking office, not with any particular thing in view, as there was no va- 
 cancy at present and none expected, but that he should be glad to know hfe wishes 
 in order that he might be more able to serve him in them. 
 
 “Tom, in answer, took rather a high tone. He said he was a poor man, but 
 that he had as much as he wanted, and, as far as he was personally concerned, had 
 no desire for office. At the same time he thought that, after the Reform Bill had 
 passed, it would be absolutely necessary that the Government should be strength- 
 ened ; that he was of opinion that he could do it good service ; that he approved of 
 its general principles, and should not be unwilling to join it. Lord Lansdowne said 
 that they all, — and he particularly mentioned Lord Grey, — felt of what importance 
 to them his help was, and that he now perfectly understood his views. 
 
 February 13, 1832 . — It has been much reported, and has even appeared in 
 the newspapers, that the Ministers were doing what they could to get Mr. Robert 
 
124 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. IV. 
 
 Grant cut of the way to make room for Tom. Last Sunday week it was stated in 
 the John Bull that Madras had been offered to the Judge Advocate for this pur- 
 pose, but that he had refused it. Two or three nights since, Tom, in endeavor- 
 ing to get to a high bench in the House, stumbled over Mr. Robert Grant’s legs, 
 as he was stretched out half asleep. Being roused he apologized in the usual man- 
 ner, and then added, oddly enough : ‘lam very sorry, indeed, to stand in the way 
 of your mounting.’ 
 
 March /j, 1832 . — Yesterday Hannah and I spent a very agreeable afternoon 
 with Tom. 
 
 “ He began to talk of his idleness. ‘ He really came and dawdled with us all day 
 long : he had not written a line of his review of Burleigh’s Life, and he shrank from 
 beginning on such a great work.’ I asked him to put it by for the present, and 
 write a light article on novels. This he seemed to think he should like, and said he 
 could get up an article on Richardson in a very short time, but he knew of no book 
 that he could hang it on. Hannah advised that he should place at the head of his 
 article a fictitious title in Italian of a Critique on Clarissa Harlowe, published at 
 Venice. He seemed taken with this idea, but said that, if he did such a thing, he 
 must never let his dearest friend know. 
 
 “ I was amused with a parody of Tom’s on the nursery song ‘ Twenty pounds 
 shall marry me,’ as applied to the creation of Peers. 
 
 What though now opposed I be ? 
 
 Twenty Peers shall carry me. 
 
 If twenty won’t, thirty will, 
 
 For I’m his Majesty’s bouncing Bill, 
 
 Sir Robert Peel has been extremely complimentary to him. One sentence he re- 
 peated to us : ‘ My only feeling towards that gentleman is a not ungenerous envy, as 
 I listened to that wonderful flow of natural and beautiful language, and to that utter- 
 ance which, rapid as it is, seems scarcely able to convey its rich freight of thought 
 and fancy ! ’ People say that these words were evidently carefully prepared. 
 
 “ I have just been looking round our little drawing-room, as if trying to impress 
 every inch of it on my memory, and thinking how in future years it will rise before 
 my mind as the scene of many hours of light-hearted mirth : how I shall again see 
 him, lolling indolently on the old blue sofa, or strolling round the narrow confines of 
 our room. With such a scene will come the remembrance of his beaming counte- 
 nance, happy, affectionate smile, and joyous laugh ; while, with everyone at ease 
 around him, he poured out the stores of his full mind in his own peculiarly beauti- 
 ful and expressive language, more delightful here than anywhere else, because more 
 perfectly unconstrained. The name which passes through this little room in the 
 quiet, gentle tones of sisterly affection is a name which will be repeated through dis- 
 tant generations, and go down posterity linked with eventful times and great 
 deeds.” 
 
 The last words here quoted, will be very generally regarded as the 
 tribute of a sister’s fondness. Many, who readily admit that Macaulay’s 
 name will go down to posterity linked with eventful times and great deeds. 
 
1830-32. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 125 
 
 make that admission with reference to times not his own, and deeds in 
 which he had no part except to commemorate them with his pen. To 
 him, as to others, a great reputation of a special order brought with it the 
 consequence that the credit which he deserved for what he had done well 
 was overshadowed by the renown of what he did best. The world, which 
 has forgotten that Newton excelled as an administrator and Voltaire as a 
 man of business remembers somewhat faintly that Macaulay was an em- 
 inent orator, and, for a time at least, a strenuous politician. The univer- 
 sal voice of his contemporaries during the first three years of his Parlia- 
 mentary career testifies to the leading part which he played in the House 
 of Commons so long as with all his heart he cared, and with all his might 
 he tried, to play it. Jeffrey, (for it is well to adduce none but first-rate 
 evidence,) says in his account of an evening’s discussion on the second 
 reading of the Reform Bill : “ Not a very striking debate. There was but 
 one exception, and it was a brilliant one. I mean Macaulay, who sur- 
 passed his former appearance in closeness, fire, and vigor, and very much 
 improved the effect of it by a more steady and graceful delivery. It was 
 prodigiously cheered, as it deserved, and I think puts him clearly at the 
 head of the great speakers, if not the debaters, of the House.” And 
 again on the 17th of December : “ Macaulay made, I think, the best speech 
 he has yet delivered; the most condensed,at least and with the greatest weight 
 of matter. It contained, indeed, the only argument to which any of the 
 speakers who followed him applied themselves.” Lord Cockburn, who 
 sat under the gallery for twenty-seven hours during the last three nights 
 of the Bill, pronounced Macaulay’s speech to have been “ by far the best ; ” 
 though, like a good Scotchman, he asserts that he heard nothing at West- 
 minster which could compare with Dr. Chalmers in the General Assem- 
 bly. Sir James Mackintosh writes from the Library of the Plouse of 
 Commons “ Macaulay and Stanley have made two of the finest speeches 
 ever spoken in Parliament ; ” and a little further on he classes together the 
 two young orators as “ the chiefs of the next, or rather of this, generation.” 
 To gain and keep the position that Mackintosh assigned him Macaulay 
 possessed the power, and in early days did not lack the will. He was 
 prominent on the Parliamentary stage, and active behind the scenes ; — 
 the soul of every honorable project which might promote the triumph of 
 his principles and the ascendency of his party. One among many passa- 
 ges in his correspondence may be quoted without a very serious breach of 
 ancient and time-worn confidences. On the 17th of September, 1831, he 
 writes to his sister Hannah ; “ I have been very busy since I wrote last, 
 moving heaven and earth to render it certain that, if our ministers are so 
 foolish as to resign in the event of a defeat in the Lords, the Commons 
 may be firm and united ; and I think that I have arranged a plan which 
 will secure a bold and instant declaration on our part if necessary. Lord 
 
126 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. IV. 
 
 Ebrington is the man whom I have in my eye as our leader. I have had 
 much conversation with him, and with several of our leading county mem- 
 bers. They are all staunch ; and I will answer for this, — that, if the 
 ministers should throw us over, we will be ready to defend ourselves.” 
 The combination of public spirit, political instinct, and legitimate self- 
 assertion, which was conspicuous in Macaulay’s character, pointed him 
 out to some whose judgment had been trained by long experience of affairs 
 as a more than possible leader in no remote future ; and it is not for his 
 biographer to deny that they had grounds for their conclusion. The pru- 
 dence, the energy, the self-reliance, which he displayed in another field 
 might have been successfully directed to the conduct of an executive policy 
 and the management of a popular assembly. Macaulay never showed 
 himself deficient in the qualities which enable a man to trust his own 
 sense ; to feel responsibility, but not to fear it ; to venture where others 
 shrink ; to decide while others waver ; with all else that belongs to the 
 vocation of a ruler in a free country. But it was not his fate ; it was not 
 his work : and the rank which he might have claimed among the statesmen 
 of Britain was not ill exchanged for the place which he occupies in the 
 literature of the world. 
 
 To Macvey Napier^ Esq. 
 
 York : March 22, 1830. 
 
 My dear Sir, — I was in some doubt as to what I should be able to do 
 for Number loi, and I deferred writing till I could make up my mind. If 
 my friend Ellis’s article on Greek History, of which I have formed high 
 expectations, could have been ready, I should have taken a holiday. But 
 as there is no chance of that for the next number, I ought, I think, to con- 
 sider myself as his bail, and to surrender myself to your disposal in his 
 stead. 
 
 I have been thinking of a subject, light and trifling enough, but per- 
 haps not the worse for our purpose on that account. We seldom want a 
 sufficient quantity of heavy matter. There is a wretched poetaster of the 
 name of Robert Montgomery who has written some volumes of detesta- 
 ble verses on religious subjects, which by mere puffing in magazines 
 and newspapers have had an immense sale, and some of which are now in 
 their tenth or twelfth editions. I have for some time past thought that 
 the trick of puffing, as it is now practised both by authors and publishers, 
 is likely to degrade the literary character and to deprave the public taste 
 in a frightful degree. I really think that we ought to try what effect satire 
 will have upon this nuisance, and I doubt whether we can ever find a bet- 
 ter opportunity. 
 
 Yours very faithfully, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
1830-32. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 127 
 
 To Macvey Napier ^ Esq. 
 
 London : August 19, 1830. 
 
 My dear Sir, — The new number appeared this morning in the shop 
 windows. The article on Niebuhr contains much that is very sensible ; 
 but it is not such an article as so noble a subject required. I am not like 
 Ellis, Niebuhr-mad ; and I agree with many of the remarks which the re- 
 viewer has made both on this work and on the school of German critics 
 and historians. But surely the reviewer ought to have given an account 
 of the system of exposition which Niebuhr has adopted, and of the the- 
 ory which he advances respecting the Institutions of Rome. The appear- 
 ance of the book is really an era in the intellectual history of Europe, and I 
 think that the Edinburgh Review ought at least to have given a luminous 
 abstract of it. The very circumstance that Niebuhr’s own arrangement 
 and style are obscure, and that his translators have need of translators to 
 make them intelligible to the multitude, rendered it more desirable that a 
 clear and neat statement of the points in controversy should be laid before 
 the public. But it is useless to talk of what cannot be mended. The best 
 editors cannot always have good writers and the good writers cannot always 
 write their best. 
 
 I have no notion on what ground Brougham imagines that I am going 
 to review his speech. He never said a word to me on the subject. Nor 
 did I ever say either to him or to anyone else a single syllable to that 
 effect. At all events I shall not make Brougham’s speech my text. We 
 have had quite enough of puffing and flattering each other in the Review. 
 It is a vile taste for men united in one literary undertaking to exchange 
 their favors. 
 
 I have a plan of which I wish to know your opinion. In ten days or 
 thereabouts I set off for France, where I hope to pass six weeks. I shall 
 be in the best society, that of the Due de Broglie, Guizot, and so on. I 
 think of writing an article on the Politics of France since the Restoration, 
 with characters of the principal public men, and a parallel between the 
 present state of France and that of England. I think that this might be 
 made an article of extraordinary interest. I do not say that I could make 
 it so. It must, you will perceive, be a long paper, however concise I may 
 try to be : but as the subject is important, and I am not generally diffuse, 
 you must not stint me. If you like this scheme let me know as soon as 
 possible. 
 
 Ever yours truly, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 It cannot be denied that there was some ground for the imputation of 
 systematic puffing which Macaulay urges with a freedom that a modern 
 editor would hardly permit to the most valued contributor. Brougham had 
 
128 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. IV. 
 
 made a speech on Slavery in the House of Commons ; but time was wanting 
 to get the Corrected Report published soon enough for him to obtain his 
 tribute of praise in the body of the Review. The unhappy Mr. Napier 
 was actually reduced to append a notice to the July number regretting that 
 “ this powerful speech, which, as we are well informed, produced an im- 
 pression on those who heard it not likely to be forgotten, or to remain 
 barren of effects, should have reached us at a moment when it was no long- 
 er possible for us to notice its contents at any length. ... On the eve of 
 a general election to the first Parliament of a new reign, we could have 
 wished to be able to contribute our aid towards the facts and arguments 
 here so strikingly and commandingly stated and enforced, among those who 
 are about to exercise the elective franchise. . . . We trust that means will 
 be taken to give the widest possible circulation to the Corrected Report. 
 Unfortunately, we can, at present, do nothing more than lay before our 
 readers its glowing peroration— so worthy of this great orator, this un- 
 wearied friend of liberty and humanity.” 
 
 To Macvey Napier^ Esq. 
 
 Paris : September i6, 1830. 
 
 My dear Sir, — I have just received your letter, and I cannot deny that 
 I am much vexed at what has happened. It is not very agreeable to find 
 that I have thrown away the labor, the not unsuccessful labor as I thought, 
 of a month ; particularly as I have not many months of perfect leisure. 
 This would not have happened if Brougham had notified his intentions to 
 you earlier, as he ought in courtesy to you, and to everybody connected 
 with the Review, to have done. He must have known that this French 
 question was one on which many people would be desirous to write. 
 
 I ought to tell yoa that I had scarcely reached Paris when I received a 
 letter containing a very urgent application from a very respectable quarter. 
 I was desired to write a sketch, in one volume, of the late Revolution here. 
 Now, I really hesitated whether I should not make my excuses to you, and 
 accept this proposal, not on account of the pecuniary terms, for about 
 these I have never much troubled myself, but because I should have had 
 ampler space for this noble subject than the Review would have afforded. 
 I thought, however, that this would not be a. fair or friendly course towards 
 you. I accordingly told the applicants that I had promised you an article, and 
 that I could not well write twice in one month on the same subject with- 
 out repeating myself. I therefore declined ; and recommended a person 
 whom I thought quite capable of producing an attractive book on these 
 events. To that person my correspondent has probably applied. At all 
 events I cannot revive the negotiation. I cannot hawk my rejected articles 
 up and down Paternoster Row. 
 
 I am, therefore, a good deal vexed at this affair, but I am’ not at all 
 
1830-32. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 129 
 
 surprised at it. I see all the difficulties of your situation. Indeed, I have 
 Jong foreseen them. I always knew that in every association, literary or 
 political. Brougham would wish to domineer. I knew also that no Editor 
 of the Edinburgh Review could, without risking the ruin of the publica- 
 tion, resolutely oppose the demands of a man so able and powerful. It 
 was because I was certain that he would exact submissions which I am not 
 disposed to make that I wished last year to give up writing for the Review, 
 I had long been meditating a retreat. I thought Jeffrey’s abdication a 
 favorable time for effecting it; not, as I hope you are well assured, from 
 any unkind feeling towards you; but because I knew that, under any Edi- 
 tor, mishaps such as that which has now occurred would be constantly 
 taking place. I remember that I predicted to Jeffrey what has now come 
 to pass almost to the letter. 
 
 My expectations have been exactly realized. The present constitution 
 of the Edinburgh Review is this, that, at whatever time Brougham may 
 be pleased to notify his intention of writing on any subject, all previous 
 engagements are to be considered as annulled by that notification. His 
 language translated into plain English is this : “ I must wri^^e about this 
 French Revolution, and I will write about it. If you have told Macaulay 
 to do it, you may tell him to let it alone. If he has written an article, he 
 may throw it behind the grate. He would not himself have the assurance to 
 compare his own claims with mine. I am a man who act a prominent part 
 in the world : he is nobody. If he must be reviewing, there is my speech 
 about the West Indies. Set him to write a puff on that. What have peo- 
 ple like him to do, except to eulogise people like me No man likes to 
 be reminded of his inferiority in such a way, and there are some particular 
 circumstances in this case which render the admonition more unpleasant 
 than it would otherwise be. I know that Brougham dislikes me ; and I 
 have not the slightest doubt that he feels great pleasure in taking this sub 
 ject out of my hands, and at having made me understand, as I do most 
 clearly understand, how far my services are rated below his. I do not 
 blame you in the least. I do not see how you could have acted otherwise. 
 But on the other hand I do not see why I should make any efforts or sac- 
 rifices for a Review which lies under an intolerable dictation. Whatever 
 my writings may be worth, it is not for want of strong solicitations and 
 tempting offers from other quarters that I have continued to send them to 
 the Edinburgh Review. I adhered to the connection solely because I took 
 pride and pleasure in it. It has now become a scource of humiliation and 
 mortification. 
 
 I again repeat, my dear Sir, that I do not blame you in the least. This, 
 however, only makes matters worse. If you had used me ill, I might 
 complain, and might hope to be better treated another time. Unhappily 
 \ou are in a situation in which it is proper for you to do what it would be 
 VoL. L— 9 
 
130 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XI. 
 
 February 14, 1832. — Dined at Mrs. Drummond’s. Trevelyans, Strutts, 
 Fords, Merivales, Macaulay. It was very pleasant. Macaulay and Mrs. Strutt both 
 own to the feeling Doctor Johnson had, of thinking oneself bound sometimes to 
 touch a particular rail or post, and to tread always in the middle of the paving-stone. 
 I certainly have had this very strongly. Macaulay wished that he could spend a day 
 of every century in London since the Romans ; though of the two he would rath- 
 er spend a day in it 1800 years hence, than 1800 years ago, as he can less easily 
 conceive it. We agreed there can never have been thirty years in which all mechan- 
 ical improvements have made so much progress as in the last thirty, but he looks on 
 printing as a greater discovery than steam, but not near so rapid in its obvious re- 
 sults. He told us of two letters he had received from America : one from a Mr. 
 Crump, offering him 500 dollars if he could introduce the name of Crump into his 
 History: another from a Young Men’s Philosophical Society in New York, begin- 
 ning, ‘ Possibly our fame has not pinioned the Atlantic.’ ” 
 
 May 4. — Dined with the Club. Very pleasant, though select. Something led 
 to my reminding Lord Aberdeen that we both put Macbeth the first of Shakespeare’s 
 great plays. Lord Lansdowne quite concurred. Macaulay thinks it may be a little 
 owing to our recollections of Mrs. Siddons. He is much inclined to rank them thus : 
 Othello, Lear, Macbeth, Hamlet.” * 
 
 “ November 29. — Breakfasted with Macaulay. He thinks that, though the last 
 eight books of Paradise Lost contain incomparable beauties, Milton’s fame would 
 have stood higher if only the first four had been preserved. He would then have 
 been placed above Homer.” 
 
 There is nothing very attractive in a memorandum which baldly chroni- 
 cles the fact that on a certain day, five-and-twenty years ago, Hallam, and 
 Milman, and Macaulay undertook to classify in order of excellence the 
 Greek Tragedians or the Elizabethan Dramatists. But it must be re- 
 membered that every one of these entries represents an hour of glowing 
 declamation and sparkling repartee, interspersed with choice passages 
 from the writer whose merits were in question, recited as poetry is recited 
 by men who learn without effort and admire without affectation. “ When 
 I praise an author,” Macaulay used to say, “ I love to give a sample of 
 his wares.” That sample was sometimes only too favorable. He had so 
 quick an eye for literary effect, — ^so grateful was he to any book which 
 had pleased him even for a moment, — that he would pick out from such 
 a book, and retain for ever in his memory, what was perhaps the single 
 telling anecdote or well-turned couplet which could be discovered in its 
 
 * In the course of the next month there was a breakfast at the Bishop of Oxford’s. 
 “ Extremely agreeable,” writes Lord Carlisle, “ and would have been still more so, but 
 there was a tendency to talk very loud, and all at once.” On this occasion Macaulay told 
 a story about one of the French prophets of the seventeenth century, who came into the 
 court of Queen’s Bench, and announced that the Holy Ghost had sent him to command Lord 
 Holt to enter a nolle prosequi. “ If,” said Lord Holt, “ the Holy Ghost had wanted a nolle 
 prosequi he would have bade you apply to the Attorney-General. The Holy Ghost knows 
 that I cannot enter a nolle prosequi. But there is one tiling which I can do. I can lay a 
 lying knave by the heels ; ” and thereupon he commited him to prison. 
 
1847-49 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 131 
 
 pages.* A pointed story, extracted from some trumpery memoir of the 
 last century, and retold in his own words, — a purple patch from some 
 third-rate sermon or political treatise, woven into the glittering fabric of 
 his talk with that art which in his case was a second nature, — have often 
 and often tempted his younger hearers into toiling through volume after 
 volume of prosy or flippant trash, in which a good paragraph was as rare 
 as a silver spoon in a dust-heap. 
 
 Whatever fault might be found with Macaulay’s gestures as an orator, 
 his appearance and bearing in conversation were singularly effective. 
 Sitting bolt upright, his hands resting on the arms of his chair or folded 
 over the handle of his walking-stick ; — knitting his great eyebrows if the 
 subject was one which had to be thought out as he went along, or bright- 
 ening from the forehead downwards when a burst of humor was coming ; 
 — his massive features and honest glance suited well with the manly 
 sagacious sentiments which he set forth in his pleasant sonorous voice, 
 and in his racy and admirably intelligible language. To get at his mean- 
 ing people had never the need to think twice, and they certainly had 
 seldom the time. And with all his ardor, and all his strength and energy 
 of conviction, he was so truly considerate towards others, so delicately 
 courteous with the courtesy which is of the essence and not only in the 
 manner ! However eager had been the debate, and however prolonged 
 the sitting, no one in the company ever had personal reasons for wishing 
 a word of his unsaid, or a look or a tone recalled. His good things were 
 never long in the making. During the Caffre war, at a time when we 
 were getting rather the worse of it, he opened the street door for a walk 
 down Westbourne Terrace. “The blacks are flying,” said his compan- 
 ion. “ I wish they were in South Africa,” was the instant reply. His 
 quotations were always ready, and never off the mark. On a Sunday 
 afternoon, when the family were engaged in discussing a new curate, one 
 of the children, with true Clapham instinct, asked whether the reverend 
 gentleman had ever received a testimonial. “ I am glad, my boy,” said 
 Macaulay, “that you would not muzzle the ox that treadeth out the corn.” 
 Sometimes he would recast his thoughts, and give them over again in the 
 shape of an epigram. “You call me a Liberal,” he said; “but I don’t 
 know that in these days -I deserve the name. I am opposed to the aboli- 
 tion of standing armies. I am opposed to the abrogation of capital pun- 
 
 * “ My father,” says Sara Coleridge, “ had a way of seizing upon the one bright thing 
 out of long tracts of dull and tedious matter. I remember a great campanula which grew 
 in a wood at Keswick. Two or three such I found in my native vale during the course of 
 my flower-seeking days. As well might we present one of these as a sample of the blue- 
 bells of bonny Cumberland, or the one or two oxlips which may be found among a multi- 
 tude of cowslips in a Somersetshire meadow, as specimens of the flowerhood of the field, 
 — as give these extracts for proof of what the writer was generally wont to produce.” 
 
132 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. IV. 
 
 thronged up to the table, and all the floor was fluctuating with heads like 
 the pit of a theatre. But you might have heard a pin drop as Duncannon 
 read the numbers. Then again the shouts broke out, and many of us shed 
 tears. I could scarcely refrain. And the jaw of Peel fell ; and the face 
 of Twiss was as the face of a damned soul ; and Herries looked like Judas 
 taking his necktie off for the last operation. We shook hands, and clapped 
 each other on the back, and went out laughing, crying, and huzzaing into 
 the lobby. And no sooner were the outer doors opened than another 
 shout answered that within the House. All the passages and the stairs 
 into the waiting-rooms were thronged by people who had waited till four 
 in the morning to know the issue. We passed through a narrow lane be- 
 tween two thick masses of them ; and all the way down they were shout- 
 ing and waving their hats, till we got into the open air. I called a cab- 
 riolet, and the first thing the driver asked was, “ Is the bill carried ? ” “ Yes, 
 by one.” “ Thank God for it. Sir.” And away I rode to Gray’s Inn, — and 
 so ended a scene which will probably never be equalled till the reformed 
 Parliament wants reforming ; and that I hope will not be till the days of 
 our grandchildren — till that truly orthodox and apostolic person Dr. Fran- 
 cis Ellis is an archbishop of eighty. 
 
 As for me, I am for the present a sort of lion. My speech has set me 
 in the front rank, if I can keep there ; and it has not been my luck hither- 
 to to lose ground when I have once got it. Sheil and I are on very civil 
 terms. He talks largely concerning Demosthenes and Burke. He made, 
 I must say, an excellent speech ; too florid and queer, but decidedly suc- 
 cessful. 
 
 Why did not Price speak ? If he was afraid, it was not without reason : 
 for a more terrible audience there is not in the world. I wish that Praed 
 had known to whom he was speaking. But, with all his talent, he has no 
 tact, and he has fared accordingly. Tierney used to say that he never 
 rose in the House without feeling his knees tremble under him : and I 
 am sure that no man who has not some of that feeling will ever succeed 
 there. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 . T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 London: May 27, 1831. 
 
 My dear Hannah, — Let me see if I can write a letter a la Richardson : 
 — a little less prolix it must be, or it will exceed my ounce. By the bye, I 
 wonder that Uncle Selby never grudged the postage of Miss Byron’s 
 letters. According to the nearest calculation that I can make, her cor- 
 respondence must have enriched the post office of Ashby Canons by 
 something more than the whole annual interest of her fifteen thousand 
 pounds. 
 
1830-32. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 133 
 
 I reached Landsdowne House by a quarter to eleven, and passed 
 through the large suite of room to the great Sculpture Gallery. There 
 were seated and standing perhaps three hundred people, listening to the 
 performers, or talking to each other. The room is the handsomest and 
 largest, I am told, in any private house in London. I enclose our 
 musical bill of fare. . Fanny, I suppose, will be able to expound it better 
 than I, The singers were more showily dressed than the auditors, and 
 seemed quite at home. As to the company, there was just everybody m 
 London, (except that little million and a half that you wot of,) — the Chan- 
 cellor, and the First Lord of the Admirality, and Sydney Smith, and 
 Lord Mansfield, and all the Barings find the Fitzclarences, and a hideous 
 Russian spy, whose face I see everywhere, with a star on his coat. 
 During the interval between the delights of “ I tuoi frequenti,” and the 
 ecstasies of “ Se tu m’ami,” I contrived to squeeze up to Lord Landsdowne. 
 I was shaking hands with Sir James Macdonald, when I heard a command 
 behind us: “Sir James, introduce me to Mr. Macaulay:” and we turned, 
 and there sate a large bold-looking woman, with the remains of a fine 
 person, and the air of Queen Elizabeth. “ Macaulay,” said Sir James, 
 “ let me present you to Lady Holland.” Then was her ladyship gracious 
 beyond description, and asked me to dine and take a bed at Holland 
 House next Tuesday. I accepted the dinner, but declined the bed, and 
 I have since repented that I so declined it. But I probably shall have an 
 opportunity of retracting on Tuesday. 
 
 To-night I go to another musical party at Marshall’s, the late M. P. 
 for Yorkshire. Everybody is talking of Paganini and his violin. The 
 man seems to be a miracle. The newspapers say that long streamy 
 flakes of music fall from his string, interspersed with luminous points of 
 sound which ascend the air and appear like stars. This eloquence is 
 quite beyond me. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 London : May 28, 1831. 
 
 My dear Hannah, — More gaieties and music-parties ; not so fertile of 
 adventures as that memorable masquerade whence Harriet Byron was 
 carried away ; but still I hope that the narrative of what passed there will 
 gratify “the venerable circle.” Yesterday I dressed, called a cab, and 
 was whisked away to Hill Street. I found old Marshall’s house a very 
 fine one. He ought indeed to have a fine one ; for he has, I believe, at 
 least thirty thousand a year. The carpet was taken up, and chairs were 
 set out in rows, as if we had been at a religious meeting. Then we had 
 flute-playing by the first flute-player in England, and pianoforte-strumming 
 by the first pianoforte-strummer in England, and singing by all the first 
 
134 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. IV. 
 
 singers in England, and Signor Rubini’s incomparable tenor, and Signor 
 Curioni’s incomparable counter-tenor, and Pasta’s incomparable expres- 
 sion. You who know how airs much inferior to these take my soul, and 
 lap it in Elysium, will form some faint conception of my transport. Sharp 
 beckoned me to sit by him in the back row. These old fellows are so 
 selfish. “ Always,” said he, “ establish yourself in the ifiiddle of the row 
 against the wall : for, if you sit in the front or next the edges, you will 
 be forced to give up your seat to the ladies who are standing.” I had the 
 gallantry to surrender mine to a damsel who had stood for a quarter of 
 an hour ; and I lounged into the anteroom where I found Samuel Rogers. 
 Rogers and I sate together on a bench in one of the passages and had a good 
 deal of very pleasant conversation. He was, — as indeed he has always been 
 to me, — extremely kind, and told me that, if it were in his power, he would 
 contrive to be at Holland House with me, to give me an insight into its 
 ways. He is the great oracle of that circle. 
 
 He has seen the King’s letter to Lord Grey, respecting the Garter ; or 
 at least has authentic information about it. It is a happy stroke of policy, 
 and will, they say, decide many wavering votes in the House of Lords. 
 The King, it seems, requests Lord Grey to take the order, as a mark of 
 royal confidence in him “at so critical a time : ” — significant words, I 
 think. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 To Hannah More Macaulay. 
 
 London : May 30, 1831. 
 
 Well, my dear, I have been to Holland House. I took a glass coach, 
 and arrived, through a fine avenue of elms, at the great entrance towards 
 seven o’clock. The house is delightful. — the very perfection of the old 
 Elizabethan style, — a considerable number of very large and very com- 
 fortable rooms, rich with antique carving and gilding, but carpeted and 
 furnished with all the skill of the best modern upholsterers. The library 
 is a very long room, — as long I should think, as the gallery at Rothley 
 Temple, — with little cabinets for study branching out of it, warmly and 
 snugly fitted up, and looking out on very beautiful grounds. The col- 
 lection of books is not, like Lord Spencer’s, curious; but it contains 
 almost everything that one ever wished to read. I found nobody there 
 when I arrived but Lord Russell, the son of the Marquess of Tavistock. 
 We are old House of Commons friends : so we had some very pleasant 
 talk, and in a little while in came Allen, who is warden of Dulwich 
 College, and who lives almost entirely at Holland House. He is 
 certainly a man of vast information and great conversational powers. 
 Some other gentlemen dropped in, and we chatted till Lady Holland 
 
1830-32. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 13s 
 
 made her appearance. Lord Holland dined by himself on account of his 
 gout. We sat down to dinner in a fine long room, the wainscot of which 
 is rich with gilded coronets, roses, and portcullises. There were Lord 
 Albemarle, Lord Alvanley, Lord Russell, Lord Mahon, — a violent Tory, 
 but a very agreeable companion, and a very good scholar. There was 
 Cradock, a fine fellow who was the Duke of Wellington’s aide-de-camp 
 in 1815, and some other people whose names I did not catch. What, 
 however, is more to the purpose, there was a most excellent dinner. I 
 have always heard that Holland House is famous for its good cheer, and 
 certainly the reputation is not unmerited. After dinner Lord Holland 
 was wheeled in, and placed very near me. He was extremely amusing 
 and good-natured. 
 
 In the drawing-room I had a long talk with Lady Holland about the 
 antiquities of the house, and about the purity of the English language, 
 wherein she thinks herself a critic. I happened, in speaking about the 
 Reform Bill, to say that I wished that it had been possible to form a few 
 commercial constituencies, if the word constituency were admissible. 
 “ I am glad you put that in,” said her ladyship. “ I was just going to 
 give it you. It is an odious word. Then there is talented, and influential 
 gentlemanly. I never could break Sheridan of gentlemanly, though 
 he allowed it to be wrong.” We talked about the word talents and its 
 history. I said that it had first appeared in theological writing that it 
 was a metaphor taken from the parable in the New Testament, and that 
 it had gradually passed from the vocabulary of divinity into common use. 
 I challenged her to find it in any classical writer on general subjects 
 before the Restoration, or even before the year 1700. I believe that I 
 might safely have gone down later. She seemed surprised by this theory, 
 never having, ^o far as I could judge, heard of the parable of the talents. 
 I did not tell her, though I might have done so, that a person who pro- 
 fesses to be a critic iri the delicacies of the English language ought to 
 have the Bible at his fingers’ ends. 
 
 She is certainly a woman of considerable talents and great literary 
 acquirements. To me she was excessively gracious ; yet there is a haugh- 
 tiness in her courtesy which, even after all that I had heard of her, sur- 
 prised me. The centurion did not keep his soldiers in better order than 
 she keeps her guests. It is to one “ Go,” and he^ goeth ; and to another 
 “ Do this,” and it is done. “ Ring the bell, Mr. Macaulay.” “ Lay 
 down that screen. Lord Russell ; you will spoil it.” “ Mr Allen, take a 
 candle and show Mr. Cradock the picture of Buonaparte.” Lord Hol- 
 land is, on the other hand, all kindness, simplicity, and vivacity. He 
 talked very well both on politics and on literature. He asked me in a 
 very friendly manner about my father’s health, and begged to be remem- 
 bered to him. 
 
136 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. IV. 
 
 When my coach came, Lady Holland made me promise that I would 
 on the first fine morning walk out to breakfast with them, and see the 
 grounds ; — and, after drinking a glass of very good iced lemonade, I took 
 my leave, much amused and pleased. The house certainly deserves its 
 reputation for pleasantness, and her ladyship used me, I believe, as well 
 as it is her way to use anybody. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 To Hannah M. Macaulay. 
 
 Court of Commissioners, 
 
 Basinghall Street : May 31, 1831. 
 
 My dear Sister, — How delighted I am that you like my letters, and 
 how obliged by yours ! But I have little more than my thanks to give 
 for your last. I have nothing to tell about great people to-day. I heard 
 no fine music yesterday, saw nobody above the rank of a baronet, and 
 was shut up in my own room reading and writing all the morning. This 
 day seems likely to pass in much the same way, except that I have some 
 bankruptcy business to do, and a couple of sovereigns to receive. So 
 here I am, with three of the ugliest attorneys that ever deserved to be 
 transported sitting opposite to me ; a disconsolate-looking bankrupt, his 
 hands in his empty pockets, standing behind ; a lady scolding for her 
 money, and refusing to be comforted because it is not ; and a surly 
 butcher-like looking creditor, growling like a house-dog, and saying, as 
 plain as looks can say: “ If I sign your certificate, blow me, that’s all.” 
 Among these fair and interesting forms, on a piece of official paper, with 
 a pen and with ink found at the expense of the public, am I writing to 
 Nancy. 
 
 These dirty courts, filled with Jew money-lenders, sheriffs’ officers, 
 attorneys’ runners, and a crowd of people who live by giving sham bail 
 and taking false oaths, are not by any means such good subjects for a 
 lady’s correspondent as the Sculpture Gallery at Lansdowne House, or 
 the conservatory at Holland House, or the notes of Pasta, or the talk of 
 Rogers. But we cannot be always fine. When my Richardsonian epis- 
 tles are published there must be dull as well as amusing letters among 
 them ; and this letter is^ I think, as good as those sermons of Sir Charles 
 to Geronymo which Miss Byron hypocritically asked for, or as the greater 
 part of that stupid last volume. 
 
 We shall soon have more attractive matter. I shall walk out to 
 breakfast at Holland House ; and I am to dine with Sir George Philips, 
 and with his son the member for Steyning, who have the best of com- 
 pany; and I am going to the fancy ball of — — the Jew. He met me in 
 the street, and implored me to come. “You need not dress more than 
 
1830-32. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 137 
 
 for an evening party. You had better come. You will be delighted. It 
 will be so very pretty.” I thought of Dr. Johnson * and the herdsman 
 with his “ See, such pretty goats.” However I told my honest Hebrew 
 that I wolild come. I may perhaps, like the Benjamites, steal away some 
 Israelite damsel in the middle of her dancing. 
 
 But the noise all round me is becoming louder, and a baker in a white 
 coat is bellowing for the book to prove a debt of nine pounds fourteen 
 shillings and four-pence. So I must finish my letter and fall to busi- 
 ness. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 To Hannah M. Macaulay. 
 
 London : June 1, 183 1. 
 
 , My dear Sister, — My last letter was a dull one. I mean this to be 
 very amusing. My last was about Basinghall Street, attorneys, and 
 bankrupts. But for this — take it dramatically in the German style. 
 
 Fine morning. Scene, the great entrance of Holland House. 
 
 Enter Macaulay, and Two Footmen in livery. 
 
 First Footman . — Sir, may I venture to demand your name ? 
 
 Macaulay . — Macaulay, and thereto I add M.P. 
 
 And that addition, even in these proud halls. 
 
 May well ensure the bearer some respect. 
 
 Second Footman . — And art thou come to breakfast with our Lord? 
 
 Macaulay. — I am ; for so his hospitable will. 
 
 And hers — the peerless dame ye serve — hath bade. 
 
 First Footman . — Ascend the stair, and thou above shalt find, 
 
 On snow-white linen spread, the luscious meal. 
 
 {Exit Macaulay upstairs.') 
 
 In plain English prose, I went this morning to breakfast at Holland 
 House. The day was fine, and I arrived at twenty minutes after ten. 
 After I had lounged a short time in the dining-room, I heard a gruff 
 good-natured voice asking, “ Where is Mr. Macaulay ? Where have you 
 put him ; ” and in his arm-chair Lord Holland was wheeled in. He took 
 me round the apartmeirts, he riding and I walking. He gave me the 
 history of the most remarkable portraits in the library, where there is, 
 by the bye, one of the few bad pieces of Lawrence that I have seen — a 
 head of Charles James Fox, an ignominious failure. Lord Holland said 
 that it was the worst ever painted of so eminent a man by so eminent an 
 artist. There is a very fine head of Machiavelli, and another of Earl 
 
 ♦ See Boswell’s Tour to the Hebrides, Sept, i, 1773. 
 
138 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. IV. 
 
 Grey, a very different sort of man. I observed a portrait of Lady Hol- 
 land painted some thirty years ago. I could have cried to see the change. 
 She must have been a most beautiful woman. She still looks, however, 
 as if she had been handsome, and shows in one respect great taste and 
 sense. She does not rouge at all; and her costume is not youthful, so 
 that she looks as well in the morning as in the evening. We came back 
 to the dining-room. Our breakfast party consisted of my Lord and Lady, 
 myself. Lord Russell, and Luttrell. You must have heard of Luttrell. 
 I met him once at Rogers’s ; and I have seen him, I think, in other 
 places. He is a famous wit, — the most popular, I think, of all the pro- 
 fessed wits, — a man who has lived in the highest circles, a scholar, and 
 no contemptible poet. He wrote a little volume of verse entitled “ Ad- 
 vice to Julia,” — not first rate, but neat, lively, piquant, and showing the 
 most consummate knowledge of fashionable life. 
 
 We breakfasted on very good coffee, and very good tea, and very 
 good eggs, butter kept in the midst of ice, and hot rolls. Lady Holland 
 told us her dreams ; how she had dreamed that a mad dog bit her foot, 
 and how she set off to Brodie, and lost her way in St. Martin’s Lane, and 
 could not find him. She hoped, she said, the dream would not come 
 true. I said that I had had a dream which admitted of no such hope ; 
 for I had dreamed that I heard Pollock speak in the House of Com- 
 mons, that the speech was very long, and that he was coughed down. 
 This dream of mine diverted them much. 
 
 After breakfast Lady Holland offered to conduct me to her own 
 drawing-room, or, rather, commanded my attendance. A very beautiful 
 room it is, opening on a terrace, and wainscotted with miniature paintings 
 interesting from their merit, and interesting from their history. Among 
 them I remarked a great many, — thirty I should think, — which even I, 
 who am no great connoisseur, saw at once could come from no hand but 
 Stothard’s. They were all on subjects from Lord Byron’s poems. 
 “Yes,” said she; “poor Lord Byron sent them to me a short time before 
 the separation. I sent them back, and told him that, if he gave them 
 away, he aught to give them to Lady Byron. But he said that he would 
 not, and that, if I did not take them, the bailiffs would, and that they 
 would be lost in the wreck.” Her ladyship then honored me so far as to 
 conduct me through her dressing-room into the great family bedchamber 
 to show me a very fine picture by Reynolds of Fox, when a boy, birds- 
 nesting. She then consigned me to Luttrell, asking him to show me the 
 grounds. 
 
 Through the grounds we went, and very pretty I thought them. In 
 the Dutch garden is a fine bronze bust of Napoleon, which Lord Holland 
 put up in 1817, while Napoleon was a prisoner at St. Helena. The in- 
 scription was selected by his lordship, and is remarkably happy. It is 
 
1830-32. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 139 
 
 from Homer’s Odyssey. I will translate it, as well as I can extempore, 
 into a measure which gives a better idea of Homer’s manner than Pope’s 
 sing-song couplet. 
 
 For not, be sure within the grave 
 Is hid that prince, the wise, the brave; 
 
 But in an islet’s narrow bound. 
 
 With the great Ocean roaring round, 
 
 The captive of a foeinan base 
 He pines to view his native place. 
 
 There is a seat near the spot which is called Roger’s seat. The poet 
 loves, it seems, to sit there. A very elegant inscription by Lord Holland 
 is placed over it. 
 
 Here Rogers sate; and here for ever dwell 
 With me those pleasures which he sang so well. 
 
 Very neat and condensed, I think. Another inscription by Luttrell hangs 
 there. Luttrell adjured me with mock pathos to spare his blushes ; but I 
 am author enough to know what the blushes of authors mean. So I read 
 the lines, and very pretty and polished they were, but too many to be 
 remembered from one reading. 
 
 Having gone round the grounds I took my leave, very much pleased 
 with the place. Lord Holland is extremely kind. But that is of course ; 
 for he is kindness itself. Her ladyship too, which is by no means of 
 course, is all graciousness and civility. But, for all this, I would much 
 rather be quietly walking with you : and the great use of going to these 
 fine places is to learn how happy it is possible to be without them. Indeed, 
 I care so little for them that I certainly should not have gone to-day, but 
 that I thought that I should be able to find materials for a letter which 
 you might like. 
 
 Farewell, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 To Hannah M. Macaulay. , 
 
 London: June 3, 1831. 
 
 My dear Sister, — I cannot tell you how delighted I am to find that my 
 letters amuse you. But sometimes I must be dull like my neighbors. I 
 paid no visits yesterday, and have no news to relate to-day I am sitting 
 again in Bassinghall Street ; and Basil Montagu * is haranguing about 
 
 * “ Those who are acquainted with the Courts in which Mr. Montagu practises with 
 so much ability and success, will Jcnow how often he enlivens the discussion of a point of 
 law by citing some weighty aphorism, or some brilliant illustration, from the De Augmen- 
 ts or the Novum Orga*: "!m.” — Macaulay’s Review of Basil Montagu’s Edition of Bacon. 
 
140 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. IV. 
 
 Lord Verulam and the way of inoculating one’s mind with truth; and all 
 this ^-propos of a lying bankrupt’s balance-sheet. 
 
 Send me some gossip, my love. Tell me how you go on with German. 
 What novel have you commenced ? Or rather how many dozen have you 
 finished ? Recommend me one. What say you to “ Destiny ” ? Is the 
 “Young Duke” worth reading.!* And what do you think of “Laurie 
 Todd ” ? 
 
 I am writing about Lord Byron so pathetically that I make Margaret 
 cry, but so slowly that I am afraid I shall make Napier wait. Rogers, 
 like a civil gentleman, told me last week to write no more reviews, and to 
 publish separate works : adding, what for him is a very rare thing, a 
 compliment : “You may do anything, Mr. Macaulay.” See how vain and 
 insincere human nature is ! I have been put into so good a temper with 
 Rogers that I have paid him, what is as rare with me as with him, a very 
 handsome compliment in my review. It is not undeserved, but I confess 
 that I cannot understand the popularity of his poetry. It is pleasant and 
 flowing enough, less monotonous than most of the imitations of Pope and 
 Goldsmith, and calls up many agreeable images and recollections. But 
 that such men as Lord Granville, Lord Holland, Hobhouse, Lord Byron, 
 and others of high rank in intellect, should place Rogers, as they do, 
 above Southey, Moore, and even Scott himself, is what I cannot conceive. 
 But this comes of being in the highest society of London. What Lady 
 Jane Granville called the Patronage of Fashion can do as much for a 
 middling poet as for a plain girl like Miss Arabella Falconer.* 
 
 But I must stop. This rambling talk has been scrawled in the middle 
 of haranguing, squabbling, swearing and crying. Since I began it I have 
 taxed four bills, taken forty depositions, and rated several perjured wit- 
 nesses. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 T<? Hannah and Margaret Macaulay. 
 
 London : June 7, 1831. 
 
 Yesterday I dined at Marshall’s, and was almost consoled for not 
 meeting Ramohun Roy by a very pleasant party. The great sight was 
 the two wits, Rogers and Sydney Smith. Singly I have often seen them ; 
 but to see them both together was a novelty, and a novelty not the less 
 curious because their mutual hostility is well known, and the hard hits 
 which they have given to each other are in everybody’s mouth. They 
 were very civil, however. But I was struck by the truth of what Matthew 
 Bramble, a person of whom you probably never heard, says in Smollett’s 
 Lady Jane and Miss Arabella appear in Miss Edgeworth’s “ Patronage.” 
 
1830-32. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 141 
 
 Humphrey Clinker ; that one wit in a company, like a knuckle of ham in 
 soup, gives a flavor : but two are too many. Rogers and Sydney Smith 
 would not come into conflict. If one had possession of the company, the 
 other was silent ; and, as you may conceive, the one who had possession 
 of the company was always Sydney Smith, and the one who was silent w’as 
 always Rogers. Sometimes, however, the company divided, and each of 
 them had a small congregation. I had a good deal of talk with both of 
 them ; for, in whatever they may disagree, they agree in always treating 
 me with very marked kindness. 
 
 I had a good deal of pleasant conversation with Rogers. He was 
 telling me of the curiosity and interest which attached to the persons of 
 Sir Walter Scott and Lord Byron. When Sir Walter Scott dined at a 
 gentleman’s in London some time ago, all the servant-maids in the house 
 asked leave to stand in the passage and see him pass. He was, as you 
 may conceive, greatly flattered. About Lord Byron, whom he knew well, 
 he told me some curious anecdotes. When Lord Byron passed through 
 Florence, Rogers was there. They had a good deal of conversation, and 
 Rogers accompanied him to his carriage. The inn had fifty windows in 
 front All the windows were crowded with women, mostly English women, 
 to catch a glance at their favorite poet. Among them were some at whose 
 houses he had often been in England, and with whom he had lived on 
 friendly terms. He would not notice them, or return their salutations. 
 Rogers was the only person that he spoke to. 
 
 The worst thing that I know about Lord Byron is the very unfavorable 
 impression which he made on men, who certainly were not inclined to judge 
 him harshly, and who, as far as I know, were never personally ill-used by 
 him. Sharp and Rogers both speak of him as an unpleasant, affected, 
 splenetic person. I have heard hundreds and thousands of people who 
 never saw him rant about him : but I never heard a single expression of 
 fondness for him fall from the lips of any of those who knew him well. 
 Yet, even now, after the lapse of five-and-twenty years, there are those 
 who cannot talk for a quarter of an hour about Charles Fox without 
 tears. 
 
 Sydney Smith leaves London on the 20th, the day before Parliament 
 meets for business. I advised him to stay, and see something of his friends 
 who would be crowding to London. “ My flock ! ” said this good shep- 
 herd. “ My dear Sir, remember my flock ! 
 
 The hungry sheep look up and are not fed.” 
 
 I could say nothing to such an argument, but I could not help thinking, 
 that, if Mr. Daniel Wilson had said such a thing, it would infallibly have 
 appeared in his funeral sermon, and in his Life by Baptist Noel. But in 
 poor Sydney’s mouth it sounded like a joke. He begged me to come and 
 
142 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. IV. 
 
 see him at Combe Florey. “ There I am, Sir, the priest of the Flovrery 
 Valley, in a delightful parsonage, about which I care a good deal, and a 
 a delightful country, about which I do not care a straw.” I told him that 
 my meeting him was some compensation for missing Ramohun Roy. 
 Sydney broke forth : “ Compensation ! Do you mean to insult me ? A 
 beneficed clergyman, an orthodox clergyman, a nobleman’s chaplain, to be 
 no more than compensation for a Brahmin ; and a heretic Brahmin too, a 
 fellow who has lost his own religion and can’t find another ; a vile hetero- 
 dox dog, who, as I am credibly informed, eats beef-steaks in private ! A 
 man who has lost his caste ! who ought to have melted lead poured down 
 his nostrils, if the good old Vedas were in force as they ought to be.” 
 
 These are some Boswelliana of Sydney, not very clerical, you will say, 
 but indescribably amusing to the hearers, whatever the readers may think 
 of them. Nothing can present a more striking contrast to his rapid, loud, 
 laughing utterance, and his rector-like amplitude and rubicundity, than the 
 low, slow, emphatic tone, and the corpse-like face of Rogers. There is 
 as great a difference in what they say as in the voice and look with which 
 they say it. The conversation of Rogers is remarkably polished and arti- 
 ficial. What he says seems to have been long meditated, and might be 
 published with little correction. Sydney talks from the impulse of the 
 moment, and his fun is quite inexhaustible. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 To Hannah M. Macaulay. 
 
 London : June 8, 1831. 
 
 My dear Sister, — Yesterday night I went to the Jew’s. I had indeed no 
 excuse for forgetting the invitation : for, about a week after I had re- 
 ceived the green varnished billet and answered it, came another in the 
 self-same words and addressed to Mr. Macaulay Jun^. I thought that 
 my answer had miscarried ; so down I sate, and composed a second 
 epistle to the Hebrews. I afterwards found that the second invitation 
 was meant for Charles. 
 
 I set off a little after ten, having attired myself simply as for a dinner- 
 party. The house is a very fine one. The door was guarded by peace- 
 officers and besieged by starers. My host met me in a superb court- 
 dress, with his sword at his side. There was a most sumptuous-looking 
 Persian, covered with gold lace. Then there was an Italian bravo with a 
 long beard. Two old gentlemen, who ought to have been wiser, were 
 fools enough to come in splendid Turkish custumes at which everybody 
 laughed. The fancy-dresses were worn almost exclusively by the young 
 people. The ladies for the most part contented themselves with a few 
 flowers and ribands oddly disposed. There was, however, a beautiful 
 
1830-32. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 143 
 
 Mary Queen of Scots, who looked as well as dressed the character per- 
 fectly ; an angel of a Jewess in a Highland plaid ; and an old woman, or 
 rather a woman, — for through her disguise it was impossible to ascertain 
 her age, — in the absurdest costume of the last century. These good 
 people soon began their quadrilles and galopades, and were enlivened by 
 all the noise that twelve fiddlers could make for their lives. 
 
 You must not suppose that the company was made up of these mum- 
 mers. There was Dr. Lardner, and Long the Greek Professor in the 
 London University, and Sheil, and Strutt, and Romilly, and Owen the 
 philanthropist. Owen laid hold on Sheil, and gave him a lecture on Co- 
 operation which lasted for half an hour. At* last Sheil, made his escape. 
 Then Owen seized Mrs. Sheil, a good Catholic, and a very agreeable 
 woman, and began to prove to her that there could be no such thing as 
 moral responsibility. I had fled at the first sound of his discourse, and 
 was talking with Strutt and Romilly, when behold ! I saw Owen leave 
 Mrs. Sheil and come towards us. So I cried out “ Sauve qui peut ! ” 
 and we ran off. But before we had got five feet from where we were 
 standing, who should meet us face to face but old Basil Montagu ? “Nay 
 then,” said I, “ the game is up. The Prussians are on our rear. If we 
 are to be bored to death there is no help for it.” Basil seized Romilly ; 
 Owen took possession of Strutt; and I was blessing myself on my escape, 
 when the only human being worthy to make a third with such a pair, 
 
 J , caught me by the arm, and begged to have a quarter of an hour’s 
 
 conversation with me. While I was suffering under J , a smart 
 
 impudent-looking young dog, dressed like a sailor in a blue jacket and 
 check shirt, marched up, and asked a Je wish-looking damsel near me to 
 dance with him. I thought that I had seen the fellow before ; and, after 
 a little looking, I perceived that it was Charles ; and most knowingly, I 
 assure you, did he perform a quadrille with Miss Hilpah Manasses, 
 
 If I were to tell you all that I saw I should exceed my ounce. There 
 was Martin the painter, and Procter, alias Barry Cornwall, the poet or 
 poetaster. I did not see one Peer, or one star, except a foreign order or 
 two, which I generally consider as an intimation to look to my pockets. 
 A German knight* is a dangerous neighbor -in a crowd. After seeing a 
 galopade very prettily danced by the Israelitish women, I went down- 
 stairs, reclaimed my hat, and walked into the dining-room. There, with 
 some difficulty, I squeezed myself between a Turk and a Bernese peasant, 
 and obtained an ice, a macaroon, and a glass of wine. Charles was there, 
 very active in his attendance on his fair Hilpah. I bade him good night. 
 “ What 1 ” said young Hopeful, “are you going yet? ” It was near one 
 o’clock, but this joyous tar seemed to think it impossible that anybody 
 
 ♦ Macaulay ended by being a German knight himself. 
 
144 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. IV. 
 
 could dream of leaving such delightful enjoyments till iaybreak. I left 
 him staying Hilpah with flagons, and walked quietly home. But it was 
 some time before I could get to sleep. The sound of fiddles was in mine 
 ears, and gaudy dresses, and black hair, and Jewish noses, were fluctuat* 
 ing up and down before mine eyes. 
 
 There is a fancy ball for you. If Charles writes a history of it, tell 
 me which of us does it best. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 To Hannah M. Macaulay. 
 
 London : June lo, 1831. 
 
 My dear Sister, — I am at Basinghall Street, and I snatch this quarter 
 of an hour, the only quarter of an hour which I am likely to secure dur- 
 ing the day, to write to you. I will not omit writing two days running, 
 because, if my letters give you half the pleasure which your letters give 
 me, you will, I am sure, miss them. I have not, however, much to tell. 
 I have been very busy with my article on Moore’s Life of Byron. I never 
 wrote anything with less heart. I do not like the book : I do not like 
 the hero : I have said the most I could for him, and yet I shall be abused 
 for speaking as coldly of him as I have done. 
 
 I dined the day before yesterday at Sir George Philips’s with Soth- 
 eby, Morier the author of “ Hadji Baba,” and Sir James Mackintosh. 
 Morier began to quote Latin before the ladies had left the room, and 
 quoted it by no means to the purpose. After their departure he fell to 
 repeating Virgil, choosing passages which everybody else knows and does 
 not repeat. He, though he tried to repeat them, did not know them, 
 and could not get on without my prompting. Sotheby was full of his 
 translation of Homer’s Iliad, some specimens of which he has already 
 published. It is a complete failure, more literal than that of Pope, but 
 still tainted with the deep radical vice of Pope’s version, a thoroughly 
 modern and artificial manner. It bears the same kind of relation to the 
 Iliad that Robertson’s narrative bears to the story of Joseph in the book 
 of Genesis. 
 
 There is a pretty allegory in' Homer — I think in the last book, but I 
 forget precisely where — about two vessels, the one filled with blessings 
 and the other with sorrow, which stand, says the poet, on the right and 
 left hand of Jupiter’s throne, and from which he dispenses good and evil 
 at his pleasure among men. What word to use for these vessels has 
 long posed the translators of Homer. Pope, who loves to be fine, calls 
 them urns. Cowper, who loves to be coarse, calls them casks — a transla- 
 tion more improper than Pope’s ; for a cask is, in our general understand- 
 ing, a wooden vessel; and the Greek word means an earthen vessel. 
 
1830-32. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 145 
 
 There is a curious letter of Cowper’s to one of his female correspondents 
 about this unfortunate word. She begged that Jupiter might be allowed 
 a more elegant piece of furniture for his throne than a cask. But Cow- 
 per was peremptory. I mentioned this incidentally when we were talking 
 about translations. This set Sotheby off. “ I,” said he, “ have translated 
 it vase. I hope that meets your ideas. Don’t you think vase will do ? 
 Does it satisfy you ? ” I told him, sincerely enough, that it satisfied me ; 
 for I must be most unreasonable to be dissatisfied at anything that he 
 chooses to put in a book which I never shall read. Mackintosh was very 
 agreeable ; and, as usually happens when I meet him, I learned some- 
 thing from him. 
 
 The great topic now in London is not, as you perhaps fancy, Reform, 
 but Cholera. There is a great panic ; as great a panic as I remember, 
 particularly in the City. Rice shakes his head, and says that this is the 
 most serious thing that has happened in his time ; and assuredly, if the 
 disease were to rage in London as it has lately raged in Riga, it would be 
 difficult to imagine anything more horrible. I, however, feel no uneasi- 
 ness. In the first place I have a strong leaning towards the doctrines of 
 the anti-contagionists. In the next place I repose a great confidence in 
 the excellent food and the cleanliness of the English. 
 
 I have this instant received your letter of yesterday with the inclosed 
 proof-sheets. Y our criticism is to a certain extent just : but you have not 
 considered the whole sentence together. Depressed is in itself better than 
 weighed down : but “ the oppressive privileges which had depressed indus- 
 try ” would be a horrible cacophony. I hope that word convinces you. 
 I have often observed that a fine Greek compound is an excellent substi- 
 tute for a reason. 
 
 I met Rogers at the Athenaeum. He begged me to breakfast with 
 him, and name my day, and promised that he would procure me as 
 agreeable a party as he could find in London. Very kind of the old man 
 is it not ? and, if you knew how Rogers is thought of, you would think it 
 as great a compliment as could be paid to a Duke. Have you seen what 
 the author of the “Young Duke ” says about me: how rabid I am, and 
 how certain I am to rat } 
 
 • Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 Macaulay’s account of the allusion to himself in the “ Young Duke ” 
 is perfectly accurate ; and yet, when read as a whole, the passage * in 
 
 * “ I hear that Mr. Babington Macaulay is to be returned. If he speaks half is well 
 as he writes, the House will be in fashion again. I fear that he is one of those who, like 
 the individual whom he has most studied, will give up to a party what was meant for 
 mankind. At any rate, he must get rid of his rabidity. He writes now on all subjects as 
 if he certainly intended to be a renegade, and was determined to make the contrast com 
 plete.” — The Young Duke, book v. chap. vi. 
 
 VoL. L— 10 ^ 
 
146 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. IV. 
 
 question does not appear to have been ill-naturedly meant. It is much 
 what any young literary man outside the House of Commons might write 
 of another who had only been inside that House for a few weeks ; and it 
 was probably forgotten by the author within twenty-four hours after the 
 ink was dry. It is to be hoped that the commentators of the future will 
 not treat it as an authoritive record of Mr. Disraeli’s estimate of Lord 
 Macaulay’s political character. 
 
 To Hannah M. Macaulay. 
 
 London: June 25, 1831. 
 
 My dear Sister, — There was, as you will see, no debate on Lord John 
 Russell’s motion. The Reform Bill is to be brought in, read once, and 
 printed, without discussion. The contest will be on the second reading, 
 and will be protracted, I should think, through the whole of the week 
 after next : — next week it will be, when you read this letter. 
 
 I breakfasted with Rogers yesterday. There was nobody their but 
 Moore. We were all on the most friendly and familiar terms possible: 
 and Moore, who is, Rogers tells me, excessively pleased with my review 
 of his book, showed me very marked attention. I was forced to go away 
 early on account of bankrupt business ; but Rogers said that we must 
 have the talk out : so we are to meet at his house again to breakfast. 
 What a delightful house it is ! It looks out on the Green Park just at 
 the most pleasant point The furniture has been selected with a delicacy 
 of taste quite unique. Its value does not depend on fashion, but must be 
 the same while the fine arts are held in any esteem. In the drawing-room, 
 for example, the chimney-pieces are carved by Flaxman into the most 
 beautiful Grecian forms. The book-case is painted by Stothard, in his 
 very best manner, with groups from Chaucer, Shakespeare, and Boccacio. 
 The pictures are not numerous ; but every one is excellent. In the din- 
 ing-room there are also some beautiful paintings. But the three most re- 
 markable objects in that room are, I think, a cast of Pope taken after 
 death by Roubiliac ; a noble model in terra-cotta by Michael Angelo, from 
 which he afterwards made one of his finest statues, that of Lorenzo de’ 
 Medici ; and, lastly a mahogany table on which stands an antique vase. 
 
 When Chantrey dined with Rogers some time ago he took particular 
 notice of the vase, and the table on which it stands, and asked Rogers 
 who made the table. “ A common carpenter,” said Rogers. “ Do you 
 remember the making of it ? ” said Chantrey. “ Certainly,” said Rogers, 
 in some surprise, “ I was in the room while it was finished with a chisel, 
 and gave the workmen directions about placing it.” “ Yes,” said Chant- 
 rey, “ I was the carpenter. I remember the room well, and all the cir- 
 cumstances.” A curious story, I think, and honorable both to the talent 
 
LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 1830-32. 
 
 147 
 
 which raised Chantrey, and to the magnanimity which kept him from be- 
 ing ashamed of what he had been. 
 
 Ever yours affectionately, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 To Hannah M. Macaulay. 
 
 London June 29, 1831. 
 
 My dear Sister, — We are not yet in the full tide of Parliamentary busi- 
 ness. Next week the debates will be warm and long. I should not won- 
 der if we had a discussion of five nights. I shall probably take a part in 
 it. 
 
 I have breakfasted again with Rogers. The party was a remarkable 
 one, — Lord John Russell, Tom Moore, Tom Campbell, and Luttrell. We 
 were all very lively. An odd incident took place after breakfast, while we 
 '■ were standing at the window and looking into the Green Park. Some- 
 body was talking about diners-out. “Aye,” said Campbell — 
 
 Ye diners-out from whom we guard our spoons. 
 
 Tom Moore asked where the line was. “ Don’t you know ?” said Camp- 
 bell. “Not I,” said Moore. “Surely,” said Campbell, “ it is your own.” 
 “ I never saw it in my life,” said Moore. “ It is one of your best things in 
 the Times,” said Campbell. Moore denied it. Hereupon I put in my 
 claim, and told them it was mine. Do you remember it ? It is in some 
 lines called the Political Georgies, which I sent to the Times about three 
 years ago. They made me repeat the lines, and were vociferous in praise 
 of them. Tom Moore then said, oddly enough : “ There is another poem 
 in the Times that I should like to know the author of, “ A Parson’s ac- 
 count of his Journey to the Cambridge Election.” I laid claim to that 
 also. “ That is curious,” said Moore. “ I begged Barnes to tell me who 
 wrote it. He said that he had received it from Cambridge, and touched 
 it up himself, and pretended that all the best strokes were his. I believed 
 that he was lying, because I never knew him to make a good joke in his 
 life. And now the murder is out.” They asked me whether I had put any- 
 thing else in the Times. Nothing, I said, except the Sortes Virgilianas, 
 which Lord John remembered well. I never mentioned the Cambridge 
 Journey or the Georgies, to any but my own family ; and I was therefore, 
 as you may conceive, not a little flattered to hear in one day Moore prais- 
 ing one of them, and Campbell praising the other. 
 
 I find that my article on Byron is very popular ; one among a thou- 
 sand proofs of the bad taste of the public. I am to review Croker’s 
 edition of Bozzy. It is wretchedly ill done. The notes are poorly written 
 and shamefully inaccurate. There is, however, much curious information 
 in it. The whole of the Tour to the Hebrides is incorporated with the 
 
148 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. IV. 
 
 Life. So are most of Mrs. Thrale’s anecdotes, and much of Sir John 
 Hawkin’s lumbering book The whole makes five large volumes. There is 
 a most laughable sketch of Bozzy, taken by Sir T. Lawrence when young. 
 I never saw a character so thoroughly hit off. I intend the book for you 
 when I have finished my criticism on it. You are, next to myself, the 
 best read Boswellite that I know. The lady whom Johnson abused for 
 flattering him * was certainly, according to Croker, Hannah More. 
 Another ill-natured sentence about a Bath lady t whom Johnson called 
 “ empty-headed ” is also applied to your godmother. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 To Hannah M. Macaulay. 
 
 London: July 6, 1831. 
 
 My dear Sister, — I have been so busy during the last two or three 
 days that I have found no time to write to you. I have now good news for 
 you. I spoke yesterday night with a success beyond my utmost expectations. 
 I am half ashamed to tell you the compliments which I have received : but 
 you well know that it is not from vanity, but to give you pleasure, that I 
 tell you what is said about me. Lord Althorp told me twice that it was 
 best speech he had ever heard ; Graham, and Stanley, and Lord John 
 Russell spoke of it in the same way ; and O’Connell followed me out of 
 the House to pay me the most enthusiastic compliments. I delivered my 
 speech much more slowly than any that I have before made, and it is in 
 consequence better reported than its predecessors, though not well. I 
 send you several papers. You will see some civil things in the leading 
 articles of some of them. My greatest pleasure in the midst of all this 
 praise is to think of the pleasure which my success will give to my father 
 and my sisters. It is happy for me that ambition has in my mind been 
 softened into a kind of domestic feeling, and that affection has at least as 
 much to do as vanity with my wish to distinguish myself. This I owe to 
 my dear mother ; and to the interest which she always took in my childish 
 successes. From my earliest years the gratification of those whom I 
 love has been associated with the gratification of my own thirst for fame, 
 until the two have become inseparably joined in my mind. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 * See Boswell’s Life of Johnson, April 15, 1778. 
 
 t “ He would not allow me to praise a lady then at Bath ; observing ‘ She does not 
 gain upon me, Sir ; I think her empty-headed.’ ” 
 
1830-32. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 149 
 
 To Hannah M. Macaulay. 
 
 London : July 8, 1831. 
 
 My dear Sister, — Do you want to hear all the compliments that are 
 paid to me ? I shall never end, if I stuff my letters with them : for I 
 meet nobody who does not give me joy. Baring tells me that I ought 
 never to speak again. Howick sent a note to me yesterday to say that 
 his father wished very much to be introduced to me, and asked me to 
 dine with them yesterday, as, by great good luck there was nothing to do 
 in the House of Commons. At seven I went to Downing Street, where 
 Earl Grey’s official residence stands. It is a noble house. There are two 
 splendid drawing-rooms which overlook St. James’s Parle Into these I 
 was shown. The servant told me that Lord Grey was still at the House 
 of Lords, and that her Ladyship had just gone to dress. Howick had not 
 mentioned the hour in his note. I sate down, and turned over two large 
 portfolios of political caricatures. Earl Grey’s own face was in every 
 print. I was very much diverted. I had seen some of them before ; but 
 many were new to me, and their merit is extraordinary. They were the 
 caricatures of that remarkably able artist who calls himself H. B. In 
 about half an hour Lady Georgiana Grey, and the Countess, made their 
 appearance. We had some pleasant talk, and they made many apologies. 
 The Earl, they said, was unexpectedly delayed by a question which had 
 arisen in the Lords. Lady Holland arrived soon after, and gave me a 
 most gracious reception, shook my hand very warmly, and told me in 
 her imperial decisive manner that she had talked with all the principal 
 men on our side about my speech, that they all agreed that it was the 
 best that had been made since the death of Fox, and that it was more like 
 Fox’s speaking than anybody’s else. Then she told me that I was too 
 much worked, that I must go out of town, and absolutely insisted on my 
 going to Holland House to dine and take a bed on the next day on which 
 there is no Parliamentary business. At eight we went to dinner. Lord 
 Howick took his father’s place, and we feasted very luxuriously. At 
 nine Lord Grey came from the House with Lord Durham, Lord Holland, 
 and the Duke of Richmond. They dined on the remains of our dinner 
 with great expedition, as they had to go to a Cabinet Council at ten. Of 
 course I had scarcely any talk with Lord Grey. He was, however, 
 extremely polite to me, and so were his colleagues. I liked the ways of 
 the family. 
 
 I picked up some news from these Cabinet Ministers. There is to be 
 a Coronation on quite a new plan : no banquet in Westminster Hall, no 
 feudal services, no champion, no procession from the Abbey to the Hall, 
 and back again. But there is to be a service in the Abbey. All the Peers 
 are to come in state and in their robes, and the King is to take the oaths. 
 
LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. IV. 
 
 150 
 
 and be crowned and anointed, in their presence. The spectacle will be 
 finer than usual to the multitude out of doors. The few hundreds who 
 could obtain admittance to the Hall will be the only losers. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 To Hannah M. Macaulay. 
 
 London : July 11, 1831. 
 
 My dear Sister, — Since I wrote to you I have been out to dine and 
 sleep at Holland House. We had a very agreeable and Splendid party ; 
 among others the Duke and Duchess of Richmond, and the Marchioness 
 of Clanricarde, who, you know, is the daughter of Canning. She is very 
 beautiful, and very like her father, with eyes full of fire, and great expres- 
 sion in all her features. She and I had a great deal of talk. She showed 
 much cleverness and information, but, I thought, a little more of political 
 animosity than is quite becoming in a pretty woman. However, she has 
 been placed in peculiar circumstances. The daughter of a statesman 
 who was a martyr to the rage of faction may be pardoned for speaking 
 sharply of the enemies of her parent : and she did speak sharply. With 
 knitted brows, and flashing eyes, and a look of feminine vengeance about 
 her beautiful mouth, she gave me such a character of Peel as he would 
 certainly have had no pleasure in hearing. 
 
 In the evening Lord John Russell came: and, soon after, old Talley- 
 rand. I had seen Talleyrand in very large parties, but had never been 
 near enough to hear a word that he said. I now had the pleasure of 
 listening for an hour and a half to his conversation. He is certainly 
 the greatest curiosity that I ever fell in with. His head is sunk 
 down between two high shoulders. One of his feet is hideously distorted. 
 His face is a pale as that of a corpse, and wrinkled to a frightful degree. 
 His eyes have an odd glassy stare quite peculiar to them. His hair, 
 thickly powdered and pomatumed, hangs down his shoulders on each 
 side as straight as a pound of tallow-candles. His conversation, 
 however, soon makes you forget his ugliness and infirmities. There 
 is a poignancy without effort in all that he says, which reminded me a 
 little of the character which the wits of Johnson’s circle give of Beauclerk. 
 For example, we talked about Metternich and Cardinal Mazarin. “ J’y 
 trouve beaucoup k redire. Le Cardinal trompait : mais il ne mentait pas. 
 Or M. de Metternich ment toujours, et ne trompe jamais.” He mentioned 
 M. de St Aulaire, — now one of the most distinguished public men of 
 France. I said : “ M. de Saint-Aulaire est beau-pere de M. le due de 
 Cazes, n’est-ce pas?” “Non, monsieur,” said Talleyrand ; “Ton disait, 
 il y a douze ans, que M. de Saint-Aulaire etoit beau-pere* de M. de Cazes: 
 
 * This saying remained in Macaulay’s mind. He quotes it on the margin of his 
 Aul us Gellius as an illustration of the passage in the nineteenth book in which Julius 
 Cjesar is described, absurdly enough, as “perpetuus ille dictator, Cneii Pompeii socer.” 
 
1830-32. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 Ton dit maintenant que M. de Cazes est gendre de M. de Saint-Aulaire.” 
 It was not easy to describe the change in the relative positions of two 
 men more tersely and more sharply ; and these remarks were made in the 
 lowest tone, and without the slightest change of muscle, just as if he had 
 been remarking that the day was fine. He added ; “ M. de Saint-Aulaire 
 a beaucoup d’esprit. Mais il est devot, et, ce qui pis est, devot honteux. 
 II va se cacher dans quelque hameau pour faire ses Paques.” This was 
 a curious remark from a Bishop. He told several stories about the poli- 
 tical men of France : not of any great value in themselves : but his way 
 of telling them was beyond all praise ; concise, pointed, and delicately 
 satirical. When he had departed, I could not help breaking out into ad- 
 miration of his talent for relating anecdotes. Lady Holland said that he 
 had been considered for nearly forty years as the best teller of a story in 
 Europe, and that there was certainly nobody like him in that respect. 
 
 When the Prince was gone we went to bed. In the morning Lord 
 John Russell drove me back to London in his cabriolet, much amused 
 with what I had seen and heard. But I must stop. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 To Hannah M. Macaulay. 
 
 Basinghall Street: July 15, 1831. 
 
 My dear Sister, — The rage of faction at the present moment exceeds 
 anything that has been known in our day. Indeed I doubt whether, at 
 the time of Mr. Pitt’s first becoming Premier, at the time of Sir Robert 
 Walpole’s fall, or even during the desperate struggles between the Whigs 
 and Tories at the close of Anne’s reign, the fury of party was so fearfully 
 violent Lord Mahon said to me yesterday that friendships of long stand- 
 ing were everywhere giving way, and that the schism between the refor- 
 mers and the anti-reformers was spreading from the House of Commons 
 into every private circle. Lord Mahon himself is an exception. He and 
 I are on excellent terms. But Praed and I become colder every day. 
 
 The scene of Tuesday night beggars description. I left the House at 
 about three, in consequence of some expressions of Lord Althorp’s which 
 indicated that the Ministry was inclined to yield on the question of going 
 into Committee on the Bill. I afterwards much regretted that I had gone 
 away ; not that my presence was necessary ; but because I should have 
 liked to have sate through so tremendous a storm. Towards eight in 
 the morning the Speaker was almost fainting. The Ministerial members, 
 however, were as true as steel. They furnished the Ministry with the re- 
 solution which it wanted. “ If the noble Lord yields,” said one of our 
 men, “ all is lost.” Old Sir Thomas Baring sent for his razor, and Benett, 
 the member for Wiltshire, for his nightcap ; and they were both resolved 
 
152 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. IV. 
 
 to spend the whole day in the House rather than give way. If the Opposi- 
 tion had not yielded, in two hours half London would have been in Old 
 Palace Yard. 
 
 Since Tuesday the Tories have been'rather cowed. But their demean- 
 or, though less outrageous than at the beginning of the week, indicates 
 what would in any other time be called extreme violence. I have not 
 been once in bed till three in the morning since last Sunday. To-morrow 
 we have a holiday. I dine at Lansdowne House. Next week I dine with 
 Littleton, the member for Staffordshire, and his handsome wife. He 
 told me that I should meet two men whom I am curious to see. Lord 
 Plunket and the Marquess Wellesley ; let alone the Chancellor, who is 
 not a novelty to me. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 To Hannah M. Macaulay. 
 
 London : July 25, 1831. 
 
 My dear Sister, — On Saturday evening I went to Holland House. 
 There I found the Dutch Ambassador, M. de Weissembourg, Mr. 
 and. Mrs. Vernon Smith, and Admiral Adam, a son of old Adam who 
 fought the duel with Fox. We dined like Emperors, and jabbered in 
 several languages. Her Ladyship, for an esprit fort, is the greatest 
 coward that I ever saw. The last time that I was there she was frighten- 
 ed out of her wits by the thunder. She closed all the shutters, drew all 
 the curtains, and ordered candles in broad day to keep out the lightning, 
 or rather the appearance of the lightning. On Saturday she was ini a 
 terrible taking about the cholera ; talked of nothing else ; refused to eat 
 any ice because somebody said that ice was bad for the cholera, was 
 sure that the cholera was at Glasgow ; and asked me why a cordon of 
 troops was not instantly placed around that town to prevent all intercourse 
 between the infected and the healthy spots. Lord Holland made light of 
 her fears. He is a thoroughly good-natured, open, sensible man ; very 
 lively ; very intellectual ; well read in politics, and in the lighter literature 
 both of ancient and modern times. He sets me more at ease than almost 
 any person that I know,by a certain good-humored way of contradicting that 
 he has. He always begins by drawing down his shaggy eyebrows making 
 a face extremely like his uncle, wagging his head and saying : “Now do 
 you know, Mr. Macaulay, I do not quite see that. How do you make 
 it out ? ” He tells a story delightfully and bears the pain of his gout and 
 the confinement and privations to which it subjects him, with admirable 
 fortitude and cheerfulness. Her Ladyship is all courtesy and kindness to 
 me : but her demeanor to some others, particularly to poor Allen, is such 
 as it quite pains me to witness. He is really treated like a negro slave. 
 “ Mr. Allen, go into my drawing-room and bring my reticule.” “ Mr. 
 
1830-32. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 153 
 
 Allen, go and see what can be the matter that they do not bring up din- 
 ner.” “ Mr. Allen, there is not enough turtle-soup for you. You must 
 take gravy-soup or none.” Yet I can scarcely pity the man. He has an 
 independent income, and, if he can stoop to be ordered about like a foot- 
 man, I cannot so much blame her for the contempt with which she treats 
 him. 
 
 Perhaps I may write again to-morrow. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 To Hannah M. Macaulay. 
 
 ' . Library of the House of Commons. 
 
 July 26, 1831. 
 
 My dear Sister, — Here I am seated, waiting for the debate on the bor- 
 ough of St. Germains with a very quiet party, — Lord Milton, Lord Tavis- 
 tock, and George Lamb. But, instead of telling you in dramatic form ^ my 
 conversations with Cabinet Ministers, I shall, I think, go back two or three 
 days, and complete the narrative which I left imperfect in my epistle of 
 yesterday. 
 
 At half after seven on Sunday I was set down at Littleton’s palace, for 
 such it is, in Grosvenor Place. It really is a noble house ; four superb 
 drawing-rooms on the first floor hung round with some excellent pictures 
 — a Hobbema,(the finest by that artist in the world, it is said,) and Law- 
 rence’s charming portrait of Mrs. Littleton. The beautiful original by the 
 bye, did not make her appearance. We were a party of gentlemen. But 
 such gentlemen ! Listen, and be proud of your connection with one who 
 is admitted to eat and drink in the same room with beings so exalted. 
 There were two Chancellors, Lord Brougham and Lord Plunket. There 
 was Earl Gower ; Lord St. Vincent ; Lord Seaford ; Lord Duncannon ; 
 Lord Ebrington; Sir James Graham; Sir John Newport; the two Secre- 
 
 * This refers to a passage in a former letter, likewise written from the Library of the 
 House. 
 
 “ ‘ Macaulay ! ’ Who calls Macaulay ? Sir James Graham. What can he have to say 
 to me ? Take it dramatically : 
 
 Sir y. G. Macaulay! 
 
 Macaulay. What ? 
 
 Sir y> G. Whom are you writing to, that you laugh so much over your letter? 
 
 Macaulay. To my constituents at Caine, to be sure. They expect news of the Reform 
 Bill every day. 
 
 Sir y. G. Well, writing to constituents is less of a plague to you than to most peo- 
 ple, to judge by your face. 
 
 Macaulay. How do you know that I am not writing a billet doux to a lady ? 
 
 Sir y. G. You look more like it, by Jove I 
 
 Cutler Fergussottf M. P.for Kirkcudbright. Let ladies and constituents alone, and 
 come into the House. We are going on to the case of the borough of Great Bedwin 
 immediately.” 
 
154 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. IV. 
 
 taries of the Treasury, Rice and Ellice; George Lamb; Denison; and 
 half a dozen more Lords and distinguished Commoners, not to mention 
 Littleton himself. Till last year he lived in Portman square. When he 
 changed his residence his servants gave him warning. They could not, 
 they said, consent to go into such an unheard-of part of the world as 
 Grosvenor Place. I can only say that I have never been in a finer house 
 than Littleton’s, Lansdowne House excepted, and perhaps Lord Milton’s, 
 which is also in Grosvenor Place. He gave me a dinner of dinners. I talked 
 with Denison, and with nobody else. I have found out that the real use of 
 conversational powers is to put them forth in tete-a-tete. A man is flattered 
 by your talking your best to him alone. Ten to one he is piqued by your 
 overpowering him before a company. Denison was agreeable enough. I 
 heard only one word from Lord Plunket, who was remarkably silent. He 
 spoke of Doctor Thorpe, and said that, having heard the Doctor in Dub- 
 lin, he should like to hear him again in London. “ Nothing easier,” quoth 
 Littleton ; “ his chapel is only two doors off ; and he will be just mount- 
 ing the pulpit.” “No,” said Lord Plunket; “I can’t lose my dinner.” 
 An excellent saying, though one which a less able man than Lord Plunket 
 might have uttered. 
 
 At midnight I walked away with George Lamb, and went — where for 
 a ducat } “ To bed,” says Miss Hannah. Nay, my sister, not so; but to 
 
 Brooks’s. There I found Sir James Macdonald ; Lord Duncannon, who 
 had left Littleton’s just before us ; and many other Whigs and ornaments 
 of human nature. As Macdonald and I were rising to depart we saw 
 Rogers, and I went to shake hands with him. You cannot think how 
 kind the old man was to me. He shook my hand over and over, and told 
 me that Lord Plunket longed to see me in a quiet way, and that he would 
 arrange a breakfast-party in a day or two for that purpose. 
 
 Away I went from Brooks’s — ^but whither ? “To bed now, I am sure.” 
 says little Anne. No, but on a walk with Sir James Macdonald to the 
 end of Sloane Street, talking about the Ministry, the Reform Bill, and the 
 East India question. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 To Haimah M. Macaulay. 
 
 . House of Commons Smoking-Room : Saturday. 
 
 My dear Sister, — The newspaper will have explained the reason of 
 our sitting to-day. At three this morning I left the House. At two this 
 afternoon I have returned to it, with the thermometer at boiling heat, and 
 four hundred and fifty people stowed together like negroes in the pious 
 John Newton’s slave-ship. I have accordingly left Sir Francis Burdett on 
 his legs, and repaired to the smoking-room ; a large, wainscoted, uncar- 
 peted place with tables covered with green baize and writing materials 
 
1830-32. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 ^55 
 
 On a full night it is generally thronged towards tw’elve o’clock with 
 smokers. It is then a perfect cloud of fume. There have I seen, (tell it 
 not to the West Indians,) Buxton blowing fire out of his mouth. My 
 father will not believe it. At present, however, all the doors and windows 
 are open, and the room is pure enough from tobacco to suit my father 
 himself. 
 
 Get Blackwood’s new number. There is a description of me in it. 
 What do you think he says that I am ? “ A little, splay-footed, ugly, 
 dumpling of a fellow, with a mouth from ear to ear.” Conceive how such 
 a charge must affect a man so enamored of his own beauty as I am. 
 
 I said a few words the other night. They were merely in reply, and 
 quite unpremeditated, and were not ill received. I feel that much practice 
 will be necessary to make me a good debater on points of detail, but my 
 friends tell me that I have raised my reputation by showing that I was 
 quite equal to the work of extemporaneous reply. My manner, they say, 
 is cold and wants care. I feel this myself. Nothing but strong excite- 
 ment and a great occasion overcomes a certain reserve and mauvaise 
 honte which I have in public speaking ; not a mauvaise honte which in 
 the least confuses me or makes me hesitate for a word, but which keeps 
 me from putting any fervor into my tone or my action. This is perhaps 
 in some respects an advantage ; for, when I do warm, I am the most 
 vehement speaker in the House, and nothing strikes an audience so much 
 as the animation of an orator who is generally cold. 
 
 I ought to tell you that Peel was very civil, and cheered me loudly ; 
 and that impudent leering Croker congratulated the House on the proof 
 which I had given of my readiness. He was afraid, he said, that I had 
 been silent so long on account of the many allusions which had been 
 made to Caine. Now that I had risen again he hoped that they should 
 hear me often. See whether I do not dust that varlet’s jacket for him 
 in the next number of the Blue and Yellow.* I detest him more than 
 cold boiled veal. 
 
 After the debate I walked about the streets with Bulwer till near 
 three o’clock. I spoke to him about his novels wdth perfect sincerity, 
 praising warmly, and criticising freely. He took the praise as a greedy 
 boy takes apple pie, and the criticism as a good dutiful boy takes senna- 
 tea. He has one eminent merit, that of being a most enthusiastic ad- 
 
 * “ By the bye,” Macaulay writes elsewhere, “ you never saw such a scene as Croker’s 
 oration on Friday night. He abused Lord John Russell ; he abused Lord Althorp ; he 
 abused the Lord Advocate, and we took no notice — never once groaned or cried ‘ No ! ’ 
 But he began to praise Lord Fitzwilliam — ‘ a venerable nobleman, an excellent and ami- 
 able nobleman,’ and so forth ; and we all broke out together with ‘ Question! ’ ‘No, 
 no! * ‘This is too bad ! ’ ‘ Don’t, don’t! ’ He then called Canning his right honorable 
 
 friend. ‘ Your friend ! damn your impudent face ! ’ said the member who sate next me.” 
 
LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. IV. 
 
 *56 
 
 mirer of mine ; so that I may be the hero of a novel yet, under the name 
 of Delamere or Mortimer. Only think what an honor 1 
 
 Bulwer is to be editor of the New Monthly Magazine. He begged 
 me very earnestly to give him something for it. I would make no prom- 
 ises ; for I am already over head and ears in literary engagements. But 
 I may possibly now and then send him some trifle or other. At all events 
 I shall expect him to puff me well. I do not see why I should not have 
 my puffers as well as my neighbors. 
 
 I am glad that you have read Madame de Stael’s Allemagne. The 
 book is a foolish one in some respects : but it abounds with information, 
 and shows great mental power. She was certainly the first woman of 
 her age; Miss Edgeworth, I think, the second; and Miss Austen the 
 third. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 To Hannah M. Macaulay. 
 
 London, August 29, 1831. 
 
 My dear Sister, — Here I am again settled, sitting up in the House of 
 Commons till three o’clock five days in the week, and getting an indiges- 
 tion at great dinners the remaining two. I dined on Saturday with Lord 
 Althorp, and yesterday with Sir James Graham. Both of them gave me 
 exactly the same dinner ; and, though I am not generally copious on the 
 repasts which my hosts provide for me, I must tell you, for the honor of 
 official hospitality, how our Ministers regale their supporters. Turtle, 
 turbot, venison, and grouse, formed part of both entertainments. 
 
 Lord Althorp was extremely pleasant at the head of his own table. 
 We were a small party; Lord Ebrington, Hawkins, Captain Spencer, 
 Stanley, and two or three more. We all of us congratulated Lord Al- 
 thorp on his good health and spirits. He told us that he never took 
 exercise now ; that from his getting up, till four o’clock, he was engaged 
 in the business of his of&ce ; that at four he dined, went down to the 
 House at five, and never stirred till the House rose, which is always 
 after midnight ; that he then went home, took a basin of arrow-root with 
 a glass of sherry in it, and went to bed, where he always dropped asleep 
 in three minutes. “During the week,” said he, “which followed my 
 taking office, I did not close my eyes for anxiety. Since that time I have 
 never been awake a quarter of an hour after taking off my clothes.” 
 Stanley laughed at Lord Althorp’s arrow-root and recommended his own 
 supper, cold meat and warm negus ; a supper which I will certainly begin 
 to take when I feel a desire to pass the night with a sensation as if I was 
 swallowing a nutmeg-grater every third minute. 
 
 We talked about timidity in speaking. Lord Althorp said that he 
 
1830-32. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 157 
 
 had only just got over his apprehensions. “I was as much afraid,” he 
 said, “last year as when first I came into Parliament. But now I am 
 forced to speak so often that I am quite hardened. Last Thursday I was 
 up forty times.” I was not much surprised at this in Lord Althorp, as 
 he is certainly one of the most modest men in existence. But I was 
 surprised to hear Stanley say that he never rose without great uneasiness. 
 “ My throat and lips,” he said, “ when I am going to speak are as dry as 
 those of a man who is going to be hanged.” Nothing can be more com- 
 posed and cool than Stanley’s manner. His fault is on that side. A 
 little hesitation at the beginning of a speech is graceful ; and many emi- 
 nent speakers have practised it merely in order to give the appearance of 
 unpremeditated reply to prepared speeches; Stanley speaks like a man 
 who never knew what fear, or even modesty, was. Tierney, it is remark- 
 able, who was the most ready and fluent debater almost ever known, 
 made a confession similar to Stanley’s. He never spoke, he said, with- 
 out feeling his knees knock together when he rose. 
 
 My opinion of Lord Althorp is extremely high. In fact his character 
 is the only stay of the Ministry. I doubt whether any person has ever 
 lived in England who, with no eloquence, no brilliant talents, no profound 
 information, with nothing in short but plain good sense and an excellent 
 heart, possessed so much influence both in and out of Parliament. His 
 temper is an absolute miracle. He has been worse used than any Minis- 
 ter ever was in debate ; and he has never said one thing inconsistent, I 
 do not say with gentlemanlike courtesy, but with real benevolence. Lord 
 North, perhaps, was his equal in suavity and good-nature; but Lord 
 North was not a man of strict principles. His administration was not 
 only an administration hostile to liberty, but it was supported by vile and 
 corrupt means, — by direct bribery, I fear, in many cases. Lord Althorp 
 has the temper of Lord North with the principles of Romilly. If he had 
 the oratorical powers of either of those men, he might do anything. 
 But his understanding, though just, is slow, and his elocution painfully 
 defective. It is, however, only justice to him to say that he has done 
 more service to the Reform Bill even as a debater than all the other Min- 
 isters together, Stanley excepted. 
 
 We are going — by tae I mean the Members of Parliament who are 
 for reform — as soon as the Bill is through the Commons, to give a grand 
 dinner to Lord Althorp and Lord John Russell, as a mark of our respect. 
 Some people wished to have the other Cabinet Ministers included ; but 
 Grant and Palmerston are not in sufficiently high esteem among the 
 Whigs to be honored with such a compliment. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. IV. 
 
 158 
 
 To Hannah M. Macaulay. 
 
 London: September 9, 1831. 
 
 My dear Sister, — I scarcely know where to begin, or where to end, my 
 story of the magnificence of yesterday. No pageant can be conceived 
 more splendid. The newspapers will happily save me the trouble of re- 
 lating minute particulars. I will therefore give you an account of my own 
 proceedings, and mention what struck me most. I rose at six. The can- 
 non awaked me ; and, as soon as I got up, I heard the bells pealing on every 
 side from all the steeples in London. I put on my court-dress, and looked 
 a perfect Lovelace in it. At seven the glass coach which I had ordered 
 for myself and some of my friends came to the door. I called in Hill 
 Street for William Marshall, M.P. for Beverley, and in Cork Street for 
 Strutt, the Member for Derby, and Hawkins, the Member for Tavistock. 
 Our party being complete, we drove through crowds of people and ranks 
 of horseguards in cuirasses and helmets to Westminster Hall, which we 
 reached as the clock struck eight. 
 
 The House of Commons was crowded, and the whole assembly was in 
 uniform. After prayers we went out in order by lot, the Speaker going 
 last. My county, Wiltshire, was among the first drawn ; so I got an ex- 
 cellent place in the Abbey, next to Lord Mahon, who is a very great fa- 
 vorite of mine, and a very amusing companion, though a bitter Tory. 
 
 Our gallery was immediately over the great altar. The whole vast 
 avenue of lofty pillars was directly in front of us. At eleven the guns 
 fired, the organ struck up, and the procession entered. I never saw so 
 magnificent a scene. All down that immense vista of gloomy arches there 
 was one blaze of scarlet and gold. First came heralds in coats stiff with em- 
 broidered lions, unicorns, and harps ; then nobles bearing the regalia, with 
 pages in rich dresses carrying their coronets on cushions ; then the Dean 
 and Prebendaries of Westminster in copes of cloth of gold; then a 
 crowd of beautitul girls and women, or at least of girls and women, who 
 at a distance looked altogether beautiful, attending on the Queen. Her 
 train of purple velvet and ermine was borne by six of these fair creatures. 
 All the great officers of state in full robes, the Duke of Wellington 
 with his Marshall’s staff, the Duke of Devonshire with his white rod. Lord 
 Grey with the Sword of State, and the Chancellor with his seals, came in 
 procession. Then all the Royal Dukes with their trains borne behind 
 them, and last the King leaning on two Bishops. I do not, I dare say, 
 give you the precise order. In fact, it was impossible to discern any order. 
 The whole Abbey was one blaze of gorgeous dresses mingled with lovely 
 faces. 
 
 The Queen behaved admirably, with wonderful grace and dignity. The 
 King very awkwardly. The Duke of Devonshire looked as if he came to 
 be crowned instead of his master. I never saw so princely a manner and 
 
1830-32. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 159 
 
 air. The Chancellor looked like Mephistopheles behind Margaret in the 
 church. The ceremony was much too long, and some parts of it were 
 carelessly performed. The Archbishop mumbled. The Bishop of Lon- 
 don preached, well enough indeed, but not so effectively as the occasion 
 required ; and, above all, the bearing of the King made the foolish parts 
 of the ritual appear monstrously ridiculous, and deprived many of the bet- 
 ter parts of their proper effect. Persons who were at a distance perhaps, 
 did not feel this ; but I was near enough to see every turn of his finger 
 and every glance of his eye. The moment of the crowning was extreme- 
 ly fine. When the Archbishop placed the crown on the head of the King 
 the trumpets sounded, and the whole audience cried out “ God save the 
 King.” All the Peers and Peeresses put on their coronets, and the blaze 
 of splendor through the Abbey seemed to be doubled. The King was 
 then conducted to the raised throne, where the Peers successively did him 
 homage, each of them kissing his cheek and touching the crown. Some 
 of them were cheered, which I thought indecorous in such a place and on 
 such an occasion. The Tories cheered the Duke of Wellington; and our 
 people, in revenge, cheered Lord Grey and Brougham. 
 
 You will think this a very dull letter for so great a subject: but I have 
 only had time to scrawl these lines in order to catch the post. I have not 
 a minute to read them over. I lost yesterday, and have been forced to 
 work to-day. Half my article on Boswell went to Edinburgh the day before 
 yesterday. I have, though I say it, who should not say it, beaten Croker 
 black and blue. Impudent as he is, I think he must be ashamed of the 
 pickle in which I leave him. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 To Hannah M. Macaulay. 
 
 London : September 13, 1831. 
 
 My dear Sister, — I am in high spirits at the thought of soon seeing you 
 all in London, and being again one of a family, and of a family which I 
 love so much. It is well that one has something to love in private life ; 
 for the aspect of public affairs is very menacing ; — fearful, I think, beyond 
 what people in general imagine. Three weeks, however, will probably 
 settle the whole, and bring to an issue the question. Reform or Revolution. 
 One or the other I am certain that we must and shall have. I assure you 
 that the violence of the people, the bigotry of the Lords, and the stupidi- 
 ty and weakness of the Ministers, alarm me so much that even rtly rest 
 is disturbed by vexation and uneasy forebodings ; not for myself ; for I 
 may gain and cannot lose ; but for this noble country which seems likely 
 to be ruined without the miserable consolation of being ruined by great 
 men. All seems fair as yet, and will seem fair for a fortnight longer. But 
 I know the danger from information more accurate and certain than, I be- 
 
i6o 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. IV. 
 
 lieve, anybody not in power possesses ; and I perceive, what our men in 
 power do not perceive, how terrible the danger is. 
 
 I called on Lord Lansdowne on Sunday. He told me distinctly that 
 he expected the Bill to be lost in the Lords, and that, if it were lost, the 
 Ministers must go out. I told him with as much strength of expression 
 as was suited to the nature of our connection and to his age and rank, 
 that if the Ministers receded before the Lords, and hesitated to make 
 Peers, they and the Whig party were lost ; that nothing remained but an 
 insolent oligarchy on the one side, and an infuriated people on the other; 
 and that Lord Grey and his colleagues would become as odious and more 
 contemptible than Peel and the Duke of Wellington. Why did they not 
 think of all this earlier ? Why put their hand to the plough and look 
 back ? Why begin to build without counting the cost of finishing ? Why 
 raise the public appetite, and then baulk it > 1 told him that the House 
 of Commons would address the King against a Tory Ministry. I feel as- 
 sured that it would do so. I feel assured that, if those who are bidden will 
 not come, the highways and hedges will be ransacked to get together a re- 
 forming Cabinet. To one thing my mind is made up. If nobody else 
 will move an address to the Crown against a Tory Ministry, I will. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 London : October 17, 1831. 
 
 My dear Ellis, — I should have written to you before, but that I mislaid 
 your letter and forgot your direction. When shall you be in London ? Of 
 course you do not mean to sacrifice your professional business to the work 
 of numbering the gates and telling the towers of boroughs * in Wales. You 
 will come back, I suppose, with your head full of ten-pound householders 
 instead of and of Caermarthen and Denbigh instead of Carians 
 
 and Pelasgians. Is it true, by the bye, that the Commissioners are 
 whipped on the boundaries of the boroughs by the beadles, in order that 
 they may not forget the precise line which they have drawn ? I deny it 
 wherever I go, and assure people that some of my friends who are in the 
 Commission would not submit to such degradation. 
 
 You must have been hard- worked indeed, and soundly whipped too, 
 if you have suffered as much for the Reform Bill as we who debated it. I 
 believe that there are fifty members of the House of Commons who have 
 done irreparable injury to their health by attendance on the discussions of 
 this session. I have got through pretty well, but I look forward, I confess, 
 with great dismay to the thought of recommencing; particularly as Weth- 
 erell’s cursed lungs seem to be in as good condition as ever. 
 
 *Mr. Ellis was one of the Commissioners appointed to arrange the boundaries of Par- 
 liamentary boroughs in connection with the Reform Bill. 
 
1830-32. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 161 
 
 I have every reason to be gratified by the manner in which ray speeches 
 have been received. To say the truth, the station which I now hold in 
 the House is such that I should not be inclined to quit it for any place which 
 was not of considerable importance. What you saw about my having a 
 place was a blunder of a stupid reporter’s. Croker was taunting the Gov- 
 ernment with leaving me to fight their battle and to rally their followers ; 
 and said that the honorable and learned member for Caine, though only a 
 practising barrister in title, seemed to be in reality the most efficient mem- 
 ber of the Government. By the bye, my article on Croker has not only 
 smashed his book, but has hit the Westminster Review incidentally. The 
 utilitarians took on themselves to praise the accuracy of the most inaccu- 
 rate writer that ever lived, and gave as an instance of it a note in which, 
 as I have shown, he makes a mistake r£ twenty years and more. John 
 Mill is in a rage, and says that they are in a worse scrape than Croker : 
 John Murray says that it is a damned nuisance : and Croker looks across 
 the House of Commons at me with a leer of hatred which I repay with a 
 gracious smile of pity. 
 
 I am ashamed to have said so much about myself. But you asked for 
 news about me. No request is so certain to be granted, or so certain to be 
 a curse to him who makes it as that which you have made to me. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 London : January 9, 1832. 
 
 Dear Napier, — I have been so much engaged by bankrupt business, as 
 we are winding up the affairs of many estates, that I shall not be able to 
 send off my article about Hampden till Thursday the 12th. It will be, I 
 fear, more than forty pages long. As Pascal said of his eighteenth letter, 
 I would have made it shorter if I could have kept it longer. You must 
 indulge me however, for I seldom offend in that way. 
 
 It is in part a narrative. This is a sort of composition which I have 
 never yet attempted. You will tell me, I am sure with sincerity, how you 
 think that I succeed in it. I have said as little about Lord Nugent’s book 
 as I decently could. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. 'M. 
 
 London : January 19, 1832. 
 
 Dear Napier, — I will try the Life of Lord Burleigh, if you will tell 
 Longman to send me the book. However bad the work may be, it will 
 serve as a heading for an article on the times of Elizabeth. On the whole, 
 I thought it best not to answer Croker. Almost all the little pamphlet 
 which he published (or rather printed, for I believe it is not for sale,) is 
 made up of extracts from Blackwood : and I thought that a contest with 
 your grog-drinking, cock-fighting, cudgel-playing Professor of Moral Phi- 
 VoL. I .— 11 
 
i 62 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. IV. 
 
 losophy would be too degrading. I could have demolished every paragraph 
 of the defence. Croker defended his dvrjrol (1 >c7m* by quoting a pas- 
 sage of Euripides which, as every scholar knows, is corrupt ; which is 
 nonsense and false metre if read as he reads it ; and which Markland and 
 Matthiae have set right by a most obvious correction. But, as nobody 
 seems to have read his vindication, we can gain nothing by refuting it 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 * “Mr. Croker has favored us with some Greek of his own. *At the altar,’ says 
 Dr. Johnson, ‘ I recommended my 6 (j>.* ‘These letters,’ says the editor, ‘(which Dr. 
 Strahan seems not to have understood,) probably mean dvTjToX (j)i7x>i,, departed friends? 
 Johnson was not a first-rate Greek scholar ; but he knew more Greek than most boys 
 when they leave school ; and no schoolboy could venture to use the word fXvrjTol in the 
 sense which Mr. Croker ascribes to it without imminent danger of a flogging.’’— Macau- 
 lay’s Review of Croker’s Boswell. 
 
1832 - 34 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY, 
 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 1832-1834. 
 
 "Macaulay is invited to stand for Leeds — The Reform Bill passes — Macaulay appointed 
 Commissioner of the Board of Control — His life in office — Letters to his sister — Con- 
 tested election at Leeds — Macaulay’s bearing as a candidate — Canvassing — Pledges— 
 Intrusion of religion into politics — Placemen in Parliament — Liverpool — Margaret 
 Macaulay’s marriage — How it affected her brother — He is returned for Leeds — Be- 
 comes secretary of the Board of Control — Letters to Lady Trevelyan — Session of 
 1832 — Macaulay’s Speech on the India Bill — His regard for Lord Glenelg — Letters to 
 Lady Trevelyan — The West Indian question — Macaulay resigns office — He gains his 
 point, and resumes his place — Emancipation of the Slaves — Death of Wilberforce— 
 Letters to Lady Trevelyan — Macaulay is appointed Member of the Supreme Council 
 of India — Letters to Lady Trevelyan, Lord Lansdowne, and Mr. Napier — Altercation 
 between Lord Althorp and Mr. Shell — Macaulay’s appearance before the Committee 
 of Investigation — He sails for India. 
 
 URING the earlier half of the year 1832 the vessel of Reform was 
 
 still laboring heavily; but long before she was through the breakers 
 men had begun to discount the treasures which she was bringing into port. 
 The time was fast approaching when the country would be called upon to 
 choose its first Reformed Parliament. As if the spectacle of what was 
 doing at "Westminster did not satisfy their appetite for political excitement, 
 the Constituencies of the future could not refrain from anticipating the 
 fancied pleasures of an electoral struggle. Impatient to exercise their 
 privileges, and to show that they had as good an eye for a man as those 
 patrons of nomination seats whose discernment was being vaunted nightly 
 in a dozen speeches from the Opposition benches of the House of Com- 
 mons, the great cities were vying with each other to seek representatives 
 worthy of the occasion and of themselves. The Whigs of Leeds, already 
 provided with one candidate in a member of the great local firm of the 
 Marshalls, resolved to seek for another among the distinguished politicians 
 of their party. As early as October 1831, Macaulay had received a requi- 
 sition from that town, and had pledged himself to stand as soon as it had 
 been elevated into a Parliamentary borough. The Tories, on their side, 
 
164 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. V. 
 
 brought forward Mr. Michael Sadler, the very man on whose behalf the 
 Duke of Newcastle had done “what he liked with his own ” in Newark, 
 and, at the last general election, had done it in vain. Sadler, smarting 
 from the lash of the Edinburgh Review, infused into the contest an 
 amount of personal bitterness that for his own sake might better have 
 been spared ; and, during more than a twelvemonth to come, Macaulay 
 lived the life of a candidate whose own hands are full of public work at a 
 time when his opponent has nothing to do except to make himself disa- 
 greeable. But, having once undertaken to fight the battle of the Leeds 
 Liberals, he fought it stoutly and cheerily, and would have been the last to 
 claim it as a merit, that, with numerous opportunities of a safe and easy 
 election at his disposal, he remained faithful to the supporters who had 
 been so forward to honor him with their choice. 
 
 The old system died hard ; but in May 1832 came its final agony. 
 The Reform Bill had passed the Commons, and had been read a second 
 time in the Upper House; but the facilities which Committee affords for 
 maiming and delaying a measure of great magnitude and intricacy proved 
 too much for the self-control of the Lords. The King could not bring 
 himself to adopt that wonderful expedient by which the unanimity of the 
 three branches of our legislature, may, in the last resort, be secured. 
 Deceived by an utterly fallacious analogy, his Majesty began to be per- 
 suaded that the path of concession would lead him whither it had led 
 Louis the Sixteenth, and he resolved to halt on that path at the point 
 where his Ministers advised him to force the hands of their lordships by 
 creating peers. The supposed warnings of the French Revolution, which 
 had been dinned into the ears of the country by every Tory orator from 
 Peel to Sibthorpe, at last had produced their effect on the royal imagina- 
 tion. Earl Grey resigned, and the Duke of Wellington, with a loyalty 
 which certainly did not stand in need of such an unlucky proof, came 
 forward to meet the storm. But its violence was too much even for his 
 courage and constancy. He could not get colleagues to assist him in the 
 Cabinet, or supporters to vote with him in Parliament, or soldiers to 
 fight for him in the streets; and it was evident that in a few days his 
 position would be such as could only be kept by fighting. 
 
 The revolution had in truth commenced. At a meeting of the politi- 
 cal unions on the slope of Newhall Hill at Birmingham a hundred thou- 
 sand voices had sung the words : 
 
 God is our guide. No swords we draw. 
 
 We kindle not war’s battle fires. 
 
 By union, justice, reason, law. 
 
 We claim the birthright of our sires. 
 
 But those very men were now binding themselves by a declaration, that, 
 unless the Bill passed, they would pay no taxes, nor purchase property 
 
1832-34. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 ^65 
 
 distrained by the tax-gatherer. In thus renouncing the first obligation of 
 a citizen, they did in effect draw the sword, and they would have been 
 cravens if they had left it in the scabbard. Lord Milton did something 
 to enchance the claim of his historic house upon the national gratitude 
 by giving practical effect to this audacious resolve ; and, after the lapse 
 of two centuries, another Great Rebellion, more effectual than its pre- 
 decessor, but so brief and bloodless that history does not recognize it as 
 a rebellion at all, was inaugurated by the essentially English proceeding 
 of a quiet country gentleman telling the Collector to call again. The 
 crisis lasted just a week. The Duke had no mind for a succession of 
 Peterloos, on a vaster scale, and with a different issue. He advised the 
 King to recall his Ministers ; and his Majesty, in his turn, honored the 
 refractory lords with a most significant circular letter, respectful in form, 
 but unmistakable in tenor. A hundred peers of the Opposition took 
 the hint, and contrived to be absent whenever Reform was before the 
 House. The Bill was read for a third time by a majority of five to one 
 on the 4th of June ; a strange, and not very complimentary, method of 
 celebrating old George the Third’s birthday. On the 5th it received the 
 last touches in the Commons ; and on the 7th it became an Act, in very 
 much the same shape, after such and so many vicissitudes, as it wore 
 when Lord John Russell first presented it to Parliament. 
 
 Macaulay, w'hose eloquence had signalized every stage of the conflict, 
 and whose printed speeches are, of all its authentic records, the most 
 familiar to readers of our own day, was not left without his reward. He 
 was appointed one of the Commissioners of the Board of Control, which, 
 for three quarters of a century from 1784 onwards, represented the 
 Crown in its relations to the East Indian directors. His duties, like 
 those of every individual member of a Commission, were light or heavy 
 as he chose to make them ; but his own feeling with regard to those 
 duties must not be deduced from the playful allusions contained in letters 
 dashed off during the momentary leisure of an over-busy day for the 
 amusement of two girls who barely numbered forty years between them. 
 His speeches and essays teem with expressions of a far deeper than 
 official interest in India and her people ; and his minutes remain on rec- 
 ord, to prove that he did not affect the sentiment for a literary or ora- 
 torical purpose. The attitude of his own mind with regard to our Eastern 
 empire is depicted in the passage on Burke, in the essay on Warren 
 Hastings, whicH commences with the words, ‘‘ His knowledge of India,” 
 and concludes with the sentence, “Oppression in Bengal was to him the 
 same thing as oppression in the streets of London.” That passage, un- 
 surpassed as it is in force of language and splendid fidelity of detail by 
 9«vthing that Macaulay ever wrote or uttered, was inspired, as all who 
 knew him could testify, by sincere and entire sympathy with that great 
 
i66 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. V. 
 
 statesman ol whose humanity and breadth of view it is the merited, and 
 not inadequate, panegyric. 
 
 In Margaret Macaulay’s journal there occurs more than one mention 
 of her brother’s occasional fits of contrition on the subject of his own 
 idleness ; but these regrets and confessions must be taken for what they 
 are worth, and for no more. He worked much harder than he gave him- 
 self credit for. His nature was such that whatever he did was done with 
 all his heart and all his power, and he was constitutionally incapable of 
 doing it otherwise. He always under-estimated the tension and concen- 
 tration of mind which he brought to bear upon his labors, as compared with 
 that which men in general bestow on whatever business they may have 
 in hand ; and, towards the close of life, this honorable self-deception no 
 doubt led him to draw far too largely upon his failing strength, under, the 
 impression that there was nothing unduly severe in the efforts to which 
 he continued to brace himself with ever increasing difficulty. 
 
 During the eighteen months that he passed at the Board of Control 
 he had no time for relaxation, and very little for the industry which he 
 loved the best. Giving his days to India, and his nights to the inexorable 
 demands of the Treasury Whip, he could devote a few hours to the Edin- 
 burgh Review only by rising at five when the rules of the House of 
 Commons had allowed him to get to bed betimes on the previous even- 
 ing. Yet, under these conditions, he contrived to provide Mr. Napier 
 with the highly finished articles on Horace Walpole and Lord Chatham, 
 and to gratify a political opponent who was destined to be a life-long 
 friend by his kindly criticism and spirited summary of Lord Mahon’s 
 History of the War of the Succession in Spain. And, in the “Friend- 
 ship’s Offering ” of 1833, one of those mawkish annual publications of 
 the album species which were then in fashion, appeared his poem of the 
 Armada ; whose swinging couplets read as if somewhat out of place in 
 the company of such productions as “ The Mysterious Stranger, or the 
 Bravo of Banff ; ” “ Away to the Greenwood, a song ; ” and, “ Lines on 
 a Window that had been frozen,” beginning with. 
 
 Pellucid pane, this mom on thee 
 My fancy shaped both tower and tree. 
 
 To Hannah and Margaret Macaulay. 
 
 Bath: June 10, 1832. 
 
 My dear Sisters, — Everything has gone wrong with me. The people 
 at Caine fixed Wednesday for my re-election on taking office; the very 
 day on which I was to have been at a public dinner at Leeds. I shall 
 therefore remain here till Wednesday morning, and read Indian politics 
 in quiet. I am already deep in Zemindars, Ryots, Polygars, Courts of 
 Phoujdary, and Courts of Nizamut Adawlut. I can tell you which of the 
 
IS32-34- 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 167 
 
 native Powers are subsidiary and which independent, and read you lectures 
 of an hour on our diplomatic transactions at the courts of Lucknow, Nag- 
 pore, Hydrabad, and Poonah. At Poonah, indeed, I need not tell you 
 that there is no court ; for the Paishwa, as you are doubtless aware, was 
 deposed by Lord Hastings in the Pindarree War. Am I not in fair train- 
 ing to be as great a bore as if I had myself been in India ? — that is to say, 
 as great a bore as the greatest. 
 
 I am leading my watering-place life here ; reading, writing, and walk- 
 ing all day; speaking to nobody but the waiter and the chambermaid; 
 solitary in a great crowd, and content with solitude. I shall be in London 
 again on Thursday, and shall also be an M.P. From that day you may 
 send your letters as freely as ever ; and pray do not be sparing of them. 
 Do you read any novels at Liverpool ? I should fear that the good 
 Quakers would twitch them out of your hands, and appoint their portion 
 in the fire. Yet probably you have some safe place, some box, some 
 drawer with a key, wherein a marble-covered book may lie for Nancy’s 
 Sunday reading. And, if you do not read novels, what do you read ? 
 How does Schiller go on ? I have sadly neglected Calderon : but, when- 
 ever I have a month to spare, I shall carry my conquests far and deep 
 into Spanish literature. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 To Hannah and Margaret Macaulay. 
 
 London : July 2, 1832. 
 
 My dear Sisters, — I am, I think, a better correspondent than you two 
 put together. I will venture to say that I have written more letters by 
 a good many than I have received, and this with India and the Edinburgh 
 Review on my hands; the Life of Mirabeau to be criticised ; the Rajah 
 of Travancore to be kept in order; and the bad money, which the Empe- 
 ror of the Burmese has had the impudence to send us by way of tribute, to 
 be exchanged for better. You have nothing to do but to be good, and 
 write. Make no excuses, for your excuses are contradictory. If you see 
 sights, describe them ; for then you have subjects. If you stay at home, 
 write ; for then you have time. Remember*that' I never saw the cemetery 
 or the railroad. Be particular, above all, in your accounts of the Quakers. 
 I enjoin this especially on Nancy ; for from Meg I have no hope of ex- 
 tracting a word of truth. 
 
 I dined yesterday at Holland House : all Lords except myself. Lord 
 Radnor, Lord Poltimore, Lord King, Lord Russell, and his uncle Lord 
 John. Lady Holland was very gracious, praised my article on Burleigh to 
 the skies, and told me, among other things, that she had talked on the 
 preceding day for two hours with Charles Grant upon religion, and had 
 found him very liberal and tolerant. It was, I suppose, the cholera which 
 
i68 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. V. 
 
 sent her Ladyship to the only saint in the Ministry for ghostly counsel. 
 Poor Macdonald’s case was most undoubtedly cholera. It is said that 
 Lord Amesbury also died of cholera, though no very strange explanation 
 seems necessary to account for the death of a man of eighty-four. Yes- 
 terday it was rumored that the three Miss Molyneuxes, of whom by the 
 way there are only two, were all dead in the same way; that the Bishop 
 of Worcester and Lord Barham were no more ; and many other foolish 
 stories. I do not believe there is the slightest ground for uneasiness, 
 though Lady Holland apparently considers the case so serious that she 
 has taken her conscience out of Allen’s keeping and put it into the hands 
 of Charles Grant. 
 
 Here I end my letter ; a great deal too long already for so busy a man 
 to write, and for such careless correspondents to receive. 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 To Hannah and Margaret Macaulay. 
 
 London: July 6, 183a. 
 
 Be you Foxes, be you Pitts, 
 
 You must write to silly chits. 
 
 Be you Tones, be you Whigs, 
 
 You must write to sad young gigs. 
 
 On whatever board you are — 
 
 Treasury, Admiralty, War, 
 
 Customs, Stamps, Excise, Control, — 
 
 Write you must, upon my soul. 
 
 So sings the judicious poet : and here I sit in my parlor, looking out on the 
 Thames, and divided, like Garrick in Sir Joshua’s picture, between Tra- 
 gedy and Comedy; — a letter to you, and a bundle of papers about Hydra- 
 bad, and the firm of Palmer and Co., late bankers to the Nizam. 
 
 Poor Sir Walter Scott is going back to Scotland by sea to-morrow. 
 All hope is over ; and he has a restless wish to die at home. He is many 
 thousand pounds worse than nothing. Last week he was thought to be so 
 near his end that some people went, I understand, to sound Lord Althorp 
 about a public funeral. Lord Althorp said, very like himself, that if pub- 
 lic money was to be laid out, it would be better to give it to the family 
 than to spend it in one day’s show. The family, however, are said to be 
 not ill off. 
 
 I am delighted to hear of your proposed tour, but not so well pleased 
 to be told that you expect to be bad correspondents during your stay at 
 Welsh inns. Take pens and ink with you, if you think that you shall find 
 none at the Bard’s Head, or the Glendower Arms. But it will be too bad 
 if you send me no letters during a tour which will furnish so many subjects. 
 Why not keep a journal, and minute down in it all that you see and hear ? 
 and remember that I charge you, as the venerable circle charged Miss 
 
LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 1832-34. 
 
 169 
 
 Byron, to tell me of every person who “ regards you with an eye of par* 
 tiality.” 
 
 What can I say more ? as the Indians end their letters. Did not 
 Lady Holland tell me of some good novels ? I remember Henry Mas* 
 terton, three volumes, an amusing story and a happy termination. Smug- 
 gle it in, next time that you go to Liverpool, from some circulating 
 library ; and deposit it in a lock-up place out of the reach of them that 
 are clothed in drab ; and read it together at the curling hour. 
 
 My article on Mirabeau will be out in the forthcoming number. I 
 am not a good judge of my own compositions, I fear ; but I think that it 
 will be popular. A Yankee has written to me to say that an edition of 
 my works is about to be published in America with my life prefixed, and 
 that he shall be obliged to me to tell him when I was born, whom I mar- 
 ried, and so forth. I guess I must answer him slick right away. For, as 
 the judicious poet observes. 
 
 Though a New England man lolls back In his chair, 
 
 With a pipe in his mouth, and his legs in the air. 
 
 Yet surely an Old England man such as I 
 To a kinsman by blood should be civil and spry. 
 
 How I run on in quotation ! But when I begin to cite the verses of our 
 great writers I never can stop. Stop I must, however. 
 
 Yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 To Hannah and Margaret Macaulay. 
 
 London : July 18, 1832. 
 
 My dear Sisters, — I have heard from Napier. He speaks rapturously 
 of my article on Dumont, * but sends me no money. Allah blacken his 
 face ! as the Persians say. He has not yet paid me for Burleigh. 
 
 We are worked to death in the House of Commons, and we are 
 henceforth to sit on Saturdays. This, indeed, is the only way to get 
 through our business. On Saturday next we shall, I hope, rise before 
 
 seven, as I am engaged to dine on that day with pretty, witty, Mrs. . 
 
 I fell in with her at Lady Grey’s great crush, and found her very agree- 
 able. Her husband is nothing in society. Rogers has some very good 
 stories about their domestic happiness, — stories confirming a theory of 
 mine which, as I remember, made you very angry. When they first 
 
 married, Mrs. treated her husband with great respect. But, when 
 
 his novel came out and failed completely, she changed her conduct, and 
 has, ever since that unfortunate publication, henpecked the poor author 
 unmercifully. And the case, says Rogers, is the harder, because it is 
 suspected that she wrote part of the book herself. It is like the scene in 
 Milton where Eve, after tempting Adam, abuses him for yielding to 
 
 • Dumont’s Life of Mirabeau. See the Miscellaneous Writings of Lord Macaulay. 
 
LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. V. 
 
 170 
 
 temptation. But do you not remember how 1 told you that much of the 
 love of women depended on the eminence of men ? And do you not 
 remember how, on behalf of your sex, you resented the imputation ? 
 
 As to the present state of affairs abroad and ax home, l cannot sum 
 it up better than in these beautiful lines of the poet ; 
 
 Peel is preaching, and Croker is lying. 
 
 The cholera’s raging, the people are dying. 
 
 When the House is the coolest, as I am alive, 
 
 The thermometer stands at a hundred and five. 
 
 We debate in a heat that seems likely to burn us, 
 
 Much like the three children who sang in the fumaca. 
 
 The disorders at Paris have not ceased to plague us : 
 
 Don Pedro, I hope, is ere this on the Tagus : 
 
 In Ireland no tithe can be raised by a parson : 
 
 Mr. Smithers is just hanged for murder and arson : 
 
 Dr. Thorpe has retired from the Lock, and ’tis said 
 That poor little Wilks will succeed in his stead. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 To Hannah and Margaret Macaulay. 
 
 London : July 21, 1832. 
 
 My dear Sisters, — I am glad to find that there is no chance of Nancy’s 
 turning Quaker. She would, indeed, make a queer kind of female 
 Friend. 
 
 What the Yankees will say about me I neither know nor care. I told 
 them the dates of my birth, and of my coming into Parliament. I told 
 them also that I was educated at Cambridge. As to my early bon-mots, 
 my crying for holidays, my walks to school through showers of cats and 
 dogs, I have left all those for the “Life of the late Right Honorable 
 Thomas Babington Macaulay, with large extracts from his correspond- 
 ence, in two volumes by the Very Rev. J. Macaulay, Dean of Durham 
 and Rector of Bishopsgate, with a superb portrait from the picture by 
 Pickersgill in the possession of the Marquis of Lansdowne.” 
 
 As you like my verses, I will some day or other write you a whole 
 rhyming letter. I wonder whether any man ever wrote doggrel so easily. 
 I run it off just as fast as my pen can move, and that is faster by about 
 three words in a minute than any other pen that I know. This comes of 
 a schoolboy habit of writing verses all day long. Shall I tell you the 
 news in rhyme ? I think I will send you a regular sing-song gazette. 
 
 We gained a victory last night as great as e’er was known. 
 
 We beat the Opposition upon the Russian loan. 
 
 They hoped for a majority, and also for our places. 
 
 We won the day by seventy-nine. You should have seen their faces. 
 
 Old Croker, when the shout went down our rank, looked blue with rage. ' 
 
 You’d have said he had the cholera in the spasmodic stage. 
 
1832-34. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 171 
 
 Dawson was red with ire as if his face was smeared with berries ; 
 
 But of all human visages the worst was that of Herries. 
 
 Though not his friend my tender heart I own could not but feel 
 A little for the misery of poor Sir Robert Peel. 
 
 But hang the dirty Tories! and let them starve and pinel 
 Huzza for the majority of glorious seventy-nine I 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 To Hannah and Margaret Macaulay. 
 
 House of Commons Smoking-Room : 
 July 23, 1832. 
 
 My dear Sisters, — I am writing here, at eleven at night, in this filthiest 
 of all filthy atmospheres, and in the vilest of all vile company; with the 
 smell of tobacco in my nostrils, and the ugly, hypocritical face of Lieu- 
 tenant before my eyes. There he sits writing opposite to me. To 
 
 whom, for a ducat ? To some secretary of an Hibernian Bible Society ; 
 or to some old woman who gives cheap tracts, instead of blankets, to the 
 starving peasantry of Connemara; or to some good Protestant Lord who 
 bullies his Popish tenants. Reject not my letter, though it is redolent of 
 cigars and genuine pigtail ; for this is the room — 
 
 The room,— but I think I’ll describe it in rhyme, 
 
 That smells of tobacco and chloride of lime. 
 
 The smell of tc^cco was always the same : 
 
 But the chloride was brought since the cholera came. 
 
 But I must return to prose and tell you all that has fallen out since I 
 wrote last. I have been dining with the Listers at Knightsbridge. They 
 are in a very nice house next, or almost next, to that which the Wilber- 
 forces had. We had quite a family party. There were George Villiers, 
 and Hyde Villiers, and Edward Villiers. Charles was not there. George 
 and Hyde rank very high in my opinion. I liked their behavior to their 
 sister much. She seems to be the pet of the whole family: and it is 
 natural that she should be so. Their manners are softened by her pres- 
 ence ; and any roughness and sharpness which they have in intercourse 
 with men vanishes at once. They seem to love the very ground that she 
 treads on; and she is undoubtedly a charming woman, pretty, clever, 
 lively, and polite. 
 
 I was asked yesterday evening to go to Sir John Burke’s to meet an- 
 other heroine who was very curious to see me. Whom do you think ? 
 Lady Morgan. I thought, however, that, if I went, I might not improba- 
 bly figure in her next novel; and, as I am not ambitious of such an 
 honor, I kept away. If I could fall in with her at a great party, where I 
 could see unseen and hear unheard, I should very much like to make 
 observations on her : but I certainly will not, if I can help it, meet her 
 face to face, lion to lioness. 
 
172 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. V. 
 
 That confounded, chattering, , has just got into an argument 
 
 about the Church with an Irish papist who has seated himself at my 
 elbow : and they keep such a din that I cannot tell what I am writing. 
 There they go. The Lord Lieutenant — the Bishop of Derry — Magee — 
 O’Connell — your Bible meetings — your Agitation meetings — the propaga- 
 tion of the Gospel — Maynooth College — the Seed of the Woman shall 
 bruise the Serpent’s head. My dear Lieutenant, you will not only bruise 
 but break my head with your clatter. Mercy 1 mercy I However, here I 
 am at the end of my letter, and I shall leave the two demoniacs to tear 
 each other to pieces. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 To Hannah and Margaret Macaulay. 
 
 Library of the H. of C. : 
 
 July 30, 1832, II o’clock at night. 
 
 My dear Sisters, — Here I am. Daniel Whittle Harvey is speaking : 
 the House is thin : the subject is dull : and I have stolen away to write to 
 you. Lushington is scribbling at my side. No sound is heard but the 
 scratching of our pens, and the ticking of the clock. We are in a far 
 better atmosphere than in the smoking-room, whence I wrote to you last 
 week; and the company is more decent, inasmuch as that naval officer, 
 whom Nancy blames me for describing in just terms, is not present. 
 
 By the bye, you know doubtless -the linfc which are in the mouth of 
 every member of Parliament, depicting the comparative merits of the 
 two rooms. They are, I think, very happy. 
 
 If thou goest into the Smoking-room ' 
 
 Three plagues will thee befall, — 
 
 The chloride of lime, the tobacco-smoke, 
 
 And the Captain who’s worst of all, — 
 
 The canting Sea-captain, 
 
 The prating Sea-captain, 
 
 The Captain, who’s worst of all 
 
 If thou goest into the Library 
 Three good things will thee befall, — 
 
 Very good books, and very good air. 
 
 And M*c**l*y, who’s best of aU,— 
 
 The virtuous M*c**l*y, 
 
 The prudent M*c*’*'l*y, 
 
 M*c**i*y who’s best of all. 
 
 Oh, how I am worked ! I never see Fanny from Sunday to Sunday. 
 All my civilities wait for that blessed day ; and I have so many scores of 
 visits to pay that I can scarcely find time for any of that Sunday reading 
 in which, like Nancy, I am in the habit of indulging. Yesterday, as soon 
 as I was fixed in my best and had breakfasted, I paid a round of calls to 
 all my friends who had the cholera. Then I walked to all the clubs of 
 
1832-34. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 173 
 
 which I am a member to see the newspapers. The first of these two 
 works you will admit to be a work of mercy ; the second, in a political 
 man, one of necessity. Then, like a good brother, I walked under a 
 burning sun to Kensington to ask Fanny how she did, and stayed there 
 two hours. Then I went to Knightsbridge to call on Mrs. Lister, and 
 chatted with her till it was time to go and dine at the Athenaeum. Then 
 I dined; and after dinner, like a good young man, I sate and read Bishop 
 Heber’s journal till bedtime. There is a Sunday for you 1 I think that 
 I excel in the diary line. I will keep a journal like the Bishop, that my 
 memory may 
 
 Smell sweet and blossom in the dust. 
 
 Next Sunday I am to go to Lord Lansdowne’s at Richmond, so that I 
 hope to have something to tell ‘ you. But on second thoughts I will 
 tell you nothing, nor ever will write to you again, nor ever speak to you 
 again. I have no pleasure in writing to undutiful sisters. Why do you 
 not send me longer letters ? But I am at the end of my paper, so that I 
 have no more room to scold. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 To Hannah and Margaret Macaulay. 
 
 London : August 14, 1832. 
 
 My dear Sisters, — Our work is over at last ; not, however, till it has 
 half killed us all.* On Saturday we met for the last time, I hope, on 
 business. When the House rose, I set off for Holland House. We had 
 a small party, but a very distinguished one. Lord Grey, the Chancellor, 
 Lord Palmerston, Luttrell, and myself were the only guests. Allen was 
 of course at the end of the table, carving the dinner and sparring with 
 my Lady. The dinner was not so good as usual ; for the French cook 
 was ill ; and her Ladyship kept up a continued lamentation during the 
 whole repast. I should never have found out that everything was not as 
 it should be but for her criticisms. The soup was too salt ; the cutlets 
 were not exactly comme il faut; and the pudding was hardly enough 
 boiled. I was amused to hear from the splendid mistress of such a house 
 
 the same sort of apologies which made when her cook forgot the 
 
 joint and sent up too small a dinner to table. I told Luttrell that it was 
 
 * On the 8th August, 1832, Macaulay writes to Lord Mahon : “We are now strictly 
 on duty. No furloughs even for a dinner engagement, or a sight of Taglioni’s legs, can 
 be obtained. It is very hard to keep forty members in the House. Sibthorpe and Leader 
 are on the watch to count us out ; and from six till two we never venture further than the 
 smoking-room without apprehension. In spite of all our exertions, the end of the Sessi(«i 
 seems ‘further and further off every day. If you would do me the favor of inviting 
 Sibthorpe to Chevening Park you might be the means of saving my life, and that of thirty 
 or forty more of us, who are forced to swallow the last dregs of the oratory of this Parlia- 
 ment ; and nauseous dregs they are.” 
 
174 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. V. 
 
 a comfort to me to find that no rank was exempted from these afflic- 
 tions. 
 
 They talked about ’s marriage. Lady Holland vehemently defended 
 
 the match ; and, when Allen said that had caught a Tartar, she quite 
 
 went off into one of her tantrums : “ She a Tartar ! Such a charming girl 
 a Tarter ! He is a very happy man, and your language is insufferable ; 
 insufferable, Mr. Allen.” Lord Grey had all the trouble in the world to 
 appease her. His influence, however, is very great. He prevailed on 
 her to receive Allen again into favor, and to let Lord Holland have a 
 slice of melon, for which he had been petitioning most piteously, but 
 which she had steadily refused on account of his gout. Lord Holland 
 thanked Lord Grey for his intercession. “ Ah, Lord Grey, I wish you 
 were always here. It is a fine thing to be Prime Minister.” This tattle is 
 worth nothing, except to show how much the people whose names will 
 fill the history of our times resemble in all essential matters the quiet 
 folks who live in Mecklenburg Square and Brunswick Square. 
 
 I slept in the room which was poor Mackintosh’s. The next day, 
 
 Sunday, came to dinner. He scarcely ever speaks in the society of 
 
 Holland House. Rogers, who is the bitterest and most cynical observer 
 of little traits of character that ever I knew, once said to me of him : 
 “ Observe that man. He never talks to men ; he never talks to girls ; 
 but, when he can get into a circle of old tabbies, he is just in his element. 
 He will sit clacking with an old woman for hours together. That always 
 settles my opinion of a young fellow.” 
 
 I am delighted to find that you like my review on Mirabeau, though I 
 am angry with Margaret for grumbling at my Scriptural allusions, and 
 still more angry with Nancy for denying my insight into character. It is 
 one of my strong points. If she knew how far I see into hers, she would 
 be ready to hang herself. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 To Hannah and Margaret Macaulay. 
 
 London : August i6, 1832. 
 
 My dear Sisters, — We begin to see a hope of liberation. To-morrow, 
 or on Saturday at furthest, we hope to finish our business. I did not 
 reach home till four this morning, after a most fatiguing and yet rather, 
 amusing night. What passed will not find its way into the papers, as the 
 gallery was locked during most of the time. So I will tell you the story. 
 
 There is a bill before the House prohibiting those processions of 
 ©rangemen which have excited a good deal of irritation in Ireland. This 
 bill was committed yesterday night. Shaw, the Recorder of Dublin, an 
 honest man enough, but a bitter Protestant fanatic, complained that it 
 should be brought forward so late in the Session. Several of his friends. 
 
1832 - 34 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 175 
 
 he said, had left London believing that the measure had been abandoned. 
 It appeared, however, that Stanley and Lord Althorp had given fair 
 notice of their intention ; so that if the absent members had been mis- 
 taken the fault was their own ; and the House was for going on. Shaw 
 said warmly that he would resort to all the means of delay in his power, 
 and moved that the chairman should leave the chair. The motion was 
 negatived by forty votes to two. Then the first clause was read. Shaw 
 divided the House again on that clause. He was beaten by the same 
 majority. He moved again that the chairman should leave the chair. He 
 was beaten again. He divided on the second clause. He was beaten 
 again. He then said that he was sensible that he was doing very wrong; 
 that his conduct was unhandsome and vexatious ; that he heartily begged 
 our pardons ; but that he had said that he would delay the bill as far as 
 the forms of the House would permit ; and that he must keep his word. 
 Now came a discussion by which Nancy, if she had been in the ventilator,^ 
 might have been greatly edified, touching the nature of vows ; whether a 
 man’s promise given to himself, — a promise from which nobody could 
 reap any advantage, and which everybody wished him to violate, — con- 
 stituted an obligation. Jephtha’s daughter was a case in point, and wa-'t 
 cited by somebody sitting near me. Peregrine Courtenay on one side of 
 the House, and Lord Palmerston on the other, attempted to enlighten th^ 
 poor Orangeman on the question of casuistry. They might as well bavt> 
 preached to any madman out of St. Luke’s. “ I feel,” said the silly crear 
 ture, “that I am doing wrong, and acting very unjustifiably. If gentle* 
 men will forgive me, I will never do so again. But I must keep my word.’ 
 We roared with laughter every time he repeated his apologies. The 
 orders of the House do not enable any person absolutely to stop the pro- 
 gress of a bill in Committee, but they enable him to delay it grievously. 
 We divided seventeen times, and between -every division this vexation? 
 Irishman made us a speech of apologies and self-condemnation. Of the 
 two who had supported him at the beginning of his freak one soon 
 sneaked away. The other, Sibthorpe, stayed to the last, not expressing 
 remorse like Shaw, but glorying in the unaccommodating temper he 
 showed and in the delay which he produced. At last the bill went through. 
 Then Shaw rose ; congratulated himself that his vow was accomplished ; 
 said that the only atonement he could make for conduct so unjustifiable 
 was to vow that he would never make such a vow again ; promised to let 
 the bill go through its future stages without any more divisions ; and 
 contented himself with suggesting one or two alterations in the details. 
 “ I hint at these amendments,” he said. “ If the Secretary for Ireland 
 
 * A circular ventilator, in the roof of the House of Commons, was the only Ladies 
 Gallery that existed in the year 1832. 
 
176 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. V. 
 
 approves of them, I hope he will not refrain from introducing them 
 because they are brought forward by me. I am sensible that I have 
 forfeited all claim to the favor of the House.' I will not divide on any 
 future stage of the bill.” We were all heartily pleased with these events ; 
 for the truth was that the seventeen divisions occupied less time than a 
 real hard debate would have done, and were infinitely more amusing. 
 The oddest part of the business is that Shaw’s frank good-natured way 
 of proceeding, absurd as it was, has made him popular. He was never so 
 great a favorite with the House as after harassing it for two or three 
 hours with the most frivolous opposition. This is a curious trait of the 
 House of Commons. Perhaps you will find this long story, which I have 
 not time to read over again, very stupid and unintelligible. But I have 
 thought it my duty to set before you the evil consequences of making 
 vows rashly and adhering to them superstitiously ; for in truth, my 
 Christian brethren, or rather my Christian sisters, let us consider, &c., &c., 
 &c. 
 
 But I reserve the sermon on promises, which I had intended to preach, 
 for another occasion. . 
 
 Ever yours. 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 To Hannah and Margaret Macaulay. 
 
 London : August 17, 183*. 
 
 My dear Sisters, — I brought down my story of Holland House to 
 dinner-time on Saturday evening. To resume my narrative, I slept there 
 on Sunday night. On Monday morning, after breakfast, I walked to 
 town with Luttrell, whom I found a delightful companion. Before we 
 went, we sate and chatted with Lord Holland in the library for a quarter 
 of an hour. He was very entertaining. He gave us an account of a visit 
 which he paid long ago to the Court of Denmark, and of King Christian, 
 the madman, who was at last deprived of all real share in the government 
 on account of his infirmity. “ Such a Tom of Bedlam I never saw,” said 
 Lord Holland. “ One day the Neapolitan Ambassador came to the levee, 
 and made a profound bow to his Majesty. His Majesty bowed still 
 lower. The Neapolitan bowed down his head almost to the ground ; 
 when, behold ! the King clapped his hands on his Excellency’s shoulders, 
 and jumped over him like a boy playing at leap-frog. Another day the 
 English Ambassador was sitting opposite the King at dinner. His 
 Majesty asked him to take wine. The glasses were filled. The Ambas- 
 sador bowed, and put the wine to his lips. The King grinned hideously 
 and threw his wine into the face of one of the footmen. The other guests 
 kept the most profound gravity ; but the Englishman, who had but lately 
 come to Copenhagen, though a practised diplomatist, could not help 
 giving some signs of astonishment. The King immediately addressed him 
 
1832 - 34 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 177 
 
 in French: ‘Eh, mais, Monsieur I’Envoy^ d’Angleterre, qu’avez-vous 
 done ? Pourquoi riez-vous ? Est-ce qu’il y ait quelque chose qui vous 
 ait divert! ? Faites-moi le plaisir de me I’indiquer. J’airae beaucoup les 
 ridicules.’ ” 
 
 Parliament is up at last. We official men are now left alone at the 
 West End of London, and are making up for our long confinement in the 
 mornings by feasting together at night. On Wednesday, I dined with 
 Labouchere at his official residence in Somerset House. It is well that 
 he is a bachelor : for he tells me that the ladies his neighbors make bitter 
 complaints of the unfashionable situation in which they are cruelly obliged 
 to reside gratis. Yesterday I dined with Will Brougham, and an official 
 party, in Mount Street. We are going to establish a Club to be confined 
 to members of the House of Commons in place under the present Govern- 
 ment, who are to dine together weekly at Grillon’s Hotel, and to settle 
 the affairs of the State better, I hope, than our masters at their Cabinet 
 dinners. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 To Hannah M. Macaulay. 
 
 London: September 20, 1832. 
 
 My dear Sister, — I am at home again from Leeds, where everything is 
 going on as well as possible. I, and most of my friends, feel sanguine as 
 to the result. About half my day was spent in speaking, and hearing 
 other people speak ; in squeezing and being squeezed ; in shaking hands 
 with people whom I never saw before, and whose faces and names I 
 forget within a minute after being introduced to them. The rest was 
 passed in conversation with my leading friends, who are very honest, sub- 
 stantial manufacturers. They feed me on roast-beef and Yorkshire pud- 
 ding ; at night they put me into capital bedrooms ; and the only plague 
 which they give me is that they are always begging me to mention some 
 food or wine for which I have a fancy, or some article of comfort and con- 
 venience which I may wish them to procure. 
 
 I travelled to town with a family of children who ate without intermis- 
 sion from Market Harborough, where they got into the coach, to the 
 Peacock at Islington, where they got out of it. They breakfasted as if 
 they had fasted all the preceding day. They dined as if they had never 
 breakfasted. They ate on the road one large basket of sandwiches, 
 another of fruit, and a boiled fowl : besides which there was not an orange- 
 girl, an old man with cakes, or a boy with filberts, who came to the coach- 
 side when we stopped to change horses, of whom they did not buy some- 
 thing. 
 
 I am living here by myself with no society, or scarcely any, except my 
 books. I read a play of Calderon before I breakfast ; then look over the 
 VOL. I.-12 
 
LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. V. 
 
 178 
 
 newspaper ; frank letters ; scrawl a line or two to a foolish girl in Lei- 
 cestershire ; and walk to my Oihce. There I stay till near five, examin- 
 ing claims of money-lenders on the native sovereigns of India, and reading 
 Parliamentary papers. I am beginning to understand something about 
 the Bank, and hope, when next I go to Rothley Temple, to be a match for 
 the whole firm of Mansfield and Babington on questions relating to their 
 own business. When I leave the board, I walk for two hours ; then I 
 dine ; and I end the day quietly over a basin of tea and a novel. 
 
 On Saturday I go to Holland House, and stay there till Monday. 
 Her ladyship wants me to take up my quarters almost entirely there ; but 
 I love my own chambers and independence, and am neither qualified nor 
 inclined to succeed Allen in his post. On Friday week, that is to-morrow 
 week, I shall go for three days to Sir George Philips’s, at Weston, in 
 Warwickshire. He has written again in terms half complaining; and, 
 though I can ill spare time for the visit, yet, as he was very kind to me 
 when his kindness was of some consequence to me, I cannot, and will not, 
 refuse. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 To Hannah M. Macaulay. 
 
 London: September 25, 1832. 
 
 My dear Sister, — I went on Saturday to Holland House, and stayed 
 there Sunday. It was legitimate Sabbath employment, — visiting tiie sick, 
 — which, as you well know, always stands first among the works of mercy 
 enumerated in good books. My Lord was ill, and my Lady thought herself 
 so. fie was, during the greater part of the day, in bed. For a few hours 
 he lay on his sofa, wrapped in flannels. I sate by him about twenty min- 
 utes, and was then ordered away. He was very weak and languid ; and, 
 though the torture of the gout was over, was still in pain : but he retained 
 all his courage, and all his sweetness of temper. I told his sister that I 
 did not think that he was suffering much. •* I hope not,” said she ; “ but 
 it is impossible to judge by what he says ; for through the sharpest pain 
 of the attack he never complained.” I admire him more, I think, than 
 any man whom I know. He is only fifty-seven or fifty-eight. He is pre- 
 cisely the man to whom health would be particularly valuable : for he has 
 the keenest zest for those pleasures which health would enable him to 
 enjoy. He is, however, an invalid, and a cripple. He passes some weeks 
 of every year in extreme torment. When he is in his best health he can 
 only limp a hundred yards in a day. Yet he never says a cross word. 
 The sight of him spreads good humor over the face of every one who 
 comes near him. His sister, an excellent old maid as ever lived, and the 
 favorite, of all the young people of her acquaintance, says that it is quite a 
 pleasure to nurse him. She was reading the Inheritance to him as he lay 
 
1832 - 34 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 179 
 
 in bed, and he enjoyed it amazingly. She is a famous reader ; more quiet 
 and less theatrical than most famous readers, and therefore the fitter for the 
 bed-side of a sick man. Her Ladyship had fretted herself into being ill, 
 could eat nothing but the breast of a partridge, and was frightened out 
 of her wits by hearing a dog howl. She was sure that this noise portend- 
 ed her death, or my Lord’s. Towards the evening, however, she bright- 
 ened up, and was in very good spirits. My visit was not very lively. 
 They dined at four, and the company was, as you may suppose at this 
 season, but scanty. Charles Greville, commonly called, heaven knows 
 why, Punch Greville, came on the Saturday. Byng, named from his hair 
 Poodle Byng, came on the Sunday. Allen, like the poor, we had with us 
 always. I was grateful, however, for many pleasant evenings passed there 
 when London was full and Lord Holland out of bed. I therefore did my 
 best to keep the house alive. I had the library and the delightful gardens 
 to myself during most of the day, and I got through my visit very well. 
 
 News you have in the papers. Poor Scott is gone ; and I cannot be 
 sorry for it. A powerful mind in ruins is the most heart-breaking thing 
 which it is possible to conceive Ferdinand of Spain is gone too; and, I 
 fear, old Mr. Stephen is going fast. I am safe at Leeds. Poor Hyde 
 Villiers is very ill. I am seriously alarmed about him. Kindest love to 
 all. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 To Hannah M. Macaulay. 
 
 * Weston House: September 29, 1832. 
 
 My dear Sister, — I came hither yesterday, and found a handsome 
 house, pretty grounds, and a very kind host and hostess. The house is 
 really very well planned. I do not know that I have ever seen so happy 
 an imitation of the domestic architecture of Elizabeth’s reign. The oriels, 
 towers, terraces, and battlements are in the most perfect keeping ; and 
 the building is as convenient within as it is picturesque without. A few 
 weather-stains or a few American creepers, and a little ivy, would make it 
 perfect : and all that will come, I suppose, with time. The terrace is my 
 favorite spot. I always liked “ the trim gardens ” of which Milton speaks 
 and thought that Brown and his imitators went too far in bringing forests 
 and sheep-walks up to the very windows of drawing-rooms. 
 
 I came through Oxford. It was as beautiful a day as the second day 
 of our visit, and the High Street was in all its glory. But it made me 
 quite sad to find myself there without you and Margaret. All my old Ox- 
 ford associations are gone. Oxford, instead of being, as it used to be, 
 the magnificent old city of the seventeenth century, — still preserving its 
 antique character among the improvements of modern times, and exhibit- 
 ing in the midst of upstart Birminghams and Manchesters the same aspect 
 
i8o 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. V. 
 
 which it wore when Charles held his court at Christchurch, and Rup»rt 
 led his cavalry over Magdalene Bridge, — is now to me only the place 
 where I was so happy with my little sisters. But I was restored to mirth, 
 and even to indecorous mirth, by what happened after we had left the 
 fine old place behind us. There was a young fellow of about five-and- 
 twenty, mustachioed and smartly dressed, in the coach with me. He 
 was not absolutely uneducated : for he was reading a novel, the Hungarian 
 Brothers, the whole way. We rode, as I told you, through the High 
 Street. The coach stopped to dine ; and this youth passed half an hour 
 in the midst of that city of palaces. He looked about him with his mouth 
 open, as he re-entered the coach, and all the while that we were driving 
 away past the Ratcliffe Library,the Great Court of All Souls,Exeter,Lincoln 
 Trinity, Balliol, and St. John’s. When we were about a mile on the road 
 he spoke the first words that I heard him utter. “ That was a pretty 
 town enough. Pray, sir, what is it called ? ” I could not answer him 
 for laughing ; but he seemed quite unconscious of his own absurdity. 
 
 Ever yours. 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 During all the period covered by this correspondence the town of 
 Leeds was alive with the agitation of a turbulent, but not very dubious, 
 contest. Mauculay’s relations with the electors whose votes he was 
 courting are too characteristic to be omitted altogether from .the story of 
 his life : though the style of his speeches and manifestoes is more likely 
 to excite the admiring envy of modern members of Parliament, than to be 
 taken as a model for their communications to their own constituents 
 This young politician, who depended on office for his bread, and on a 
 seat in the House of Commons for office, adopted from the first an attitude 
 of high and almost peremptory independence which would have sat well 
 on a Prime Minister in his grand climacteric. The following letter, (some 
 passages of which have been here omitted, and others slightly condensed,) 
 is strongly marked in every line with the personal qualities of the writer. 
 
 “ London : August 3, 1832. 
 
 “ My dear Sir, — I am truly happy to find that the opinion of my friends at Leeds 
 on the subject of convassing agrees with that which I have long entertained. The 
 practice of begging for votes is, as it seems to me, absurd, pernicious, and altogether at 
 variance with the true principles of representative government. The suffrage of an elec- 
 tor ought not to be asked, or to be given as a personal favor. It is as much for the inter- 
 est of constituents to choose well, as it can be for the interest of a candidate to be chosen. 
 To request an honest man to vote according to his conscience is superfluous. To 
 request him to vote against his conscience is an insult. The practice of canvassing 
 is quite reasonable under a system in which men are sent to Parliament to serve 
 themselves. It i? the height of absurdity under a system under which men are 
 sent to Parliament to serve the public. While we had only a mock representation, it 
 was natural enough that this practice should be carried to a great extent. I trust it will 
 
1832-34. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. ’ 
 
 181 
 
 soon perish with the abuses from which it sprung. I trust that the great and intelligent 
 body of people who have obtained the elective franchise will see that seats in the 
 House of Commons ought not to be given like rooms in an almshouse, to urgency of 
 solicitation and that a man who surrenders his vote to caresses and supplications for- 
 gets his duty as much as if he sold it for a bank-note. I hope to see the day when an 
 Englishman will think it as great an affront to be courted and fawned upon in his capac- 
 ity of elector as in his capacity of j uryman. He would be shocked at the thought of find- 
 ing an unjust verdict because the plaintiff or the defendant had been very civil and 
 pressing ; and, if he would reflect, he would, I think, be equally shocked at the 
 thought of voting for a candidate for whose public character he felt no esteem, merely 
 because that candidate had called upon him, and begged very hard, and had shaken 
 his hand very warmly. My conduct is before the electors of Leeds. My opinions 
 shall on all occasions be stated to them with perfect frankness. If they approve that 
 conduct, if they concur in those opinions, they ought, not for my sake, but for their 
 own, to choose me as their member. To be so chosen I should indeed consider as a 
 high and enviable honor ; but I should think it no honor to be returned to Parlia- 
 ment by persons who, thinking me destitute of the requisite qualifications, had yet 
 been wrought upon by cajolery and importunity to poll for me in despite of their bet- 
 ter judgment. 
 
 “ I wish to add a few words touching a question which has lately been much can- 
 vassed ; I mean the question of pledges. In this letter, and in every letter which I 
 have written to my friends at Leeds, I have plainly declared my opinions. But I 
 think it, at this conjuncture, my duty to declare that I will give no pledges. I will 
 not bind myself to make or to support any particular motion. I will state as shortly 
 as I can some of the reasons which have induced me to form this determination. 
 
 The great beauty of the representative system is, that it unites the advantages 
 of popular control with the advantages arising from a division of labor. Just as a 
 physician understands medicine better than an ordinary man, just as a shoemaker 
 makes shoes better than an ordinary man, so a person whose life is passed in trans- 
 acting affairs of State becomes a better statesman than an ordinary man. In poli- 
 tics, as well as every other department of life, the public ought to have the means of 
 checking those who serve it. If a man finds that he derives no benefit from the pre- 
 scription of his physician, he calls in another. If his shoes do not fit him, he changes 
 his shoemaker. But when he has called in a physician of whom he hears a good re- 
 port, and whose general practice he believes to be judicious, it would be absurd in 
 him to tie down that physician to order particular pills and particular draughts. While 
 he continues to be the customer of a shoemaker, it would be absurd in him to sit by and 
 mete every motion of that shoemaker’s hand. And in the same manner, it would, I think, 
 be absurd in him to require positive pledges, and to exact daily and hourly obedience, 
 from his representative. My opinion is , that electors ought at first to choose cautiously, 
 then to confide liberally ; and, when the term for which they have selected their 
 member has expired, to review his conduct equitably, and to pronoimce on the 
 whole taken together. 
 
 “ If the people of Leeds think proper to repose in me that confidence which is 
 necessarj to the proper discharge of the duties of a representative, I hope that I shall 
 not abuse it. li it be their pleasme to fetter their members by positive promises 
 
i82 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. V, 
 
 it is in their power to do so. I can only say that on such terms I cannot conscien- 
 tiously serve them. 
 
 “ I hope, and feel assured, that the sincerity with which I make this explicit 
 declaration, will, if it deprive me of the votes of my friends at Leeds, secure to me 
 what I value far more highly, their esteem. 
 
 “ Believe me ever, my dear Sir, 
 
 “ Your most faithful servant, 
 
 “T. B. Macaulay.” 
 
 This frank announcement, taken by many as a slight, and by some as 
 a downright challenge, produced remonstrances which after the interval of 
 a week were answered by Macaulay in a second letter ; worth reprinting 
 if it were only for the sake of his fine parody upon the popular cry which 
 for two years past had been the watchword of Reformers. 
 
 “ I was perfectly aware that the avowal of my feelings on the subject of pledges 
 was not likely to advance my interest at Leeds. I was perfectly aware that many 
 of my most respectable friends were likely to differ from me ; and therefore I thought 
 t the more necessary to make, uninvited, an explicit declaration of my feelings. 
 
 If ever there was a time when public men were in an especial measure bound to 
 speak the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, to the people, this is that 
 time. Nothing is easier than for a candidate to avoid unpopular topics as long as pos- 
 sible, and when they are forced on him to take refuge in evasive and unmeaning 
 phrases. Nothing is easier than for him to give extravagant promises while an elec- 
 tion is depending, aud to forget them as soon as the return is made. I will take 
 no such course. I do not wish to obtain a single vote on false pretences. Under 
 the old system I have never been the flatterer of the great. Under the new system 
 I will not be the flatterer of the people. The truth, or what appears to me to be such, 
 may sometimes be distasteful to those whose good opinion I most value. I shall 
 nevertheless always abide by it, and trust to their good sense, to their second 
 thoughts, to the force of reason, and the progress of time. If, after all, their de- 
 cision should be unfavorable to me, I shall submit to that decision with fortitude 
 and good humor. It is not necessary to my happiness that I should sit in Parliament ; 
 but it is necessary to my happiness that I should possess, in Parliament or out of 
 Parliament, the consciousness of having done what is right.” 
 
 Macaulay had his own ideas as to the limits within which constituents 
 are justified in exerting their privilege of questioning a candidate ; and, on 
 the first occasion when those limits were exceeded, he made a notable ex- 
 ample of the transgressor. During one of his public meetings, a voice was 
 heard to exclaim from the crowd in the body of the hall : “ An elector 
 wishes to know the religious creed of Mr. Marshall and Mr. Macaulay.’* 
 The last-named gentleman was on his legs in a moment. “ Let that man 
 stand up ! ” he cried. “ Let him stand on a form where I can see him ! ’ 
 The offender, who proved to be a Methodist preacher, was hoisted on to 
 a bench by his indignant neighbors ; nerving himself even in that terrible 
 moment by a lingering hope that he might yet be able to hold his own. 
 
1832 - 34 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 183 
 
 But the unhappy man had not a chance against Macaulay, who harangued 
 him as if he were the living embodiment of religious intolerance and illegit- 
 imate curiosity. “ I have heard with the greatest shame and sorrow the 
 question which has been proposed to me ; and with peculiar pain do I 
 learn that this question was proposed by a minister of religion. I do 
 most deeply regret that any person should think it necessary to make a 
 meeting like this an arena for theological discussion. I will not be a par- 
 ty to turning this assembly to such a purpose. My answer is short, and 
 in one word. Gentlemen, I am a Christian.” At this declaration the de- 
 lighted audience began to cheer ; but Macaulay would have none of their 
 applause. “ This is no subject,” he said, “ for acclamation. I will say no 
 more. No man shall speak of me as the person who, when this disgrace- 
 ful inquisition was entered upon in an assembly of Englishmen, brought 
 forward the most sacred subjects to be canvassed here, and be turned into 
 a matter for hissing or for cheering. If on any future occasion it should 
 happen that Mr. Carlile should favor any large meeting with his infidel 
 attacks upon the Gospel, he shall not have it to say that I set the example. 
 Gentlemen, I have done ; I tell you, I will say no more ; and if the person 
 who has thought fit to ask this question has the feelings worthy of a 
 teacher of religion, he will not, I think, rejoice that he has called me 
 forth.” 
 
 This ill-fated question had been prompted by a report, diligently spread 
 through the town, that the Whig candidates were Unitarians; a report 
 which, even if correct, would probably have done little to damage their 
 electioneering prospects. There are few general remarks which so uni- 
 formly hold good as the observation that men are not willing to attend the 
 religious worship of people who believe less than themselves, or to vote 
 at elections for people who believe more than themselves. While the 
 congregations at a high Anglican service are in part composed of Low 
 churchmen and Broad churchmen; while Presbyterians and Wesleyans 
 have no objection to a sound discourse from a divine of the Establishment, 
 it is seldom the case that any but Unitarians are seen inside a Unitarian 
 chapel. On the other hand, at the general election of 1874, when not a 
 solitary Roman Catholic was returned throughout the length and breadth 
 of the island of Great Britain, the Unitarians retained their long acknowl- 
 edged pre-eminence as the most over-represented sect i n the kingdom. 
 
 While Macaulay was stern in his refusal to gratify his electors with the 
 customary blandishments, he gave them plenty of excellent political in- 
 struction ; which he conveyed to them in rhetoric, not premeditated with 
 the care that alone makes speeches readable after a lapse of years, but 
 for this very reason all the more effective when the passion of the moment 
 was pouring itself from his lips in a strain of faultless but unstudied, sen- 
 tences. A course of mobs, which turned Cobden into an orator, made of 
 
184 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. V. 
 
 Macaulay a Parliamentary debater ; and the ear and eye of the House of 
 Commons soon detected, in his replies from the Treasury bench, welcome 
 signs of the invaluable training that can be got nowhere except on the 
 hustings and the platform. There is no better sample of Macaulay’s ex- 
 tempore speaking than the first words which he addressed to his commit- 
 tee at Leeds after the Reform Bill had received the Royal assent. “ I find 
 it difficult to express my gratification at seeing such an assembly convened 
 at such a time. All the history of our own country, all the history of other 
 countries, furnishes nothing parallel to it. Look at the great events in our 
 own former history, and in every one of them which, for importance, we 
 can venture to compare with the Reform Bill, we shall find something to 
 disgrace and tarnish the achievement. It was by the assistance of French 
 arms and of Roman bulls that King John was harassed into giving the 
 Great Charter. In the times of Charles L, how much injustice, how much 
 crime, how much bloodshed and misery, did it cost to assert the liberties 
 of England I But in this event, great and important as it is in substance, 
 I confess I think it still more important from the manner in which it has 
 been achieved. Other countries have obtained deliverances equally signal 
 and complete, but in no country has that deliverance been obtained with 
 such perfect peace ; so entirely within the bounds of the Constitution ; 
 with all the forms of law observed ; the government of the country pro- 
 ceeding in its regular course ; every man going forth unto his labor until 
 the evening. France boasts of her three days of July, when her people 
 rose, when barricades fenced the streets, and the entire population of the 
 capital in arms successfully vindicated their liberties. They boast, and 
 justly, of those three days of July ; but I will boast of our ten days of May. 
 We, too, fought a battle, but it was with moral arms. We, too, placed an 
 impassable barrier between ourselves and military tyranny ; but we fenced 
 ourselves only with moral barricades. Not one crime committed, not one 
 acre confiscated, not one life lost, not one instance of outrage or attack on 
 the authorities or the laws. Our victory has not left a single family in 
 mourning. Not a tear, not a drop of blood, has sullied the pacific and 
 blameless triumph of a great people.” 
 
 The Tories of Leeds, as a last resource, fell to denouncing Macaulay 
 as a placeman : a stroke of superlative audacity in a party which during 
 eight-and-forty years, had been out of office for only fourteen months. It 
 may well be imagined that he found plenty to say in his own defence. 
 “ The only charge which malice can prefer against me is that I am a 
 placeman. Gentlemen, is it your wish that those persons who are thought 
 worthy of the public confidence should never possess the confidence of 
 the King ? Is it your wish that no men should be .Ministers but those 
 whom no populous places will take as their representatives ? By whom, 
 I ask, has the Reform Bill been carried } By Ministers. Who have 
 
1832-34. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 185 
 
 raised Leeds into the situation to return members to Parliament ? It is 
 by the strenuous efforts of a patriotic Ministry that that great result has 
 been produced. I should think that the Reform Bill had done little for 
 the people, if under it the service of the people was not consistent with 
 the service of the Crown.” 
 
 Just before the general election Hyde Villiers died, and the Secretary- 
 ship to the Board of Control became vacant. Macaulay succeeded his 
 old college friend in an office that gave weighty responsibility, defined 
 duties, and as it chanced, exceptional opportunities for distinction. About 
 the same time, an event occurred which touched him more nearly than 
 could any possible turn of fortune in the world of politics. His sisters 
 Hannah and Margaret had for some months been almost domesticated 
 among a pleasant nest of villas which lie in the southern suburb of Liver- 
 pool, on Dingle Bank : a spot whose natural beauty nothing can spoil, 
 until in the fulness of time its inevitable destiny shall convert it into docks. 
 The young ladies were the guests of Mr. John Cropper, who belonged to 
 the Society of Friends, a circumstance which readers who have got thus 
 far into the Macaulay correspondence will doubtless have discovered for 
 themselves. Before the visit was over, Margaret became engaged to the 
 brother of her host, Mn Edward Cropper, a man in every respect worthy 
 of the personal esteem and the commercial prosperity which have fallen 
 to his lot. 
 
 There are many who will be surprised at finding in Macaulay’s letters, 
 both now and hereafter, indications of certain traits in his disposition 
 with which the world, knowing him only through his political actions and 
 his published works, may perhaps be slow to credit him ; but which, tak- 
 ing his life as a whole, were predominant in their power to affect his hap- 
 piness and give matter for his thoughts. Those who are least partial to 
 him will allow that his was essentially a virile intellect. He wrote, he 
 thought, he spoke, he acted like a man. The public regarded him as 
 an impersonation of vigor, vivacity, and self-reliance ; but his own family, 
 together with one, and probably only bne, of his friends, knew that his 
 affections were only too tender and his sensibilities only too acute. Others 
 may well be loth to parade what he concealed ; but a portrait of Macaulay, 
 from which these features were omitted, would be imperfect to the extent 
 of misrepresentation : and it must be acknowledged that where he loved, 
 he loved more entirely, and more exclusively, than was well for himself. It 
 was improvident in him to concentrate such intensity of feeling upon re- 
 lations who, however deeply they were attached to him, could not always 
 be in a position to requite him with the whole of their time and the whole 
 of their heart. He suffered much for that improvidence ; but he was too 
 just and too kind to permit that others should suffer with him ; and it is 
 not for one who obtained by inheritance a share of his inestimable affec- 
 
i86 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. V. 
 
 tion to regret a weakness to which he considers himself by duty bound to 
 refer. 
 
 How keenly Macaulay felt the separation from his sister it is impossi- 
 ble to do more than indicate. He never again recovered that tone of 
 thorough boyishness which had been produced by a long unbroken habit 
 of gay and affectionate intimacy with those younger than himself ; indulg- 
 ed in without a suspicion on the part of any concerned that it was in its 
 very nature transitory and precarious. For the first time he was led to 
 doubt whether his scheme of life was indeed a wise one ; or rather, he 
 began to be aware that he had never laid out any scheme of life at all. ' 
 But with that unselfishness which was the key to his character and to 
 much of his career, (resembling in its quality what we sometimes admire 
 in a woman rather than what we ever detect in a man,) he took successful 
 pains to conceal his distress from those over whose happiness it otherwise 
 could not have failed to cast a shadow. 
 
 “ The attachment between brothers and sisters,” he writes in Novem- 
 ber 1832, “ blameless, amiable, and delightful as it is, is so liable to be 
 superseded by other attachments that no wise man ought to suffer it 
 to become indispensable to him. That women shall leave the home of 
 their birth, and contract ties dearer than those of consanguinity, is a law as 
 ancient as the first records of the history of our race, and as unchangeable 
 as the constitution of the human body and mind. To repine against the 
 nature of things, and against the great fundamental law of all society, be- 
 cause, in consequence of my own want of foresight, it happens to bear 
 heavily on me, would be the basest and most absurd selfishness. 
 
 “ I have still one more stake to lose. There remains one event for 
 which, when it arrives, I shall, I hope, be prepared. From that moment, 
 with a heart formed, if ever any man’s heart was formed, for domestic 
 happiness, I shall have nothing left in this world but ambition. There is 
 no wound, however, which time and necessity will not render endurable : 
 and, after all, what am I more than my fathers, — than the millions and tens 
 of millions who have been weak enough to pay double price for some fa- 
 vorite number in the lottery of life, and who had suffered double disap- 
 pointment when their ticket came up a blank ? ” 
 
 To Han7tah M. Macaulay. 
 
 Leeds : December 12, 1832. 
 
 My dear Sister, — The election here is going on as well as possible. To- 
 day the poll stands thus : 
 
 Marshall Macaulay Sadler 
 
 1,804 1,792 1,353 
 
 The probability is that Sadler will give up the contest. If he persists, he 
 will be completely beaten. The voters are under 4,000 in number ; those 
 who have already polled are 3,100 ; and about five hundred will not poll 
 
1832-34. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 187 
 
 at all. Even if we were not to bring up another man, the probability is 
 that we should win. On Sunday morning early I hope to be in London ; 
 and I shall see you in the course of the day. 
 
 I had written thus far when your letter was delivered to me. I am sit- 
 ting in the midst of two hundred friends, all mad with exultation and party 
 spirit, all glorying over the Tories, and thinking me the happiest man in 
 the world. And it is all that I can do to hide my tears, and to command 
 my voice, when it is necessary for me to reply to their congratulations. 
 Dearest, dearest sister, you alone are now left to me. Whom have I on 
 earth but thee ? But for you in the midst of all these successes, I should 
 wish that I were lying by poor Hyde Villiers. But I cannot go on. I am 
 wanted to write an address to the electors : and I shall lay it on Sadler 
 pretty heavily. By what strange fascination is it that ambition and resent- 
 ment exercise such power over minds which ought to be superior to them ? 
 I despise myself for feeling so bitterly towards this fellow as I do. But 
 the separation from dear Margaret has jarred my whole temper. I am cried 
 up here to the skies as the most affable and kind-hearted of men, while I 
 feel a fierceness and restlessness within me quite new and almost inexpli- 
 cable. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 T.B.M. 
 
 To Hannah M. Macaulay. 
 
 London : December 24, 1832. 
 
 My dear Sister, — I am much obliged to you for your letter, and am 
 gratified by all its contents, except what you say about your own cough. 
 As soon as you come back, you shall see Dr. Chambers, if you are not 
 quite well. Do not oppose me in this : for I have set my heart on it. 
 
 I dined on Saturday at Lord Essex’s in Belgrave Square. But never 
 was there such a take-in. I had been given to understand that his Lord- 
 ship’s cuisine was superintended by the first French artists, and that I 
 should find there all the luxuries of the Almanach des Gourmands. What 
 a mistake ! His Lordship is luxurious indeed, but in quite a different way. 
 He is a true Englishman. Not a dish on his table but what Sir Roger de 
 Coverley, or Sir Hugh Tyrold,* might have set before his guests. A huge 
 haunch of venison on the sideboard ; a magnificent piece of beef at the 
 bottom of the table ; and before my Lord himself smoked, not a dindon 
 aux truffes, but a fat roasted goose stuffed with sage and onions. I was 
 disappointed, but very agreeably ; for my tastes are, I fear, incurably vul- 
 gar, as you may perceive by my fondness for Mrs. Meeke’s novels. 
 
 Our party consisted of Sharp ; Lubbock ; Watson, M.P. for Canter- 
 bury ; and Rich, the author of “ What will the Lords do ? ” who wishes 
 to be M.P. for Knaresborough. Rogers was to have been of the party ; 
 
 * The uncle of Miss Burney’s Camilla. 
 
i88 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. V. 
 
 but his brother chose that very day to die upon, so that poor Sam had to 
 absent himself. The Chancellor was also invited, but he had scampered 
 off to pass his Christmas with his old mother in Westmoreland. We had 
 some good talk, particularly about Junius’s Letters. I learned some new 
 facts which I will tell you when we meet. I am more and more inclined 
 to believe that Francis was one of the people principally concerned. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 T.B.M. 
 
 On the 29th of January 1833 commenced the first Session of the Re- 
 formed Parliament. The main incidents of that Session, so fruitful in 
 great measures of public utility, belong to general history ; if indeed Clio 
 herself is not fated to succumb beneath the stupendous undertaking of 
 turning Hansard into a narrative imbued with human interest. O’Connell, 
 — criticising the King’s speech at vast length, and passing in turns through 
 every mood from the most exquisite pathos to downright and undisguised 
 ferocity, — at once plunged the House into a discussion on Ireland, which 
 alternately blazed and smouldered through four livelong nights. Sheil and 
 Grattan spoke finely ; Peel and Stanley admirably ; Bulwer made the first 
 of his successes, and Cobbett the second of his failures ; but the longest 
 and the loudest cheers were those which greeted each of the glowing 
 periods in which Macaulay as the champion of the Whig party,* met the 
 great agitator face to face with high, but not intemperate, defiance. In 
 spite of this flattering reception, he seldom addressed the House. A sub- 
 ordinate member of a Government, with plenty to do in his own depart- 
 ment, finds little temptation, and less encouragement, to play the debater. 
 
 * «« We are called base, and brutal, and bloody. Such are the epithets which the hon- 
 orable and learned member for Dublin, thinks it becoming to pour forth against the party 
 to which he owes every political privilege that he enjoys. The time will come when his- 
 tory will do justice to the Whigs of England, and will faithfully relate how much they did 
 and suffered for Ireland. I see on the benches near me men who might, by uttering ono 
 word against Catholic Emancipation, — nay, by merely abstaining from uttering a word in 
 favor of Catholic Emancipation,-— have been returned to this House without difficulty or 
 expense, and who, rather than wrong their Irish fellow-subjects, were content to relinquish 
 all the objects of their honorable ambition, and to retire into private life with conscience 
 and fame untarnished. As to one eminent person, who seems to be regarded with especial 
 malevolence by those who ought never to mention his name without respect and gratitude, 
 I will only say this, that the loudest clamor which the honorable and learned gentleman 
 can excite against Lord Grey will be trifling when compared with the clamor which Lord 
 Grey withstood in order to place the honorable and learned gentleman where he now sits; 
 Though a young member of the Whig party, I will venture to speak in the name of the 
 whole body. I tell the honorable and learned gentleman, that the same spirit which sus- 
 tained us in a just contest for him will sustain us in an equally just contest against him. 
 Calumny, abuse, royal displeasure, popular fury, exclusion from office, exclusion from 
 Parliament, we were ready to endure them all, rather than that he should be less than a 
 British subject. We never will suffer him to be more.” 
 
IS32-34* 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 189 
 
 The difference of opinion between the two Houses concerning the Irish 
 Church Temporalities Bill, which constituted the crisis of the year, was 
 the one circumstance that excited in Macaulay’s mind any very lively emo- 
 tions ; but those emotions, being denied their full and free expression 
 in the oratory of a partisan, found vent in the doleful prognostications of 
 a despairing patriot which fill his letters throughout the months of June and 
 July. His abstinence from the passing topics of Parliamentary contro- 
 versy obtained for him a friendly, as well as an attentive, hearing from 
 both sides of the House whenever he spoke on his own subjects ; and did 
 much to smooth the progress of those immense and salutary reforms with 
 which the Cabinet had resolved to accompany the renewal of the India 
 Company’s Charter. 
 
 So rapid had been the march of events under that strange imperial 
 system established in the East by the enterprise and valor of three gen- 
 erations of our countrymen, that each of the periodical revisions of that 
 system was, in effect, a revolution. I’he legislation of 1813 destroyed 
 the monopoly of the India trade. In 1833 the time had arrived when it 
 was impossible any longer to maintain the monopoly of the China trade ; 
 and the extinction of this remaining commercial privilege could not fail 
 to bring upon the Company commercial ruin. Skill, and energy, and 
 caution, however happily combined, would not enable rulers who were 
 governing a population larger than that governed by Augustus, and mak- 
 ing every decade conquests more extensive than the conquests of Trajan, 
 to compete with private merchants in an open market. England, mindful 
 of the inestimable debt which she owed to the great Company, did not 
 intend to requite her benefactors by imposing on them a hopeless task. 
 Justice and expediency could be reconciled by one course, and one only: 
 — that of buying up the assets and liabilities of the Company on terms 
 the favorable character of which should represent the sincerity of the 
 national gratitude. Interest was to be paid from the Indian exchequer at 
 the rate of ten guineas a year on every hundred pounds of stock; the 
 Company was relieved of its commercial attributes, and became a cor- 
 poration charged with the function of ruling Hindoostan ; and its direc- 
 tors, as has been well observed, remained princes, but merchant princes 
 no longer. 
 
 The machinery required for carrying into effect this gigantic metamor- 
 phosis was embodied in a bill every one of whose provisions breathed the 
 broad, the fearless, and the tolerant spirit with which Reform had inspired 
 our counsels. The earlier Sections placed the whole property of the 
 Company in trust for the Crown, and enacted that “ from and after the 
 22d day of April 1834, the exclusive right of trading with the dominions 
 of the Emperor of China and of trading in tea shall cease ; ” and then 
 came Clauses which threw open the whole continent of India as a place 
 
LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. V. 
 
 190 
 
 of residence for all subjects of his Majesty; which pronounced the doom 
 of Slavery ; and which ordained that no native of the British territories 
 in the East should “ by reason only of his religion, place of birth, descent, 
 or color, be disabled from holding any place, office, or employment.” 
 The measure was introduced by Mr. Charles Grant the President of the 
 Board of Control, and was read a second time on Wednesday the loth 
 July. On that occasion Macaulay defended the bill in a thin House: a 
 circumstance which may surprise those who are not aware that on a 
 Wednesday, and with an Indian question on the paper, Cicero replying 
 to Hortensius would hardly draw a quorum. Small as it was, the au- 
 dience contained Lord John Russell, Peel, O’Connell, and other masters 
 in the Parliamentary craft. Their unanimous judgment was summed up 
 by Charles Grant, in words which every one who knows the House of 
 Commons will recognize as being very different from the conventional 
 verbiage of mutual senatorial flattery. “ I must embrace the opportunity 
 of expressing, not what I felt, (for language could not express it,) but of 
 making an attempt to convey to the House my sympathy with it in its 
 admiration of the speech of my honorable and learned friend : a speech 
 which, I will venture to assert, has never been exceeded within these 
 walls for the development of statesmanlike policy and practical good 
 sense. It exhibited all that is noble in oratory ; all that is sublime, I had 
 almost said, in poetry ; all that is truly great, exalted, and virtuous in 
 human nature. If the House at large felt a deep interest in this magni- 
 ficent display, it may judge of what were my emotions when I perceived 
 in the hands of my honorable friend the great principles which he ex- 
 pounded glowing with fresh colors and arrayed in all the beauty of 
 truth.” 
 
 There is no praise more gratefully treasured than that which is be- 
 stowed by a generous chief upon a subordinate with whom he is on the 
 best of terms. Macaulay to the end entertained for Lord Glenelg that 
 sentiment of loyalty* which a man of honor and feeling will always 
 cherish with regard to the statesman under whom he began his career as 
 a servant of the Crown. The Secretary repaid the President for his 
 unvarying kindness and confidence by helping him to get the bill through 
 committee with that absence of friction which is the pride and delight of 
 official men. The vexed questions of Establishment and Endowment, 
 (raised by the clauses appointed bishops to Madras and Bombay, and 
 balancing them with as many salaried Presbyterian chaplains,) increased 
 the length of the debates and the number of the divisions ; but the Gov- 
 
 * The affinity between this sentiment, and that of the Quaestor towards his first Pro- 
 consul, so well described in the Orations, against Verres, is one among the innumerable 
 points of resemblance between the public life of ancient Rome and modern England. 
 
1832 - 34 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 19 
 
 eminent carried every point by large majorities, and, with slight modifi- 
 cations in detail, and none in principle, the measure became law with the 
 almost universal approbation both of Parliament and the country. 
 
 To Hannah M. Macaulay. 
 
 House of Commons : 
 
 Monday night, half-past 12. 
 
 My dear Sister, — The papers will scarcely contain any account of 
 what passed yesterday in the House of Commons in the middle of the 
 day. Grant and I fought a battle with Briscoe and O’Connell in defence 
 of the Indian people, and won it by 38 to (>.* It was a rascally claim of 
 a dishonest agent of the Company against the employers whom he had 
 cheated, and sold to their own tributaries. The nephew of the original 
 claimant has been pressing his case on the Board most vehemently. He 
 is an attorney living in Russell Square, and very likely hears the word at 
 St. John’s Chapel. He hears it however to very little purpose : for he 
 lies as much as if he went to hear a “ cauld clatter of morality ” at the 
 parish church, 
 
 I remember that, when you were at Leamington two years ago, I used 
 to fill my letters with accounts of the people with whom I dined. High 
 life was new to me then ; and now it has grown so familiar that I should 
 not, I fear, be able, as I formerly was, to select the striking circumstances. 
 I have dined with sundry great folks since you left London, and I have 
 attended a very splendid rout at Lord Grey’s. I stole thither, at about 
 eleven, from the House of Commons with Stewart Mackenzie. I do not 
 mean to describe the beauty of the ladies, nor the brilliancy of stars and 
 uniforms. I mean only to tell you one circumstance which struck, and 
 even affected me. I was talking to Lady Charlotte Lindsay, the daughter 
 of Lord North, a great favorite of mine, about the apartments and the 
 furniture, when she said with a good deal of emotion ; “ This is an inter- 
 esting visit to me. I have never been in this house for fifty years. It 
 was here that I was born ; I left it a child when my father fell from power 
 in 1782 ; and I have never crossed the threshold since.” Then she told 
 me how the rooms seemed dwindled to her; how the staircase which 
 appeared to her in recollection to be the most spacious and magnificent 
 that she had ever seen had disappointed her. She longed, she said, to 
 go over the garrets and rummage her old nursery. She told me how, in 
 the No-Popery riots of 1780, she was taken out of bed at two o’clock in 
 
 * In his great Indian speech Macaulay referred to this affair, in a passage, the first 
 sentence of which has, by frequent quotation, been elevated into an apophthegm : “ A 
 broken head in Cold Bath Fields produces a greater sensation than three pitched battles 
 in India. A few weeks ago we had to decide on a claim brought by an individual against 
 the revenues of India; If it had been an English question, the walls would scarcely have 
 held the members who would have flocked to the division. It was an Indian question ; 
 and we could scarcely, by dint of supplication, make a House.” 
 
192 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. V 
 
 the morning. The mob threatened Lord North’s house. There were 
 soldiers at the windows, and an immense and furious crowd in Downing 
 Street. She saw, she said, from her nursery the fires in different parts of 
 London ; but she did not understand the danger ; and only exulted in 
 being up at midnight. Then she was conveyed through the Park to the 
 Horse Guards as the safest place ; and was laid, wrapped up in blankets, 
 on the table in the guard-room in the midst of the officers. “ And it was 
 such fun,” she said, “ that I have ever after had rather a liking for insur- 
 rections.” 
 
 I write in the midst of a crowd. A debate on Slavery is going on in 
 the Commons ; a debate on Portugal in the Lords. The door is slamming 
 behind me every moment, and people are constantly going out and in* 
 Here comes Vernon Smith. “Well, Vernon, what are they doing?” 
 “ Gladstone has just made a very good speech, and Howick is answering 
 him.” “ Aye, but in the House of Lords ? ” “ They will beat us by 
 twenty, they say.” “ Well, I do not think it matters much.” “ No ; 
 nobody out of the House of Lords cares either for Don Pedro or for Don 
 Miguel.” 
 
 There is a conversation between two official men in the Library of the 
 House of Commons on the night of the 3rd of June 1833, reported word 
 for word. To the historian three centuries hence this letter will be inval- 
 uable. To you, ungrateful as you are, it will seem worthless. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 To Hannah M. Macaulay. 
 
 Smoking-Room of the House of Commons ; 
 
 June 6, 1833. 
 
 My Darling, — Why am I such a fool as to write to a gypsey at Liver- 
 pool, who fancies that none is so good as she if she sends one letter for 
 my three ? A lazy chit whose fingers tire with penning a page in reply to 
 a quire! There, Miss, you read all the first sentence of my epistle, and 
 never knew that you were reading verse. I have some gossip for you 
 about the Edinburgh Review. Napier is in London, and has called on 
 me several times. He has been with the publishers, who tell him that the 
 sale is falling off ; and in many private parties, where he hears sad com- 
 plaints. The universal cry is that the long dull articles are the ruin of 
 the Review. As to myself, he assures me that my articles are the only 
 things which keep the work up at all. Longman and his partners corre- 
 spond with about five hundred booksellers in different parts of the king- 
 dom. All these booksellers, I find, tell them that the Review sells, or 
 does not sell, according as there are, or are not, articles by Mr. Macaulay. 
 So, you see, I, like Mr. Darcy,* shall not care how proud I am. At all 
 
 • The central male figure in Pride and Prejudice. 
 
1832 - 34 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 193 
 
 events, I cannot but be pleased to learn that, if I should be forced to 
 depend on my pen for subsistence, I can command what price I choose. 
 
 The House is sitting ; Peel is just down ; Lord Palmerston is speak- 
 ing ; the heat is tremendous ; the crowd stifling ; and so here I am in the 
 smoking-room, with three Repealers making chimneys of their mouths 
 under my very nose. 
 
 To think that this letter will bear to my Anna 
 The exquisite scent of O’ Connor’s Havannah ? 
 
 You know that the Lords have been foolish enough to pass a vote t 
 implying censure on the Ministers. The Ministers do not seem inclined 
 to take it of them. The King has snubbed their Lordships properly ; 
 and in about an hour, as I guess, (for it is near eleven,) we shall have 
 come to a Resolution indirect opposition to that agreed to by the Upper 
 House. Nobody seems to care one straw for what the Peers say about 
 any public matter. A Resolution of the Court of Common Council, or of 
 a meeting at Freemasons’ Hall, has often made a greater sensation than 
 this declaration of a branch of the Legislature against the Executive 
 Government. The institution of the Peerage is evidently dying a natural 
 death. 
 
 I dined yesterday — where, and on what, and at what price, I am 
 ashamed to tell you. Such scandalous extravagance and gluttony I will 
 not commit to writing. I blush when I think of it. You however, are 
 not wholly guiltless in this matter. My nameless offence was partly 
 occasioned by Napier; and I have a very strong reason for wishing to 
 keep Napier in good humor. He has promised to be at Edinburgh when 
 I take a certain damsel thither : to look out for very nice lodgings for us 
 in Queen Street ; to show us everything and everybody ; and to see us as 
 far as Dunkeld on our way northward, if we do go northward. In gen- 
 eral I abhor visiting ; but at Edinburgh we must see the people as well 
 as the walls and windows ; and Napier will be a capital guide. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 To Hannah M. Macaulay. 
 
 London : June 14, 1833. 
 
 My dear Sister, — I do not know what you may have been told. I 
 may have grumbled, for aught I know, at not having more letters from 
 you ; but as to being angry, you ought to know by this time what sort of 
 anger mine is when you are its object. 
 
 You have seen the papers, I dare say, and you will perceive that I did 
 
 * On June 3d, 1833, a vote of censure on the Portuguese policy of the Ministry was 
 moved by the Duke of Wellington, and carried in the Lords by 79 votes to 69. On June 
 6th a counter-resolution was carried in the Commons by 361 votes to 98. 
 
 VoL. I. — 13 
 
194 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. V. 
 
 not speak yesterday night. ♦ The House was thin. The debate was 
 languid. Grant’s speech had done our work sufficiently for one night ; 
 and both he and Lord Althorp advised me to reserve myself for the 
 Second Reading. 
 
 What have I to tell you ? I will look at my engagement book, to see 
 where I am to dine, 
 
 Friday, June 14, . Lord Grey. 
 
 Saturday, June 15, . Mr. Boddington. 
 
 Sunday, June 16, . Mr. S. Rice 
 
 Saturday, June 22; . Sir R. Inglis. 
 
 Thursday, June 27, . The Earl of Ripon. 
 
 Saturday, June 29, . Lord Morpeth. 
 
 Read, and envy, and pine, and die. And yet I would give a large 
 slice ef my quarter’s salary, which is now nearly due, to be at the Dingle. 
 I am sick of Lords with no brains in their heads, and Ladies with paint 
 on their cheeks, and politics, and politicians, and that reeking furnace of 
 a House. As the poet says. 
 
 Oh ! rather would I see this day 
 
 ^ My little Nancy well and merry 
 
 Than the blue riband of Earl Grey, 
 
 Of the blue stockings of Miss Berry. 
 
 Margaret tells us that you are better, and better, and better. I want 
 to hear that you are well. At all events our Scotch tour will set you up. 
 I hope, for the sake of the tour, that we shall keep our places ; but I firm- 
 ly believe that, before many days have passed, a desperate attempt will be 
 made in the House of Lords to turn us out. If we stand the shock, we 
 shall be firmer than ever. I am not without anxiety as to the result : yet 
 I believe that Lord Grey understands the position in which he is placed, 
 and, as for the King, he will not forget his last blunder, t I wll answer for 
 it, even if he should live to the age of his father. 
 
 But why plague ourselves about politics when we have so much pleas- 
 anter things to talk of ? The Parson’s Daughter : don’t you like the Par- 
 son’s Daughter ? What a wretch Harbottle was ! And Lady Frances, what 
 a sad worldly woman ! But Mrs. Harbottle, dear suffering angel ! And 
 Emma Lovel, all excellence ! Dr. MacGopus you doubtless like ; but you 
 probably do not admire the Duchess and Lady Catherine. There is a 
 regular coze over a novel for you ! But, if you will have my opinion, I 
 think it Theodore Hook’s worst performance ; far inferior to the Surgeon’s 
 Daughter ; a set of fools making themselves miserable by their own non- 
 
 * The night of the First Reading of the India Bill. 
 
 t This “last blunder” was the refusal of the King to stand by his Ministers in May 
 1832. Macaulay proved a bad prophet ; for, after an interval of only three years, Wil- 
 liam the Fourth r®neated his blunder in an aggravated form. 
 
LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 1832-34. 
 
 195 
 
 sensical fancies and suspicions. Let me hear your opinion ; for I will be 
 sworn that 
 
 In spite of all the serious world, 
 
 Of all the thumbs that ever twirled, 
 
 Of every broadbrim-shaded brow. 
 
 Of every tongue that e’er said “ thou,* 
 
 You still read books in marble covers 
 About smart girls and dapper lovers. 
 
 But what folly I have been scrawling ! I must go to work. 
 
 I cannot all day 
 
 Be neglecting Madras 
 And slighting Bombay 
 For the sake of a lass. 
 
 Kindest love to Edward, and to the woman who owns him. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 London: June 17, 1833. 
 
 Dear Hannah, — All is still anxiety here. Whether the House of Lords 
 will throw out the Irish Church Bill, whether the King will consent to 
 create new Peers, whether the Tories will venture to form a Ministry, are 
 matters about which we are all in complete doubt. If the Ministry should 
 really be changed. Parliament will, I feel quite sure, be dissolved. Whether 
 I shall have a seat in the next Parliament I neither know nor care. I shall 
 regret nothing for myself but our Scotch tour. For the public I shall, if 
 this Parliament is dissolved, entertain scarcely any hopes. I see nothing 
 before us but a frantic conflict between extreme opinions ; a short period 
 of oppression ; then a convulsive reaction ; and then a tremendous crash 
 of the Funds, the Church, the Peerage, and the Throne. It is enough to 
 make the most strenuous royalist lean a little to republicanism to think that 
 the whole question between safety and general destruction may probably, 
 at this most fearful conjuncture, depend on a single man whom the acci- 
 dent of his birth has placed in a situation to which certainly his own vir- 
 tues or abilities would never have raised him. 
 
 The question must come to a decision, I think, within the fortnight. 
 In the mean time the funds are going down, the newspapers are storming, 
 and the faces of men on both sides are growing day by day more gloomy 
 and anxious. Even during the most violent part of the contest for the 
 Reform Bill I do not remember to have seen so much agitation in the po- 
 litical circles. I have some odd anecdotes for you, which I will tell you 
 when we meet. If the Parliament should be dissolved, the West Indian 
 and East Indian Bills are of course dropped. What is to become of the 
 slaves ? What is to become of the tea- trade ? Will the negroes, after re- 
 ceiving the Resolutions of the House of Commons promising them 
 
196 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. V. 
 
 liberty, submit to the cart-whip ? Will our merchants consent to have the 
 trade with China, which has just been offered to them, snatched away ? 
 The Bank Charter, too, is suspended. But that is comparatively a trifle. 
 After all, what is it to me who is in or out, or whether those fools of Lords 
 are resolved to perish, and drag the King to perish with them in the ruin 
 which they have themselves made ? I begin to wonder what the fascination 
 is which attracts men, who could sit over their tea and their books in their 
 own cool quiet room, to breathe bad air, hear bad speeches, lounge up and 
 down the long gallery, and doze uneasily on the green benches till three in the 
 morning. Thank God, these luxuries are not necessary to me. My pen 
 is sufficient for my support, and my sister’s company is sufficient for my 
 happiness. Only let me see her well and cheerful ; and let offices in 
 Government, and seats in Parliament, go to those who care for them. 
 If I were to leave public life to-morrow, I declare that, except for the 
 vexation which it might give you and one or two others, the event would 
 not be in the slightest degree painful to me. As you boast of having a 
 greater insight into character than I allow to you, let me know how you 
 explain this philosophical disposition of mine, and how you reconcile it 
 with my ambitious inclinations. That is a problem for a young lady who 
 professes knowledge of human nature. 
 
 Did I tell you that I dined at the Duchess of Kent’s, and sate next 
 that loveliest of women, Mrs. Littleton Her husband, our New Sec- 
 retary for Ireland, told me this evening that Lord Wellesley, who sate 
 near us at the Duchess’s, asked Mrs. Littleton afterwards who it was that 
 was talking to her. “ Mr. Macaulay.” “ Oh ! ” said the Marquess, “ I 
 am very sorry I did not know it. I have a most particular desire to be 
 acquainted with that man.” Accordingly Littleton has engaged me to 
 dine with him, in order to introduce me to the Marquess. I am particu- 
 larly curious, and always was to know him. He has made a great 
 and splendid figure in history, and his weaknesses, though they make his 
 character less worthy of respect, make it more interesting as a study. 
 Such a blooming old swain I never saw ; hair combed with exquisite 
 nicety, a waistcoat of driven snow, and a star and garter put on with 
 rare skill. 
 
 To-day we took up our Resolutions about India to the House of 
 Lords. The two Houses had a conference on the subject in an old 
 Gothic room called the Painted Chamber. The painting consists in a 
 mildewed daub of a woman in the niche of one of the windows. The 
 Lords sate in little cocked hats along a table ; and we stood uncoverd 
 on the other side, and delivered in our Resolutions. I thought that before 
 long it may be our turn to sit, and theirs to stand. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
1832 - 34 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 197 
 
 London : June 21, 1833. 
 
 Dear Hannah, — I cannot tell you how delighted I was to learn from 
 Fanny this morning that Margaret pronounces you to be as well as she 
 could wish you to be. Only continue so, and all the changes of public 
 life will be as indifferent to me as to Horatio. If I am only spared the 
 misery of seeing you suffer, I shall be found 
 
 A man that fortune’s buffets and rewards 
 Has ta’en with equal thanks. 
 
 Whether we are to have buffets or rewards is known only to Heaven and 
 to the Peers. I think that their Lordships are rather cowed. Indeed, if 
 they venture on the course on which they lately seemed bent, I woul d not 
 give sixpence for a coronet or a penny for a mitre . 
 
 I shall not read the Repealers ; and I think it very impudent in you to 
 make such a request. Have I nothing to do but to be your novel -taster.? 
 It is rather your duty to be mine. What else have you to do .? I have 
 read only one novel within the last week, and a most precious one it was : 
 the Invisible Gentleman. Have you ever read it .? But I need not ask. No 
 doubt it has formed part of your Sunday studies. A wretched, trumpery 
 imitation of Godwin’s worst manner. What a number of stories I shall 
 have to tell you when we meet ! — which will be, as nearly as I can guess, 
 about the loth or 12th of August. I shall be as rich as a Jew by that 
 time. 
 
 Next Wednesday will be quarter-day ; 
 
 And then, if I’m alive, 
 
 Of sterling pounds I shall receive 
 Three hundred seventy-five. 
 
 Already I possess in cash 
 • Two hundred twenty-four. 
 
 Besides what I have lent to John 
 Which makes up twenty more. 
 
 Also the man who editeth 
 The Yellow and the Blue 
 Doth owe me ninety pounds at least, 
 
 All for my last review. 
 
 So, if my debtors pay their debts, 
 
 You’ll find, dear sister mine. 
 
 That all my wealth together makes 
 Seven hundred pounds and nine. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 The rhymes in which Macaulay unfolds his little budget derive a 
 certain dignity and meaning from the events of the ensuing weeks. The 
 unparalleled labors of the Anti-Slavery leaders were at length approach- 
 
198 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. V. 
 
 ing a successful issue, and Lord Grey’s Cabinet had declared itself re- 
 sponsible for the emancipation of the West Indian negroes. But it was 
 already beginning to be known that the Ministerial scheme, in its original 
 shape, was not such as would satisfy even the more moderate Abolitionists. 
 Its most objectionable feature was shadowed forth in the third of the 
 Resolutions with which Mr. Stanley, who had the question in charge, 
 prefaced the introduction of his bill : “ That all persons, now slaves, be 
 entitled to be registered as apprenticed laborers, and to acquire thereby 
 all the rights and privileges of freemen, subject to the restriction of labor- 
 ing, for a time to be fixed by Parliament, for their present owners.” It 
 was understood that twelve years would be proposed as the period of 
 apprenticeship ; although no trace of this intention could be detected in 
 the wording of the Resolution. Macaulay, who thought twelve years far 
 too long, felt himself justified in supporting the Government during the pre- 
 liminary stages ; but he took occasion to make some remarks indicating 
 that circumstances might occur which would oblige him to resign office, 
 and adopt a line of his own. 
 
 As time went on it became evident that his firmness would be put to 
 the test ; and a severe test it was. A rising statesman, whose prospects 
 would be irremediably injured by abruptly quitting a Government that 
 seemed likely to be in power for the next quarter of a century ; a zealous 
 Whig, who shrank from the very appearance of disaffection to his party; 
 a man of sense, with no ambition to be called Quixotic ; a member for a 
 large constituency, possessed of only seven hundred pounds in the world 
 when his purse was at its fullest ; above all, an affectionate son and 
 brother, now, more than ever, the main hope and reliance of those whom 
 he held most dear ; — it may well be believed that he was not in a hurry 
 to act the martyr. His father’s affairs were worse than bad. The African 
 firm, without having been reduced to declare itself bankrupt, had ceased 
 to exist as a house of business ; or existed only so far that for some 
 years to come every penny that Macaulay earned, beyond what the 
 necessities of life demanded, was scrupulously devoted to paying, and at 
 length to paying off, his father’s creditors : a dutiful enterprise in which 
 he was assisted by his brother Henry,* a young man of high spirit and 
 excellent abilities, who had recently been appointed one of the Commis- 
 sioners of Arbitration in the Prize Courts at Sierra Leone. 
 
 The pressure of pecuniary trouble was now beginning to make itself • 
 felt even by the younger members of the family. About this time, or 
 perhaps a little earlier, Hannah Macaulay writes thus to one of her 
 cousins: “You say nothing about coming to us. You must come in 
 good health and spirits. Our trials ought not greatly to depress us ; for, 
 
 * Henry Macaulay married in 1841 a daughter of his brother’s old political ally. Lord 
 Denman. He died at Boa Vista, in 1846. 
 
1832-34. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 199 
 
 after all, all we want is money, the easiest want to bear ; and, when we 
 have so many mercies — friends who love us and whom we love ; no be- 
 reavements ; and, above all, (if it be not our own fault,) a hope full of 
 immortality — let us not be so ungrateful as to repine Decause we are with- 
 out what in itself cannot make our happiness.” 
 
 Macaulay’s colleagues, who, without knowing his whole story, knew 
 enough to be aware that he could ill afford to give up office, were earnest 
 in their remonstrances ; but he answered shortly, and almost roughly : 
 “ I cannot go counter to my father. He has devoted his whole life to the 
 question, and I cannot grieve him by giving way when he wishes me to stand 
 firm.” During the crisis of the West India Bill, Zachary Macaulay and 
 his son were in constant correspondence. There is something touching 
 in the picture which these letters present of the older man, (whose, years 
 were coming to a close in poverty, which was the consequence of his 
 having always lived too much for others,) discussing quietly and gravely 
 how, and when, the younger was to take a step that in the opinion of 
 them botli would be fatal to his career ; and this with so little conscious- 
 ness that there was anything heroic in the course which they were pursuing, 
 that it appears never to have occurred to either of them that any other 
 line of conduct could possibly be adopted. 
 
 London : July 22, 1833. 
 
 My dear Father, — We are still very anxious here. The Lords, though 
 they have passed the Irish Church Bill through its first stage, will very 
 probably mutilate it in Committee. It will then be for the Ministers to 
 decide whether they can with honor keep their places. I believe that 
 they will resign if any material alteration should be made ; and then every- 
 thing is confusion. 
 
 These circumstances render it very difficult for me to shape my course 
 right with respect to the West India Bill, the Second Reading of 
 which stands for this evening. I am fully resolved to oppose 
 several of the clauses. But to declare my intention publicly, at a moment 
 when the Government is in danger, would have thS appearance of ratting. 
 I must be guided by circumstances, but my present intention is to say no- 
 thing on the Second Reading. By the time that we get into Committee 
 the political crisis will, I hope, be over : the fate of the Church Bill will 
 be decided one way or the other ; and I shall be able to take my own 
 'course on the Slavery question without exposing myself to the charge of 
 deserting my friends in a moment of peril. 
 
 Ever yours affectionately, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 Having made up his mind as to what he should do, Macaulay set 
 about it with as good a grace as is compatible with the most trying posi- 
 
200 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. V. 
 
 tion in which a man, and especially a young man, can find himself. Care- 
 fully avoiding the attitude of one who bargains or threatens, he had given 
 timely notice in the proper quarter of his intentions and his views. At 
 length the conjuncture arrived when decisive action could no longer be 
 postponed. On the 24th of July Mr. Thomas Fowell Buxton moved an 
 amendment in Committee, limiting the apprenticeship to the shortest 
 period necessary for establishing the system of free labor. Macaulay, 
 whose resignation was already in Lord Althorp’s hands, made a speech 
 which produced all the more effect as being inornate, and, at times, almost 
 awkward. Even if deeper feelings had not restrained the range of his 
 fancy and the flow of his rhetoric, his judgment would have told him that 
 it was not the moment for an oratorical display. He began by entreating 
 the House to extend to him that indulgence which it had accorded on oc- 
 casions when he had addressed it “with more confidence and with 
 less harassed feelings.” He then, at some length, exposed the effects of 
 the Government proposal. “ In free countries the master has a choice of 
 laborers, and the laborer has a choice of masters ; but in slavery 
 it is always necessary to give despotic power to the master. This 
 bill leaves it to the magistrate to keep peace between master and slave. 
 Every time that the slave takes twenty minutes to do that which the 
 master thinks he should do in fifteen, recourse must be had to the magis- 
 trate. Society would day and night be in a constant state of litigation and 
 all differences and difficulties must be solved by judicial interference.” 
 
 He did not share in Mr. Buxton’s apprehension of gross cruelty as a 
 result of the apprenticeship. “ The magistrate would be accountable to 
 the Colonial Office, and the Colonial Office to the House of Commons, 
 in which every lash which was inflicted under magisterial authority would 
 be told and counted. My apprehension is that the result of continuing for 
 twelve years this dead slavery, — this state of society destitute of any vital 
 principle, — will be that the whole negro population will sink into weak 
 and drawling inefficacy, and will be much less fit for liberty at the end of 
 the period than at the commencement. My hope is that the system will 
 die a natural death ; Aat the experience of a few months will so establish 
 its utter inefficiency as to induce the planters to abandon it, and to substi- 
 tute for it a state of freedom. I have voted,” he said, “for the Second 
 Reading, and I shall vote for the Third Reading ; but, while the bill is in 
 Committee, I shall join with other honorable gentlemen in doing all that 
 is possible to amend it.” 
 
 Such a declaration, coming from the mouth of a member of the 
 Government, gave life to the debate, and secured to Mr. Buxton an ex- 
 cellent division, which under the circumstances was equivalent to a 
 victory. The next day Mr. Stanley rose ; adverted shortly to the position 
 in which the Ministers stood ; and announced that the term of apprentice- 
 
1832-34. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 201 
 
 ship would be reduced from twelve years to seven. Mr. Buxton, who, 
 with equal energy and wisdom, had throughout the proceedings acted as 
 leader of the Anti-slavery party in the House of Commons, advised his 
 friends to make the best of the concession ; and his counsel was followed 
 by all those Abolitionists who were thinking more of their cause than of 
 themselves. It is worthy of remark that Macaulay’s prophecy came true, 
 though not at so early a date as he ventured to anticipate. Four years of 
 the provisional system brought all parties to acquiesce in the premature 
 termination of a state of things which denied to the negro the blessings of 
 freedom, and to the planter the profits of slavery. 
 
 “ The papers,” Macaulay writes to his father, “ will have told you all 
 that has happened, as far as it is known to the public. The secret 
 history you will have heard from Buxton. As to myself. Lord Althorp 
 told me yesterday night that the Cabinet had determined not to accept 
 my resignation. I have therefore the singular good luck of having saved 
 both my honor and my place, and of having given no just ground of 
 offence either to the Abolitionists or to my party-friends. I have more 
 reason than ever to say that honesty is the best policy.” 
 
 This letter is dated the 27th of July. On that day week, Wilberforce 
 was carried to his grave in Westminster Abbey. “We laid him,” writes 
 Macaulay, “ side by side with Canning, at the feet of Pitt, and within two 
 steps of Fox and Grattan.” He died with the promised land full in view. 
 Before the end of August Parliament abolished slavery, and the last touch 
 was put to the work that had consumed so many pure and noble lives. 
 In a letter of congratulation to Zachary Macaulay, Mr. Buxton says : 
 “ Surely you have reason to rejoice. My sober and deliberate opinion is 
 that you have done more towards this consummation than any other man. 
 For myself, I take pleasure in acknowledging that you have been my tutor 
 all the way through, and that I could have done nothing without you.” 
 Such was the spirit of these men, who while the struggle lasted, were 
 prodigal of health and ease ; but who, in the day of triumph, disclaimed, 
 each for himself, even that part of the merit which their religion allowed 
 them to ascribe to human effort and self-sacrifice. 
 
 London: July ii, 1833. 
 
 Dear Hannah, — I have been so completely overwhelmed with business 
 for some days that I have not been able to find time for writing a line. 
 Yesterday night we read the India Bill a second time. It was a Wednes- 
 day, and the reporters gave hardly any account of what passed. They 
 always resent being forced to attend on that day, which is their holiday. 
 I made the best speech, by general agreement, and in my own opinion, 
 that I ever made in my life. I was an hour and three-quarters up ; and 
 such compliments as I had from Lord Althorp, Lord Palmerston, Lord 
 John Russell, Wynne, O’Connell, Grant, the Speaker, and twenty other 
 
202 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. V. 
 
 people, you never heard. As there is no report of the speech, I have 
 been persuaded, rather against my will, to correct it for publication. I 
 will tell you one compliment that was paid me, and which delighted me 
 more than any other. An old member said to me : “ Sir, having heard 
 that speech may console the young people for never having heard Mr. 
 Burke.”* 
 
 The Slavery Bill is miserably bad. I am fully resolved not to be 
 dragged through the mire, but to oppose, by speaking and voting, the 
 clauses which I think objectionable. I have told Lord Althorp this, and 
 have again tendered my resignation. He hinted that he thought that the 
 Government would leave me at liberty to take my own line, but that he 
 must consult his colleagues. I told him that I asked for no favor ; that I 
 knew what inconvenience would result if official men were allowed to dis- 
 sent from Ministerial measures, and yet to keep their places ; and that I 
 should not think myself in the smallest degree ill-used if- the Cabinet ac- 
 cepted my resignation. This is the present posture of affairs. In the 
 meantime the two Houses are at daggers drawn. Whether the Govern- 
 ment will last to the end of the Session I neither know nor care. I am 
 sick of Boards, and of the House of Commons ; and pine for a few quiet 
 days, a cool country breeze, and a little chatting with my dear sister. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 To Hannah M Macaulay. 
 
 London : July 19, 1833. 
 
 My dear Sister, — I snatch a few minutes to write a single line to you. 
 We went into Committee on the India Bill at twelve this morning, sate till 
 three, and are just set at liberty for two hours. At five we recommence, 
 and shall be at work till midnight. In the interval between three aud five 
 I have to despatch the current business of the office, which, at present, is 
 fortunately not heavy ; to eat my dinner, which I shall do at Grant’s ; and 
 to write a short scrawl to my little sister. 
 
 My work, though laborious, has been highly satisfactory. No Bill, I 
 believe, of such importance, — certainly no important Bill in my time, — has 
 been received with such general approbation. The very cause of the 
 negligence of the reporters and of the thinness of the House, is that we 
 have framed our measure so carefully as to give little occasion for debate, 
 Littleton, Denison and many other members, assure me that they never 
 remember to have seen a Bill better drawn or better conducted. 
 
 On Monday night, I hope, my work will be over. Our Bill will have 
 been discussed, I trust, for the last time in the House of Commons ; and, 
 in all probability, I shall within forty-eight hours after that time be out of 
 
 * A Tory member said that Macaulay resembled both the Burkes : that he was like 
 the first from his eloquence, and like the second from his stopping other people’s mouths. 
 
1832-34. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 203 
 
 office. I am fully determined not to give way about the West India Bill ; 
 and I can hardly expect, — I am sure I do not wish, — that the Ministers 
 should suffer me to keep my place and oppose their measure. Whatever 
 may befall me or my party, I am much more desirous to come to an end 
 of this interminable Session than to stay either in office or in Parliament. 
 The Tories are quite welcome to take everything, if they will only leave 
 me my pen and my books, a warm fireside, and you chattering beside it. 
 This sort of philosophy, an odd kind of cross between Stoicism and 
 Epicureanism, I have learned, where most people unlearn all their philos- 
 ophy, in crowded senates and fine drawing-rooms. 
 
 But time flies, and Grant’s dinner will be waiting. He keeps open 
 house for us during this fight. 
 
 Ever yOurs, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 To Hannah M. Macaulay. 
 
 London : July 24, 1833. 
 
 My dear Sister, — You will have seen by the papers that the West In- 
 dia debate on Monday night went off very quietly in little more than an 
 hour. To-night we expect the great struggle, and I fear that, much 
 against my inclination, I must bear a part in it. My resignation is in Lord 
 Althorp’s hands. He assures me that he will do his utmost to obtain for 
 me liberty to act as I like on this question : but Lord Grey and Stanley 
 are to be consulted, and I think it very improbable that they will consent 
 to allow Aie so extraordinary a privilege, I know that, if I were Minister, 
 I would not allow such latitude to any man in office ; and so I told Lord 
 Althorp. He answered in the kindest and most flattering manner, told me 
 that in office I had surpassed their expectations, and that, much as they 
 wished to bring me in last year, they wished much more to keep me in 
 now. I told him in reply that the matter was one for the Ministers to 
 settle, purely with a view to their own interest ; that I asked for no indul- 
 gence ; that I could make no terms ; and that, what I would not do to 
 serve them, I certainly would not do to keep my place. Thus the matter 
 stands. It will probably be finally settled within a few hours. 
 
 This detestable Session goes on lengthening, and lengthening, like a 
 human hair iij one’s mouth. (Do you know that delicious sensation .?) 
 Last month we expected to have been up before the middle of August. 
 Now we should be glad to be quite certain of being in the country by 
 the first of September. One comfort I shall have in being turned out : I 
 will not stay a day in London after the West India Bill is through Com- 
 mittee ; which I hope it will be before the end of next week. 
 
 The new Edinburgh Review is not much amiss ; but I quite agree with 
 the publishers, tbe editor, and the reading public generally, that the num- 
 
204 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. V. 
 
 ber would have been much the better for an article of thirty or forty pages 
 from the pen of a gentleman who shall be nameless. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 To Hannah M. Macaulay. 
 
 London : July 25, 1833. 
 
 My dear Sister, — The plot is thickening. Yesterday Buxton moved 
 an instruction to the Committee on the Slavery Bill, which the Govern- 
 ment opposed, and which I supported. It was extremely painful to me to 
 speak against all my political friends ; — so painful that at times I could 
 hardly go on. I treated them as mildly as I could ; and they all tell me 
 that I performed my difficult task not ungracefully. We divided at two 
 this morning, and were 151 to 158. The Ministers found that, if they 
 persisted, they would infallibly be beaten. Accordingly they came down 
 to the House at twelve this day, and agreed to reduce the apprenticeship 
 to seven years for the agricultural laborers, and to five years for the skilled 
 laborers. What other people may do I cannot tell ; but I am inclined to 
 be satisfied with this concession ; particularly as I believe that, if we press 
 the thing further, they will resign, and we shall have no Bill at all, but 
 instead of it a Tory Ministry and a dissolution. Some people flatter me 
 with the assurance that our large minority, and the consequent change in 
 the Bill, have been owing to me. If this be so, I have done one useful act 
 at least in my life. 
 
 I shall now certainly remain in office ; and if, as I expect, the Irish 
 Church Bill passes the Lords, I may consider myself as safe till the next 
 Session ; when Heaven knows what may happen. It is still quite uncer- 
 tain when we may rise. I pine for rest, air, and a taste of family life, more 
 than I can express. I see nothing but politicians, and talk about nothing 
 but politics. 
 
 I have not read Village Bells. Tell me, as soon as you can get it, 
 whether it is worth reading. As John Thorpe * says ; “ Novels 1 Oh Lord ! 
 I never read novels. I have something else to do.” 
 
 Farewell. 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 To Hannah M. Macaulay. 
 
 London ; July 27, 1833. 
 
 My dear Sister, — Here I am, safe and well, at the end of one of the 
 most stormy weeks that the oldest man remembers in Parliamentary affairs. 
 I have resigned my office, and my resignation has been reused. I have 
 spoken and voted against the Ministry under whfch I hold my place. The 
 Ministry has been so hard run in the Commons as to be forced to modify 
 its plan ; and has received a defeat in the Lords, t — a slight one, to be sure, 
 
 * The young Oxford man in Northanger Abbey. 
 
 t On the 25th of July the Archbishop of Canterbury carried an amendment on the 
 Irish Church Bill, against the Government, by 84 votes to 82. 
 
1832 - 34 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 205 
 
 and on a slight matter, — yet such that I, and many others, fully believed 
 twenty-four hours ago that they would have resigned. In fact, some of 
 the Cabinet, — Grant, among the rest, to my certain knowledge, — were for 
 resigning. At last Saturday has arrived. The Ministry is as strong as 
 ever. I am as good friends with the Ministers as ever. The East India 
 Bill is carried through our House. The West India Bill is so far modified 
 that, I believe, it will be carried. The Irish Church Bill has got through 
 the Committee in the Lords ; and we are all beginning to look forward to 
 a Prorogation in about three weeks. 
 
 To-day I went to Haydon’s to be painted into his great picture of the 
 Reform Banquet. Ellis was with me, and declares that Haydon has 
 touched me off to a nicety. I am sick of pictures of my own face. I have 
 seen within the last few days one drawing of it, one engraving, and three 
 paintings. They all make me a very handsome fellow. Haydon pro- 
 nounces my profile a gem of art, perfectly antique ; what is worth the 
 praise of ten Haydons, I was told yesterday that Mrs. Littleton, the hand- 
 somest woman in London, had paid me exactly the same compliment. 
 She pronounced Mr. Macaulay’s profile to be a study for an artist. I 
 have bought a new looking-glass and razor-case on the strength of these 
 compliments, and am meditating on the expediency of having my hair cut 
 in the Burlington Arcade, rather than in Lamb’s Conduit Street. As 
 Richard says. 
 
 Since I am crept in favor with myself 
 I will maintain it with some little cost. 
 
 I begin, like Sir Walter Elliot,* to rate all my acquaintance according to 
 their beauty. But what nonsense I write, and in times that make many 
 merry men look grave 1 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 To Hannah M. Macaulay. 
 
 London : July 29, 1833. 
 
 My dear Sister, — I dined last night at Holland House. There was a 
 very pleasant party. My Lady was courteous, and my Lord extravagantly 
 entertaining : telling some capital stories about old Bishop Horsley, 
 which were set off with some of the drollest mimicry that I ever saw. 
 Among many others there were Sir James Graham; and Dr. Holland, 
 who is a good scholar as well as a good physician ; and Wilkie, who is a 
 modest, pleasing companion as well as an excellent artist. For ladies, we 
 
 had her Grace of ; and her daughter Lady , a fine, buxom, sonsy 
 
 lass, with more color than, I am sorry to say, is often seen among fine 
 ladies. So our dinner and our soiree were very agreeable. 
 
 We narrowly escaped a scene at one time. Lord fs in the navy, 
 
 and is now on duty in the fleet at the Tagus. We got into a conversation 
 
 * The Baronet In Persuasion. 
 
2o6 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. V. 
 
 about Portuguese politics. His name was mentioned, and Graham, who 
 is First Lord of the Admiralty, complimented the Duchess on her son’s 
 merit, to which, he said, every despatch bore witness. The Duchess 
 forthwith began to entreat that he might be recalled. He was very ill, 
 she said. If he stayed longer on that station she was sure that he would 
 die : and then she began to cry. I cannot bear to see women cry, and 
 the matter became serious, for her pretty daughter began to bear her 
 
 company. That hard-hearted Lord seemed to be diverted by the 
 
 scene. He, by all accounts, has been doing little else than making 
 women cry during the last five-and-twenty years. However, we all were 
 as still as death while the wiping of eyes and the blowing of noses pro- 
 ceeded. At last Lord Holland contrived to restore our spirits ; but 
 before the Duchess went away she managed to have a tete-a-tete with 
 Graham, and, I have no doubt, begged and blubbered to some purpose. 
 I could not help thinking how many honest stout-hearted fellows are left 
 to die on the most unhealthy stations, for want of being related to some 
 Duchess who has been handsome, or to some Duchess’s daughter who 
 still is so. 
 
 The Duchess said one thing that amused us. We were talking about 
 Lady Morgan. “ When she first came to London,” said Lord Holland, 
 “ I remember that she carried a little Irish harp about with her wherever 
 she went.” Others denied this. I mentioned what she says in her Book 
 of the Boudoir. There she relates how she went one evening to Lady 
 
 ’s with her little Irish harp, and how strange everybody thought it. 
 
 “ I see nothing very strange,” said her Grace, “ in her taking her harp to 
 
 Lady ’s. If she brought it safe away with her, that would have been 
 
 strange indeed.” On this, as a friend of yours says, we la a-a-a-a-a-a-ft 
 
 I am glad to find that you approve of my conduct about the Niggers. 
 I expect, and indeed wish, to be abused by the Agency Society. My 
 father is quite satisfied, and so are the best part of my Leeds friends. 
 
 I amuse myself, as I walk back from the House at two in the morning, 
 with translating Virgil. I am at work on one of the most beautiful ep- 
 isodes, and am succeeding pretty well. You shall have what I have done 
 when I come to Liverpool, which will be, I hope, in three weeks or 
 thereanent. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 To Hannah M. Macaulay. 
 
 London : July 31, 1833. 
 
 My dear Sister, — Political affairs look cheeringly. The Lords passed 
 the Irish Church Bill yesterday, and mean, we understand, to give us 
 little or no trouble about the India Bill. There is still a hitch in the 
 Commons about the West India Bill, particularly about the twentv mil- 
 
1832 - 34 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 207 
 
 lions for compensation to the planters ; but we expect to carry our point 
 by a great majority. By the end of next week we shall be very near the 
 termination of our labors. Heavy labors they have been. 
 
 So Wilberforce is gone I We talk of burying him in Westminster 
 Abbey; and many eminent men, both Whigs and Tories, are desirous to 
 join in paying him this honor. There is, however, a story about a promise 
 given to old Stephen that they should both lie in the same grave. Wil- 
 berforce kept his faculties, and, (except when he was actually in fits,) his 
 spirits, to the very last. He was cheerful and full of anecdote only last 
 Saturday. He owned that he enjoyed life much, and that he had a great 
 desire to live longer. Strange in a man who had, I should have said, so 
 little to attach him to this world, and so firm a belief in another ; in a 
 man with an impaired fortune, a weak spine, and a worn-out stomach! 
 What is this fascination which makes us cling to existence in spite of 
 present sufferings and of religious hopes.? Yesterday evening I called 
 at the house in Cadogan Place, where the body is lying. I was truly 
 fond of him : that is “ je I’aimais comme Ton aime.” And how is that ? 
 How very little one human being generally cares for another ! How 
 very little the world misses anybody 1 How soon the chasm left by the 
 best and wisest men closes I I thought, as I walked back from Cadogan 
 Place, that our own selfishness when others are taken away ought to 
 teach us how little others will suffer at losing us. I thought that, if I 
 were to die to-morrow, not one of the fine people, whom I dine with 
 every week, will take a cotelette aux petits pois the less on Saturday at 
 the table to which I was invited to meet them, or will smile less gaily at 
 the ladies over the champagne. And I am quite even with them. What 
 are those pretty lines of Shelley ? 
 
 Oh, world, farewell ? 
 
 Listen to the passing bell. 
 
 It tells that thou and I must part 
 
 With a light and heavy heart. 
 
 There are not ten people in the world whose deaths would spoil my 
 dinner ; but there are one or two whose deaths would break my heart. 
 The more I see of the world, and the more numerous my acquaintance 
 becomes, the narrower and more exclusive my affection grows, and the 
 more I cling to my sisters, and to one or two old tried friends of my quiet 
 days. But why should I go on preaching to you out of Ecclesiastes ? 
 And here comes, fortunately, to break the train of my melancholy reflec- 
 tions, the proof of my East India Speech from Hansard ; so I must put 
 my letter aside, and correct the press. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
2o8 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. V. 
 
 To Hannah M. Macaulay. 
 
 London ; August 2, 1833. 
 
 I My dear Sister, — I agree with your judgment on Chesterfield’s Letters. 
 I They are for the most part trash ; though they contain some clever pas- 
 I sages, and the style is not bad. Their celebrity must be attributed to 
 causes quite distinct from their literary merit, and particularly to the posi- 
 tion which the author held in society. We see in our own time that the 
 books written by public men of note are generally rated at more than 
 their real value : Lord Granville’s little compositions, for example ; Can- 
 , ning’s verses; Fox’s history; Brougham’s treatises. The writings of 
 , people of high fashion, also, have a value set on them far higher than 
 , that which intrinsically belongs to them. The verses of the late Duchess 
 of Devonshire, or an occasional prologue by Lord Alvanley, attract a 
 most undue share of attention. If the present Duke of Devonshire, who 
 is the very “glass of fashion and mould of form,” were to publish a book 
 with two good pages, it would be extolled as a masterpiece in half the 
 drawing-rooms of London. Now Chesterfield was, what no person in our 
 time has been or can be, a great political leader, and at the same time 
 the acknowledged chief of the fashionable world; at the head of the 
 House of Lords and at the head of ton ; Mr. Canning and the Duke of 
 Devonshire in one. In our time the division of labor is carried so far 
 that such a man could not exist. Politics require the whole of energy, 
 bodily and mental, during half the year ; and leave very little time for 
 the bow window at White’s in the day, or for the crush-room of the Opera 
 at night. A century ago the case was different. Chesterfield was at 
 once the most distinguished orator in the Upper House, and the undis- 
 puted sovereign of wit and fashion. He held this eminence for about 
 forty years. At last it became the regular custom of the higher circles 
 to laugh whenever he opened his mouth, without waiting for his bon mot. 
 He used to sit at White’s with a circle of young men of rank round him, 
 applauding every syllable that he uttered. If you wish for a proof of the 
 kind of position which Chesterfield held among his contemporaries, look 
 at the prospectus of Johnson’s Dictionary. Look even at Johnson’s 
 angry letter. It contains the strongest admission of the boundless influ- 
 ence which Chesterfield exercised over society. When the letters of such 
 a man were published, of course they were received more favorably by 
 far than they deserved. 
 
 So much for criticism. As to politics, everything seems tending to 
 repose ; and I should think that by this day fortnight we shall probably be 
 prorogued. The Jew Bill was thrown out yesterday night by the Lords. 
 No matter. Our turn will come one of these days. 
 
 If you want to see me puffed and abused by somebody who evidently 
 knows nothing about me. look at the New Monthly for this month. Bui- 
 
1832-34- 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 209 
 
 wer, I see, has given up editing it I suppose he is making money in 
 some other way ; for his dress must cost as much as that of any five other 
 members of Parliament. 
 
 To-morrow Wilberforce is to be buried. His sons acceded with 
 great eagerness to the application made to them by a considerable number 
 of the members of both Houses that the funeral should be public. We 
 meet to-morrow at twelve at the House of Commons, and we shall attend 
 the coffin into the Abbey. The Duke of Wellington, Lord Eldon, and Sir 
 R. Peel have put down their names, as well as the Ministers and the 
 Abolitionists. 
 
 My father urges me to pay some tribute to Wilberforce in the House 
 -- of Commons. If any debate should take place on the third reading of 
 the West India Bill in which I might take part, I should certainly embrace 
 the opportunity of doing honor to^his memory. But I do not expect 
 that such an occasion will arise. The house seems inclined to pass the 
 Bill without more contest ; and my father must be aware that anything 
 like theatrical display, — anything like a set funeral oration not springing 
 naturally out of the discussion of a question, — is extremely distasteful to 
 the House of Commons. 
 
 I have been clearing off a great mass of business which had accumu- 
 lated at our office while we were conducting our Bill through Parliament. 
 To-day I had the satisfaction of seeing the green boxes, which a week 
 ago were piled up with papers three or four feet high, perfectly empty. 
 Admire my superhuman industry. This I will say for myself, that when 
 I do sit down to work, I work harder and faster than any person that I 
 ever knew. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 The next letter, in terms too clear to require comment, introduces the 
 mention of what proved to be the most important circumstance in Macau- 
 lay’s life. 
 
 To Hannah M. Macaulay. 
 
 London : August 17, 1833- 
 
 My dear Sister, — I am about to write to you on a subject which to you 
 and Margaret will be one of the most agitating interest ; and which, on 
 that account chiefly, is so to me. 
 
 By the new India Bill it is provided that one of the members of the 
 Supreme Council, which is to govern our Eastern empire, is to be chosen 
 from among persons who are not servants of the Company. It is probable, 
 indeed nearly certain, that the situation will be offered to me. 
 
 The advantages are very great. It is a post of the highest dignity and 
 consideration. The salary is ten thousand pounds a year. I am assured 
 by persons who know Calcutta intimately, and who have themselves 
 VoL. I.— 14 
 
210 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. V. 
 
 mixed in the highest circles and held the highest offices at that Presidency, 
 that I may live in splendor there for five thousand a year, and may save 
 the rest of the salary with the accruing interest. I may therefore hope to 
 return to England at only thirty-nine, in the full vigor of life, with a for- 
 fortune of thirty thousand pounds. A larger fortune I never desired. 
 
 I am not fond of money, or anxious about it. But, though every day 
 makes me less and less eager for wealth, every day shows me more and 
 more strongly how necessary a competence is to a man who desires to be 
 either great or useful. At present the plain fact is that I can continue to 
 be a public man only while I can continue in office. If I left my place in 
 the Government, I must leave my seat in Parliament too. For I must 
 live : I can live only by my pen : and it is absolutely impossible for any 
 man to write enough to procure him a decent subsistence, and at the 
 same time to take an active part in politics. I have not during this 
 Session been able to send a single line to the Edinburgh Review : and if 
 I had been out of office, I should have been able to do very little. Edward 
 Bulwer has just given up the New Monthly Magazine on the ground that 
 he cannot conduct it, and attend to his Parliamentary duties. Cobbett 
 has been compelled to neglect his Register so much that its sale has fallen 
 almost to nothing. Now, in order to live like a gentleman, it would be 
 necessary for me to w'rite, not as I have done hitherto, but regularly, and 
 even daily. I have never made more than two hundred a year by my pen. 
 I could not support myself in comfort on less than five hundred : and I 
 shall in all probability have many others to support. The prospects of 
 our family are, if possible, darker than ever. 
 
 In the meantime my political outlook is very gloomy. A schism in 
 the Ministry is approaching. It requires only that common knowledge of 
 public affairs, w'hich any reader of the newspapers may possess, to see 
 this; and I have more, much more, than common knowledge on the subject. 
 They cannot hold together. I tell you in perfect seriousness that my 
 chance of keeping my present situation for six months is so small, that I 
 would willingly sell it for fifty pounds down. If I remain in office, I shall, 
 I fear, lose my political character. If I go out, and engage in opposition, 
 I shall break most of the private ties which I have formed during the 
 last three years. In England I see nothing before me, for some time to 
 come, but poverty, unpopularity, and the breaking up of old connections. 
 
 If there were no way out of these difficulties, I would encounter them 
 ] with courage. A man can always act honorably and uprightly ; and, if I 
 were in the Fleet Prison or the rules of the King’s Bench, I believe that 
 I could find in my own mind resources which would preserve me from 
 being positively unhappy. But, if I could escape from these impending 
 disasters, I should wish to do so. By accepting the post which is likely 
 to be offered to me, I withdraw myself for a short time from the contests 
 
I 
 
 1832-34. lord MACAULAY. 211 
 
 of faction here. When I return, I shall find things settled, parties 
 formed into new combinations, and new questions under discussion. I 
 shall then be able, without the scandal of a violent separation, and with- 
 out exposing myself to the charge of inconsistency, to take my own line. 
 In the meantime I shall save my family from distress ; and shall return 
 with a competence honestly earned, as rich as if I were Duke of North- 
 umberland or Marquess of Westminster, and able to act on all public 
 questions without even a temptation to deviate from the strict line of duty. 
 While in India, I shall have to discharge duties not painfully laborious, 
 and of the highest and most honorable kind. I shall have whatever that 
 country affords of comfort or splendor ; nor will my absence be so long 
 that my friends, or the public here, will be likely to lose sight of me. 
 
 The only persons who know what I have written to you are Lord Grey, 
 the Grants, Stewart Mackenzie, and George Babington. Charles Grant 
 and Stewart Mackenzie, who know better than most men the state of the 
 political world, think that I should act unwisely in refusing this post u and 
 this though they assure me, and, I really believe, sincerely, that they shall 
 feel the loss of my society very acutely. But what shall I feel ? And 
 with what emotions, loving as I do my country and my family, can I look 
 forward to such a separation, enjoined, as I think it is, by prudence and 
 by duty ? Whether the period of my exile shall be one of comfort, and, 
 after the first shock, even of happiness, depends on you. If, as I expect, 
 this offer shall be made to me, will you go with me ? I know what a sacri- 
 fice I ask of you. I know how many dear and precious ties you must, 
 for a time, sunder. I know that the splendor of the Indian Court, and the 
 gayeties of that brilliant society of which you would be one of the leading 
 personages, have no temptation for you. I can bribe you only by telling 
 you that, if you will go with me, I will love you better than I love you 
 now, if I can. 
 
 I have asked George Babington about your health and mine. He says 
 that he has very little apprehension for me, and none at all for you. In- 
 deed, he seemed to think that the climate would be quite as likely to do 
 you good as harm. 
 
 All this is most strictly secret. You may, of course, show the letter to | 
 Margaret ; and Margaret may tell Edward : for I never cabal against the / 
 lawful authority of husbands. But further the thing must not go. It 
 would hurt my father, and very justly, to hear of it from anybody before 
 he hears of it from myself ; and, if the least hint of it were to get abroad, 
 
 I should be placed in a very awkward position with regard to the people 
 at Leeds. It is possible, though not probable, that difficulties may arise 
 at the India House ; and I do not mean to say anything to any person, who 
 is not already in the secret, till the Directors have made their choice, and 
 till the King’s, pleasure has been taken. 
 
212 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. V. 
 
 And now think calmly over what I have written. I would not have 
 written on the subject even to you, till the matter was quite settled, if I 
 had not thought that you ought to have full time to make up your mind. 
 If you feel an insurmountable aversion to India, I will do all in my power 
 to make your residence in England comfortable during my absence, and to 
 enable you to confer instead of receiving benefits. But if my dear sister 
 would consent to give me, at this great crisis of my life, that proof, that 
 painful and arduous proof, of her affection which I beg of her, I think that 
 she will not repent of it. She shall not, if the unbounded confidence and 
 attachment of one to whom she is dearer than life, can compensate her for 
 a few year’s absence from much that she loves. 
 
 Dear Margaret ! She will feel this. Consult her, my love, and let us 
 both have the advantage of such advice as her excellent understandings 
 and her warm affection for us, may furnish. On Monday next, at the latest, 
 I expect to be with you. Our Scotch tour, under these circumstances, 
 must be short. By Christmas it will be fit that the new Councillor should 
 leave England. His functions in India commence next April. We shall 
 leave our dear Margaret, I hope, a happy mother. 
 
 Farewell, my dear sister. You cannot tell how impatiently I shall 
 wait for your answer. 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 This letter, written under the influence of deep and varied emotions, 
 was read with feelings of painful agitation and surprise. India was not 
 then the familiar name that it has become to a generation which regards 
 a visit to Cashmere as a trip to be undertaken between two London sea- 
 sons ; and which discusses over its breakfast table at home the decisions 
 arrived at on the previous afternoon in the Council-room of Simla or Cal- 
 cutta. In those rural parsonages and middle-class households where ser- 
 vice in our Eastern territories now presents itself in the light of a proba- 
 ble and desirable destiny for a promising son, those same territories were 
 forty years ago regarded as an obscure and distant region of disease and 
 death. A girl who had seen no country more foreign than Wales, and 
 crossed no water broader and more tempestuous than the Mersey, looked 
 forward to a voyage which, (as she subsequently learned by melancholy 
 experience,) might extend over six weary months, with an anxiety that can 
 hardly be imagined by us who spend only half as many weeks on the 
 journey between Dover and Bombay. A separation from beloved relations 
 under such conditions was a separation indeed ; and, if Macaulay and his 
 sister could have foreseen how much of what they left at their departure 
 they would fail to find on their return, it is a question whether any earthly 
 consideration could have induced them to quit their native shore. But 
 Hannah’s sense of duty was too strong for these doubts and tremors ; and, 
 happily, (for on the whole her resolution was a fortunate one,) she re- 
 
1832 - 34 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 2T3 
 
 solved to accompany her brother in an expatriation which he never would 
 have faced without her. With a mind set at ease by a knowledge of her 
 intention, he came down to Liverpool as soon as the Session was at an 
 end ; and carried her off on a jaunt to Edinburgh, in a post-chaise furnished 
 with Horace Walpole’s letters for their common reading, and Smollett’s 
 collected works for his own. Before October he was back at the Board of 
 Control; and his letters recommenced, as frequent and rather more serious 
 and business-like than of old. 
 
 London; October 5, 1833. 
 
 Dear Hannah, — Life goes on so quietly here, or rather stands so still, 
 that I have nothing, or next to nothing, to say. At the Athenaeum I now 
 and then fall in with some person passing through town on his way to the 
 Continent or to Brighton. The other day I met Sharp, and had a long 
 talk with him about everything and everybody, — metaphysics, poetry, poli- 
 tics, scenery, and painting. One thing I have observed in Sharp, which is 
 quite peculiar to him among town-wits and diners-out. He never talks 
 scandal. If he can say nothing good of a man, he holds his tongue. I do 
 not, of course, mean that in confidential communication about politics he 
 does not speak freely of public men , but about the foibles of private indi- 
 viduals I do not believe that, much as I have talked with him, I ever heard 
 him utter one word. I passed three or four hours very agreeably in his 
 company at the club. 
 
 I have also seen Kenny for an hour or two. I do not know that I 
 ever mentioned Kenny to you. When London is overflowing, I meet 
 such numbers of people that I cannot remember half their names. This 
 is the time at which every acquaintance, however slight, attracts some 
 degree of attention. In the desert island, even pOor Poll w’as something 
 of a companion to Robinson Crusoe. Kenny is a writer of a class which, 
 in our time, is at the very bottom of the literary scale. He is a dramatist. 
 Most of the farces, and three-act plays, which have succeeded during the 
 last eight or ten years are, I am told, from his pen. Heaven knows that 
 if they are the farces and plays which I have seen, they do him but little 
 honor. However, this man is one of our great comic writers. He has 
 the merit, such as it is, of hitting the very bad taste of our modern audi- 
 ences better than any other person who has stooped to that degrading 
 work. We had a good deal of literary chat; and I thought him a clever 
 shrewd fellow. 
 
 My father is poorly ; not that anything very serious is the matter with 
 him : but he has a cold and is in low spirits. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 London : October 14, 1833. 
 
 Dear Hannah, — I have just finished my article on Horace Walpole. 
 This is one of the happy moments of my life : a stupid task performed ; 
 
214 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. V. 
 
 a weight taken off my mind. I should be quite joyous if I had only you 
 to read it to. But to Napier it must go forthwith ; and, as soon as I have 
 finished this letter, I shall put it into the general post with my own fair 
 hands. I was up at four this morning to put the last touch to it. I often 
 differ with the majority about other people’s writings, and still oftener 
 about my own ; and therefore I may very likely be mistaken ; but I think 
 that this article will be a hit. We shall see. Nothing ever cost me more 
 pains than the first half ; I never wrote anything so flowingly as the latter 
 half; and I like the latter half the best. I have laid it on Walpole so un- 
 sparingly that I shall not be surprised if Miss Berry should cut me. You 
 know she was Walpole’s favorite in her youth. Neither am I sure that 
 Lord and Lady Holland will be well pleased. But they ought to be obli- 
 ged to me : for I refrained for their sake from laying a hand, which has 
 been thought to be not a light one, on that old rogue the first Lord Hol- 
 land. * 
 
 Charles Grant is still at Paris ; ill, he says. I never knew a man who 
 wanted setting to rights so often. He goes as badly as your watch . 
 
 My father is at me again to provide for P . What on earth have I 
 
 to do with P ? The relationship is one which none but Scotchmen 
 
 would recognize. The lad is such a fool that he would utterly disgrace 
 my recommendation. And, as if to make the thing more provoking, his 
 sisters say that he must be provided for in England ; for that they cannot 
 think of parting with him. This, to be sure, matters little : for there is at 
 present just as little chance of getting anything in India as in England. 
 
 But what strange folly this is which meets me in every quarter ; people 
 ^ wanting posts in the army, the navy, the public offices, and saying that, if 
 they cannot find such posts, they must starve 1 How do all the rest of 
 mankind live ? If I had not happened to be engaged in politics, and if 
 my father had not been connected, by very extraordinaay circumstances, 
 1 with public men, we should never have dreamed of having places. Why 
 
 cannot P^ be apprenticed to some hatter or tailor ? He may do well in 
 
 such a business : he will do detestably ill as a clerk in my office. He may 
 come to make good coats : he will never, I am sure, write good despatches. 
 There is nothing truer than Poor Richard’s saw: “We are taxed twice 
 1 as heavily by our pride as by the state.” The curse of England is the 
 ! obstinate determination of the middle classes to make their sons what they 
 call gentlemen. So we are overrun by clergymen without livings ; law- 
 yers without briefs ; physicians without patients ; authors without readers ; 
 clerks soliciting employment, who might have thriven, and been above 
 
 * Lord Holland, once upon a time, speaking to Macaulay of his grandfather, said : 
 “ He had that temper which kind folks have been pleased to say belongs to my family; but 
 he shared the fault that belongs to that school of statesmen, an utter disbelief in public 
 virtue.” 
 
1832 - 34 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 215 
 
 the world, as bakers, watchmakers, or innkeepers. The next time my 
 
 father speaks to me about P , I will offer to subscribe twenty guineas 
 
 towards making a pastry-cook of him. He had a sweet tooth when he 
 was a child. 
 
 So you are reading Burnet ! Did you begin from the beginning ? 
 What do you think of the old fellow ? He was always a great favorite of 
 mine ; honest, though careless ; a strong party man on the right side, yet 
 with much kind feeling towards his opponents, and even towards his per- 
 sonal enemies. He is to me a most entertaining writer ; far superior to 
 Clarendon in the art of amusing, though of course far Clarendon’s inferior 
 in discernment, and in dignity and correctness of style. Do you know, by 
 the bye. Clarendon’s life of himself ? I like it, the part after the Restora- 
 tion at least, better than his great History. 
 
 I am very quiet ; rise at seven or half-past ; read Spanish till ten ; 
 breakfast; walk to my office; stay there till four; take a long walk ; dine 
 towards seven; and am in bed before eleven. I am going through Don 
 Quixote again, and admire it more than ever. It is certainly the best 
 novel in the world, beyond all comparison. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 To Hannah M. Macaulay. 
 
 London: October2i, 1833. 
 
 My dear Sister, — Grant is here at last, and we have had a very long 
 talk about matters both public and private. The Government would 
 support my appointment; but he expects violent opposition from the 
 Company. He mentioned my name to the Chairs, * and they were furi- 
 ous. They know that I have been against them through the whole course 
 of the negotiations which resulted in the India Bill. They put their oppo- 
 sition on the ground of my youth, — a very flattering objection to a man 
 who this week completes his thirty-third year. They spoke very highly 
 of me in other respects ; but they seemed quite obstinate. 
 
 The question now is whether their opposition will be supported by the 
 other Directors. If it should be so, I have advised Grant most strongly 
 to withdraw my name, to put up some other man, and then to fight the 
 battle to the utmost. We shall be suspected of jobbing if we proceed to 
 extremities on behalf of one of ourselves ; but we can do what we like, if 
 it is in favor of some person whom we cannot be suspected of supporting 
 from interested motives. From the extreme unreasonableness and pertin- 
 acity which are discernible in every communication that we receive from 
 the India House at present, I am inclined to think that I have no chance 
 of being chosen by them, without a dispute in which I should not wish the 
 
 * The Chairman, and Deputy Chairman, of the East India Company were at that 
 time Mr. Campbell Marjoribanks, and Mr. Wigram. 
 
2i6 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. V. 
 
 Government to engage for such a purpose. Lord Grey says that I have a 
 right to their support if I ask for it ; but that, for the sake of his adminis- 
 tration generally, he is very adverse to my going. I do not think that I 
 shall go. However, a few days will decide the matter. 
 
 I have heard from Napier. He praises my article on Walpole in 
 terms absolutely extravagant. He says that it is the best that I ever 
 wrote, and, entre nous, I am not very far from agreeing with him. I am 
 impatient to have your opinion. No flattery pleases me so much as 
 domestic flattery. You will have the Number within the week. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 To Macvey Napier, Esq. 
 
 London : October 21, 1833. 
 
 Dear Napier, — I am glad to learn that you like my article. I like it 
 myself; which is not much my habit. Very likely the public, w-hich has 
 often been kinder to my performances than I was, may on this, as on 
 other occasions, differ from me in opinion. If the paper has any merit, it 
 owes it to the delay of which you must, I am sure, have complained very 
 bitterly in your heart. I was so thoroughly dissatisfied with the article 
 as it stood at first, that I completely re-wrote it ; altered the whole arrange- 
 ment ; left out ten or twelve pages in one part ; and added twice as many 
 in another. I never wrote anything so slowly as the first half, or so 
 rapidly as the last half. 
 
 You are in an error about Akenside, which I must clear up for his 
 credit, and for mine. You are confounding the Ode to Curio and the 
 Epistle to Curio. The latter is generally printed at the end of Akenside’s 
 works, and is, I think, the best thing that he ever wrote. The Ode is 
 worthless. It is merely an abridgment of the Epistle executed in the 
 most unskilful way. Johnson says, in his Life of Akenside,* that no poet 
 ever so much mistook his powers as Akenside when he took to lyric 
 composition. “ Having,” I think the words are, “ written with great 
 force and poignancy his Epistle to Curio, he afterwards transformed it 
 into an Ode only disgraceful to its author.” 
 
 When I said that Chesterfield t had lost by the publication of his 
 
 * “ Akenside was one of the fiercest and the most uncompromising of the young 
 patriots out of Parliament. When he found that the change of administration had pro- 
 duced no change of system, he gave vent to his indignation in the ‘ Epistle to Curio,’ the 
 best poem that he ever wrote ; a poem, indeed, which seems to indicate that, if he had 
 left lyrical composition to Gray and Collins, and had employed his powers in grave and 
 elevated satire, he might have disputed the pre-eminence of Dryden.” — Macaulay’s 
 Essay on Horace Walpole. ^ 
 
 t “ Lord Chesterfield stands much lower in the estimation of posterity than he would 
 have done if his letters had never been published.” 
 
1832-34. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 217 
 
 letters, I of course considered that he had much to lose ; that he has left 
 an immense reputation, founded on the testimony of all his contempora- 
 ries of all parties, for wit, taste, and eloquence ; that what remains of his 
 Parliamentary oratory is superior to anything of that time that has come 
 down to us, except a little of Pitt’s. The utmost that can be said of the 
 letters is that they are the letters of a cleverish man ; and there are not 
 many which are entitled even to that praise. I think he would have 
 stood higher if we had been left to judge of his powers, — as we judge of 
 those of Chatham, Mansfield, Charles Townshend, and many others, — 
 only by tradition, and by fragments of speeches preserved in Parliamentary 
 reports. 
 
 I said nothing about Lord Byron’s criticism on Walpole, because I 
 thought it, like most of his Lordship’s criticism, below refutation. On 
 the drama Lord Byron wrote more nonsense than on any subject. He 
 wanted to have restored the unities. His practice proved as unsuccessful 
 as his theory was absurd. His admiration of the “ Mysterious Mother ” 
 was of a piece with his thinking Gifford and Rogers greater poets than 
 Wordsworth and Coleridge. 
 
 Ever yours truly, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 London ; October 28, 1833. 
 
 Dear Hannah, — I wish to have Malkin * as head of the Commission 
 at Canton, and Grant seems now to be strongly bent on the same plan. 
 Malkin is a man of singular temper, judgment, and firmness of nerve. 
 Danger and responsibility, instead of agitating and confusing him, always 
 bring out whatever there is in him. This was the reason of his great 
 success at Cambridge. He made a figure there far beyond his learning 
 or his talents, though both his learning and his talents are highly respect- 
 able. But the moment that he sate down to be examined, which is just 
 the situation in which all other people from natural flurry do worse than 
 at other times, he began to do his very best. His intellect became clearer, 
 and his manner more quiet, than usual. He is the very man to make up 
 his mind in three minutes if the Viceroy of Canton were in a rage, the 
 mob bellowing round the doors of the factory, and an English ship of war 
 making preparations to bombard the town. 
 
 A propos of places, my father has been at me again about P . 
 
 Would you think it ? This lad has a hundred and twenty pounds a year 
 for life ! I could not believe my ears ; but so it is ; and, I who have not 
 a penny, with half a dozen brothers and sisters as poor as myself, am to 
 move heaven and earth to push this boy who, as he is the silliest, is also, 
 I think, the richest relation that I have in the world. 
 
 * Sir Benjamin Malkin, a college friend of Macaulay, was afterwards a Judge in th# 
 Supreme Court at Calcutta. * 
 
2i8 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. V. 
 
 I am to dine on Thursday with the Fishmongers’ Company, the first 
 Company for gourmandize in the world. Their magnificent Hall near 
 London Bridge is not yet built, but, as respects eating and drinking, I 
 shall be. no loser ; for we are to be entertained at the Albion Tavern. 
 This is the first dinner-party that I shall have been to for a long time. 
 There is nobody in town that I know except official men, and they have 
 left their wives and households in the country. I met Poodle Byng, it is 
 true, the day before yesterday in the street ; and he begged me to make 
 haste to Brook’s ; for Lord Essex was there, he said, w’hipping up for a 
 dinner-party, cursing and swearing at all his friends for being out of town, 
 and wishing — what an honor ! — that Macaulay was in London. I pre- 
 served all the dignity of a young lady in an affaire du coeur. “ I shall not 
 run after my Lord, I assure you. If he wants me, he knows where he may 
 hear of me.” This nibble is the nearest approach to a dinner-party that I 
 have had. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 London : November i, 1833. 
 
 Dear Hannah, — I have not much to add to what I told you yesterday ; 
 but everything that I have to add looks one w’ay. Marjoribanks and 
 Wigram have resigned. We have a new Chairman and Deputy Chair- 
 man, both very strongly in my favor. Sharp, by whom I sate yesterday 
 at the Fishmongers’ dinner, told me that my old enemy James Mill had 
 spoken to him on the subject. Mill is, as you have heard, at the head of 
 one of the principal departments of the India House. The late Chair- 
 man consulted him about me ; hoping, I suppose, to have his support 
 against me. Mill said very handsomely that he would advise the Company 
 to take me ; for, as public men went, I was much above the average, and, 
 if they rejected me, he thought it very unlikely that they would get any- 
 body to fit. This is all the news that I have for you. It is not much. 
 But I wish to keep you as fully informed of what is going on as I am my- 
 self. 
 
 Old Sharp told me that I was acting quite wisely, but that he should 
 never see me again ; * and he cried as he said it. I encouraged him ; 
 and told him that I hoped to be in England again before the end of 1839, 
 and that there was nothing impossible in our meeting again. He cheered 
 up after a time ; told me that he should correspond with me, and give me 
 all the secret history both of politics and of society ; and promised to 
 select the best books, and send them regularly to me. 
 
 The Fishmongers’ dinner was very good, but not so profusely splendid 
 as I had expected. There has been a change, I find, and not before it 
 was wanted. They had got at one time to dining at ten guineas a head. 
 
 * Mr. Sharp died in 1837, before Macaulay’s return from India. 
 
1832 - 34 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 219 
 
 They drank my health, and I harangued them with immense applause. 
 I talked all the evening to Sharp. I told him what a dear sister I had, 
 and how readily she had agreed to go with me. I had told Grant the 
 same in the morning. Both of them extolled my good fortune in having 
 such a companion. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 London : November — , 1833. 
 
 Dear Hannah, — Things stand as they stood ; except that the report of 
 my appointment is every day spreading more widely ; and that I am beset 
 by advertising dealers begging leave to make np a hundred cotton shirts 
 for me, and fifty muslin gowns for you, and by clerks out of place begging 
 to be my secretaries. I am not in very high spirits to-day, as I have just 
 received a letter from poor Ellis, to whom I had not communicated my 
 intentions till yesterday. He writes so affectionately and so plaintively 
 that he quite cuts me to the heart. There are few indeed from whom I 
 shall part with so much pain ; and he, poor fellow, says that, next to his 
 wife, I am the person for whom he feels the most thorough attachment, 
 and in whom he places the most unlimited confidence. 
 
 On the nth of this month there is to be a dinner given to Lushington 
 by the electors of the Tower Hamlets. He has persecuted me with 
 importunities to attend and make a speech for him ; and my father has 
 joined in the request. It is enough, in these times. Heaven knows, for 
 a man who represents, as I do, a town of a hundred and twenty thousand 
 people to keep his own constituents in good humor ; and the Spitalfields 
 weavers and Whitechapel butchers are nothing to me. But, ever since 
 I succeeded in what everybody allows to have been the most hazardous 
 attempt of the kind ever made, — I mean in persuading an audience of 
 manufacturers, all Whigs or Radicals, that the immediate alteration of 
 the corn-laws was impossible, — I have been considered as a capital phy- 
 sician for desperate cases in politics. However, — to return from that 
 delightful theme, my own praises, — Lushington, who is not very popular 
 with the rabble of the Tower Hamlets, thinks that an oration from me 
 would give him a lift. I could not refuse him directly, backed as he was 
 by my father. I only said that I would attend if I were in London on 
 the nth ; but I added that, situated as I was, I thought it very probable 
 that I should be out of town. 
 
 I shall go to-night to Miss Berry’s soiree. I do not know whether I 
 told you that she resented my article on Horace Walpole so much that 
 Sir Stratford Canning advised me not to go near her. She was Wal- 
 pole’s greatest favorite. His Reminiscences are addressed to her in 
 terms of the most gallant eulogy. When he was dying at past eighty, he 
 asked her to marry him, merely that he might make her a Countess and 
 
220 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. V. 
 
 leave her his fortune. You know that in Vivian Grey she is called Miss 
 Otranto. I always expected that my article would put her into a passion, 
 and I was not mistaken ; but she has come round again, and sent me a 
 most pressing and kind invitation the other day. 
 
 I have been racketing lately, having dined twice with Rogers, and 
 once with Grant. Lady Holland is in a most extraordinary state. She 
 came to Rogers’s, with Allen, in so bad a humor that we were all forced 
 to rally, and make common cause against her. There was not a person 
 at table to whom she was not rude ; and none of us were inclined to 
 submit. Rogers sneered ; Sydney made merciless sport of her ; Tom 
 Moore looked excessively impertinent ; Bobus put her down with simple 
 straightforward rudeness ; and I treated her with what I meant to be the 
 coldest civility. Allen flew into a rage with us all, and especially with 
 Sydney, whose guffaws, as the Scotch say, were indeed tremendous. 
 When she and all the rest were gone, Rogers made Tom Moore and me 
 sit down with him for half an hour, and we coshered over the events of 
 the evening. Rogers said that he thought Allen’s firing up in defence of 
 his patroness the best thing that he had seen in him. No sooner had 
 Tom and I got into the street than he broke forth : “That such an old 
 stager as Rogers should talk such nonsense, and give Allen credit for 
 attachment to anything but his dinner ! Allen was bursting with envy to 
 see us so free, while he was conscious of his own slavery.” 
 
 Her Ladyship has been the better for this discipline. She has over- 
 whelmed me ever since with attentions and invitations. I have at last 
 found out the cause of her ill-humor, or at least of that portion of it of 
 which I was the object. She is in a rage at my article on Walpole, but 
 at what part of it I cannot tell. I know that she is very intimate with 
 the Waldegraves, to whom the manuscripts belong, and for whose benefit 
 the letters were published. But my review was surely not calculated to 
 injure the sale of the book. Lord Holland told me, in an aside, that he 
 quite agreed with me, but that we had better not discuss the subject. 
 
 A note ; and, by my life, from my Lady Holland : “ Dear Mr. Macau- 
 lay, pray wrap yourself very warm, and come to us on Wednesday.” 
 No, my good Lady. I am engaged on Wednesday to dine at the Albion 
 Tavern with the Directors of the East India Company ; now my ser- 
 vants ; next week, I hope, to be my masters. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 To Hannah M. Macaulay. 
 
 London : November 22, 1833. 
 
 My dear Sister, — The decision is postponed for a week ; but there is 
 no chance of an unfavorable result. The Chairs have collected the 
 opinions of their brethren ; and the result is, that, of the twenty-four 
 Directors, only six or seven at the most will vote against me. 
 
1832 - 34 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 221 
 
 I dined with the Directors on Wednesday at the Albion Tavern. We 
 had a company of about sixty persons, and many eminent military men 
 amongst them. The very courteous manner in which several of the Direc- 
 tors begged to be introduced to me, and drank my health at dinner, led me 
 to think that the Chairs have not overstated the feeling of the Court. One 
 of them, an old Indian and a great friend of our uncle the General, told 
 me in plain words that he was glad to hear that I was to be in their ser- 
 vice. Another, whom I do not even know by sight, pressed the Chair- 
 man to propose my health. The Chairman with great judgment refused. 
 It would have been very awkward to have had to make a speech to them 
 in the present circumstances. 
 
 Of course, my love, all your expenses, from the day of my appointment, 
 are my affair. My present plan, formed after conversation with experi- 
 enced East Indians, is not to burden myself with an extravagant outfit. I 
 shall take only what will be necessary for the voyage. Plate, wine, coaches, 
 furniture, glass, china, can be bought in Calcutta as well as in London. I 
 shall not have money enough to fit myself out handsomely with such things 
 here ; and to fit myself out shabbily would be folly. I reckon that we can 
 bring our whole expense for the passage within the twelve hundred pounds 
 allowed by the Company. My calculation is that our cabins and board 
 will cost 250/. apiece. The passage of our servants 50/. apiece. That makes 
 up 600/. My clothes and etceteras, as Mrs. Meeke * observes, will, I am 
 quite sure, come within 200/. Yours will, of course, be more. I will 
 send you 300/. to lay out as you like ; not meaning to confine you to it, by 
 any means ; but you would probably prefer having a sum down to sending 
 in your milliner’s bills to me. I reckon my servant’s outfit at 50/. ; your 
 maid’s at as much more. The whole will be 1200/. 
 
 One word about your maid. You really must choose with great cau- 
 tion. Hitherto the Company has required that all ladies who take maid- 
 servants with them from this country to India should give security to send 
 them back within two years. The reason was, that no class of people 
 misconducted themselves so much in the East las female servants from 
 this country. They generally treat the natives with gross insolence ; an 
 insolence natural enough to people accustomed to stand in a subordinate 
 relation to others when, for the first time, they find a great population 
 placed in a servile relation towards them. Then, too, the state of society 
 is such that they are very likely to become mistresses of the wealthy 
 Europeans, and to flaunt about in magnificent palanquins, bringing discred- 
 it on their country by the immorality of their lives and the vulgarity of 
 their manners. On these grounds the Company has hitherto insisted upon 
 their being sent back at the expense of those who take them out. The 
 
 Mrs Meeke was his favorite among bad novel writers. See page 86. 
 
222 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. V. 
 
 late Act will enable your servant to stay in India, if she chooses to stay. 
 
 I hope, therefore, that you will be careful in your selection. You see 
 how much depends upon it. The happiness and concord of our native 
 household, which will probably consist of sixty or seventy people, may be 
 destroyed by her, if she should be ill-tempered and arrogant. If she 
 should be weak and vain, she will probably form connections that will 
 ruin her morals and her reputation. I am no preacher, as you very well 
 know ; but I have a strong sense of the responsibility under which we 
 shall both lie with respect to a poor girl, brought by us into the midst of 
 temptations of which she cannot be aware, and which have turned many 
 heads that might have been steady enough in a quiet nursery or kitchen 
 in England. 
 
 To find a man and wife, both of whom would suit us, would be 
 very difficult ; and I think it right, also, to offer to my clerk to keep him in 
 my service. He is honest, intelligent, and respectful ; and, as he is rather 
 inclined to consumption, the change of climate would probably be useful 
 to him. I cannot bear the thought of throwing any person who has been 
 about me for five years, and with whom I have no fault to find, out of 
 bread, while it is in my power to retain his services. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 London : December 5, 1833. 
 
 Dear Lord Lansdowne, — I delayed returning an answer to your kind 
 letter till this day, in order that I might be able to send you definitive in- 
 telligence. Yesterday evening the Directors appointed me to a seat in 
 the Council of India. The votes were nineteen for me, and three against 
 me. 
 
 I feel that the sacrifice which I am about to make is great. But the 
 motives which urge me to make it are quite irresistible. Every day that I 
 live I become less and less desirous of great wealth. But every day makes 
 me more sensible of the importance of a competence. Without a compe- 
 tence it is not very easy for a public man to be honest : it is almost impos- 
 sible for him to be thought so. I am so situated that I can subsist only in 
 two ways : by being in office, and by my pen. Hitherto, literature has 
 been merely my relaxation, — the amusement of perhaps a month in the 
 year. I have never considered it as the means of support. I have chosen 
 my own topics, taken my own time, and dictated my own terms. The 
 thought of becoming a bookseller’s hack ; of writing to relieve, not the 
 fulness of the mind, but the emptiness of the pocket ; of spurring a jaded 
 fancy to reluctant exertion ; of filling sheets with trash merely that the 
 sheets maybe filled ; of bearing from publishers and editors what Dryden 
 bore from Tonson, and what, to my own knowledge. Mackintosh bore 
 from Lardner, is horrible to me. Yet thus it must be, if I should quit 
 
1832 - 34 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 223 
 
 office. Yet to hold office merely for the sake of emolument would be 
 more horrible still. The situation, in which I have been placed for some 
 time back, would have broken the spirit of many men. It has rather tend- 
 ed to make me the most mutinous and unmanageable of the followers of 
 the Government. I tendered my resignation twice during the course of 
 the last Session. I certainly should not have done so if I had been a man 
 of fortune. You, whom malevolence itself could never accuse of coveting 
 office for the sake of pecuniary gain, and whom your salary very poorly 
 compensates for the sacrifice of ease and of your tastes to the public ser- 
 vice, cannot estimate rightly the feelings of a man who knows that his cir- 
 cumstances lay him open to the suspicion of being actuated in his public 
 conduct by the lowest motives. Once or twice, when I have been defend- 
 ing unpopular measures in the House of Commons, that thought has 
 disordered my ideas and deprived me of my presence of mind. 
 
 If this were all, I should feel that, for the sake of my own happiness 
 and of my public utility, a few years would be well spent in obtaining an 
 independence. But this is not all. I am not alone in the world. A 
 family which I love most fondly is dependent on me. Unless I would see 
 my father left in his old age to the charity of less near relations ; my 
 youngest brother unable to obtain a good professional education; my 
 sisters, who are more to me than any sisters ever were to a brother, forced 
 to turn governesses or humble companions, — I must do something, I must 
 make some effort. An opportunity has offered itself. It is in my power 
 to make the last days of my father comfortable, to educate my brother, to 
 provide for my sisters, to procure a competence for myself. I may hope, 
 by the time I am thirty-nine or forty, to return to England with a fortune 
 of thirty thousand pounds. To me that would be affluence. I never wish- 
 ed for more. 
 
 As far as English politics are concerned, I lose, it is true, a few years. 
 But, if your kindness had not introduced me very early to Parliament, — 
 if I had been left to climb up the regular path of my profession, and to 
 rise by my own efforts, — I should have had very little chance of being in 
 the House of Commons at forty. If I have gained any distinction in 
 the eyes of my countrymen, — if I have acquired any knowledge of Par- 
 liamentary and official business, and any habitude •for the management of 
 great affairs, — I ought to consider these things as clear gain. 
 
 Then, too, the years of my absence, though lost, as far as English 
 politics are concerned, will not, I hope, be wholly lost, as respects either 
 my own mind or the happiness of my fellow-creatures. I can scarcely 
 conceive a nobler field than that whfich our Indian Empire now presents 
 to a statesman. While some of my partial friends are blaming me for 
 stooping to accept a share in the government of that Empire, I am afraid 
 that I am aspiring too high for my qualifications. I sometimes feel, I 
 
224 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. V. 
 
 most unaffectedly declare, depressed and appalled by the immense re- 
 sponsibility which I have undertaken. You are one of the very few public 
 men of our time who have bestowed on Indian affairs the attention which 
 they deserve; and you will therefore, I am sure, fully enter into my 
 feelings. 
 
 And now, dear Lord Lansdowne, let me thank you most warmly for 
 the kind feeling which has dictated your letter. That letter is, indeed, 
 but a very small part of what I ought to thank you for. That at an early 
 age I have gained some credit in public life ; that I have done some little 
 service to more than one good cause ; that I now have it in my power to 
 repair the ruined fortunes of my family, and to save those who are dearest 
 to me from the misery and humiliation of dependence ; that I am almost 
 certain, if I live, of obtaining a competence by honorable means before I 
 am past the full vigor of manhood, — all this I owe to your kindness. I 
 will say no more. I will only entreat you to believe that neither now, 
 nor on any former occasion, have I ever said one thousandth part of what 
 I feel. 
 
 If it will not be inconvenient to you, I propose to go to Bowood on 
 Wednesday next. Labouchere will be my fellow-traveller. On Saturday 
 we must both return to town. Short as my visit must be, I look forward 
 to it with great pleasure. 
 
 Believe me, ever. 
 
 Yours most faithfully and affectionately, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 To Hannah M. Macaulay. 
 
 London : December 5, 1833. 
 
 My dear Sister, — I am overwhelmed with business, clearing off my 
 work here, and preparing for my new functions. Plans of ships, and 
 letters from captains, pour in without intermission. I really am mobbed 
 with gentlemen begging to have the honor of taking me to India at my 
 own time. The fact is that a Member of Council is a great catch, not 
 merely on account of the high price which he directly pays for accommoda- 
 tion, but because other people are attracted by him. Every father of a 
 young writer or a young cadet likes to have his son on board the same 
 vessel with the great man, to dine at the same table, and to have a chance 
 ©f attracting his notice. Everything in India is given by the Governor in 
 Council ; and, though I have no direct voice in the disposal of patronage, 
 my indirect influence may be great. 
 
 Grant’s kindness through all these negotiations has been such as I 
 really cannot describe. He told me yesterday, with tears in his eyes, 
 that he did not know what the Board would do without me. I attribute 
 his feeling partly to Robert Grant’s absence ; — not that Robert ever did 
 me ill offices with him ; far from it ; but Grant’s is a mind that cannot 
 
1832 - 34 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 225 
 
 Stand alone. It is, — ^begging your pardon for my want of gallantry, — a 
 feminine mind. It turns, like ivy, to some support. When Robert is 
 near him, he clings to Robert. Robert being away, he clings to me. This 
 may be a weakness in a public man ; but I love him the better for it. 
 
 I have lately met Sir James Graham at dinner. He took me aside, 
 and talked to me on my appointment with a warmth of kindness which, 
 though we have been always on good terms, surprised me. But the ap- 
 proach of a long separation, like the approach of death, brings out all 
 friendly feelings with unusual strength. The Cabinet, he .said, felt the 
 loss strongly. It w^as great at the India Board, but in the House of Com- 
 mons, (he used the word over and over,) irreparable. They all, however, 
 ne said, agreed that a man of honor could not make politics a profession 
 unless he had a competence of his own, without exposing himself to priva- 
 tion of the severest kind. They felt they had never had it in their power 
 to do all they wished to do for me. They had no means of giving me a 
 provision in England ; and they could not refuse me what I asked in 
 India. He said very strongly that they all thought that I judged quite 
 wisely ; and added that, if God heard his prayers, and spared my health, 
 I should make a far greater figure in public life than if I had remained 
 during the next five or six years in England. 
 
 I picked up in a print-shop the other day some superb views of the 
 suburbs of Chowringhee, and the villas of the Garden Reach. Selina 
 professes that she is ready to die with envy of the fine houses and ver- 
 andas. I heartily wish we were back again in a nice plain brick house, 
 three windows in front, in Cadogan Place or Russell Square, with twelve^ 
 or fifteen hundred a year, and a spare bedroom, (we, like Mrs. Norris,* 
 must always have a spare bedroom,) for Edward and Margaret. 
 
 Love to them both. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 7o Macvey Napier y Esq. 
 
 London : December 5, 1833. 
 
 Dear Napier, — You are probably not unprepared for what I am about 
 to tell you. Yesterday evening the Directors of the East India Company 
 elected me one of the members of the Supreme Council. It will, there- 
 fore, be necessary that in a few weeks, ten weeks at furthest, I should 
 leave this country for a few years. 
 
 It would be mere affectation in me to pretend not to know that my 
 support is of some importance to the Edinburgh Review. In the situa- 
 tion in which I shall now be placed, a connection with the Review will be 
 of some importance to me. I know well how dangerous it is for a public 
 man wholly to withdraw himself from the public eye. During an absence 
 
 * A leading personage in Miss Austen’s Mansfield Park. 
 VOL. I. — 15 
 
226 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. V. 
 
 of six years, I run some risk of losing most of the distinction, literary 
 and political, which I have acquired. As a means of keeping myself in 
 the recollection of my countrymen during my sojourn abroad the Review 
 will be invaluable to me : nor do I foresee that there will be the slightest 
 difficulty in my continuing to write for you at least as much as ever. I 
 have thought over my late articles, and I really can scarcely call to mind 
 a single sentence in any one of them which might not have been written 
 at Calcutta as easily as in London. Perhaps in India I might not have 
 the means of detecting two or three of the false dates in Croker’s Bos- 
 well. But that would have been all. Very little, if any, of the effect of 
 my most popular articles is produced either by minute research into rare 
 books, or by allusions to mere topics of the day. 
 
 I think therefore that we might easily establish a commerce mutually 
 beneficial. I shall wish to be supplied with all the good books which 
 come out in this part of the world. Indeed, many books which in them- 
 selves are of little value, and which, if I were in England, I should not 
 think it worth while to read, will be interesting to me in India ; just as 
 the commonest daubs and the rudest vessels at Pompeii attract the minute 
 attention of people who would not move their eyes to see a modern sign- 
 post or a modern kettle. Distance of place, like distance of time, makes 
 trifles valuable. 
 
 What I propose, then, is that. you should pay me for the articles which 
 I may send you from India, not in money, but in books. As to the amoi^t 
 I make no stipulations. You know that I have never haggled about such 
 matters. As to the choice of books, the mode of transmission, and other 
 matters, we shall have ample time to discuss them before my departure. 
 Let me know whether you are willing to make an arrangement on this 
 basis. 
 
 I have not forgotten Chatham in the midst of my avocations. I hope 
 to send you an article on him early next week. 
 
 Ever yours sincerely, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 From the Right Hon. Francis yeffrey to Mcuvey Napier y Esq. 
 
 24 Moray Place : 
 
 Saturday evening, December 7. 
 
 My dear Napier, — I am very much obliged to you for the permission 
 to read this. It is to me, I will confess, a solemn and melancholy an- 
 nouncement. I ought not, perhaps, so to consider it. But I cannot help 
 it. I was not prepared for six years, and I must still hope that it will not 
 be so much. At my age, and with that climate for him, the chances of 
 our ever meeting again are terribly endangered by such a term. He does 
 not know the extent of the damage which his secession may be to the 
 great cause of Liberal government. His anticipations and offers about 
 
1832-34. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 227 
 
 the Review are generous and pleasing, and must be peculiarly gratifying 
 to you. I think, if you can, you should try to see him before he goes, and 
 I envy you the meeting. 
 
 Ever very faithfully yours, 
 
 F. Jeffrey. 
 
 To Hannah M. Macaulay, 
 
 London : December 21, 1833. 
 
 My dear Sister, — Yesterday I dined at Boddington’s. We had a very 
 agreeable party : Duncannon, Charles Grant, Sharp, Chantrey the sculptor, 
 Bobus Smith, and James Mill. Mill and I were extremely friendly, and I 
 found him a very pleasant companion, and a man of more general informa- 
 tion than I had imagined. 
 
 Bobus was very amusing. He is a great authority on Indian matters . 
 He was during several years Advocate-General in Bengal, and made all 
 his large fortune there. I asked him about the climate. Nothing, he 
 said, could be pleasanter, except in August and September. He never 
 ate or drank so much in his life. Indeed, his looks do credit to Bengal ; 
 for a healthier man of his age I never saw. We talked about expenses. 
 “I cannot conceive,” he said, “how anybody at Calcutta can live an 
 less than 3000/. a year, or can contrive to spend more than 4000/.” We 
 talked of the insects and snakes, and he said a thing which reminded me 
 of his brother Sydney ; “ Always, Sir, manage to have at your table some 
 fleshy, blooming, young writer or cadet, just come out ; that the mosqui- , 
 toes may stick to him, and leave the rest of the company alone.” 
 
 I have been with George Babington to the Asia. We saw her to every 
 disadvantage, all litter and confusion; but she is a fine ship, and our 
 cabins will be very good. The captain I like much. He is an agreeable, 
 intelligent, polished man of forty ; and very good-looking, considering 
 what storms and changes of climate he has gone through. He advised 
 me strongly to put little furniture into our cabins. I told him to have yours 
 made as neat as possible, without regard to expense. He has promised to 
 have it furnished simply, but prettily ; and when you see it, if any addition 
 occurs to you, it shall be made. I shall spare nothing to make a pretty 
 little boudoir for you. You cannot think how my friends here praise you. 
 You are quite Sir James Graham’s heroine. 
 
 To-day I breakfasted with Sharp, whose kindness is as warm as possi- 
 ble. Indeed, all my friends seem to be in the most amiable mood. I 
 have twice as many invitations as I can accept ; and I have been frequently 
 begged to name my own party. Empty as London is, I never was so 
 much beset with invitations. Sharp asked me about you. I told him how 
 much I regretted my never having had any opportunity of showing you 
 the best part of London society. He said that he would take care that 
 you should see what was best worth seeing before your departure. He 
 
228 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. V. 
 
 promises to give us a few breakfast-parties and dinner-parties, where you 
 will meet as many as he can muster of the best set in town ; Rogers, 
 Luttrell, Rice, Tom Moore, Sydney Smith, Grant, and other great wits 
 and politicians. I am quite delighted at this ; both because you will, I 
 am sure, be amused, and pleased, at a time when you ought to have your 
 mind occupied, and because even to have mixed a little in a circle so 
 brilliant will be of advantage to you in India. You have neglected, and 
 very rightly and sensibly, frivolous accomplishments ; you have not been 
 at places of fashionable diversion : and it is, therefore, the more desirable 
 that you should appear among the dancing, pianoforte-playing, opera- 
 going, damsels at Calcutta as one who has seen society better than any 
 that the)^ever approached. I hope that you will not disapprove of what 
 I have done. I accepted Sharp’s offer for you eagerly. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 To Hannah M, Maccntlay. 
 
 London : January 2, 1834. 
 
 My dear Sister, — I am busy with an article * for Napier. I cannot in 
 the least tell at present whether I shall like it or not. I proceed with 
 great ease ; and in general I have found that the success of my writings 
 has been in proportion to the ease with which they have been written. 
 
 I had a most extraordinary scene with Lady Holland. If she had 
 been as young and handsome as she was thirty years ago, she would have 
 turned my head. She was quite hysterical about my going ; paid me such 
 compliments as I cannot repeat ; cried ; raved ; called me dea-r, dear 
 Macaulay. “You are sacrificed to your family. I see it all. You are 
 too good to them. They are always making a tool of you ; last Session 
 about the slaves ; and now sending you to India ! ” I always do my best 
 to keep my temper with Lady Holland for three reasons : because she is a 
 woman ; because she is very unhappy in her health, and in the circum- 
 stances of her position; and because she has a real kindness for me. But 
 at last she said something about you. This was too much, and I was 
 beginning to answer her in a voice trembling with anger, when she broke 
 out again: “ I beg your pardon. Pray forgive me, dear Macaulay. I 
 was very impertinent. I know you will forgive me. Nobody has such a 
 temper as you. I have said so a hundred times. I said so to Allen only 
 this morning. I am sure you will bear with my weakness. I shall never 
 see you again : ” and she cried, and I cooled : for it would have been to 
 very little purpose to be angry with her. I hear that it is not to me alone 
 that she runs on in this way. She storms at the Ministers for letting me 
 go. I was told that at one dinner she became so violent that even Lord 
 Plolland, whose temper, whatever his wife may say, is much cooler than 
 
 * The first article on Lord Chatham. 
 
1832-34. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 229 
 
 mine, could not command himself and broke out ; “ Don’t talk such non- 
 sense, my Lady. What, the devil ! Can we tell a gentleman who has a 
 claim upon us that he must lose his only chance of getting an independence 
 in order that he may come and talk to you in an evening ? ” 
 
 Good-bye, and take care not to become so fond of your own will as my 
 Lady. It is now my duty to omit no opportunity of giving you wholesome 
 advice. I am henceforward your sole guardian. I have bought Gisborne’s 
 Duties of Women, Moore’s Fables for the Female Sex, Mrs. King’s Fe- 
 male Scripture Characters, and Fordyce’s Sermons. With the help of 
 these books I hope to keep my responsibility in order on our voyage, and 
 in India. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 To Hannah M. Macaulay. 
 
 London : January 4, 1834. 
 
 My dear Sister, — I am now buying books ; not trashy books which will 
 only bear one reading ; but good books for a library. I have my eye on 
 all the bookstalls ; and I shall no longer’suffer you, when we walk together 
 in London, to drag me past them as you used to do. Pray make out a 
 list of any which you would like to have. The provision which I design 
 for the voyage is Richardson, Voltaire’s works, Gibbon, Sismondi’s History 
 of the French, Davila, the Orlando in Italian, Don Quixote in Spanish 
 Homer in Greek, Horace in Latin. I must also have some books of ju- 
 risprudence, and some to initiate me in Persian and Hindostanee. Shall 
 I buy “ Dunallan ” for you I believe that in your eyes it would stand in 
 the place of all the rest together. But, seriously, let me know what you 
 would like me to procure. 
 
 Ellis is making a little collection of Greek classics for me. Sharp has 
 given mei one or two very rare and pretty books, which I much wanted. 
 All the Edinburgh Reviews are being bound, so that we shall have a com- 
 plete set up to the forthcoming number, which will contain an article of 
 mine on Chatham. And this reminds me that I must give over writing to 
 you, and fall to my article. I rather think that it will be a good one. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 London : February 13, 1834. 
 
 Dear Napier, — It is true that I have been severely tried by ill-health 
 during the last few weeks ; but I am now rapidly recovering, and am as- 
 sured by all my medical advisers that a week of the sea will make me bet- 
 ter than ever I was in my life. 
 
 I have several subjects in my head. One is Mackintosh’s History; I 
 mean the fragment of the large work. Another plan which I have is a 
 very fine one, if it could be well executed. I think that the time is come 
 when a fair estimate may be formed of the intellectual and moral character 
 
230 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. T. 
 
 of Voltaire. The extreme veneration with which he was regarded during 
 his lifetime, has passed away; the violent reaction, which followed, has 
 spent itself ; and the world can now, I think, bear to hear the truth, and to 
 see the man exhibited as he was, — a strange mixture of greatness and lit- 
 tleness, virtues and vices. I have all his works, and shall take them in 
 my cabin on the voyage. But my library is not particularly rich in those 
 books which illustrate the literary history of his times. I have Rousseau 
 and Marmontel’s Memoirs, and Madame du Deffand’s Letters, and per- 
 haps a few other works which would be of use. But Grimm’s Correspon- 
 dence, and several other volumes of memoirs and letters, would be neces- 
 sary. If yooi would make a small collection of the works which would be 
 most useful in this point of view, and send it after me as soon as possible, 
 I will do my best to draw a good Voltaire. I fear that the article must 
 be enormously long, — seventy pages perhaps ; but you know that I do not 
 run into unnecessary lengths. 
 
 I may perhaps try my hand on Miss Austen’s novels. This is a sub- 
 ject on which I shall require no assistance from books. 
 
 Whatever volumes you may send me ought to be half-bound ; or the 
 white ants will devour them before they have been three days an shore. 
 Besides the books which may be necessary for the Review, I should like 
 to have any work of very striking merit which may appear during my 
 absence. The particular department of literature which interests me most 
 is history; above all, English history. Any valuable book on that subject 
 I should wish to possess. Sharp, Miss Berry, and some of my other 
 friends, will perhaps, now and then, suggest a book to you. But it is prin- 
 cipally on your own judgment that I must rely to keep me well supplied. 
 
 Yours most truly, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 On the 4th of February Macaulay bade farewell to his electors, in an 
 address which the Leeds Tories probably thought too high-flown * for the 
 * If, now that I have ceased to be your servant, and am only your sincere and grate- 
 ful friend, I may presume to offer you advice which must, at least, be allowed to be disin- 
 terested, I would say to you : Act towards your future representatives as you have acted 
 towards me. Choose them, as you chose me, without canvassing and without expense. 
 Encourage them, as you encouraged me, always to speak to you fearlessly and plainly. 
 Reject, as you have hitherto rejected, the wages of dishonor. Defy, as you have hitherto 
 defied, the threats of petty tyrants. Never forget that the worst and most degrading spe- 
 cies of corruption is the corruption which operates, not by hopes, but by fears. Cherish 
 those noble and virtuous principles for which we have struggled and triumphed together — 
 the principles of liberty and toleration, of justice and order. Support, as you have steadily 
 supported, tlie cause of good government ; and may all the blessings which are the natural 
 fruits of good government descend upon you and be multiplied to you an hundred-fold ! 
 May your manufactures flourish ; may your trade be extended ; may your riches increase ! 
 May the works of your skill, and the signs of your prosperity, meet me in the furthest 
 regions of the East, and give me fresh cause to be proud of the intelligence, the industry, 
 and the spirit of my constituents ! ” 
 
1832-34. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 231 
 
 occasion. But he had not yet done with the House of Commons. Parlia- 
 ment met on the first Tuesday in the Month; and, on the Wednesday, 
 O’Connell, who had already contrived to make two speeches since the 
 Session began, rose for a third time to call attention to words uttered du- 
 ring the recess by Mr. Hill, the Member for Hull. That gentleman, for 
 want of something better to say to his constituents, had told them that he 
 happened to know “that an Irish Member, who spoke with great violence 
 against every part of the Coercion Bill, and voted against every clause of 
 it, went to Ministers and said : ‘ Don’t bate a single atom of that Bill, or 
 it will be impossible for any man to live in Ireland.’ ” O’Connell called 
 upon Lord Althorp, as the representative of the Government, to say what 
 truth there was in this statement. Lord Althorp, taken by surprise, acted 
 upon the impulse of the moment, which in his case was a feeling of reluc- 
 tance to throw over poor Mr. Hill to be bullied by O’Connell and his re- 
 doubtable tail. After explaining that no set and deliberate communication 
 of the nature mentioned had been made to the Ministers, his Lordship 
 went on to say that he “ should not act properly if he did not declare that 
 he had good reason to believe that some Irish Members did, in private 
 conversation, use very different language from what they had employed 
 in public.” 
 
 It was chivalrously, but most unwisely, spoken. O’Connell at once 
 gave the cue by inquiring whether he himself was among the Members 
 referred to, and Lord Althorp assured him that such was not the case. 
 The Speaker tried to interfere ; but the matter had gone too far. One 
 Irish representative after another jumped up to repeat the same question 
 with regard to his own case, and received the same answer. At length 
 Shell rose, and asked whether he was one of the Members to whom the 
 Noble Lord had alluded. Lord Althorp replied : “ Yes. The honorable 
 and learned gentleman is one.” Shell, “in the face of his country, and 
 the presence of his God,” asserted that the individual who had given any 
 such information to the Noble Lord was guilty of a “ gross and scandal- 
 ous calumny,” and added that he understood the Noble Lord to have 
 made himself responsible for the imputation. Then ensued one of those 
 scenes in which the House of Commons appears at its very worst. All 
 the busybodies, as their manner is, rushed to the front , and hour after 
 hour slipped away in an unseemly, intricate, and apparently interminable 
 wrangle. Shell was duly called upon to give an assurance that the affair 
 should not be carried beyond the walls of the House. He refused to 
 comply, and was committed to the charge of the Sergeant at Arms. The 
 Speaker then turned to Lord Althorp, who promised in Parliamentary 
 language not to send a challenge. Upon this, as is graphically enough 
 described in the conventional terms of Hansard, “ Mr. O’Connell made 
 some observation to the honorable Member sitting next him which was 
 
232 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. V. 
 
 not heard in the body of the House. Lord Althorp immediately rose, and 
 amid loud cheers, and with considerable warmth, demanded to know what 
 the honorable and learned gentleman meant by his gesticulation ; ” and 
 then, after an explanation from O’Connell, his Lordship went on to use 
 phrases which very clearly signified that, though he had no cause for 
 sending a challenge, he had just as little intention of declining one ; upon 
 which he likewise was made over to the Sergeant. Before, however, hon- 
 orable Members went to their dinners, they had the relief of learning that 
 their refractory colleagues had submitted to the Speaker’s authority, and 
 had been discharged from custody. 
 
 There was only one way out of the difficulty. On the loth of February 
 a Committee of Investigation was appointed, composed of members who 
 enjoyed a special reputation for discretion. Mr. Hill called his witnesses. 
 The first had nothing relevant to tell. Macaulay was the second ; and he 
 forthwith cut the matter short by declaring that, on principle, he refused 
 to disclose what had passed in private conversation : a sentiment which 
 was actually cheered by the Committee. One sentence of common sense 
 brought the absurd embroilment to a rational conclusion. Mr. Hill saw 
 his mistake ; begged that no further evidence might be taken ; and, at the 
 next sitting of the House, withdrew his charge in unqualified terms of 
 self-abasement and remorse. Lord Althorp readily admitted that he had 
 acted “imprudently as a man, and still more imprudently as a Minister,” 
 and stated that he considered himself bound to accept Shell’s denial ; but 
 he could not manage so to frame his remarks as to convey to his hearers 
 the idea that his opinion of that honorable gentleman had been raised by 
 the transaction. Shell acknowledged the two apologies with effusion pro- 
 portioned to their respective value ; and so ended an affair which, at the 
 worst, had evoked a fresh proof of that ingrained sincerity of character 
 for the sake of which his party would have followed Lord Althorp to the 
 death.* 
 
 Gravesend : February 15, 1834. 
 
 Dear Lord Lansdowne, — I had hoped that it w'ould have been in my 
 power to shake hands with you once more before my departure ; but this 
 deplorably absurd affair in the House of Commons has prevented me 
 from calling on you. I lost a whole day while the Committee were decid- 
 ing whether I should or should not be forced to repeat all the foolish, 
 shabby things that I had heard Sheil say at Brooks’s. 
 
 I cannot leave England without sending a few lines to you, — and yet 
 
 * In Macaulay’s journal for Junes, 1851, we read: “I went to breakfast with the Bish- 
 op of Oxford, and there learned that Sheil was dead. Poor fellow 1 We talked about 
 Sheil, and I related my adventure of February 1834. Odd that it should have been so 
 little known, or so completely forgotten I Everybody thought me right, as I certainly 
 
 was.' 
 
1832 - 34 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 23J 
 
 they are needlessi It is unnecessary for me to say with w’hat feelings I 
 shall always remember our connection, and with what interest I shall 
 always learn tidings of you and of your family. 
 
 Y ours most sincerely, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 -r vr -V 
 
 ' - .V,'.. I'. JiP 
 
234 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VI. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 1834-1838. 
 
 The outward voyage — Arrival at Madras — Macaulay is summoned to join Lord William 
 Bentinck in the Neilgherries — His journey up-country — His native servant — Arcot — 
 Bangalore — Seringapatam — Ascent of the Neilgherries — First sight of the Governor- 
 General — Letters to Mr. Ellis and the Miss Macaulays — A summer on the Neilgher- 
 ries — Native Christians — Clarissa — A tragi-comedy — Macaulay leaves the Neilgher- 
 ries, travels to Calcutta, and there sets up house — Letters to Mr. Napier and Mrs. 
 Cropper — Mr. Trevelyan — Marriage of Hannah Macaulay — Death of Mrs. Cropper— 
 Macaulay’s work in India — H>s Minutes for Council — Freedom of the Press — Literary 
 gratitude — Second Minute on the Freedom of the Press — The Black Act — A Calc-utta 
 public meeting — Macaulay’s defence of the policy of the Indian Government — His 
 Minute on Education — He becomes President of the Committee of Public Instruction 
 — His industry in discharging the functions of that post — Specimens of his official 
 writing — Results of his labors — He is appointed President of the Law Commission, 
 and recommends the framing of a Criminal Code — Appearance of the Code — Com- 
 ments of Mr. Fitzjames Stephen — Macaulay’s private life in India — Oriental delica- 
 cies — Breakfast-parties — Macaulay’s longing for England — Calcutta and Dublin — 
 Departure from India — Letters to Mr. Ellis, Mr. Sharp, Mr. Napier, and Mr. Z. 
 Macaulay. 
 
 ROM the moment that a deputation of Falmouth Whigs, headed by 
 
 their Mayor, came on board to wish Macaulay his health in India 
 and a happy return to England, nothing occurred that broke the monotony 
 of an easy and rapid voyage. “ The catching of a shark ; the shooting of 
 an albatross; a sailor tumbling down the hatchway and breaking -his 
 head ; a cadet getting drunk and swearing at the captain ; ” are incidents 
 to which not even the highest literary power can impart the charm of 
 novelty in the eyes of the readers of a seafaring nation. The company on 
 the quarter-deck was much on a level with the average society of an East 
 Indiaman. “ Hannah will give you the histories of all these good people 
 at length, I dare say, for she was extremely social : danced with the 
 gentlemen in the evenings, and read novels and sermons with the ladies 
 in the mornings. I contented myself with being very civil whenever I 
 
1834-38. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 23s 
 
 was with the other passengers, and took care to be with them as little as I 
 could. Except at meals, I hardly exchanged a word with any human 
 being. I never was left for so long a time so completely to my own 
 resources ; and I am glad to say that I found them quite sufficient to keep 
 me cheerful and employed. During the whole voyage I read with keen 
 and increasing enjoyment. I devoured Greek, Latin, Spanish, Italian, 
 French, and English ; folios, quartos, octavos, and duodecimos.” 
 
 On the loth of June the vessel lay-to off Madras; and Macaulay 
 had his first introduction to the people for whom he was appointed to 
 legislate, in the person of a boatman who pulled through the surf on his 
 raft. “ He came on board with nothing on him but a pointed yellow cap, 
 and walked among us with a self-possession and civility which, coupled 
 with his color and his nakedness, nearly made me die of laughing.” This 
 gentleman was soon followed by more responsible messengers, who 
 brought tidings the reverse of welcome. Lord William Bentinck, who 
 was then Governor-General, was detained by ill-health at Ootacamund in 
 the Neilgherry Hills ; a place which, by name at least, is now as familiar 
 to Englishmen as Malvern; but which in 1834 was known to Macaulay, 
 by vague report, as situated somewhere “ in the mountains of Malabar, 
 beyond Mysore.” The state of public business rendered it necessary 
 that the Council should meet; and, as the Governor-General had left one 
 member of that body in Bengal as his deputy, he was not able to make a 
 quorum until his new colleague arrived from England. A pressing sum- 
 mons to attend his Lordship in the Hills placed Macaulay in some em- 
 barrassment on account of his sister, who could not with safety commence 
 her Eastern experiences by a journey of four hundred miles up the 
 country in the middle of June. Happily the second letter which he 
 opened proved to be from Bishop Wilson ; who insisted that the son 
 and daughter of so eminent an Evangelical as the Editor of the Christian 
 Observer, themselves part of his old congregation in Bedford Row, 
 should begin their Indian life nowhere except under his roof. Hannah, 
 accordingly, continued her voyage, and made her appearance in Calcutta 
 circles with the Bishop’s Palace as a home, and Lady William Bentinck 
 as a kind, and soon an affectionate, chaperon ; while her brother remained 
 on shore at Madras, somewhat consoled for the separation by finding 
 himself in a country where so much was to be seen, and where, as far as 
 the English residents were concerned, he was regarded with a curiosity 
 at least equal to his own. 
 
 During the first few weeks nothing came amiss to him. “To be on 
 land after three months at sea is of itself a great change. But to be in 
 such a land ! The dark faces with white turbans and flowing robes : the 
 trees not our trees : the very smell of the atmosphere that of a hothouse, 
 and the architecture as strange as the vegetation.” Every feature in that 
 
236 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VI. 
 
 marvellous scene delighted him both in itself, and for the sake of the in- 
 numerable associations and images which it conjured up in his active and 
 well-stored mind. The salute of fifteen guns that greeted him as he set 
 his foot on the beach reminded him that he was in a region where his 
 countrymen could exist only on the condition of their being warriors and 
 rulers. When on a visit of ceremony to a dispossessed Rajah or Nabob, 
 he pleased himself with the reflection that he was face to face with a 
 prince who in old days governed a province as large as a first-class 
 European kingdom, conceding to his Suzerain, the Mogul, no tribute 
 beyond “a little outward respect such as the great Dukes of Burgundy 
 used to pay to the Kings of France ; and who now enjoyed the splendid 
 and luxurious insignificance of an abdicated prince which fell to the^lot 
 of Charles the Fifth, or Queen Christina of Sweden,” with a court that 
 preserved the forms of royalty, the right of keeping as many badly armed 
 and worse paid ragamuffins as he could retain under his tawdry standard, 
 and the privilege of “ occasionally sending letters of condolence and con- 
 gratulation to the King of England, in which he calls himself his Majesty’s 
 good brother and ally.” 
 
 Macaulay set forth on his journey within a week from his landing, 
 travelling by night, and resting while the sun was at its hottest. He has 
 recorded his first impressions of Hindostan in a series of journal letters 
 addressed to his sister Margaret. The fresh and vivid character of those 
 impressions, — the genuine and multiform interest excited in him by all 
 that met his ear or eye, — explain the secret of the charm which enabled 
 him in after days to overcome the distaste for Indian literature entertained 
 by that personage who, for want of a better, goes by the name of the 
 general reader. Macaulay reversed in his own case the experience of 
 those countless writers on Indian themes who have successively blunted 
 their pens against the passive indifference of the British public ; for his 
 faithful but brilliant studies of the history of our Eastern Empire are to 
 this day incomparably the most popular * of his works. It may be pos- 
 sible, without injury to the fame of the author, to present a few extracts 
 from a correspondence, which is in some sort the raw material of produc- 
 tions that have already secured their place among our national classics. 
 
 * When published in a separate form, the articles on Lord Clive and Warren Hast- 
 ings have sold nearly twice as well as the articles on Lord Chatham, nearly thrice as well 
 as the article on Addison, and nearly five times as well as the article on Byron. The 
 great Sepoy Mutiny, while it something more than doubled the sale of the essay on 
 Warren Hastings, all but trebled the sale of the essay on Lord Clive ; but, taking the 
 last twenty years together, there has been little to choose between the pair. The steadi- 
 ness and permanence of the favor with which they are regarded may be estimated by the 
 fact that, during the five years between 1870 and 1874, as compared with the five years 
 between 1865 and 1869, the demand for them has been in the proportion of seven to three; 
 and, as compared with the five years between i860 and 1864, in the proportion of three 
 t« one. 
 
1834-38. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 237 
 
 “In the afternoon of the 17th of June I left Madras. My train consisted of 
 thirty-eight persons. I was in one palanquin, and my servant followed in another. 
 He is a half-caste. On the day on which we set out he told me he was a Catholic ; 
 and added, crossing himself and turning up the whites of his eyes, that he had rec- 
 ommended himself to the protection of his patron saint, and that he was quite con- 
 fident that we should perform our journey in safety. I thought of Ambrose Llamela, 
 Gil Bias’s devout valet, who arranges a scheme for robbing his master of his port- 
 manteau, and, when he comes back from meeting his accomplices, pretends that he 
 has been to the cathedral to implore a blessing on their voyage. I did him, however, 
 a great injustice ; for I have found him a very honest man, who knows the native 
 languages ; and who can dispute a charge, bully a negligent bearer, arrange a bed, 
 and make a curry. But he is so fond of giving advice that I fear he will some day 
 or other, as the Scotch say, raise my corruption, and provoke me to send him about 
 his business. His name, which I never hear without laughing, is Peter Prim. 
 
 “ Half my journey was by daylight, and all that I saw during that time disappointed 
 me grievously. It is amazing how small a part of the country is under cultivation. 
 Two-thirds at least, as it seemed to me, was in the state of Wandsworth common, 
 or, to use an illustration which you will understand better, of Chatmoss. The people 
 whom we met were as few as in the Highlands of Scotland. But I have been told 
 that in India the villages generally lie at a distance from the roads, and that much 
 of the land, which when I passed through it looked like a parched moor that had 
 never been cultivated, would after the rains be covered with rice.” 
 
 After traversing this landscape for fifteen hours he reached the town 
 of Arcot, which, under his handling, was to be celebrated far and wide as 
 the cradle of our greatness in the East. 
 
 “ I was most hospitably received by Captain Smith, who commanded the garrison. 
 After dinner the palanquins went forward with my servant, and the Captain and I 
 took a ride to see the lions of the neighborhood. He mounted me on a very quiet 
 Arab, and I had a pleasant excursion. We passed through a garden which was at- 
 tached to the residence of the Nabob of the Carnatic, who anciently held his court 
 at Arcot. The garden has been suffered to run to waste, and is only the more 
 beautiful for having been neglected. Garden, indeed, is hardly a proper word. In 
 England it would rank as one of our noblest parks, from which it differs principally 
 in this, that most of the fine trees are fruit trees. From this we came to a mountain 
 pass which reminded me strongly of Borradaile near Derwentwater, and through 
 this defile we struck into the road and rejoined the bearers.” 
 
 And so he went forward on his way, recalling at every step the remin- 
 iscence of some place, or event, or person; and, thereby, doubling for 
 himself, and perhaps for his correspondent, the pleasure which the reality 
 was capable of affording. If he put up at a collector’s bungalow, he 
 liked to think that his host ruled more absolutely and over a larger popu- 
 lation than “a Duke of Saxe Weimar or a Duke of Lucca; ” and, when 
 he came across a military man with a turn for reading, he pronounced 
 him, “ as Dominie Sampson said of another Indian Colonel, ‘ a man of 
 great erudition, considering his imperfect opportunities.’ ” 
 
LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. vl 
 
 238 
 
 On the 19th of June he crossed the frontier of Mysore; reached Ban- 
 galore on the morning of the 20th ; and rested there for three days in the 
 house of the Commandant. 
 
 “ On Monday the 23rd I took leave of Colonel Cubbon, who told me, with a 
 warmth which I was vain enough to think sincere, that he had not passed three such 
 pleasant days for thirty years. I went on all night, sleeping soundly in my palanquin. 
 At five I was waked, and found that a carriage was waiting for me. I had told 
 Colonel Cubbon that I very much wished to see Seringapatam. He had written to 
 the British authorities at the town of Mysore, and an officer had come from the 
 Residency to show me all that was to be seen. I must now digress into Indian 
 politics ; and let me tell you that, if you read the little that I shall say about them, 
 you will know more on the subject than half the members of the cabinet.” 
 
 After a few pages occupied by a sketch of the history of Mysore dur- 
 ing the preceding century, Macaulay proceeds : 
 
 “ Seringapatam has always been a place of peculiar interest to me. It was the 
 scene of the greatest events of Indian history. It was the residence of the greatest 
 of Indian princes. From a child I used to hear it talked of every day. Our uncle 
 Colin was imprisoned there for four years, and he was afterwards distinguished at 
 the siege. I remember that there was, in a shop-window at Clapham, a daub of the 
 taking of Seringapatam, which, as a boy, I often used to stare at with the greatest 
 interest. I was delighted to have an opportunity of seeing the place ; and, though 
 my expectations were high, they were not disappointed. 
 
 “ The town is depopulated : but the fortress, which was one of the strongest 
 in India, remains entire. A river almost as broad as the Thames at Chelsea breaks 
 into two branches, and surrounds the walls, above which are seen the white minarets 
 of a mosque. We entered, and found every thing silent and desolate. The mosque, 
 indeed, is still kept up, and deserves to be so ; but the palace of Tippoo has fallen 
 into utter ruin, I saw, however, with no small interest, the airholes of the dungeon 
 in which the English prisoners were confined, and the water-gate leading down to 
 the river where the body of Tippoo was found still warm by the Duke of Wellington, 
 then Colonel Wellesley. The exact spot through which the English soldiers fought 
 their way against desperate disadvantages into the fort is still perfectly discernible. 
 But, though only thirty-five years have elapsed since the fall of the city, the palace 
 is in the condition of Tintern Abbey and Melrose Abbey, The courts, which bear 
 a great resemblance to those of the Oxford colleges, are completely overrun with 
 weeds and flowers. The Hall of Audience, once considered the finest in India, still 
 retains some very faint traces of its old magnificence. It is supported on a great 
 number of light and lofty wooden pillars, resting on pedestals of black granite. These 
 pillars were formerly covered with gilding, and here and there the glitter may still 
 be perceived. In a few more years not the smallest trace of this superb chamber 
 will remain. I am surprised that more care was not taken by the English to pre- 
 serve so splendid a memorial of the greatness of him whom they had conquered. 
 It was not like Lord Wellesley's general mode of proceeding ; and I soon saw a 
 proof of his taste and liberality. Tippoo raised a most sumptuous mausoleum to 
 his father, and attached to it a mosque which he endowed. The buildings are 
 
IS34-38. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 239 
 
 carefully maintained at the expense of our Government. You walk up from the 
 fort through a narrow path, bordered by flower-beds and cypresses, to the front of 
 the mausoleum, which is very beautiful, and in general character closely resembles 
 the most richly carved of our small Gothic chapels. Within are three tombs, all cov- 
 ered with magnificent palls embroidered in gold with verses from the Koran. In the 
 centre lies Hyder ; on his right the mother of Tippoo ; and Tippoo himself on the 
 left.” 
 
 During his stay at Mysore, Macaulay had an interview with the de- 
 posed Rajah; whose appearance, conversation, palace, furniture, jewels, 
 soldiers, elephants, courtiers, and idols, he depicts in a letter, intended 
 for family perusal, with a minuteness that would qualify him for an 
 Anglo-Indian Richardson. By the evening of the 24th June he was once 
 more on the road; and, about noon on the following day, he began to 
 ascend the Neilgherries, through scenery which, for the benefit of readers 
 who had never seen the Pyrenees or the Italian slopes of an Alpine pass, 
 he likened to “the vegetation of Windsor Forest or Blenheim spread 
 over the mountains of Cumberland.” After reaching the summit of the 
 table-land, he passed through a wilderness where for eighteen miles 
 together he met nothing more human than a monkey, until a turn of the 
 road disclosed the pleasant surprise of an amphitheatre of green hills 
 encircling a small lake, whose banks were dotted with red-tiled cottages 
 surrounding a pretty Gothic church. The whole station presented “ very 
 much the look of a rising English watering-place. The largest house is 
 occupied by the Governor-General. It is a spacious and handsome build- 
 ing of stone. To this I was carried, and immediately ushered into his 
 Lordship’s presence. I found him sitting by a fire in a carpeted library. 
 He received me with the greatest kindness, frankness, and. hospitality. 
 He is, as far as I can yet judge, all that I have heard ; that is to say, 
 rectitude, openness, and good-nature, personified.” Many months of 
 close friendship and common labors did but confirm Macaulay in this 
 first view of Lord William Bentinck. His estimate of that singularly 
 noble character survives in the closing sentence of the essay on Lord 
 Clive ; and is inscribed on the base of the statue which, standing in front 
 of the Town Hall, may be seen far and wide over the great expanse of 
 grass that serves as the park, the parade-ground, and the racecourse of 
 Calcutta. 
 
 To Thomas Flower Ellis. 
 
 Oota'camund : July i, 1834. 
 
 Dear Ellis, — You need not get your map to see where Ootacamund 
 is : for it has not found its way into the maps. It is a new discovery ; a 
 place to which Europeans resort for their health, or, as it is called by the 
 Company’s servants, — blessings on their learning ! — a sanaterion. It lies 
 at the heigh^ of 7,000 feet above the sea. 
 
240 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VI. 
 
 While London is a perfect gridiron, here am I, at 13° North from the 
 equator, by a blazing wood-fire, with my windows closed. My bed is 
 heaped with blankets, and my black servants are coughing round me in 
 all directions. One poor fellow in particular looks so miserably cold that, 
 unless the sun comes out, I am likely soon to see under my own roof the 
 spectacle which, according to Shakespeare, is so interesting to the Eng- 
 lish,* — a dead Indian. 
 
 I travelled the whole four hundred miles between this and Madras on 
 men’s shoulders. I had an agreeable journey on the whole. I was 
 honored by an interview with the Rajah of Mysore, who insisted on 
 showing me all his wardrobe, and his picture gallery. He has six or 
 seven colored English prints not much inferior to those which I have 
 seen in the sanded parlor of a country inn; “Going to Cover,” “The 
 Death of the Fox,” and so forth. But the bijou of his gallery, of which 
 he is as vain as the Grand Duke can be of the Venus, or Lord Carlisle 
 of the Three Maries, is a head of the Duke of Wellington, which has, 
 most certainly, been on a signpost in England. 
 
 Yet, after all, the Rajah was by no means the greatest fool whom I 
 found at Mysore. I alighted at a bungalow appertaining to the British 
 Residency. There I found an Englishman who, without any preface, 
 accosted me thus : “ Pray, Mr. Macaulay, do not you think that Buonaparte 
 was the Beast?”' “No, Sir, I cannot say that Ido.” “Sir, he was the 
 Beast. I can prove it. I have found the number 666 in his name. Why, 
 Sir, if he was not the Beast, who was ? ” This was a puzzling question, 
 and I am not a little vain of my answer. “ Sir,” said I, “ the House of 
 Commons is the Beast. There are 658 members of the House ; and 
 these, with their chief officers, — the three clerks, the Sergeant and his 
 deputy, the Chaplain, the doorkeeper, and the librarian, — make 666.” 
 “ Well, Sir, that is strange. But I can assure you that, if you write 
 Napoleon Buonaparte in Arabic, leaving out only two letters, it will give 
 666.” “ And, pray. Sir, what right have you to leave out two letters ? 
 
 And, as St. John was writing Greek and to Greeks, is it not likely that he 
 would use the Greek rather than the Arabic notation ? ” “ But, Sir,” 
 
 said this learned divine, “ everybody knows that the Greek letters were 
 never used to mark numbers.” I answered with the meekest look and 
 voice possible : “ I do not think that everybody knows that. Indeed I 
 have reason to believe that a different opinion, — erroneous no doubt,— 
 is universally embraced by all the small minority who happen to know 
 any Greek.” So ended the controversy. The man looked at me as if he 
 thought me a very wicked fellow ; and, I dare say, has by this time dis- 
 covered that, if you write my name in Tamul, leaving out T in Thomas, 
 
 * The Tempest, Act ii. scene 2. 
 
LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 1834-38. 
 
 241 
 
 B in Babington, and M in Macaulay, it will give the number of this un- 
 fortunate Beast. 
 
 I am very comfortable here. The Governor-General is the frankest 
 and best-natured of men. The chief functionaries who have attended 
 him hither are clever people, but not exactly on a par as to general 
 attainments with the society to which I belonged in London. I thought 
 however, even at Madras, that I could have formed a very agreeable 
 circle of acquaintance ; I am assured that at Calcutta I shall find things 
 far better. After all, the best rule in all parts of the world, as in London 
 itself, is to be independent of other men’s minds. My power of finding 
 amusement without companions was pretty well tried on my voyage. I 
 read insatiably; the Iliad and Odyssey, Virgil, Horace, Caesar’s commen- 
 taries, Bacon de Augmentis, Dante, Petrarch, Ariosto, Tasso, Don 
 Quixote, Gibbon’s Rome, Mill’s India, all the seventy volumes of Vol- 
 taire, Sismondi’s History of France, and the seven thick folios of the 
 Biographia Britannica. I found my Greek and Latin in good condition 
 enough. I liked the Iliad a little less, and the Odyssey a great deal 
 more, than formerly. Horace charmed me more than ever ; Virgil not 
 quite so much as he used to do. The want of human character, the 
 poverty of his supernatural machinery, struck me very strongly. Can 
 anything be so bad as the living bush which bleeds and talks, or the 
 Harpies wTio befoul ^Eneas's dinner ? It is as extravagant as Ariosto, 
 and as dull as Wilkie’s Epigoniad. The last six books which Virgil had 
 not fully corrected pleased me better than the first six. I like him best 
 on Italian ground. I like his localities ; his national enthusiasm ; his 
 frequent allusions to his country, its history, its antiquities, and its greatness. 
 In this respect he often reminded me of Sir Walter Scott, with whom, in 
 the general character of his mind, he had very little affinity. The 
 Georgies pleased me better ; the Eclogues best, — the second and tenth 
 above all. But I think that the finest lines in the Latin language are 
 those five which begin : 
 
 Sepibus in nostris parvam te roscida mala — * 
 
 I cannot tell you how they struck me. I was amused to find that Vol- 
 taire pronounces that passage to be the finest in Virgil. 
 
 I liked the Jerusalem better than I used to do. I was enraptured with 
 Ariosto; and I still think of Dante, as I thought when I first read him, 
 that he is a superior poet to Milton, that he runs neck and neck with Ho- 
 mer, and that none but Shakespeare has gone decidedly beyond him. 
 
 As soon as I reach Calcutta I intend to read Herodotus again. By the 
 bye, why do not you translate him ? You would do it excellently; and a 
 translation of Herodotus, well executed, would rank with original compo- 
 
 VoL. I.— 16 
 
 Eclogue vlii. 37. 
 
242 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VI. 
 
 sitions. A quarter of an hour a day would finish the work in five years. 
 The notes might be made the most amusing in the world. I wish you 
 would think of it. At all events, I hope you will do something which may 
 interest more than seven or eight people. Your talents are too great, and 
 your leisure-time too small, to be wasted in inquiries so frivolous, (I must 
 call them,) as those in which you have of late been too much engaged; 
 whether the Cherokees are of the same race with the Chickasaws ; whether 
 Van Diemen’s Land was peopled from New Holland, or New Holland 
 from Van Diemen’s Land; what is the precise mode of appointing a head- 
 man in a village in Timbuctoo. I would not give the worst page in Clar- 
 endon or Fra Paolo for all that ever was, or ever will be, written about 
 the migrations of the Leleges and the laws of the Oscans. 
 
 I have already entered on my public functions, and I hope to do some 
 good. The very wigs of the Judges in the Court of King’s Bench would 
 stand on end if they knew how short a chapter my Law of Evidence will 
 form. I am not without many advisers. A native of some fortune at 
 Madras has sent me a paper on legislation. “ Your honor must know,” 
 says this judicious person, “ that the great evil is that men swear falsely in 
 this country. No judge knows what to believe. Surely if your honor can 
 make men to swear truly, your honor’s fame will be great, and the Com- 
 pany will flourish. Now, I know how men may be made to swear truly ; 
 and I will tell your honor for your fame, and for the profit of the Company. 
 Let your honor cut off the great toe of the right foot of every man who 
 swears falsely, whereby your honor’s fame will be extended.” Is not this 
 an exquisite specimen of legislative wisdom > 
 
 I must stop. When I begin to write to England, my pen runs as if it 
 would run on for ever. 
 
 Ever yours affectionately, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 Tb Miss Fanny and Miss Selina Macaulay. 
 
 Ootacamund : August lo, 1834. 
 
 My dear Sisters, — I sent last month a full account of my journey hither, 
 and of the place, to Margaret, as the most stationary of our family ; de- 
 siring her to let you all see what I had written to her. I think that I shall 
 continue to take the same course. It is better to write one full and con- 
 nected narrative than a good many imperfect fragments. 
 
 Money matters seem likely to go on capitally. My expenses, I find, 
 will be smaller than I anticipated. The .Rate of Exchange, if you know 
 what that means, is very favorable indeed ; and, if I live, I shall get rich 
 fast. I quite enjoy the thought of appearing in the light of an old hunks 
 who knows on which side his bread is buttered , a warm man ; a fellow 
 who will cv*’ up well. This is not a character which the Macaulays have 
 
LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 243 
 
 1834-38. 
 
 been much in the habit of sustaining ; but I can assure you that, after 
 next Christmas, I expect to lay up on an average about seven thousand 
 pounds a year, while I remain in India. 
 
 At Christmas I shall send home a thousand or twelve hundred pounds 
 for my father and you all. I cannot tell you what a comfort it is to me to 
 find that I shall be able to do this. It reconciles me to all the pains, — 
 acute enough, sometimes, God knows, — of banishment. In a few years, if 
 I live — probably in less than five years from the time at which you will be 
 reading this letter — we shall be again together in a comfortable, though a 
 modest, home ; certain of a good fire, a good joint of meat, and a good 
 glass of wine ; without owing obligations to anybody ; and perfectly indif- 
 ferent, at least as far as our pecuniary interest is concerned, to the changes 
 of the political world. Rely on it, my dear girls, that there is no chance 
 of my going back with my heart cooled towards you. I came hither prin- 
 cipally to save my family, and I am not likely while here to forget them. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 The months of July and August Macaulay spent on the Neilgherries, 
 in a climate equable as Madeira and invigorating as Braemar ; where 
 thickets of rhododendron fill the glades and clothe the ridges ; and where 
 the air is heavy with the scent of rose-trees of a size more fitted for an 
 orchard than a flower-bed, and bushes of heliotrope thirty paces round. 
 The glories of the forests and of the gardens touched him in spite of his 
 profound botanical ignorance, and he dilates more than once upon his 
 “ cottage buried in laburnums, or something very like them, and geraniums 
 which grow in the open air.” He had the more leisure for the natural 
 beauties of the place, as there was not much else to interest even a travel- 
 ler fresh from England. 
 
 “ I have as yet seen little of the idolatry of India; and that little, though ex- 
 cessively absurd, is not characterized by atrocity or indecency. There is nothing of 
 the sort at Ootacainund. I have not, during the last six weeks, witnessed a single 
 circumstance from which you would have inferred that this was a heathen country. 
 The bulk of the natives here are a colony from the plains below, who have come up 
 hither to wait on the European visitors, and who seem to trouble themselves very 
 little about caste or religion. The Todas, the aboriginal population of these hills, 
 are a very curious race. They had a grand funeral a little while ago. I should 
 have gone if .it had not been a Council day ; but I found afterwards that I had lost 
 nothing. The. whole ceremony consisted in sacrificing bullocks to the Manes of 
 the defunct. The roaring of the poor victims was horrible. The people stood 
 talking and laughing till a particular signal was made, and immediately all the 
 ladies lifted up their voices and wept. I have not lived three and thirty years in 
 this world without learning that a bullock roars when he is knocked down, and that 
 a woman can cry whenever she chooses. 
 
244 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VI. 
 
 “ By all that I can leam, the Catholics are the most respectable portion of the 
 native Christians. As to Swartz’s people in the Tanjore, they are a perfect scandal 
 to the religion which they profess. It would have been thought something littl? 
 short of blasphemy to say this a year ago ; but now it is considered impious to say 
 otherwise, for they have got into a violent quarrel with the missionaries and the 
 Bishop. The missionaries refused to recognize the distinctions of caste in the 
 administration of the Sacrament of the Lord’s Supper, and the Bishop supported 
 them in the refusal. I do not pretend to judge whether this was right or wrong. 
 Swartz and Bishop Heber conceived that the distinction of caste, however objec- 
 tionable politically, was still only a distinction of rank ; and that, as in English 
 churches the gentlefolks generally take the Sacrament apart from the poor of the 
 parish, so the high caste natives might be allowed to communicate apart from the 
 Pariahs. 
 
 “ But, whoever was first in the wrong, the Christians of Tanjore took care to be 
 most so. They called in the interposition of Government, and sent up such peti- 
 tions and memorials as I never saw before or since ; made up of lies, invectives, 
 bragging, cant, bad grammar of the most ludicrous kind, and texts of Scripture 
 quoted without the smallest application. I remember one passage by heart, which 
 is really only a fair specimen of the whole : ‘ These missionaries, my Lord, loving 
 only filthy lucre, bid us to eat Lordsupper with Pariahs as lives ugly, handling 
 dead men, drinking rack and toddy, sweeping the streets, mean fellows altogether, 
 base persons, contrary to that which Saint Paul saith: I determined to know 
 nothing among you save Jesus Christ and Him crucified.’ 
 
 “ Was there ever a more appropriate quotation .? I believe that nobody on 
 either side of the controversy found out a text so much to the purpose as one which 
 I cited to the Council of India, when we were discussing this business : ‘ If this be 
 a question of words, and names, and of your law, look ye to it ; for I will be no 
 judge of such matters.’ But though, like Gallio, I drove them and their petitions 
 from my judgment seat, I could not help sa)dng to one of the missionaries, who is 
 here on the Hills, that I thought it a pity to break up the Church of Tanjore on 
 account of a matter which such men as Swartz and Heber had not been inclined to 
 regard as essential. ‘ Sir,’ said the reverend gentleman, ‘ the sooner the Church of 
 Tanjore is broken up, the better. You can form no notion of the worthlessness of 
 the native Christians there.’ I could not dispute this point with him ; but neither 
 I could I help thinking, though I was too polite to say so, that it was hardly worth 
 the while of so many good men to come fifteen thousand miles over sea and land 
 in order to make proselytes, who, their very instructors being judges, were more 
 children of hell than before.” 
 
 Unfortunately Macaulay’s stay on the Neilgherries coincided with the 
 monsoon. “ The rain streamed down in floods. It was very seldom that 
 I could see a hundred yards in front of me. During a month together I 
 did not get two hours’ walking.” He began to be bored, for the first and 
 last time in his life : while his companions, who had not his resources, 
 vrere ready to hang themselves for very dulness. The ordinary amuse- 
 ments with which, in the more settled parts of India, our countrymen 
 beguile the rainy season, were wanting in a settlement that had only lately 
 
1834-38. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 245 
 
 been reclaimed from the desert ; in the immediate vicinity of which you 
 still ran the chance of being “ trod into the shape of half a crown by a 
 wild elephant, or eaten by the tigers which prefer this situation to the 
 plains below for the same reason that takes so many Europeans to India ; 
 they encounter an uncongenial climate for the sake of what they can get.” 
 There were no books in the place except those that Macaulay had brought 
 with him ; among which, most luckily, was Clarissa Harlowe. Aided by 
 the rain outside, he soon talked his favorite romance into general favor. 
 The reader will consent to put up with one or two slight inaccuracies in 
 order to have the story told by Thackeray. 
 
 “ I spoke to him once about Clarissa. ‘ Not read Clarissa ! ’ he cried out. ‘ If 
 you have once read Clarissa, and are infected by it, you can’t leave it. When I 
 was in India I passed one hot season in the Hills ; and there were the Governor- 
 General, and the Secretary of Government, and the Commander-in-Chief, and their 
 wives. I had Clarissa with me ; and, as soon as they began to read, the whole 
 station was in a passion of excitement about Miss Harlowe, and her misfortunes, 
 and her scoundrelly Lovelace. The Governor’s wife seized the book ; the Secretary 
 waited for it ; the Chief Justice could not read it for tears.’ He acted the whole 
 scene : he paced up and down the Athenaeum library. I dare say he could have 
 spoken pages of the book : of that book, and of what countless piles of others ! ” 
 
 An old Scotch doctor, a Jacobin and a free-thinker, who could only be 
 got to attend church by the positive orders of the Governor-General, cried 
 over the last volume * until he was too ill to appear at dinner. The 
 Chief Secretary — afterwards, as Sir William Macnaghten. the hero and 
 the victim of the darkest episode in our Indian history — declared that 
 reading this copy of Clarissa under the inspiration of its owner’s enthu- 
 siasm was nothing less than an epoch in his life. After the lapse of 
 thirty years, when Ootacamund had long enjoyed the advantage of a book- 
 club and a circulating library, the tradition of Macaulay and his novel still 
 lingered on with a tenacity most unusual in the ever-shifting society of an 
 Indian station. 
 
 “ At length Lord William gave me leave of absence. My bearers were posted 
 along the road ; my palanquins were packed ; and I was to start next day ; when 
 an event took place which may give you some insight into the state of the laws, 
 morals, and manners among the natives. 
 
 “ My new servant, a Christian, but such a Christian as the missionaries make in 
 this part of the world, had been persecuted most unmercifully for his religion by 
 the servants of some other gentlemen on the Hills. At last they contrived to 
 
 ♦ Degenerate readers of our own day have actually been provided with an abridgment 
 of Clarissa, itself as long as an ordinary novel. A wiser course than buying th e abridg- 
 ment would be to commence the original at the Third Volume. In the same way, if any- 
 one, after obtaining the outline of Lady Clementina’s story from a more adventurous 
 friend, will read Sir Charles Grandison, skipping all letters from Italians, to Italians, and 
 about Italians, he will find that he has got hold of a delightful, and not unmanageable, book. 
 
246 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VI. 
 
 excite against him, (whether justly or unjustly I am quite unable to say,) the jeal- 
 ousy of one of Lord William’s under-cooks. We had accordingly a most glorious 
 tragi-comedy ; the part of Othello by the cook aforesaid ; Desdemona by an ugly, 
 impudent. Pariah girl, his wife; lago by Colonel Casement’s servant; and Michael 
 Cassio by my rascal. The place of the handkerchief was supplied by a small piece 
 of sugar-candy which Desdemona was detected in the act of sucking, and which 
 had found its way from my canisters to her fingers. If I had any part in the piece 
 it was, I am afraid, that of Roderigo, whom Shakespeare describes as a ‘ foolish 
 gentleman,’ and who also appears to have had money in his purse.’ 
 
 “ On the evening before my departure, my bungalow was besieged by a mob of 
 blackguards. The Native Judge came with them. After a most prodigious quan- 
 tity of jabbering, of which I could not understand one word, I called the Judge, 
 who spoke tolerable English, into my room, and learned from him the nature of 
 the case. I was, and still am, in doubt as to the truth of the charge. I have a 
 very poor opinion of my man’s morals, and a very poor opinion also of the veracity 
 of his accusers. It was, however, so very inconvenient for me to be just then de- 
 prived of my servant that I offered to settle the business at my own expense. 
 Under ordinary circumstances this would have been easy enough, for the Hindoos 
 of the lower castes have no delicacy on these subjects. The husband would gladly 
 have taken a few rupees, and walked away : but the persecutors of my servant 
 interfered, and insisted that he should be brought to trial in order that they might 
 have the pleasure of smearing him with filth, giving him a flogging, beating kettles 
 before him, and carrying him round on an ass with his face to the tail. 
 
 “ As the matter could not be accommodated, I begged the Judge to try the 
 case instantly ; but the rabble insisted that the trial should not take place for some 
 days. I argued the matter with them very mildly, and told them that I must go 
 next day, and that, if my servant were detained, guilty or innocent, he must lose 
 his situation. The gentle and reasoning tone of my expostulations only made 
 them impudent. They are, in truth, a race so accustomed to be trampled on by 
 the strong that they always consider humanity as a sign of weakness. The Judge 
 told me that he never heard a gentleman speak such sweet words to the people. 
 But I was now at an end of my sweet words. My blood was beginning to boil at 
 the undisguised display of rancorous hatred and shameless injustice. I sate down, 
 and wrote a line to the Commandant of the station, begging him to give orders that 
 the case might be tried that very evening. The Court assembled, and continued all 
 night in violent contention. At last the Judge pronounced my servant not guilty. 
 I did not then know, what I learned some days after, that this respectable magis- 
 trate had received twenty rupees on the occasion. 
 
 “ The husband would now gladly have taken the money which he refused the 
 day before : but I would not give him a farthing. The rascals who had raised the 
 disturbance were furious. My servant was to set out at eleven in the morning, and 
 I was to follow at two. He had scarcely left the door when I heard a noise. I 
 looked forth, and saw that the gang had pulled him out of his palanquin, torn off 
 his turban, stripped him almost naked, and were, as it seemed, about to pull him to 
 pieces. I snatched up a sword-stick, and ran into the middle of them. It was all 
 I could do to force my way to him, and, for a moment, I thought my own person 
 
1834-38. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 2^7 
 
 was in danger as well as his. I supported the poor wretch in my arms ; for, like 
 most of his countrymen, he is a chicken-hearted fellow, and was almost fainting 
 away. My honest barber, a fine old soldier in the Company’s service, ran off for 
 assistance, and soon returned with some police officers. I ordered the bearers to 
 turn round, and proceeded instantly to the house of the Commandant. I was not 
 long detained here. Nothing can be well imagined more expeditious than the 
 administration of justice in this country, when the judge is a Colonel, and the 
 plaintiff a Councillor. I told my story in three words. In three minutes the rioters 
 were marched off to prison, and my servant, with a sepoy to guard him, was fairly 
 on his road and out of danger.” 
 
 Early next morning Macaulay began to descend the pass. 
 
 “ After going down for about an hour we emerged from the clouds and moist- 
 ure, and the plain of Mysore lay before us, — a vast ocean of foliage on which the 
 sun was shining gloriously. I am jery little given to cant about the beauties of 
 nature, but I was moved almost to tears. I jumped off the palanquin, and walked 
 in front of it down the immense declivity. In two hours we descended about three 
 thousand feet. Every turning in the road showed the boundless forest below in 
 some new point of view. I was greatly struck with the resemblance which this 
 prodigious jungle, as old as the world, and planted by nature, bears to the fine 
 works of the great English landscape gardeners. It was exactly a Wentworth Park 
 as large as Devonshire. After reaching the foot of the hills, we travelled through 
 a succession of scenes which might have been part of the garden of Eden. Such 
 gigantic trees I never saw. In a quarter of an hour I passed hundreds the smallest 
 of which would bear a comparison with any of those oaks which are shown as pro- 
 digious in England. The grass, the weeds, and the wild flowers grew as high as 
 my head. The sun, almost a stranger to me, was now shining brightly ; and, when 
 late in the afternoon I again got out of my palanquin and looked back, I saw the 
 large mountain ridge from which I had descended twenty miles behind me, still 
 buried in the same mass of fog and rain in which I had been living for weeks. 
 
 “On Tuesday the i6th I went on board at Madras. I amused myself on the 
 voyage to Calcutta with learning Portuguese, and made myself almost as well ac- 
 quainted with it as I care to be. I read the Lusiad, and am now reading it a second 
 time. I own that I am disappointed in Camoens ; but I have so often found my 
 first impressions wrong on such subjects that I still hope to be able to join my 
 voice to that of the great body of critics. I never read any famous foreign book, 
 which did not, in the first perusal, fall short of my expectations ; except Dante’s 
 poem, and Don Quixote, which were prodigiously superior to vdiat I had imagined. 
 Yet in these cases I had not pitched my expectations low.” 
 
 He had not much time for his Portuguese studies. The run was 
 unusually fast, and the ship only spent a week in the Bay of Bengal, and 
 forty-eight hours in the Hooghly. He found his sister comfortably install- 
 ed in Government House, where he himself took up his quarters during 
 the next six weeks ; Lady William Bentinck having been prepared to wel- 
 come him as a guest by her husband’s letters, more than one of which 
 ended with the words “ e un miracolo.” Towards the middle of Novem- 
 
248 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VI. 
 
 ber, Macaulay began housekeeping for himself ; living, as he always loved 
 to live, rather more generously than the strict necessities of his position 
 demanded. His residence, then the best in Calcutta, has long since been 
 converted into the Bengal Club. 
 
 To Macvey Napier, Esq. 
 
 Calcutta : December 10, 1834. 
 
 Dear Napier, — First to business. At length I send you the article on 
 Mackintosh ; an article which has the merit of length, whatever it may be 
 deficient in. As I wished to transmit it to England in duplicate, if not in 
 triplicate, I thought it best to have two or three copies coarsely printed 
 here under the seal of strict secresy. The printers at Edinburgh will, 
 therefore, have no trouble in deciphering my manuscript, and the correc- 
 tor of the press will find his work done tew his hands. 
 
 The disgraceful imbecility, and the still more disgraceful malevolence, 
 of the editor have, as you will see, moved my indignation not a little. I 
 hope that Longman’s connection with the Review will not prevent you 
 from inserting what I have said on this subject. Murray’s copy writers 
 are unsparingly abused by Southey and Lockhart in the Quarterly ; audit 
 would be hard indeed if we might not in the Edinburgh strike hard at an 
 assailant of Mackintosh. 
 
 I shall now begin another article. The subject I have not yet fixed 
 upon ; perhaps the romantic poetry of Italy, for which there is an excel- 
 lent opportunity, Panizzi’s reprint of Boiardo ; perhaps the little volume 
 of Burnet’s Characters edited by Bishop Jebb. This reminds me that I 
 have to acknowledge the receipt of a box from Longman, containing this 
 little book; and other books of much greater value, Grimm’s Correspon- 
 dence, Jacquemont’s Letters, and several foreign works on jurisprudence. 
 All that you have yet sent have been excellently chosen. I will mention, 
 while I am on this subject, a few books which I want, and which I am not 
 likely to pick up here ; Daru’s Histoire de Venise ; St. Real’s Conjura- 
 tion de Venise ; Fra Paolo’s works ; Monstrelet’s Chronicle ; and Coxe’s 
 book on the Pelhams. I should also like to have a really good edition of 
 Lucian. 
 
 My sister desires me to send you her kind regards. She remembers 
 her visit to Edinburgh, and your hospitality, with the greatest pleasure. 
 Calcutta is called, and not without some reason, the city of palaces ; but 
 I have seen nothing in the East like the view from the Castle Rock, nor 
 expect to see anything like it till we stand there together again. 
 
 Kindest regards to Lord Jeffrey. 
 
 Yours most truly, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
1834-38. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY* 
 
 249 
 
 To Mrs. Cropper. 
 
 Calcutta : December 7, 1834. 
 
 Dearest Margaret, — I rather suppose that some late letters from 
 Nancy may have prepared you to learn what I am now about to communi- 
 cate. She is going to be married, and with my fullest and warmest ap- 
 probation. I can truly say that, if I had to search India for a husband 
 for her, I could have found no man to w'hom I could with equal confidence 
 have entrusted her happiness. Trevelyan is about eight and twenty. He 
 was educated at the Charter-house, and then went to Haileybury, and 
 came out hither. In this country he has distinguished himself beyond 
 any man of his standing by his great talent for business ; by his liberal 
 and enlarged views of policy; and by literary merit, which, for his oppor- 
 tunities, is considerable. He was at first placed at Delhi under Sir Ed- 
 ward Colebrooke, a very powerful and a very popular man, but extremely 
 corrupt. This man tried to initiate Trevelyan in his own infamous 
 practices. But the young fellow’s spirit was too noble for such things. 
 When only twenty-one years of age he publicly accused Sir Edward, 
 then almost at the head of the service, of receiving bribes from the natives. 
 A perfect storm was raised against the accuser. He was almost every- 
 where abused, and very generally cut. But, with a firmness and ability 
 scarcely ever seen in any man so young, he brought his proofs forward, 
 and, after an inquiry of some w’eeks, fully made out his case. Sir Edward 
 was dismissed in disgrace, and is now living obscurely in England. The 
 Government here, and the Directors at home, applauded Trevelyan in the 
 highest terms ; and from that time he has been considered as a man likely 
 to rise to the very top of the service. Lord William told him to ask for 
 anything that he wished for. Trevelyan begged that something might be 
 done for his elder brother, who is in the Company’s army. Lord William 
 told him that he had richly earned that, or anything else, and gave Lieuten- 
 ant Trevelyan a very good diplomatic employment. Indeed Lord William, 
 a man who makes no favorites, has always given to Trevelyan the strongest 
 marks, not of a blind partiality, but of a thoroughly well grounded and 
 discriminating esteem. 
 
 Not long ago Trevelyan was appointed by him to the Under Secretary- 
 ship for foreign affairs, an office of a very important and confidential 
 nature. While holding the place he was commissioned to report to 
 Government on the operation of the Internal Transit duties of India. 
 About a year ago his Report was completed. I shall send to England a 
 copy or two of it by the first safe conveyance ; for nothing that I can say 
 of his abilities or of his public spirit will be half so satisfactory. I have 
 no hesitation in affirming that it is a perfect masterpiece in its kind. 
 Accustomed as I have been to public affairs, I never read an abler state 
 paper ; and I do not believe that there is, I will not say in India, but in 
 
250 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VL 
 
 England, another man of twenty-seven who could have written it. Tre- 
 velyan is a most stormy reformer. Lord William said to me, before any- 
 one had observed Trevelyan’s attentions to Nancy : “ That man is almost 
 always on the right side in every question ; and it is well that he is so, 
 for he gives a most confounded deal of trouble when he happens to take 
 the wrong one.”* He is quite at the head of that active party among the 
 younger servants of the Company who take the side of improvement. In 
 particular, he is the soul of every scheme for diffusing education among 
 the natives of this country. His reading has been very confined ; but to 
 the little that he has read he has brought a mind as active and restless as 
 Lord Brougham’s, and much more judicious and honest. 
 
 As to his person, he always looks like a gentleman, particularly on 
 horseback. He is very active and athletic, and is renowned as a great 
 master in the most exciting and perilous of field sports, the spearing of 
 wild boars. His face has a most characteristic expression of ardor and 
 impetuosity, which makes his countenance very interesting to me. Birth 
 is a thing that I care nothing about ; but his family is one of the oldest 
 and best in England. 
 
 During the important years of his life, from twenty to twenty-five, or 
 thereabouts, Trevelyan was in a remote province of India, where his 
 whole time was divided between public business and field sports, and 
 where he seldom saw a European gentleman, and never a European lady. 
 He has no small talk. His mind is full of schemes of moral and political 
 improvement, and his zeal boils over in his talk. His topics, even in 
 courtship, are steam navigation, the education of the natives, the equaliza- 
 tion of the sugar duties, the substitution of the Roman for the Arabic 
 alphabet in the Oriental languages. 
 
 I saw the feeling growing from the first ; for, though I generally pay 
 not the smallest attention to those matters, I had far too deep an interest 
 in Nancy’s happiness not to watch her behavior to everybody who saw 
 much of her. I knew it, I believe, before she knew it herself ; and I could 
 most easily have prevented it by merely treating Trevelyan with a little 
 coldness, for he is a man whom the smallest rebuff would completely dis- 
 courage. But you will believe, my dearest Margaret, that no thought of 
 such base selfishness over passed through my mind. I would as soon 
 have locked my dear Nancy up in a nunnery as have put the smallest 
 obstacle in the way of her having a good husband. I therefore gave 
 every facility and encouragement to both of them. What I have myself 
 felt, it is unnecessary to say. My parting from you almost broke my 
 
 * Macaulay used to apply to his future brother-in-law the remark which J ulius Caesar 
 made with regard to his young friend Brutus : “ Magni refert hie quid velit. Quidquid 
 volet, vald^ volet.” 
 
1834-38. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 251 
 
 heart. But when I parted from you I had Nancy; I had all my other 
 relations : I had my friends : I had my country. Now I have nothing 
 except the resources of my own mind, and the consciousness of having 
 acted not ungenerously. But I do not repine. Whatever I suffer I have 
 brought on myself. I have neglected the plainest lessons of reason 
 and experience. I have staked my happiness without calculating the* 
 chances of the dice. I have hewn out broken cisterns ; I have leant on 
 a reed ; I have built on the sand ; and I have fared accordingly. I must 
 bear my punishment as I can ; and, above all, I must take care that the 
 punishment does not extend beyond myself. 
 
 Nothing can be kinder than Nancy’s conduct has been. She proposes 
 that we should form one family ; and Trevelyan, (though, like most lovers, 
 he would, I imagine, prefer having his goddess to himself,) consented 
 with strong expressions of pleasure. The arrangement is not so strange 
 as it might seem at home. The thing is often done here ; and those 
 quarrels between servants, which would inevitably mar any such plan 
 in England, are not to be apprehended in an Indian establishment. One 
 advantage there will be in our living together of a most incontestable sort; 
 we shall both be able to save more money. Trevelyan will soon be 
 entitled to his furlough ; but he proposes not to take it till I go home. 
 
 I shall write in a very different style from this to my father. To him I 
 shall represent the marriage as what it is in every respect except its effect 
 on my own dreams of happiness, — a most honorable and happy event ; pru- 
 dent in a worldly point of view ; and promising all the felicity which strong 
 mutual affection, excellent principles on both sides, good temper, youth, 
 health, and the general approbation of friends can afford. As for myself, 
 it is a tragical denouement of an absurd plot. I remember quoting some 
 nursery rhymes, years ago, when you left me in London to join Nancy at 
 Rothley Temple or Leamington, I forget which. Those foolish lines con- 
 tain the history of my life. 
 
 There were two birds that sat on a stone ; 
 
 One flew away, and there was but one. 
 
 The other flew away, and then there was none ; 
 
 And the poor stone was left all alone. 
 
 Ever, my dearest Margaret, yours, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 A passage from a second letter to the same person deserves to be quo- 
 ted, as an instance of how a good man may be unable to read aright his 
 own nature, and a wise man to forecast his own future. “ I feel a growing 
 tendency to cynicism and suspicion. My intellect remains ; and is likely, 
 T sometimes think, to absorb the whole man. I still retain, (not only un- 
 diminished, but strengthened by the very events which have deprived me 
 
252 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VI. 
 
 of everything else,) my thirst for knowledge ; my passion for holding con- 
 verse with the greatest minds of all ages and nations ; my power of for- 
 getting what surrounds me, and of living with the past, the future, the dis- 
 tant, and the unreal. Books are becoming everything to me. If I had at 
 this moment my choice of life, I would bury myself in one of those im- 
 mense libraries that we saw together at the universities, and never pass a 
 waking hour without a book before me.” So little was he aware that, du- 
 ring the years which were to come, his thoughts and cares would be less 
 than ever for himself, and more for others ; and that his existence would 
 be passed amidst a bright atmosphere of affectionate domestic happiness, 
 which, until his own death came, no accident was henceforward destined 
 to overcloud. 
 
 But before his life assumed the equable and prosperous tenor in which 
 it continued to the end, one more trouble was in store for him. Long be- 
 fore the last letters to his sister Margaret had been written, the eyes which 
 were to have read them had been closed forever. The fate of so young a 
 wife and mother touched deeply all who had known her, and some who 
 knew her only by name.* When the melancholy news arrived in India, 
 the young couple were spending their honeymoon in a lodge in the Gov- 
 ernor-General’s park at Barrackpore. They immediately returned to Cal- 
 cutta, and, under the shadow of a great sorrow,! began their sojourn in 
 their brother’s house ; who, for his part, did what he might to drown his 
 grief in floods of official work. 
 
 The narrative of that work may well be the despair of Macaulay’s biog- 
 rapher. It would be inexcusable to slur over what in many important 
 respects was the most honorable chapter of his life ; while on the other 
 hand, the task of interesting Englishmen in the details of Indian adminis- 
 tration is an undertaking which has baffled every pen except his own. In 
 such a dilemma the safest course is to allow that pen to tell the story for 
 itself ; or rather so much of the story as, by concentrating the attention of 
 
 ♦ Moultrie made Mrs. Cropper’s death the subject of some verses on which her rela- 
 tives set a high value. He acknowledges his little poem to be the tribute of one, who had 
 been a stranger to her whom it was written to commemorate. 
 
 And yet methinks we are not strange: so many claims there be 
 Which seem to weave a viewless band between my soul and thee. 
 
 Sweet sister of my early friend, the kind the single-hearted. 
 
 Than whose remembrance none more bright still gilds the days departed ! 
 Beloved, with more than sister’s love, by some whose love to me 
 Is now almost my brightest gem in this world’s treasury. 
 
 t “April 8. Lichfield. Easter Sunday. After the service was ended, we went over 
 the Cathedral. When I stood before the famous children by Chantrey, I could think 
 only of one thing ; that, when last I was there, in 1832, my dear sister Margaret was with 
 me, and that she was greatly affected. I could not command my tears, and was forced to 
 leave our party, and walk about by myself.” Macaulay’s Journal for the year 1849. 
 
1834 - 38 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 253 
 
 the reader upon matters akin to those which are in frequent debate at 
 home, may enable him to judge whether Macaulay at the council-board 
 and the bureau was the equal of Macaulay in the senate and the library. 
 
 Examples of his Minute-writing may with some confidence be submit- 
 ted to the criticism of those whose experience of public business has taught 
 them in what a Minute should differ from a Dispatch, a Memorial, a Re- 
 port, and a Decision. His method of applying general principles to the 
 circumstances of a special case, and of illustrating those principles with 
 just so much literary ornament as would place his views in a pictorial form 
 before the minds of those whom it was his business to convince, is striking- 
 ly exhibited in the series of papers by means of which he reconciled his 
 colleagues in the Council, and his masters in Leadenhall Street, to the re- 
 moval of the modified Censorship which existed in India previously to the 
 year 1835. 
 
 “ It is difficult,” he writes, “ to conceive that any measures can be more indefen- 
 sible than those which I propose to repeal. It has always been the practice of politic 
 rulers to disguise their arbitrary measures under popular forms and names. The 
 conduct of the Indian Government with respect to the Press has been altogether at 
 variance with this trite and obvious maxim. The newspapers have for years been 
 allowed as ample a measure of practical liberty as that which they enjoy in England. 
 If any inconveniences arise from the liberty of political discussion, to those incon- 
 veniences we are already subject. Yet while our policy is thus liberal and indulgent, 
 we are daily reproached and taunted with the bondage in which we keep the Press. 
 A strong feeling on this subject appears to exist throughout the European com- 
 munity here ; and the loud complaints which have lately been uttered are likely to 
 produce a considerable effect on the English people, who will see at a glance that 
 the law is oppressive, and who will not know how completely it is inoperative. 
 
 “ To impose strong restraints on political discussion is an intelligible policy, 
 and may possibly, — though I greatly doubt it, — be in some countries a wise policy. 
 But this is not the point at issue. The question before us is not whether the Press 
 shall be free, but whether, being free, it shall be called free. It is surely mere mad- 
 ness in a Government to make itself unpopular for nothing ; — to be indulgent, and 
 yet to disguise its indulgence under such outward forms as bring on it the reproach 
 of tyranny. Yet this is now our policy. We are exposed to all the dangers, — dan- 
 gers, I conceive, greatly overrated, — of a free Press ; and at the same time we con- 
 trive to incur all the opprobrium of a censorship. It is universally allowed that the 
 licensing system, as at present administered, does not keep any man who can buy a 
 press from publishing the bitterest and most sarcastic reflections on any public meas- 
 lure, or any public functionary. Yet the very words ‘ license to print ’ have a sound 
 hateful to the ears of Englishmen in every part of the globe. It is unnecessary to in- 
 quire whether this feeling be reasonable ; whether the petitioners who have so strongly 
 pressed this matter on our consideration would not have shown a better judgment if 
 they had been content with their practical liberty, and had reserved their murmurs 
 for practical grievances. The question for us is not what they ought to do, but what 
 we ought to do ; not whether it be wise in them to complain when they suffer no in- 
 
254 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VI. 
 
 jury, but whether it be wise in us to incur odium unaccompanied by the smallest ac- 
 cession of security or of power. 
 
 “ One argument only has been urged in defence of the present system. It is 
 admitted that the Press of Bengal has long been suffered to enjoy practical liberty, 
 and that nothing but an extreme emergency could justify the Government in curtailing 
 that liberty. But, it is said, such an emergency may arise, and the Government 
 ought to retain in its hands the power of adopting, in that event, the sharp, prompt, 
 and decisive measures which may be necessary for the preservation of the empire. 
 But when we consider with what vast powers, extending over all classes of people, 
 Parliament has armed the Governor-General in Council, and, in extreme cases, the 
 Governor-General alone, we shall probably be inclined to allow little weight to this 
 argument. No Government in the world is better provided with the means of meet- 
 ing extraordinary dangers by extraordinary precautions. Five persons, who may be 
 brought together in half an hour, whose deliberations are secret, who are not shackled 
 by any of those forms which elsewhere delay legislative measures, can in a single 
 sitting, make a law for stopping every press in India. Possessing as we do the un- 
 questionable power to interfere whenever the safety of the state may require it, with 
 overwhelming rapidity and energy, we surely ought not, in quiet times, to be con- 
 stantly keeping the offensive form and ceremonial of despotism before the eyes of 
 those whom, nevertheless, we permit to enjoy the substance of freedom.” 
 
 Eighteen months elapsed ; during which the Calcutta Press found 
 occasion to attack Macaulay with a breadth and ferocity of calumny such 
 as few public men, in any age and country, have ever endured, and none, 
 perhaps, have ever forgiven. There were many mornings when it was 
 impossible for him to allow the newspapers to lie about his sister’s draw- 
 ing-room. The Editor of the Periodical which called itself, and had a 
 right to call itself, the Friend of India^’ undertook to shame his brethren 
 by publishing a collection of their invectives ; but it was very soon evi- 
 dent that no decent journal could venture to foul its pages by reprinting 
 the epithets, and the anecdotes, which constituted the daily greeting of 
 the literary men of Calcutta to their fellow-craftsman of the Edinburgh 
 Review. But Macaulay’s cheery and robust common sense carried him 
 safe and sound through an ordeal which has broken down sterner natures 
 than his, and embittered as stainless lives. The allusions in his correspond- 
 ence, all the more surely because they are brief and rare, indicate that 
 the torrent of obloquy to which he was exposed interfered neither with his 
 temper nor with his happiness ; and how little he allowed it to disturb his 
 judgment, or distort his public spirit, is proved by the tone of a state 
 paper, addressed to the Court of Directors in September 1836, in which 
 he eagerly vindicates the freedom of the Calcutta Press, at a time when 
 the writers of that Press, on the days when they were pleased to be 
 decent, could find for him no milder appellations than those of cheat, 
 swindler, and charlatan. 
 
1834 - 38 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 255 
 
 “ I regret that on this, or on any subject, my opinion should differ from that o, 
 the Honorable Court. But I still conscientiously think that we acted wisely when 
 we passed the law on the subject of the Press ; and I am quite certain that we should 
 act most unwisely if we were now to repeal that law. 
 
 “ I must, in the first place, venture to express an opinion that the importance 
 of that question is greatly over-rated by persons, even the best informed and the 
 most discerning, who are not actually on the spot. It is most justly observed by the 
 Honorable Court that many of the arguments which may be urged in favor of a 
 free Press at home do not apply to this country. But it is, I conceive, no less true 
 that scarcely any of those arguments which have been employed in Europe to defend 
 restrictions on the Press apply to a Press such as that of India. 
 
 “ In Europe, and especially in England, the Press is an engine of tremendous 
 power, both for good and for evil. The most enlightened men, after long experience 
 both of its salutar>- and of its pernicious operation, have come to the conclusion that 
 the good on the whole preponderates. But that there is no inconsiderable amount 
 of evil to be set off against the good has never been disputed by the warmest friend 
 to freedom of discussion. 
 
 “ In India the Press is comparatively a very feeble engine. It does far less 
 good, and far less harm, than in Europe. It sometimes renders useful services to 
 the public. It sometimes brings to the notice of the Government evils the exist- 
 ence of which would otherwise have been unknown. It operates, to some extent, 
 as a salutary check on public functionaries. It does something towards keeping 
 the administration pure. On the other hand, by misrepresenting public measures, 
 and by flattering the prejudices of those who support it, it sometimes produces a 
 slight degree of excitement in a very small portion of the community. 
 
 “ How slight that excitement is, even when it reaches its greatest height, and 
 how little the Government has to fear from it, no person whose observation has 
 been confined to European societies will readily believe. In this country the 
 number of English residents is very small, and, of that small number, a great pro- 
 portion are engaged in the service of the State, and are most deeply interested in 
 the maintenance of existing institutions. Even those English settlers who are not 
 in the service of the Government have a strong interest in its stability. They are 
 few : they are thinly scattered among a vast population with whom they have 
 neither language, nor religion, nor morals, nor manners, nor color, in common : 
 they feel that any convulsion which should overthrow the existing order of things 
 would be ruinous to themselves. Particular acts of the Government, — especially 
 acts which are mortifying to the pride of caste naturally felt by an Englishman in 
 India, — are often angrily condemned by these persons. But every indigo-planter 
 in Tirhoot, and every shopkeeper in Calcutta, is perfectly aware that the downfall 
 of the Government would be attended with the destruction of his fortune, and with 
 imminent hazard to his life. 
 
 “ Thus, among the English inhabitants of India, there are no fit subjects for 
 that species of excitement which the Press sometimes produces at home. There is 
 no class among them analogous to that vast body of English laborers and artisans 
 whose minds are rendered irritable by frequent distress and privation, and on 
 whom, therefore, the sophistry and rhetoric of bad men often produce a tremendcus 
 
256 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VI. 
 
 effect. The English papers here might be infinitely more seditious than the most 
 seditious that were ever printed in London without doing harm to anything but 
 their own circulation. The fire goes out for want of some combustible material on 
 which to seize. How little reason would there be to apprehend danger to order 
 and property in England from the most inflammatory writings, if those writings 
 were read only by Ministers of State, Commissioners of the Customs and Excise, 
 Judges and Masters in Chancery, upper clerks in Government offices, officers in 
 the army, bankers, landed proprietors, barristers, and master manufacturers 1 The 
 most timid politician would not anticipate the smallest evil from the most seditious 
 libels, if the circulation of those libels were confined to such a class of readers : and 
 it is to such a class of readers that the circulation of the English newspapers in 
 India is almost entirely confined.” 
 
 The motive for the scurrility with which Macaulay was assailed by a 
 handful of sorry scribblers was his advocacy of the Act, familiarly known 
 as the Black Act, which withdrew from British subjects resident in the 
 provinces their so-called privilege of bringing civil appeals before the 
 Supreme Court at Calcutta. Such appeals were thenceforward to be 
 tried by the Sudder Court, which was manned by the Company’s Judges, 
 “ all of them English gentlemen of liberal education : as free as even the 
 Judges of the Supreme Court from any imputation of personal corrup- 
 tion, and selected by the Government from a body which abounds in men 
 as honorable and as intelligent as ever were employed in the service of 
 any state.” The change embodied in the Act was one of little practical 
 moment ; but it excited an opposition based upon arguments and asser- 
 tions of such a nature that the success or failure of the proposed measure 
 became a question of high and undeniable importance. 
 
 “ In my opinion,” writes Macaulay, “ the chief reason for preferring the Sudder 
 Court is this — that it is the court which we have provided to administer justice, in 
 the last resort, to the great body of the people. If it is not fit for that purpose, it 
 ought to be made so. If it is fit to administer justice to the great body of the 
 people, why should we exempt a mere handful of settlers from its jurisdiction ? 
 There certainly is, I will not say the reality, but the semblance of partiality and 
 tyranny in the distinction made by the Charter act of 1813. That distinction 
 seems to indicate a notion that the natives of India may well put up with some- 
 thing less than justice, or that Englishmen in India have a title to something more 
 than justice. If we give our own countrymen an appeal to the King’s Courts, in 
 cases in which all others are forced to be contented with the Company’s Courts, we 
 do in fact, cry down the company’s courts. We proclaim to the Indian people that 
 there are two sorts of justice, — a coarse one, which we think good enough for 
 them, and another of superior quality, which we keep for ourselves. If we take 
 pains to show that we distrust our highest courts, how can we expect that the 
 natives of the country will place confidence in them ? 
 
 “ The draft of the Act was published, and was, as I fully expected, not unfavor- 
 
1834-38. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 257 
 
 ably received by the British in the Mofussil.* Seven weeks have elapsed since the 
 notification took place. Time has been allowed for petitions from the furthest 
 corners of the territories subject to this Presidency. But I have heard of only one 
 attempt in the Mofussil to get up a remonstrance ; and the Mofussil newspapers 
 which I have seen, though generally disposed to cavil at all the acts of the Govern- 
 ment, have spoken favorably of this measure. 
 
 “ In Calcutta the case has been somewhat different : and this is a remarkable 
 fact. The British inhabitants of Calcutta are the only British-born subjects in 
 Bengal who will not be affected by the proposed Act : and they are the only 
 British subjects in Bengal who have expressed the smallest objection to it. The 
 clamor, indeed, has proceeded from a very small portion of the society of Calcutta. 
 The objectors have not ventured to call a- public meeting, and their memorial has 
 obtained very few signatures. But they have attempted to make up by noise and 
 virulence for what has been wanting in strength. It may at first sight appear 
 strange that a law, which is not unwelcome to those who are to live under it, should 
 excite such acrimonious feelings among people who are wholly exempted from its 
 operation. But the explanation is simple. Though nobody who resides at Calcutta 
 will be sued in the Mofussil courts, many people who reside at Calcutta have, or 
 wish to have, practice in the Supreme Court. Great exertions have accordingly 
 been made, though with little success, to excite a feeling against this measure 
 among the English inhabitants of Calcutta. 
 
 The political phraseology of the English in India is the same with the politi-' 
 cal phraseology of our countrymen at home ; but it is never to be forgotten that the 
 same words stand for very different things at London and at Calcutta. We hear 
 much about public opinion, the love of liberty, the influence of thef Press. But we 
 must remember that public opinion means the opinion of five hundred persons who 
 have no interest, feeling, or taste in common with the fifty millions among whom 
 they live ; that the love of liberty means the strong objection which the five hundred 
 feel to every measure which can prevent them from acting as they choose towards 
 the fifty millions ; that the Press is altogether supported by the five hundred, and 
 has no motive to plead the cause of the fifty millions. 
 
 “ We know that India- cannot have a free Government. But she may have the 
 next best thing, — a firm and impartial despotism. The worst state in which she 
 can possibly be placed is that in which the memorialists would place her. They 
 call on us to recognize them as a privileged order of freemen in the midst of slaves. 
 It was for the purpose of averting this great evil that Parliament, at the same time 
 at which it suffered Englishmen to settle in India, armed us with those large 
 powers which, in my opinion, we ill deserve to possess, if we have not the spirit to 
 use them now.” 
 
 Macaulay had made two mistakes. He had yielded to the temptation 
 of imputing motives, a habit which the Spectator newspaper has pro- 
 nounced to be his one intellectual vice, finely adding that it is “ the vice 
 of rectitude ; ” and he had done worse still, for he had challenged his 
 
 * The term “ Mofussil ” is used to denote the provinces of the Bengal Presidency, as 
 opposed to the Capital. 
 
 VOL 1 .— 17 
 
LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VI 
 
 258 
 
 opponents to a course of agitation. They responded to the call. Aftei 
 preparing the way by a string of communications 4o the public journals, 
 in which their objections to the Act were set forth at enormous length, 
 and with as much point and dignity as can be obtained by a copious use 
 of italics and capital letters, they called a public meeting, the proceedings 
 at which were almost too ludicrous for description. “ I have seen,” said 
 one of the speakersj“at a Hindoo festival, a naked dishevelled figure, 
 his face painted with grotesque colors, and his long hair besmeared with 
 dirt and ashes. His tongue was pierced with an iron bar, and his breast 
 was scorched by the fire from the burning altar which rested on his 
 stomach. This revolting figure, covered with ashes, dirt, and bleeding, 
 voluntary wounds, may the next moment ascend the Sudder bench, and 
 in a suit between a Hindoo and an Englishman think it an act of sanctity 
 to decide against law in favor of the professor of the true faith.” An 
 other gentleman, Mr. Longueville Clarke, reminded “the tyrant” that 
 
 There yawns the sack, and yonder rolls the sea. 
 
 “ Mr. Macaulay may treat this as an idle threat ; but his knowledge of 
 history will supply him with many examples of what has occurred when 
 resistance has been provoked by milder instances of despotism than the 
 decimation of a people.” This pretty explicit recommendation to lynch 
 a Member of Council was received with rapturous applause. 
 
 At length arose a Captain Biden, who spoke as follows : “ Gentlemen, 
 I come before you in the character of a British seaman, and on that 
 ground claim your attention for a few moments. Gentlemen, there has 
 been much talk during the evening of laws, and regulations, and rights, 
 and liberties ; but you all seem to have forgotten that this is the anniver- 
 sary of the glorious Battle of Waterloo. I beg to propose, and I call on 
 the statue of Lord Cornwallis and yourselves to join me in three cheers 
 for the Duke of Wellington and the Battle of Waterloo.” The audience, 
 who by this time were pretty well convinced that no grievance which 
 c.ould possibly result under the Black Act could equal the horrors of a 
 crowd in the Town Hall of Calcutta during the latter half of June, gladly 
 caught at the diversion, and made noise enough to satisfy even the gallant 
 orator. The business was brought to a hurried close, and the meeting 
 was adjourned till the following week. 
 
 But the luck of Macaulay’s adversaries pursued them still. One of 
 the leading speakers at the adjourned meeting, himself a barrister, gave 
 another barrister the lie, and a tumult ensued which Captain Biden in 
 vain endeavored to calm by his favorite remedy. “The opinion at Ma- 
 dras, Bombay, and Canton,” said he (and in so saying he uttered the 
 only sentence of wisdom which either evening had produced), “is that 
 there is no public opinion at Calcutta but the lawyers. And now, — who 
 
1834-38. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 259 
 
 has the presumption to call it a burlesque ? — let’s give three cheers for 
 the Battle of Waterloo, and then I’ll propose an amendment which shall 
 go into the whole question.” The Chairman, who certainly had earned 
 the vote of thanks for “ his very extraordinary patience ” which Captain 
 Biden was appropriately selected to move, contrived to get resolutions 
 passed in favor of petitioning Parliament and the Home Government 
 against the obnoxious Act. 
 
 The next few weeks were spent by the leaders of the movement in 
 squabbling over the preliminaries of duels that never came off, and apply- 
 ing for criminal informations for libel against each other, which their 
 beloved Supreme Court very judiciously refused to grant; but in the 
 course of time the petitions were signed, and an agent was selected, who 
 undertook to convey them to England. On the 22d of March 1838 a 
 Committee of Inquiry into the operations of the Act was moved for in the 
 House of Commons ; but there was nothing in the question which tempted 
 Honorable Members to lay aside their customary indifference with regard 
 to Indian controversies, and the motion fell through without a Division. 
 The House allowed the Government to have its own^way in the matter; 
 and any possible hesitation on the part of the Ministers was borne down 
 by the emphasis with which Macaulay claimed their support. “ I conceive,” 
 he wrote, “ that the Act is good in itself, and that the time for passing it 
 has been well chosen. The strongest reason, however, for passing it, is 
 the nature of the opposition which it has experienced. The organs of 
 that opposition repeated every day that the English were the conquerors, 
 and the lords, of the country ; the dominant race ; the electors of the 
 House of Commons, whose power extends both over the Company at 
 home, and over the Governor-General in Council here. The constituents 
 of the British Legislature, they told us, were not to be bound by laws 
 made by any inferior authority. The firmness with which the Govern- 
 ment withstood the idle outcry of two or three hundred people, about a 
 matter with which they had nothing to do, was designated as insolent 
 defiance of public opinion. We were enemies of freedom, because we 
 would not suffer a small white aristocracy to domineer over millions. 
 How utterly at variance these principles are with reason, with justice, with 
 the honor of the British Government, and with the dearest interests of the 
 Indian people, it is unnecessary for me to point out. For myself, I can 
 only say that, if the Government is to be conducted on such principles, I 
 am utterly disqualified,.by all my feelings and opinions, from bearing any 
 part in it, and cannot too soon resign my place to some person better fitted 
 to hold it.” 
 
 It is fortunate for India that a man with the tastes, and the training, of 
 Macaulay came to her shores as one vested with authority, and that he 
 came at the moment when he did ; for that moment was the very turning- 
 
26 o 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VI. 
 
 point of her intellectual progress. All Educational action had been at a 
 stand for some time back, on account of an irreconcilable difference of 
 opinion in the Committee of Public Instruction ; which was divided, five 
 against five, on either side of a controversy, vital, inevitable, admitting of 
 neither postponement nor compromise, and conducted by both parties 
 with a pertinacity and a warmth that was nothing but honorable to those 
 concerned. Half of the members were for maintaining and extending the 
 old scheme of encouraging Oriental learning by stipends paid to students 
 in Sanscrit, Persian, and Arabic; and by liberal grants for the publication 
 of works in those languages. The other half were in favor of teaching the 
 elements of knowledge in the vernacular tongues, and the higher branches 
 in English. On his arrival, Macaulay was appointed President of the 
 Committee ; but he declined 'to take any active part in its proceedings 
 until the Government had finally pronounced on the question at issue. 
 Late in January 1835 advocates of the two systems, than whom ten 
 abler men could not be found in the Service, laid their opinions before the 
 Supreme Council ; and, on the 2d of February, Macaulay, as a Member 
 of that Council, produced a Minute in which he adopted and defended the 
 views of the English section in the Committee. 
 
 “ How stands the case ? We have to educate a people who cannot at present be 
 educated by means of their mother-tongue. We must teach them some foreign lan- 
 guage. The claims of our own language it is hardly necessary to recapitulate. It 
 stands pre-eminent even amongst the languages of the West, It abounds with works 
 of imagination not inferior to the noblest which Greece has bequeathed to us ; with 
 models of every species of eloquence , with historical compositions, which, considered 
 merely as narratives, have seldom been surpassed, and which, considered as vehicles 
 of ethical and political instruction, have never been equalled ; with just and lively 
 representations of human life and human nature ; with the most profound speculations 
 on metaphysics, morals, government, jurisprudence, and trade ; with full and correct 
 information respecting every experimental science which tends to preserve the health, 
 to increase the comfort, or to expand the intellect of man. Whoever knows that 
 language has ready access to all the vast intellectual wealth which all the wisest 
 nations of the earth have created, and hoarded, in the course of ninety generations. 
 It may safely be said, that the literature now extant in that language is of far greater 
 value than all the literature which three hundred years ago was extant in all the 
 languages of the world together. Nor is this all. In India, English is the language 
 spoken by the ruling class. It is spoken by the higher class of natives at the seats 
 of Government.^ It is likely to become the language of commerce throughout the 
 seas of the East. It is the language of two great European communities which are 
 rising, the one in the south of Africa, the other in Australasia ; communities which 
 are every year becoming more important, and more closely connected with our Indian 
 Empire. Whether we look at the intrinsic value of our literature, or at the partic 
 ular situation of this country, we shall see the strongest reason to think that, of all 
 foreign tongues, the English tongue is that which would be the most useful to om 
 native subjects. 
 
1834-38. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 261 
 
 “ The question now before us is simply whether, when it is in our power to teach 
 this language, we shall teach languages in which, by universal confession, there are 
 no books on any subject which deserve to be compared to our own ; whether, when 
 we can teach European science, we shall teach systems which, by universal confession, 
 whenever they differ from those of Europe, differ for the worse ; and whether, when 
 we can patronize sound philosophy and true history, we shall countenance, at the 
 public expense, medical doctrines, which would disgrace an English farrier, — astron- 
 omy, which would move laughter in the girls at an English boarding-school, — history, 
 abounding with kings thirty feet high, and reigns thirty thousand years long, — and 
 geography, made up of seas of treacle and seas of butter. 
 
 “ We are not without experience to guide us. History furnishes several anal- 
 ogous cases, and they all teach the same lesson. There are in modern times, to 
 go no further, two memorable instances of a great impulse given to the mind of a 
 whole society, — of prejudice overthrown, — of knowledge diffused, — of taste purified, 
 — of arts and sciences planted in countries which had recently been ignorant and 
 barbarous. 
 
 “ The first instance to which I refer, is the great revival of letters among the 
 western nations at the close of the fifteenth, and the beginning of the sixteenth, cen- 
 tury. At that time almost everything that was worth reading was contained in the 
 writings of the ancient Greeks and Romans. Had our ancestors acted as the Com- 
 mittee of Public Instructions has hitherto acted ; had they neglected the language 
 of Cicero and Tacitus ; had they confined their attention to the old dialects of our 
 own island ; had they printed nothing and taught nothing at the universities but 
 chronicles in Anglo-Saxon, and romances in Norman French, would England have 
 been what she now is ? What the Greek and Latin were to the contemporaries 
 of More and Ascham, our tongue is to the people of India. The literature of 
 England is now more valuable than that of classical antiquity. I doubt whether 
 the Sanscrit literature be as valuable as that of our Saxon and Norman progeni- 
 tors. In some departments, — in history, for example, — I am certain that it is much 
 less so. 
 
 “ Another instance may be said to be still before our eyes. Within the last hun- 
 dred and twenty years, a nation which had previously been in a state as barbarous 
 as that in which our ancestors were before the Crusades, has gradually emerged 
 from the ignorance in which it was sunk, and has taken its place among civilized 
 communities. I speak of Russia. There is now in that country a large educated 
 class, abounding with persons fit to serve the state in the highest functions, and in 
 no wise inferior to the most accomplished men who adorn the best circles of Paris 
 and London. There is reason to hope that this vast Empire, which in the time 
 of our grandfathers was probably behind the Punjab, may, in the time of our grand- 
 children, be pressing close on France and Britain in the career of improvement. 
 And how was this cliange effected.? Not by flattering national prejudices ; not by 
 feeding the mind of the young Muscovite with the old woman’s stories which his 
 rude fathers had believed; not by filling his head with lying. legends about St. 
 Nicholas ; not by encouraging him to study the great question, whether the world 
 was or was not created on the 13th of September; not by calling him ‘ a learned 
 native,’ when he has mastered all these points of knowledge : but by teaching him 
 
262 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 GH. VI. 
 
 those foreign languages in which the greatest mass of information had been laid up, 
 and thus putting all that information within his reach. The languages of Western 
 Europe civilized Russia, I cannot doubt that they will do for the Hindoo what they 
 have done for the Tartar.” 
 
 This Minute, which in its original shape is long enough for an article 
 in a quarterly review, and as business-like as a report of a Royal Commis- 
 sion, set the question as rest at once and for ever. On the 7th of March 
 1835 Lord William Bentinck decided that “the great object of the British 
 Government ought to be the promotion of European literature and science 
 among the natives of India ; ” two of the Orientalists retired from the 
 Committee of Public Instruction ; several new members, both English 
 and native, were appointed ; and Macaulay entered upon the functions of 
 President with an energy and assiduity which in his case was an infallible 
 proof that his work was to his mind. 
 
 The post was no sinecure. It was an ardous task to plan, found, and 
 construct, in all its grades, the education of such a country as India. The 
 means at Macaulay’s disposal were utterly inadequate for the undertaking 
 on which he was engaged. Nothing resembling an organized staff was as 
 yet in existence. There were no Inspectors of Schools. There were no 
 training colleges for Masters. There were no boards of experienced 
 Managers. The machinery consisted of voluntary committees acting on 
 the spot, and corresponding directly with the superintending body at 
 Calcutta. Macaulay rose to the occasion, and threw himself into the 
 routine of administration and control with zeal sustained by diligence, and 
 tempered by tact. “We were hardly prepared,” said a competent critic, 
 “ for the amount of conciliation which he evinces in dealing with irritable 
 colleagues and subordinates, and for the strong, sterling, practical common 
 sense with which he sweeps away rubbish, or cuts the knots of local and 
 departmental problems.” The value which a man sets upon the objects 
 of his pursuit is generally in proportion to the mastery which he exercises 
 over himself, and the patience and forbearance displayed in his dealings 
 with others. If we judge Macaulay by this standard, it is plain that he 
 cared a great deal more for providing our Eastern Empire with an 
 educational outfit that would work and wear, than he ever cared for keep- 
 ing his own seat in Parliament, or pushing his own fortunes in Downing 
 Street. Throughout his innumerable Minutes, on all subjects from the 
 broadest principle to the narrowest detail, he is everywhere free from 
 crotchets and susceptibilities ; and everywhere ready to humor any person 
 who will make himself useful, and to adopt any appliance which can be 
 turned to account. 
 
 “I think it highly probable that Mr. Nicholls may be to blame, because I have 
 seldom known a quarrel in which both parties were not to blame. But I see no 
 evidence that he is so. Nor do I see any evidence which tends to prove that Mr. 
 
834 - 38 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 2t>3 
 
 Nicholls leads the Local Committee by the nose. The Local Committee appear to 
 have acted with perfect propriety, and I cannot consent to treat them in the man- 
 ner recommended by Mr. Sutherland. If we appoint the Colonel to be a membei 
 of their body, we shall in effect pass a most severe censure on their proceedings. I 
 dislike the suggestion of putting military men on the Committee as a check on the 
 civilians. Hitherto we have never, to the best of my belief, been troubled by any 
 such idle jealousies. I would appoint the fittest men without caring to what branch 
 of the service they belonged, or whether they belonged to the service at all.” * 
 
 Exception had been taken to an applicant for a mastership, on the 
 ground that he had been a preacher with a strong turn for proselytizing. 
 
 “ Mr. seems to be so little concerned about proselytizing, that he does not 
 
 even know how to spell the word ; a circumstance which, if I did not suppose it to 
 be a slip of the pen, I should think a more serious objection than the Reverend 
 which formerly stood before his name. I am quite content with his assurances.” 
 
 In default of better, Macaulay was always for employing the tools 
 which came to hand. A warm and consistent advocate of appointment 
 by competitive examination, wherever a field for competition existed, he 
 was no pedantic slave to a theory. In the dearth of schoolmasters, which 
 is a feature in every infant Educational system, he refused to reject a 
 candidate who “ mistook Argos for Corinth,” and backed the claims of 
 any aspirant of respectable character who could “ read, write, and work a 
 sum.” 
 
 “ By all means accept the King of Oude’s present, though, to be sure, more 
 detestable maps were never seen. One would think that the revenues of Oude, 
 and the treasures of Saadut Ali, might have borne the expense of producing some- 
 thing better than a map in which Sicily is joined on to the toe of Italy, and in 
 which so important an eastern island as Java does not appear at all.” 
 
 “As to the corrupting influence of the zenana, of which Mr. Trevelyan speaks, 
 I may regret it ; but I own that I cannot help thinking that the dissolution of the 
 tie between parent and child is as great a moral evil as can be found in any zenana. 
 In whatever degree infant schools relax that tie, they do mischief. For my own 
 part I would rather hear a boy of three years old lisp all the bad words in the lan- 
 guage, than that he should have no feelings of family affection ; — that his character 
 should be that which must be expected in one who has had the misfortune of hav- 
 ing a schoolmaster in place of a mother.” 
 
 “ I'do not see the reason for establishing any limit as to the age of scholars. 
 The phenomena are exactly the same which have always been found to exist when 
 a new mode of education has been rising into fashion. No man of fifty now learns 
 Greek withjjoys ; but in the sixteenth century it was not at all unusual to see old 
 Doctors of Divinity attending lectures side by side with young students.” 
 
 * This and the following extracts are taken from a volume of Macaulay’s Minutes, 
 “ now first collected from Records in the Department of Public Instruction,by H. Wood- 
 row, Esq. M. A., Inspector of Schools at Calcutta, and formerly Fellow of Caius College, 
 Cambridge.” The collection was published in India. 
 
264 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VI. 
 
 “ With respect to making our College libraries circulating libraries, there is 
 much to be said on both sides. If a proper subscription is demanded from those 
 who have access to them, and if all that is raised by this subscription is laid out in 
 adding to the libraries, the students will be no losers by the plan. Our libraries, 
 the best of them at least, would be better than any which would be readily accessi- 
 ble at an up-country station ; and I do not know why we should grudge a young 
 officer the pleasure of reading our copy of Boswell’s Life of Johnson, or Mar- 
 montel’s Memoirs, if he is willing to pay a few rupees for the privilege.” 
 
 These utterances of cultured wisdom, or homely mother-wit, are some- 
 times expressed in phrases almost as amusing, though not so charac- 
 teristic, as those which Frederic the Great used to scrawl on the margin 
 of reports and despatches for the information of his secretaries. 
 
 “ We are a little too indulgent to the whims of the people in our employ. We 
 pay a large sum to send a master to a distant station. He dislikes the place. The 
 collector is uncivil ; the surgeon quarrels with him ; and he must be moved. The 
 expenses of the journey have to be defrayed. Another man is to be transferred 
 from a place where he is comfortable and useful. Our masters run from station to 
 station at our cost, as vaporized ladies at home run about from spa to spa. All 
 situations have their discomforts ; and there are times when we all wish that our 
 lot had been cast in some other line of life, or in some other place.”i 
 
 With regard to a proposed coat of arms for Hooghly College, he says : 
 “ I do not see why the mummeries of European heraldry should be introduced 
 into any part of our Indian system. Heraldry is not a science which has any 
 eternal rules. It is a system of arbitrary canons, originating in pure caprice. Noth- 
 ing can be more absurd and grotesque than armorial bearings, considered in them- 
 selves. Certain recollections, certain associations, make them interesting in many 
 cases to an Englishman ; but in those recollections and associations the natives of 
 India do not participate. A lion rampant, with a folio in his paw, with a man 
 standing on each side of him, with a telescope over his head, and with a Persian 
 motto under his feet, must seem to them either very mysterious dr very absurd.” 
 
 In a discussion on the propriety of printing some books of Oriental 
 science, Macaulay writes : 
 
 “ I should be sorry to say anything disrespectful of that liberal and generous 
 enthusiasm for Oriental literature which appears in Mr. Sutherland’s minute ; but 
 I own that I cannot think that we ought to be guided in the distribution of the 
 small sum which the Government has allotted for the purpose of education, by 
 considerations which seem a little romantic. That the Saracens a thousand years 
 ago cultivated mathematical science is hardly, I think, a reason for our spending 
 any money in translating English treatises on mathematics into Arabic. Mr. 
 Sutherland would probably think it very strange, if we were to urge the destruction 
 of the Alexandrian Library as a reason against patronizing Arabic literature in the 
 nineteenth century. The undertaking may be, as Mr. Sutherland conceives, a 
 great national work. So is the breakwater at Madras. But under the orders which 
 we have recei»'ed from the Government, we have just as little to do with one as 
 with the other ’ 
 
1834 - 38 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 265 
 
 Now and then a stroke, aimed at Hooghly College, hits nearer home. 
 That men of thirty should be bribed to continue their education into 
 mature life “seems very absurd. Moghal Jan has been paid to learn 
 something during twelve years. We are told that he is lazy and stupid ; 
 but there are hopes that in four years more he will have completed his 
 course of study. We have had quite enough of these lazy, stupid, school- 
 boys of thirty.” 
 
 “ I must frankly own that I do not like the list of books. Grammars of rhetoric, 
 and grammars of logic, are among the most useless furniture of a shelf. Give a 
 boy Robinson Crusoe. That is worth all the grammars of rhetoric and logic in the 
 world. We ought to procure such books as are likely to give the children a taste 
 for the literature of the West ; not books filled with idle distinctions, and defini- 
 tions, which every man who has learned them makes haste to forget. Who ever 
 reasoned better for having been taught the difference between a syllogism and an 
 enthymeme ? Who ever composed with greater spirit and elegance because he 
 could define an oxymoron or an aposfopesis ? I am not joking, but writing quite 
 seriously, when I say that I would much rather order a hundred copies of Jack the j 
 Giant-killer for our schools than a hundred copies of any grammar of rhetoric or 
 logic that ever was written.” 
 
 “ Goldsmith’s Histories of Greece and Rome are miserable performances, and I 
 do not at all like to lay out 50/. on them, even after they have received all Mr. 
 Pinnock’s improvements. I must own, too, that I think the order for globes and 
 other instruments unnecessarily large. To lay out 3241^. at once on globes alone, 
 useful as I acknowledge those articles to be, seems exceedingly profuse, when we 
 have only about 3,000/. a year for all purposes of English education. One 12-inch 
 or 18-inch globe for each school is quite enough ; and we ought not, 1 think, to 
 order sixteen such globes when we are about to establish only seven schools. Use- 
 ful as the telescopes, the theodolites, and the other scientific instruments mentioned 
 in the indent undoubtedly are, we must consider that four or five such instruments 
 run away with a year’s salary of a schoolmaster, and that, if we purchase them, it 
 will be necessary to defer the establishment of schools. 
 
 At one of the colleges at Calcutta the distribution of prizes was ac- 
 companied by some histrionic performances on the part of the pupils. 
 
 “ I have no partiality,” writes Macaulay, “ for such ceremonies. I think it a 
 very questionable thing whether, even at home, public spouting and acting ought 
 to form part of the system of a place of education. But in this country such ex- 
 hibitions are peculiarly out of place. I can conceive nothing more grotesque than 
 the scene from the Merchant of Venice, with Portia represented by a little black 
 boy. Then, too, the subjects of recitation were ill chosen. We are attempting to 
 introduce a great nation to a knowledge of the richest and noblest literature in the 
 world. The society of Calcutta assemble to see what progress we are making ; 
 and we produce as a sample a boy who repeats some blackguard doggrel of George 
 Colman’s, about a fat gentleman who was put to bed over an oven, and about a 
 man-midwife who was called out of his bed by a drunken man at night. Our dis- 
 ciple tries to hiccup, and tumbles and staggers about in imitation of the tipsy 
 
266 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VI. 
 
 English sailors whom he has seen at the punch houses. Really, if we can find 
 nothing better worth reciting than this trash, we had better give up English in- 
 struction altogether.” 
 
 “ As to the list of prize bookk, I am not much better satisfied. It is absolutely 
 unintelligible to me, why Pope’s Works, and my old friend Moore’s Lalla Rookh, 
 should be selected from the whole mass of English poetry to be prize books. I 
 will engage to frame, cur rente calamo, a better list. Bacon’s Essays, Hume’s Eng- 
 land, Gibbon’s Rome, Robertson’s Charles V., Robertson’s Scotland, Robertson’s 
 America, Swift’s Gulliver, Robinson Crusoe, Shakespeare’s Works, Paradise Lost, 
 Milton’s smaller poems, Arabian Nights, Park’s Travels, Anson’s Voyage, the 
 Vicar of Wakefield, Johnson’s Lives, Gil Bias, Voltaire’s Charles XII., Southey’s 
 Nelson, Middleton’s Life of Cicero. 
 
 “ This may serve as a specimen. These are books which will amuse and in- 
 terest those who obtain them. To give a boy Abercrombie on the Intellectual 
 Powers, Dick’s Moral Improvement, Young’s Intellectual Philosophy, Chalmers’s 
 Poetical Economy ! ! ! (in passing I may be allowed to ask what that means ; ) is 
 quite absurd. I would not give orders at random for books about which we know 
 nothing. We are under no necessity of ordering at haphazard. We know Robin- 
 son Crusoe, and Gulliver, and the Arabian Nights, and Anson’s Voyage, and many 
 other delightful works which interest even the very young, and which do not lose 
 their interest to the end of our lives. Why should we order blindfold such books 
 as Markham’s New Children’s Friend, the Juvenile Scrap Book, the Child’s Own 
 Book, Niggens’s Earth, Mudie’s Sea, and somebody else’s Fire and Air? — books 
 which, I will be bound for it, none of us ever opened. 
 
 “ The list ought in all its parts to be thoroughly recast. If Sir Benjamin 
 Malkin will furnish the names of ten or twelve works of a scientific kind, which he 
 thinks suited for prizes, the task will not be difficult ; and, with his help, I will 
 gladly undertake it. There is a marked distinction between a prize book and a 
 school book. A prize book ought to be a book which a boy receives with pleasure, 
 and turns over and over, not as a task, but spontaneously . I have not forgotten 
 my own schoolboy feelings on this subject. My pleasure at obtaining a prize was 
 greatly enhanced by the knowledge that my little library would receive a very 
 agreeable addition. I never was better pleased than when at fourteen I was master 
 of Boswell’s Life of Johnson, which I had long been wishing to read. If my master 
 had given me, instead of Boswell, a Critical Pronouncing Dictionary, or a Geo- 
 graphical Class book, I should have been much less gratified by my success.” 
 
 The idea had been started of paying authors to write books in the 
 languages of the country. On this Macaulay remarks : 
 
 “To hire four or five people to make a literature is a course which never 
 answered and never will answer, in any part of the world. Languages grow. They 
 cannot be built. We are now following the slow but sure course on which alone we 
 can depend for a supply of good books in the vernacular languages of India. We 
 are attempting to raise up a large class of enlightened natives. I hope that, twenty 
 years hence, there will be hundreds, nay thousands, of natives familiar with the best 
 models of composition, and well acquainted with Western science. Among them 
 some persons will be found who will have the inclination, and the ability, to exhibit 
 
LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 1834-38. 
 
 267 
 
 European knowledge in the vernacular dialects. This I believe to be the only way 
 in which we can raise up a good vernacular literature in this country.” 
 
 These hopeful anticipations have been more than fulfilled. Twice 
 twenty years have brought into existence, not hundreds or thousands, but 
 hundreds of thousands, of natives who can appreciate European knowl- 
 edge when laid before them in the English language, and can reproduce 
 it in their own. Taking one year with another, upwards of a thousand 
 works of literature and science are published annually in Bengal alone, 
 and at least four times that number throughout the entire continent. Our 
 colleges have more than six thousand students on their books, and two 
 hundred thousand boys are receiving a liberal education in schools of the 
 higher order. For the improvement of the mass of the people, nearly 
 seven thousand young men are in training as Certificated Masters. The 
 amount allotted in the budget to the item of Public Instruction has in- 
 creased more than seventy-fold since 1835 ; and is largely supplemented 
 by the fees which parents of all classes willingly contribute, when once 
 they have been taught the value of a commodity the demand for which is 
 created by the supply. During many years past the generosity of wealthy 
 natives has to a great extent been diverted from the idle extravagance of 
 pageants and festivals, to promote the intellectual advancement of their 
 fellow-countrymen. On several different occasions, at a single stroke of 
 the pen, our Indian universities have been endowed with twice, three 
 times, four times the amount of the slender sum which Macaulay had at 
 his command. But none the less was he the master-engineer, whose skill 
 and foresight determined the direction of the channels along which this 
 stream of public and private munificence was to flow for the regeneration 
 of our Eastern Empire. 
 
 It may add something to the merit of Macaulay’s labors in the cause 
 of Education that those labors were voluntary and unpaid ; and voluntary 
 and unpaid likewise was another service which he rendered to India, not 
 less durable than the first, and hardly less important. A clause in the 
 Act of 1833 gave rise to the appointment of a Commission to inquire into 
 the Jurisprudence and Jurisdiction of our Eastern Empire. Macaulay, at 
 his own instigation, was appointed President of that Commission. He 
 had not been many months engaged in his new duties before he submitted 
 a proposal, by the adoption of which his own industry, and the high 
 talents of his colleagues, Mr. Cameron and Sir John Macleod, might be 
 turned to the best account by being employed in framing a Criminal Code 
 for the whole Indian Empire. “This Code,” writes Macaulay, “should 
 not be a mere digest of existing usages and regulations, but should com- 
 prise all the reforms which the Commission may think desirable. It 
 should be framed on two great principles, — the principle of suppressing 
 crime with the smallest possible amount of suffering, and the principle of 
 
268 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VI. 
 
 ascertaining truth at the smallest possible cost of time and money. The 
 Commissioners should be particularly charged to study conciseness, as 
 far as it is consistent with perspicuity. In general, t believe, it will be 
 found that perspicuous and concise expressions are not only compatible, 
 but identical.” 
 
 The offer was eagerly accepted, and the Commission fell to work. 
 The results of that work did not show themselves quickly enough to satisfy 
 the most practical, and, (to its credit be it spoken,) the most exacting of 
 Governments ; and Macaulay was under the necessity of explaining and 
 excusing a procrastination, which was celerity itself as compared with 
 any codifying that had been done since the days of Justinian. 
 
 “ During the last rainy season, — a season, I believe, peculiarly unhealthy, — 
 every member of the Commission, except myself, was wholly incapacitated for exertion. 
 Mr. Anderson has been twice under the necessity of leaving Calcutta, and has not, till 
 very lately, been able to labor with his accustomed activity. Mr. Macleod has been, 
 till within the last week or ten days, in so feeble a state, that the smallest effort 
 seriously disordered him ; and his health is so delicate, that, admirably qualified as he 
 is, by very rare talents, for the discharge of his functions, it would be imprudent, in 
 forming any prospective calculation, to reckon on much service from him. Mr. Cam- 
 eron, of the importance of whose assistance I need not speak, has been, during more 
 than four months, utterly unable to do any work, and has at length been compelled to 
 ask leave of absence, in order to visit the Cape, for the recovery of his health. Thus, 
 as the Governor-General has stated, Mr. Millett and myself have, during a considerable 
 time, constituted the whole effective strength of the Commission. Nor has Mr. Millett 
 been able to devote to the business of the Commission his whole undivided attention. 
 
 “ I must say, even if no allowance be made for the untoward occurrences which 
 have retarded our progress, that progress cannot be called slow. People who have 
 never considered the importance and difficulty of the task in which we are employed 
 are surprised to find that a Code cannot be spoken off extempore, or written like an 
 article in a magazine. I am not ashamed to acknowledge that there are several chap- 
 ters in the Code on which I have been employed for months ; of which I have changed 
 the whole plan ten or twelve times ; which contain not a single word as it originally 
 stood ; and with which I am still very far indeed from being satisfied. I certainly 
 shall not hurry on my share of the work to gratify the childish impatience of the 
 ignorant. Their censure ought to be a matter of perfect indifference to men engaged 
 in a task, on the right performing of which the welfare of millions may, during a long 
 series of years, depend. The cost of the Commission is as nothing when compared 
 with the importance of such a work. The time during which the Commission 
 has sat is as nothing compared with the time during which that work will produce 
 good, or evil, to India. 
 
 “ Indeed, if we compare the progress of the Indian Code with the progress of 
 Codes under circumstances far more favorable, we shall find little reason to accuse 
 the Law Commission of tardiness. Buonaparte had at his command the services of 
 experienced jurists to any extent to which he chose to call for them ; yet his 
 legislation proceeded at a far slower rate than ours. The French Criminal Code was 
 
1834 - 38 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 269 
 
 begun, under the Consulate, in March 1801 ; and yet the Code of Criminal Pro- 
 cedure was not completed till 1808, and tlj6 Penal Code not till 1810. The Criminal 
 Code of Louisiana was commenced in February 1821. After it had been in 
 preparation during three years and a half, an accident happened to the papers which 
 compelled Mr. Livingstone to request indulgence for another year. Indeed, 
 when I remember the slow progress of law reforms at home, and when I con- 
 sider that our Code decides hundreds of questions, every one of which, if stirred in 
 England would give occasion to voluminous controversy and to many animated de- 
 bates, I must acknowledge that I am inclined to fear that we have been guilty rather 
 of precipitation than of delay,” 
 
 This Minute was dated the 2d of January, 1837 ; and in the course of 
 the same year the Code appeared, headed by an Introductory Report in 
 the shape of a letter to the Governor-General, and followed by an Appen- 
 dix containing eighteen notes, each in itself an essay. The most readable 
 of all Digests, its pages are alive with illustrations drawn from history, 
 from literature, and from the habits and occurrences of every-day life. 
 The offence of fabricating evidence is exemplified by a case which may 
 easily be recognized as that of Lady Macbeth and the grooms ; * and the 
 offence of voluntary culpable homicide by an imaginary incident of a pit 
 covered with sticks and turf, which irresistibly recalls a reminiscence of 
 Jack the Giant-killer. The chapters on theft and trespass establish the 
 rights of book owners as against book stealers, book borrowers, and 
 book defacers, t with an affe^ionate precision which would have glad- 
 dened the heart of Charles Lamb or Sir Walter Scott. In the chapter 
 on manslaughter, the judge is enjoined to treat with lenity an act done 
 in the first anger of a husband or father, provoked by the intolerable 
 outrage of a certain kind of criminal assault. “ Such an assault produced 
 the Sicilian Vespers. Such an assault called forth the memorable blow 
 of Wat Tyler.” And, on the question whether the severity of a hurt 
 should be considered in apportioning the punishment, we are reminded 
 
 * “ A, after wounding a person with a knife, goes into the room where Z is sleeping, 
 smears Z’s clothes with blood, and lays the knife under Z’s pillow ; intending not only 
 that suspicion may thereby be turned away from himself, but also that Z may be con- 
 victed of voluntarily causing grievous hurt. A is liable to punishment as a fabrioator of 
 false evidence.” 
 
 t “ A, being on friendly terms with Z, goes into Z’s library, in Z’s absence, and takes 
 a book without Z’s express consent. Here, it is probable that A may have conceived 
 that he had Z’s implied consent to use Z’s books. If this was A’s impression, A has not 
 committed theft.” 
 
 “ A takes up a book belonging to Z, and reads it, not having any right over the book, 
 and not having the consent of any person entitled to authorize A so to do. A tres- 
 passes.” 
 
 “ A, being exasperated at a passage in a book which is lying on the counter of Z, 
 snatches it up, and tears it to pieces. A has not committed theft, as he has not acted 
 fraudulently, though he may have committed criminal trespass and mischief.'* 
 
270 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VI. 
 
 of examples which are universally known. Harley was laid up more 
 than twenty days by the wound which he received from Guiscard; ” while 
 “ the scratch which Damien gave to Louis the Fifteenth was so slight 
 that it was 'followed by no feverish symptoms.” Such a sanguine estimate 
 of the diffusion of knowledge with regard to the details of ancient crimes 
 could proceed from no pen but that of the writer who endowed school- 
 boys with the erudition of professors, and the talker who, when he poured 
 forth the stores of his memory, began each of his disquisitions with the 
 phrase “ don’t you remember ? ” 
 
 If it be asked whether or not the Penal Code fulfils the ends for 
 which it was framed, the answer may safely be left to the gratitude of 
 Indian Civilians, the younger of whom carry it about in their saddle- 
 bags, and the older in their heads. The value which it possesses in the 
 eyes of a trained English lawyer may be gathered from the testimony of 
 Macaulay’s eminent successor, Mr. Fitzjames Stephen. 
 
 “ In order to appreciate the importance of the Penal Code, it must be borne 
 in mind what crime in India is. Here, in England, order is so thoroughly well 
 established that the crime of the country is hardly more than an annoyance. In 
 India, if crime is allowed to get to a head, it is capable of destroying the peace and 
 prosperity of whole tracts of country. The mass of the people in their common 
 moods are gentle, submissive, and disposed to be innocent ; but, for that very reason, 
 bold and successful criminals are dangerous in the extreme. In old days, when 
 they joined in gangs or organized bodies, they soon acquired political importance. 
 Now, in many parts of India, crime is quite as uncommon as in the least criminal 
 parts of England ; and the old high-handed systematized crime has almost entirely 
 disappeared. This great revolution, (for it is nothing less,) in the state of society 
 of a whole continent, has been brought about by the regular administration of a 
 rational body of criminal law. 
 
 “ The administration of criminal justice is entrusted to a very small number of 
 English magistrates, organized according to a carefully devised system of appeal 
 and supervision which represents the experience of a century. This system is not 
 unattended by evils ; but it is absolutely necessary to enable a few hundred Civilians 
 to govern a continent. Persons in such a position must be provided with the 
 plainest instructions as to the nature of their duties. These instructions, in so far 
 as the administration of criminal justice is concerned, are contained in the Indian 
 Penal Code and the Code of Criminal Procedure. The Code of Criminal Proced- 
 ure contains 541 sections, and forms a pamphlet of 210 widely printed octavo 
 pages. The Penal Code consists of 510 sections. Pocket editions of these Codes 
 are published, which may be carried about as easily as a pocket Bible ; and I dojibt 
 whether, even in Scotland, you would find many people who know their Bibles as 
 Indian civilians know their Codes.” 
 
 After describing the confusion and complication of the criminal law 
 of our Indian Empire before it was taken in hand by the Commission of 
 1834, Mr. Stephen proceeds to say: 
 
1834 - 38 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 271 
 
 “ Lord Macaulay’s great work was far too daring and original to be accepted at 
 once. It was a draft when he left India in 1838. His successors made remarks 
 on it for twenty-two years. Those years were filled with wars and rumors of wars. 
 The Afghan disasters and triumphs, the war in Central India, the wars with the 
 Sikhs, Lord Dalhousie’s annexations, threw law reform into the background, and 
 produced a state of mind not very favorable to it. Then came the Mutiny, which 
 in its essence was the breakdown of an old system ; the renunciation of an attempt 
 to effect an impossible compromise between the Asiatic and the European view of 
 things, legal, military, and administrative. The effect of the Mutiny on the 
 Statute-book was unmistakeable. The Code of Civil Procedure was enacted in 
 1859. The Penal Code was enacted in i860, and came into operation on the ist of 
 January 1862. The credit of passing the Penal Code into law, and of giving to 
 every part of it the improvements which practical skill and technical knowledge 
 could bestow, is due to Sir Barnes Peacock, who held Lord Macaulay’s place during 
 the most anxious years through which the Indian Empire has passed. The Draft, 
 and the Revision, are both eminently creditable to their authors ; and the result of 
 their successive efforts has been to reproduce in a concise, and even beautiful form 
 the spirit of the law of England ; the most technical, the most clumsy, and the 
 most bewildering of all systems of criminal law ; though I think, if its principles 
 are fully understood, it is the most rational. If anyone doubts this assertion, let 
 him compare the Indian Penal Code with suc^ a book as Mr, Greaves’s edition of 
 Russell on Crimes. The one subject of homicide, as treated by Mr. Greaves and 
 Russell is, I should think, twice as long as the whole Penal Code ; and it does not 
 contain a tenth part of the matter.” 
 
 “ The point which always has surprised me most in connection with the Penal 
 Code is, that it proves that Lord Macaulay must have had a knowledge of English 
 criminal law which, considering how little he had practised it,* may fairly be called 
 extraordinary. He must have possessed the gifts of going at once to the very root 
 of the matter, and of sifting the corn from the chaff to a most unusual degree ; 
 for his Draft gives the substance of the criminal law of England, down to its 
 minute working details, in a compass which by comparison with the original may 
 be regarded as almost absurdly small. The Indian Penal Code is to the English 
 criminal law what a manufactured article ready for use is to the materials out of 
 which it is made. It is to the French ‘ Code Penal,’ and I may add, to the North 
 German Code of 1871, what a finished picture is to a sketch. It is far simpler, and 
 much better expressed, than Livingstone’s Code for Louisiana ; and its practical 
 success has been complete. The clearest proof of this is that hardly any questions 
 have arisen upon it which have had to be determined by the courts ; and that few 
 ?nd slight amendments have had to be made in it by the Legislature.” 
 
 Without troubling himself unduly about the matter, Macaulay was 
 conscious that the world’s estimate of his public services would be in- 
 
 * Macaulay’s practice at the bar had been less than little, according to an account 
 which he gave of it at a public dinner : “ My own forensic experience, gentlemen, has 
 been extremely small ; for my only recollection of an achievement that way is that at 
 quarter sessions I once convicted a boy of stealing a parcel of cocks and hens.” 
 
272 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VI. 
 
 juriiTiisly affected by the popular notion, which he has described as “so 
 flattsring to mediocrity,” that a great writer cannot be a great administra- 
 tor ; and it is possible that this consciousness had something to do with 
 the heartiness and fervor which he threw into his defence of the author 
 of Cato against the charge of having been an inefficient Secretary of 
 State. There was much in common between his own lot and that of the 
 other famous essayist who had been likewise a Whig statesman; and this 
 similarity in their fortunes may account in part for the indulgence, and 
 almost tenderness, with which he reviewed the career and character of 
 Addison. Addison himself, at his villa in Chelsea, and still more amidst 
 the gilded slavery of Holland House, might have envied the literary 
 seclusion, ample for so rapid a reader, which the usages of Indian life 
 permitted Macaulay to enjoy. “ I have a very pretty garden,” he writes, 
 “not unlike our little grass-plot at Clapham, but larger. It consists of a 
 fine sheet of turf, with a gravel walk round it, and flower-beds scattered 
 over it. It looks beautiful just now after the rains, and I hear that it 
 keeps its vendure during a great part of the year. A flight of steps leads 
 down from my library into the garden, and it is so well shaded that you 
 may walk there till ten o’clock ii| the morning.” 
 
 Here, book in hand, and in dressing-gown and slippers, he would 
 spend those two hours after sunrise, which Anglo-Indian gentlemen 
 devote to riding, and Anglo-Indian ladies to sleeping off the arrears of 
 the sultry night. Regularly, every morning, his studies were broken in 
 upon by the arrival of his baby niece, who came to feed the crows with 
 the toast which accompanied his early cup of tea ; a ceremony during 
 which he had much ado to protect the child from the advances of a mul- 
 titude of birds, each almost as big as herself, which hopped and fluttered 
 round her as she stood on the steps of the veranda. When the sun 
 drove him indoors, (which happened sooner than he had promised him- 
 self, before he had learned by experience what the hot season was,) he 
 W'ent to his bath and toilette, and then to breakfast ; “ at which we sup- 
 port nature under the exhausting effects of the climate by means of 
 plenty of eggs, mango-fish, snipe-pies, and frequently a hot beef-steak. 
 My cook is renowned through Calcutta for his skill. He brought me 
 attestations of a long succession of gourmands, and among them one 
 from Lord Dalhousie, * who pronounced him decidedly the first artist in 
 Bengal. This great man, and his two assistants, I am to have for thirty 
 rupees a month. While I am on the subject of the cuisine, I may as 
 well say all that I have to say about it at once. The tropical fruits are 
 wretched. The best of them is inferior to our apricot or gooseberry. 
 
 * Lord Dalhousie, the father of the Governor-General, was Commander-in-Chief in 
 India during the years XS30 and 1S31. 
 
1834-38. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 273 
 
 When I was a child, I had a notion of its being the most exquisite of 
 treats to eat plantains and yams, and to drink palm-wine. How I envied 
 my father for having enjoyed these luxuries ! I have now enjoyed them 
 all, and I have found, like much greater men on much more important 
 occasions, that all is vanity. A plaintain is very like a rotten pear, — so 
 like that I would lay twenty to one that a person blindfolded would not 
 discover the difference. A yam is better. It is like an indifferent potato. 
 I tried palm-wine at a pretty village near Madras, where I slept one 
 night. I told Captain Barron that I had been curious to taste that liquor 
 ever since I first saw, eight or nine and twenty years ago, the picture of 
 the negro climbing the tree in Sierra Leone. The next morning I was 
 roused by a servant, with a large bowl of juice fresh from the tree. I 
 drank it, and found it very like ginger-beer in which the ginger has been 
 sparingly used.” 
 
 Macaulay necessarily spent away from home the days on which the 
 Supreme Council, or the I.aw Commission, held their meetings ; but the 
 rest of his work, legal, literary, and educational, he carried on in the quiet 
 of his library. Now and again, a morning was consumed in returning 
 calls ; an expenditure of time which it is needless to say that he sorely 
 grudged. “ Happily, the good people here are too busy to be at home. 
 Except the parsons, they are all usefully occupied somewhere or other, so 
 that I have only to leave cards ; but the reverend gentlemen are always 
 within doors in the heat of the day, lying on their backs, regretting break- 
 fast, longing for tiffin, and crying out for lemonade.” After lunch he sate 
 with Mrs. Trevelyan, translating Greek, or reading French, for her bene- 
 fit; and Scribe’s comedies and Saint Simon’s Memoirs beguiled the long 
 languid leisure of the Calcutta afternoon, while the punkah swung over- 
 head, and the air came heavy and scented through the moistened grass- 
 matting which shrouded the windows. At the approach of sunset, with 
 its attendant breeze, he joined his sister in her drive along the banks of 
 the Hooghly ; and they returned by starlight, too often to take par? in a 
 vast banquet of forty guests, dressed as fashionably as people can dress 
 at ninety degrees East from Paris ; who, one and all, had far rather have 
 been eating their curry, and drinking their bitter beer, at home, in all the 
 comfort of muslin and nankeen. Macaulay is vehement in his dislike of 
 “ those great formal dinners, which unite all the stiffness of a levee to all 
 the disorder and discomfort of a two-shilling ordinary. Nothing can be 
 duller. Nobody speaks except to the person next him. The conversation 
 is the most deplorable twaddle ; and, as I always sit next to the lady of 
 the highest rank, or, in other words, to the oldest, ugliest, and proudest 
 woman in the company, I am worse off than my neighbors.” 
 
 Nevertheless he was far too acute a judge of men to undervalue the 
 special type of mind which is produced and fostered by the influences of 
 Voi. I. — 18 
 
274 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VI. 
 
 an Indian career. He was always ready to admit that there is no better 
 company in the world than a young and rising Civilian; no one who has 
 more to say that is worth hearing, and who can say it in a manner better 
 adapted to interest those who know good talk from bad. He delighted in 
 that freedom from pedantry, affectation, and pretension which is one of 
 the most agreeable characteristics of a Service, to belong to which is in 
 itself so effectual an education, that a bore is a phenomenon notorious 
 everywhere within a hundred miles of the Station which has the honor to 
 possess him, and a fool is quoted by name throughout all the three Presi- 
 dencies. Macaulay writes to his sisters at home : “ The best way of see- 
 ing society here is to have vei'y small parties. There is a little circle of 
 people whose friendship I value, and in whose conversation I take pleas- 
 ure : the Chief Justice, Sir. Edward Ryan; my old friend, Malkin;* 
 Cameron and Macleod, the Law Commissioners; Macnaghten, among the 
 older servants of the Company, and Mangles, Colvin, and John Peter 
 Grant among the younger. These, in my opinion, are the flower of Cal- 
 cutta society, and I often ask some of them to a quiet dinner.” On the 
 Friday of every week, these chosen few met round Macaulay’s breakfast 
 table to discuss the progress which the Law Commission had made in its 
 labors ; and each successive point which was started opened the way to 
 such a flood of talk, legal, historical, political, and personal, that the com- 
 pany would sit far on towards noon over the empty-tea-cups, until an un- 
 easy sense of accumulating Despatch-boxes drove them, one by one, to 
 their respective Offices. 
 
 There are scattered passages in these letters which prove that Macau- 
 lay’s feelings, during his protracted absence from his native country, were 
 at times almost as keen as those which racked the breast of Cicero, when 
 he was forced to exchange the triumphs of the Forum, and the cosy sup- 
 pers with his brother augurs, for his hateful place of banishment at Thes* 
 salonica, or his hardly less hateful seat of government at Tarsus. The 
 complaints of the English statesman do not, however, amount in volume to 
 a fiftieth part of those reiterated outpourings of lachrymose eloquence, 
 with which the Roman philosopher bewailed an expatriation that was 
 hardly one-third as long. “ I have no words,” writes Macaulay, very much 
 under-e.stimating the wealth of his own vocabulary, “ to tell you how I 
 pine for England, or how intensely bitter exile has been to me, though I 
 
 * It cannot be said that all the claims made upon Macaulay’s friendship were acknowl- 
 edged as readily as those of Sir Benjamin Malkin. “ I am dunned unmercifully by place- 
 
 hunters. The oddest application that I have received is from that rascal , who is 
 
 somewhere in the Interior. He tells me that he is sure that prosperity has not changed 
 me; that I am still the same John Macaulay who was his dearest friend, his more than 
 brother ; and that he means to come up, and live with me at Calcutta. If he fulfils his 
 intention, I will have him taken before the police-magistrates.” 
 
1834 - 38 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 275 
 
 hope that I have borne it well. I feel as if I had no other wish than to 
 see my country again, and die. Let me assure you that banishment is no 
 light matter. No person can judge of it who has not experienced it. A 
 complete revolution in all the habits of life ; an estrangement from almost 
 every old friend and acquaintance ; fifteen thousand miles of ocean be- 
 tween the exile, and everything that he cares for ; all this is, to me at 
 least, very trying. There is no temptation of wealth, or power, which 
 would induce me to go through it again. But many people do not feel as 
 I do. Indeed, the servants of the Company rarely have such a feeling ; 
 and it is natural that they should not have it, for they are sent out while 
 still school-boys, and when they know little of the world. The moment 
 of emigration is to them also the moment of emancipation ; and the pleas- 
 ures of liberty and affluence to a great degree compensate them for the 
 loss of their home. In a few years they become Orientalized, and, by the 
 time that they are of my age, they would generally prefer India, as a 
 residence, to England. But it is a very different matter when a man is 
 transplanted at thirty-three.” 
 
 Making, as always, the best of everything, he was quite ready to allow 
 that he might have been placed in a still less agreeable situation. In the 
 following extract from a letter to his friend, Mrs. Drummond, there is 
 much which will come home to those who are old enough to remember 
 how vastly the Dublin of 1837 differed, for the worse, from the Dublin of 
 1875. “ It now seems likely that you may remain in Ireland for years. 
 
 I cannot conceive what has induced you to submit to such an exile. I 
 declare, for my own part, that, little as I love Calcutta, I would rather 
 stay here than be settled in the Phoenix Park. The last residence which 
 I would choose would be a place with all the plagues, and none of the 
 attractions, of a capital ; a provincial city on fire with factions political 
 and religious, peopled by raving Orangemen and raving Repealers, and 
 distracted by a contest between Protestantism as fanatical as that of Knox 
 and Catholicism as fanatical as that of Bonner. We have our share of 
 the miseries of life in this country. We are annually baked four months, 
 boiled four more, and allowed the remaining four to become cool if we 
 can At this moment the sun is blazing like a furnace. The earth, 
 soaked with oceans of rain, is steaming like a wet blanket. Vegetation is 
 rotting all round us. Insects and undertakers are the only living creatures 
 which seem to enjoy the climate. But, though our atmosphere is hot, our 
 factions are lukewarm. A bad epigram in a newspaper, or a public 
 meeting attended by a tailor, a pastry-cook, a reporter, two or three 
 barristers, and eight or ten attorneys, are our most formidable annoyances. 
 We have agitators in our own small way, Tritons of the minnows, bearing 
 the same sort of resemblance to O’Connell that a lizard bears to an alligator. 
 Therefore Calcutta for me, in preference to Dublin.” 
 
276 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VI 
 
 He had good reason for being grateful to Calcutta, and still better for 
 not showing his gratitude by prolonging his stay there over a fourth 
 summer and autumn. “ That tremendous crash of the great commercial 
 houses which took place a few years ago has produced a revolution in 
 fashions. It ruined one half of the English society in Bengal, and 
 seriously injured the other half. A large proportion of the most impor- 
 tant functionaries here are deeply in debt, and accordingly, the mode of 
 living is now exceedingly quiet and modest. Those immense subscriptions, 
 those public tables, those costly equipages and entertainments of which 
 Heber, and others who saw Calcutta a few years back, say so much, are 
 never heard of. Speaking for myself, it was a great piece of good fortune 
 that I came hither just at the time when the general distress had forced 
 everybody to adopt a moderate way of living. Owing very much to that 
 circumstance, (while keeping house, I think, more handsomely than any 
 other member of Council,) I have saved what will enable me to do my 
 part towards making my family comfortable ; and I shall have a com- 
 petency for myself, small indeed, but quite sufficient to render me as 
 perfectly independent as if I were the possessor of Burleigh or Chats- 
 worth.”* 
 
 “ The rainy season of 1837 has been exceedingly unhealthy. Our 
 house has escaped as well as any ; yet Hannah is the only one of us who 
 has come off untouched. The baby has been repeatedly unwell. Tre- 
 velyan has suffered a good deal, and is kept right only by occasional trips 
 in a steamer down to the mouth of the Hooghly. I had a smart touch 
 of fever, which happily stayed but an hour or two, and I took such 
 vigorous measures that it never came again ; but I remained unnerved 
 and exhausted for nearly a fortnight. This was my first, and I hope my 
 last, taste of Indian maladies. It is a happy thing for us all that we are 
 not to pass another year in the reek of this deadly marsh.” Macaulay 
 wisely declined to set the hope of making another lac of rupees against 
 the risk, to himself and others, of such a fate as subsequently befell Lord 
 Canning and Mr. James Wilson. He put the finishing stroke to his 
 various labors ; resigned his seat in the Council, and his presidentships 
 of the Law Commission and the Committee of Public Instruction ; and, 
 in company with the Trevelyans, sailed for England in the first fortnight 
 of the year 1838. 
 
 ♦ Macaulay writes to Lord Mahon on the last day of December, 1836 ; “ In another 
 year I hope to leave this country, wth a fortune which you would think ridiculously 
 small, but which will make me as independent as if I had all that Lord Westminster has 
 above the ground, and Lord Durham below it. I have no intention of again taking part 
 in politics ; but I cannot tell what effect the sight of the old Hall and Abbey may produce 
 
 on me.’ 
 
1834 - 38 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 277 
 
 To Mr. Thomas Flower Ellis. 
 
 Calcutta : December 15, 1834. 
 
 Dear Ellis, — Many thanks for your letter. It is delightful i 1 this 
 strange land to see the handwriting of such a friend. We must keep up 
 our spirits. We shall meet, I trust, in little more than four years, with 
 feelings of regard only strengthened by our separation. My spirits are 
 not bad ; and they ought not to be bad. I have health ; affluence ; 
 consideration ; great power to do good ; functions which, while they are 
 honorable and useful are not painfully burdensome ; leisure for study ; good 
 books ; an unclouded and active mind ; warm affections ; and a very dear 
 sister. There will soon be a change in my domestic arrangements. My sister 
 is to be married next week. Her lover, who is lover enough to be a knight 
 of the Round Table, is one of the most distinguished of our young Civilians. 
 I have the very highest opinion of his talents both for action and for dis- 
 cussion. Indeed, I should call him a man of real genius. He is also, 
 what is even more important, a man of the utmost purity of honor, of a 
 sweet temper, and of strong principle. His public virtue has gone 
 through very severe trials, and has come out resplendent. Lord William, 
 in congratulating me the other day, said that he thought my destined 
 brother-in-law the ablest young man in the service. ^lis name is Trevelyan. 
 He IS a nephew of Sir John Trevelyan, a baronet ; in Cornwall I suppose, 
 by the name ; for I never took the trouble to ask. 
 
 He and my sister will live with me during my stay here. I have a 
 house about as large as Lord Dudley’s in Park Lane, or rather larger, so 
 that I shall accommodate them without the smallest difficulty. This 
 arrangement is acceptable to me, because it saves me from the misery of 
 parting with my sister in this strange land ; and is, I believe, equally 
 gratifying to Trevelyan, whose education, like that of other Indian servants, 
 was huddled up hastily at home ; who has an insatiable thirst for knowl - 
 edge of every sort ; and who looks on me as little less than an oracle of 
 wisdom. He came to me the other morning to know whether I would 
 advise him to keep up his Greek, which he feared he had nearly lost. I 
 gave him Homer, and asked him to read a page ; and I found that, like 
 most boys of any talent who had been at the Charter-house, he was very 
 well grounded in that language. He read with perfect rapture, and has 
 marched off with the book, declaring that he shall never be content till he 
 has finished the whole. This, you will think, is not a bad brother-in-law 
 for a man to pick up in 22 degrees of North latitude, and 100 degrees of 
 East longitude. 
 
 I read much, and particularly Greek ; and I find that I am, in all 
 essentials, still not a bad scholar. I could, I think, with a year’s hard 
 study, qualify myself to fight a good battle for a Craven’s scholarship. I 
 read, however, not as I read at College, but like a man of the world. If 
 I do not know a word, I pass it by unless it is important to the sense. If 
 
278 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VI. 
 
 I find, as I have of late often found, a passage which refuses to give up 
 its meaning at the second reading, I let it alone. I have read during the 
 last fortnight, before breakfast, three books of Herodotus, and four plays 
 of iEschylus. My admiration of ^schylus has been prodigiously increased 
 by this re-persual. I cannot conceive how any person of the smallest 
 pretension to taste should doubt about his immeasurable superiority to every 
 poet of antiquity, Homer only excepted. Even Milton, I think, must 
 yield to him. It is quite unintelligible to me that the ancient critics 
 should have placed him so low. Horace’s notice of him in the Ars 
 Poetica is quite ridiculous. There is, to be sure, the “ magnum loqui 
 but the great topic insisted on is the skill of ^schylus as a manager, as a 
 property-man ; the judicious way in which he boarded the stage ; the 
 masks, the buskins, and the dresses.* And, after all, the “magnum 
 loqui,” though the most obvious characteristic of ^Eschylus, is by no 
 means his highest or his best. Nor can I explain this by saying that 
 Horace had too tame and unimaginative a mind to appreciate .^Eschylus. 
 Horace knew what he could himself do, and, with admirable wisdom, he 
 confined himself to that ; but he seems to have had a perfectly clear 
 comprehension of the merit of those great masters whom he never attempted 
 to rival. He praised Pindar most enthusiastically. It seems incompre- 
 hensible to me that a critic, who admired Pindar, should not admire 
 .^schylus far more. 
 
 Greek reminds me of Cambridge and of Thirlwall, and of Wordsworth’s 
 unutterable baseness and dirtiness, t When you see Thirlwall, tell him 
 that I congratulate him from the bottom of my soul on having suffered in 
 so good a cause ; and that I would rather have been treated as he has 
 been treated, on such an account, than have the Mastership of Trinity. 
 There would be some chance for the Church, if we had more Churchmen 
 of the same breed, worthy successors of Leighton and Tillotson. 
 
 From one Trinity Fellow I pass to another. (This letter is quite a 
 study to a metaphysician who wishes to illustrate the Law of Association.) 
 We have no official tidings yet of Malkin’s appointment to the vacant seat 
 on the Bench at Calcutta. I cannot tell you how delighted I am at the 
 prospect of having him here. An honest enlightened Judge, without pro- 
 fessional narrowness, is the very man whom we want on public grounds. 
 
 * Post hunc personas pallaeque repeftor honestae 
 
 iEschylus et modicis instravit pulpita tignis, 
 
 Et docuit magnumque loqui, nitique cothumo. 
 
 t The subjoined extract from the letter of a leading member of Trinity College explains 
 Macaulay’s not unrighteous indignation. “ Thirlw-all published a pamphlet in 1834, on the 
 admission of dissenters to the University. The result was that he was either deprived of 
 his Assistant Tutorship by the Master, Wordsworth, or had to give it up. Whewell, 
 also, was supposed to have behaved badly in not standing up for him. Thirlwall left 
 Cambridge soon afterwards. I suppose that, if he had remained, he would have been very 
 possibly Wordsworth’s successor in the Mastership.” 
 
i834-38‘. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 279 
 
 And, as to my private feelings, nothing could be more agreeable to me than 
 to have an old friend, and so estimable a friend, brought so near to me in 
 this distant country. 
 
 Ever, dear Ellis, 
 
 Yours very affectionately, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 Calcutta : February 8, 1835. 
 
 Dear Ellis, — The last month has been the most painful that I ever went 
 through. Indeed, I never knew before what it was to be miserable. 
 Early in January, letters from England brought me news of the death of 
 my youngest sister. What she was to me no words can express. I will 
 not say that she was dearer to me than anything in the world ; for my sis- 
 ter who was with me was equally dear ; but she was as dear to me as one 
 human being can be to another. Even now, when time has begun to do ' 
 its healing office, I cannot write about her without being altogether un- 
 manned. That I have not utterly sunk under this blow I owe chiefly to 
 literature. What a blessing it is to love books as I love them ; — to be 
 able to converse with the dead, and to live amidst the unreal ! Many 
 times during the last few weeks I have repeated to myself those fine lines 
 of old Hesiod : 
 
 el yap Tig Kai nevdog veoKTj6el dvpu 
 a^rjTai Kpad'ajv anax^p^vog, avrap aoiSbg 
 piovaduv OepaTTuv KXela Trporepuv avdpdiTUJV 
 vpivfjGTj^ fiaKapdg re deoitg ol ’'OAv^ttov exovai^ 
 alii)’ bye Svacppoveuv eTu7\,7jderaL^ ov8e tl KTjSeuv 
 fie/xvTjTai • rax£0)g 8e Traperpane Supa deduv.* 
 
 I have gone back to Greek literature with a passion quite astonishing 
 to myself. I have never felt anything like it. I was enraptured with 
 Italian during the six months which I gave up to it ; and I was little less 
 pleased with Spanish. But when I went back to the Greek, I felt as if I 
 had never known before what intellectual enjoyment was. Oh that won- 
 derful people ! There is not one art, not one science, about which we 
 may not use the same expression which Lucretius has employed about the 
 victory over superstition, “ Primum Grains homo — .” 
 
 I think myself very fortunate in having been able to return to these 
 great masters while still in the full vigor of life, and when my taste and 
 judgment are mature. Most people read all the Greek that they ever read 
 before they are five and twenty. They never find time for such studies 
 
 * “For if to one whose grief is fresh, as he sits silent with sorrow stricken heart, a 
 minstrel, the henchman of the Muses, celebrates the men of old and the gods who pos- 
 sess Olympus ; straightway he forgets his melancholy, and remembers not at all his grief, 
 beguiled by the blessed gift of the goddesses of song.” In Macaulay’s Hesiod this pas _ 
 •age is sc 'red with three lines in pencil. 
 
28 o 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VI. 
 
 afterwards till they are in the decline of life ; and then their knowledge of 
 the language is in a great measure lost, and cannot easily be recovered. 
 Accordingly, almost all the ideas that people have of Greek literature, are 
 ideas formed while they were still very young. A young man, whatever 
 his genius may be, is no judge of such a writer as Thucydides. I had no 
 high opinion of him ten years ago. I have now been reading him with a 
 mind accustomed to historical researches, and to political affairs ; and I 
 am astonished at my own former blindness, and at his greatness. I could 
 not bear Euripides at college. I now read my recantation. He has faults 
 undoubtedly. But what a poet ! The Medea, the Alcestis, the Troades, 
 the Bacchae, are alone sufficient to place him in the very first rank. In- 
 stead of depreciating him, as I have done, I may, for aught I know, end by 
 editing him. 
 
 I have read Pindar, — with less pleasure than I feel in reading the great 
 Attic poets, but still with admiration. An idea occurred to me which may 
 very likely have been noticed by a hundred people before. I was always 
 puzzled to understand the reason for the extremely abrupt transitions in 
 those Odes of Horace which are meant to be particularly fine. The “jus- 
 tum et tenacem ” is an instance. All at once you find yourself in heaven. 
 Heaven knows how. What the firmness of just men in times of tyranny, 
 or of tumult, has to do with Juno’s oration about Troy it is hardly possible 
 to conceive. Then, again, how strangely the fight between the Gods and 
 the Giants is tacked on to the fine hymn to the Muses in that noble Ode, 
 “Descende ccelo et die age tibia ” ! This always struck me as a great 
 fault, and an inexplicable one ; for it is peculiarly alien from the calm 
 good sense, and good taste, which distinguish Horace. 
 
 My explanation of it is this. The Odes of Pindar were the acknowl- 
 edged models of lyric poetry. Lyric poets imitated his manner as closely 
 as they could ; and nothing was more remarkable in his compositions than 
 the extreme violence, and abruptness, of the transitions. This in Pindar 
 was quite natural and defensible. He had to write an immense number 
 of poems on subjects extremely barren, and extremely monotonous. 
 There could be little difference between one boxing-match and another. 
 Accordingly, he made all possible haste to escape from the immediate 
 subject, and to bring in, by hook or by crook, some local description ; 
 some old legend ; something or other, in short, which might be more sus- 
 ceptible of poetical embellishment, and Jess utterly thread-bare, than the 
 circumstances of a race or a wrestling-match. This was not the practice 
 of Pindar alone. There is an old story which proves that Simonides did 
 the same, and that sometimes the hero of the day was nettled at finding 
 how little was said about him in the Ode for which he was to pay. This 
 abruptness of transition was, therefore, in the Greek lyric poets, a fault 
 rendered inevitable by the peculiarly barren, and uniform, nature of the 
 
1834-38. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 281 
 
 subjects which they had to treat. But, like many other faults of great 
 masters, it appeared to their imitators a beauty ; and a beauty almost 
 essential to the grander Ode. Horace was perfectly at liberty to choose 
 his own subjects, and to treat them after his own fashion. But he con- 
 founded what was merely accidental in Pindar’s manner with what was 
 essential ; and because Pindar, when he had to celebrate a foolish lad 
 from i^^gina who had tripped up another’s heels at the Isthmus, made all 
 possible haste to get away from so paltry a topic to the ancient heroes of 
 the race of .^Eacus, Horace took it into his head that he ought always to 
 begin as far from the subject as possible, and then arrive at it by some 
 strange and sudden bound. This is my solution. At least I can find no 
 better. The most obscure passage, — at least the strangest passage, — in 
 all Horace may be explained by supposing that he was misled by Pindar’s 
 example : I mean that odd parenthesis in the “ Qualem Ministrura : ” 
 
 qulbus 
 
 Mos unde deductus per omne — . 
 
 This passage,* taken by itself, always struck me as the harshest, queerest, 
 and most preposterous digression in the world. But there are several 
 things in Pindar very like it. 
 
 You must excuse all this, for I labour at present under a suppression 
 of Greek ; and am likely to do so for at least three years to come. Malkin 
 may be some relief ; but I am quite unable to guess whether he means to 
 come to Calcutta. I am in excellent bodily health, and I am recovering 
 my mental health ; but I have been sorely tried. Money matters look 
 welL My new brother-in-law and I are brothers in more than law. I am 
 more comfortable than I expected to be in this country ; and, as to the 
 climate, I think it, beyond all comparison, better than that of the House 
 of Commons. 
 
 Yours affectionately, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 Writing three days after the date of the foregoing letter, Macaulay 
 says to his old friend Mr. Sharp : “You see that my mind is not in great 
 danger of rusting. The danger is that I may become a mere pedant. I 
 feel a habit of quotation growing on me ; but I resist that devil, for such 
 it is, and it flees from me. It is all that I can do to keep Greek and 
 Latin out of all my letters. Wise sayings of Euripides are even now at 
 my fingers’ ends. If I did not maintain a constant struggle against this 
 propensity, my correspondence would resemble the notes to the “ Pursuits 
 of Literature.” It is a dangerous thing for a man with a very strong 
 memory to read very much. I could give you three or four quotations 
 
 * Orelli makes an observation, much to the same effect, in his note on this passage in 
 his edition of 1850. 
 
282 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VI. 
 
 this moment in support of that proposition ; but I will bring the vicious 
 propensity under subjection, if I can.’' 
 
 Calcutta: May 29, 1835. 
 
 Dear Ellis, — I am in great want of news. We know that the Tories 
 dissolved at the end of December, and we also know that they were beat- 
 en towards the end of February.* As to what passed in the interval, we 
 are quite in the dark. I will not plague you with comments on events 
 which will have been driven out of your mind by other events before this 
 reaches you, or with prophecies which may be falsified before you receive 
 them. About the final issue I am certain. The language of the first 
 great reformer is that which I should use in reply to the exultation of our 
 Tories here, if there were any of them who could understand it : 
 
 (TEj3ov, Trpoaevxov, duTTTe rbv Kparovvf der 
 epol (T eXaaaov Zpvbg p prjdev, pe7\.eL. 
 
 Spdro)’ Kpareircj rovSe rbv jSpaxvv xpdvov 
 OTTuc deler Sapbv yap ovk ap^ei deotg.^ 
 
 As for myself, I rejoice that I am out of the present storm. “ Suave 
 mari magno ; ” or, as your new Premier, if he be still Premier, construes, 
 “ It is a source of melancholy satisfaction.” I may, indeed, feel the effects 
 of the changes here, but more on public than private grounds. A Tory 
 Governor-General is not very likely to agree with me about the very im- 
 portant law reforms which I am about to bring before the Council. But 
 he is not likely to treat me ill personally, or, if he does 
 
 ov Tt rjv rod’ bpdo)6y j3e?.og, J 
 
 of Philoctetes says. In a few months I shall have enough to enable me to 
 live, after my very moderate fashion, in perfect independence at home ; 
 and whatever debts any Governor-General may choose to lay on me at 
 Calcutta shall be paid off, he may rely on it, with compound interest, at 
 Westminster. 
 
 My time is divided between public business and books. I mix with 
 society as little as I can. My spirits have not yet recovered, — I sometimes 
 think that they will never wholly recover, — the shock which they received 
 five months ago. I find that nothing soothes them so much as the con- 
 
 * In November 1834 the King called Sir Robert Peel to power ; after having, of his 
 own accord, dismissed the Whig Ministry. Parliament was dissolved, but the Tories did 
 not succeed in obtaining a majority. After three months of constant and angry fighting, 
 Peel was driven from Office in April 1835. 
 
 t “ Worship thou, adore, and flatter the monarch of the hour. To me Jove is of less 
 account than nothing. Let him have his will, and his sceptre, for this brief season ; for 
 he will not long be the ruler of the Gods.” It is needless to say that poor William the 
 Fourth was the Jove of the Whig Prometheus. 
 
 I “ It shall be to his cost, so mg as this bow carries true.” 
 
LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 1834-38- 
 
 283 
 
 templation of those miracles of art which Athens has bequeathed to us. 
 
 I am really becoming, I hope not a pedant, but certainly an enthusiast 
 about classical literature. I have just finished a second reading of Sopho- 
 cles. I am now deep in Plato, and intend to go right through all his works. 
 His genius is above praise. Even where he is most absurd, as, for exam- 
 ple, in the Cratylus, he shows an acuteness and an expanse of intellect 
 which is quite a phenomenon by itself. The character of Socrates does 
 not rise upon me. The more I read about him, the less I wonder that 
 they poisoned him. If he had treated me as he is said to have treated 
 Protagoras, Hippias, and Gorgias, I could never have forgiven him. 
 
 Nothing has struck me so much in Plato’s dialogues as the raillery. 
 At college, somehow or other, I did not understand or appreciate it. I 
 cannot describe to you the way in which it now tickles me. I often sink 
 forward on my huge old Marsilius Ficinus in a fit of laughter. I should 
 say that there never was a vein of ridicule so rich, and at the same time so 
 delicate. It is superior to Voltaire’s ; nay, to Pascal’s. Perhaps there 
 are one or two passages in Cervantes, and one or two in Fielding, that 
 might give a modern reader a notion of it. 
 
 I have very nearly finished Livy. I never read him through before. 
 
 I admire him greatly, and would give a quarter’s salary to recover the lost 
 Decades. While I was reading the earlier books I went again through 
 Niebuhr. And I am sorry to say that, having always been a little skepti- 
 cal about his merits, I am now a confirmed unbeliever. I do not of course 
 mean that he has no merit. He was a man of immense learning, and of 
 great ingenuity. But his mind was utterly wanting in the faculty by which 
 a demonstrated truth is distinguished from a plausible supposition. He 
 is not content with suggesting that an event my have happened. He is 
 certain that it happened, and calls on the reader to be certain too (though 
 not a trace of it exists in any record whatever), because it would solve the , 
 phenomena so neatly. Just read over again, if you have forgotten it, the 
 conjectural restoration of the Inscription in page 126 of the second vol- 
 ume ; and then, on your honor as a scholar and a man of sense, tell me 
 whether in Bentley’s edition of Milton there is anything which approaches 
 to the audacity of that emendation. Niebuhr requires you to believe that 
 some of the greatest men in Rome were burned alive in the Circus; that 
 this event was commemorated by an inscription on a monument, one half 
 of which is still in existence ; but that no Roman historian knew anything 
 about it ; and that all tradition of the event was lost, though the memory 
 of anterior events much less important has reached our time. When you 
 ask for a reason, he tells you plainly that such a thing cannot be establish- ' 
 ed by reason ; that he is sure of it ; and that you must take his word. 
 This sort of intellectual despotism always moves me to mutiny, and gener- 
 ates a disposition to pull down the reputation of the dogmatist. Niebuhr’s 
 
284 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VI. 
 
 learning was immeasurably superior to mine ; but I think myself quite as 
 good a judge of evidence as he was. I might easily believe him if he told 
 me that there were proofs which I had never seen ; but when he produces 
 all his proofs, I conceive that I am perfectly competent to pronounce on 
 their value. 
 
 As I turned over his leaves just now, I lighted on another instance of 
 what I cannot but call ridiculous presumption. He says that Martial 
 committed a blunder in making the penultimate of Porsena short. Strange 
 that so great a scholar should not know that Horace had done so too 1 
 
 Mmacis aut Etrusca Porsenae manus. 
 
 There is something extremely nauseous to me in a German Professor tell- 
 ing the world, on his own authority, and without giving the smallest rea- 
 son, that two of the best Latin poets were ignorant of the quantity of a 
 word which they must have used in their exercises at school a hundred 
 times. 
 
 As to the general capacity of Niebuhr for political speculations, let 
 him be judged by the Preface to the Second Volume. He there says, 
 referring to the French Revolution of July 1830, that “ unless God send 
 us some miraculous help, we have to look forward to a period of destruc- 
 tion similar to that which the Roman world experienced about the middle 
 of the third century.” Now, when I see a man scribble such abject non- 
 sense about events which are passing under our eyes, what confidence can 
 I put in his judgment as to the connection of causes and effects in times 
 very imperfectly known to us ? 
 
 But I must bring my letter, or review, to a close. Remember me most 
 kindly to your wife. Tell Frank that I mean to be a better scholar than 
 he when I come back, and that he must work hard if he means to over- 
 take me. 
 
 Ever, dear Ellis, 
 
 Your affectionate friend, 
 
 T. B. Macaul.w. 
 
 Calcutta: Augustas, 1835. 
 
 Dear Ellis, — Cameron arrived here about a fortnight ago, and we are 
 most actively engaged in preparing a complete Criminal Code for India. 
 He and I agree excellently. Ryan, the most liberal of Judges, lends us 
 his best assistance. I heartily hope, and fully believe, that we shall put 
 the whole Penal law, and the whole law of Criminal Procedure, into a 
 moderately sized volume. I begin to take a very warm interest in this 
 work. It is, indeed, one of the finest employments of the intellect that it 
 is easy to conceive. I ought, however, to tell you that, the more progress 
 I make as a legislator, the more intense my contempt for the mere techni- 
 cal study of law becomes. 
 
1834-38- • 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 285 
 
 I am deep in the examination of the political theories of the old philoso- 
 phers. I have read Plato’s Republic, and his Laws ; and I am now read- 
 ing Aristotle’s Politics ; after which I shall go through Plato’s two treatises 
 again. I every now and then read one of Plutarch’s Lives on an idle 
 afternoon ; and in this way I have got through a dozen of them. I like 
 him prodigiously. He is inaccurate, to be sure, and a romancer : but he 
 tells a story delightfully, and his illustrations and sketches of character 
 are as good as anything in ancient eloquence. I have never, till now, 
 rated him fairly. 
 
 As to Latin, I am just finishing Lucan, who remains pretty much where 
 he was in my opinion ; and I am busily engaged with Cicero, whose 
 character, moral and intellectual, interests me prodigiously. I think that 
 I see the whole man through and through. But this is too vast a subject 
 for a letter. I have gone through all Ovid’s poems. I admire him; but 
 I was tired to death before I got to the end. I amused myself one 
 evening with turning over the Metamorphoses, to see if I could find any 
 passage of ten lines which could, by possibility, have been written by 
 Virgil. Whether I was in ill luck or no I cannot tell ; but I hunted for 
 half an hour without the smallest success. At last I chanced to light on 
 a little passage more Virgilian, to my thinking, than Virgil himself. Tell 
 me what you say to my criticism. It is part of Apollo’s speech to the 
 laurel. 
 
 Semper habebunt 
 Te coma, te citharae, te nostras, laure, pharetrae. 
 
 Tu ducibus Latiis aderis, cum lasta triumphum 
 Vox canet, et longas visent Capitolia pompas. 
 
 Portibus Augustis eadem fidissima custos 
 Ante fores stabis, mediamque tuebere quercum. 
 
 As to Other Latin writers, Sallust has gone sadly down in my opinion. 
 Caesar has risen wonderfully. I think him fully entitled to Cicero’s praise.* 
 He has won the honor of an excellent historian while attempting merely 
 to give hints for history. But what are they all to the great Athenian ? 
 I do assure you that there is no prose composition in the world, not even 
 the De Corona, which I place so high as the seventh book of Thucydides. 
 It is the ne plus ultra of human art. I was delighted to find in Gray’s 
 
 * In the dialogue “ De Claris Oratoribus ” Cicero makes Atticus say that a consummate 
 judge of style, (who is evidently intended for Cicero himself,) pronounces Csesar’s Latin 
 to be the most elegant, with one implied exception, that had ever been heard in the 
 Senate or the Forum. Atticus then goes on to detail at full length a compliment which 
 Caesar had paid to Cicero’s powers of expression ; and Brutus declares with enthusiasm 
 that such praise, coming from such a quarter, is worth more than a Triumph, as Triumphs 
 were then given ; and inferior in value only to the honors which were voted to the states- 
 man who had baffled Catiline. The whole passage is a model of self-glorification, 
 exquisite in skill and finish. 
 
286 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VI. 
 
 letters the other day this query to Wharton : “ The retreat from Syracuse— 
 Is it or is it not the finest thing you ever read in your life ? ” 
 
 Did you ever read Athenasus through ? I never did ; but I am meditat- 
 ing an attack on him. The multitude of quotations looks very tempting ; 
 and I never open him for a minute without being paid for my trouble. 
 
 Yours very affectionately, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 Calcutta: December 30, 1835. 
 
 Dear Ellis, — What the end of the Municipal Reform Bill is to be I 
 cannot conjecture. Our latest English intelligence is of the 15th of August. 
 The Lords* were then busy in rendering the only great service that I 
 expect them ever to render to the nation ; — that is to say, in hastening the 
 day of reckoning. But I will not fill my paper with English politics. 
 
 I am in excellent health. So are my sister and brother-in-law, and 
 their little girl, whom I am always nursing ; and of whom I am becoming 
 fonder than a wise man, with half my experience, could choose to be of any- 
 thing except himself. I have but very lately begun to recover my spirits. 
 The tremendous blow which fell on me at the beginning of this year has 
 left marks behind it which I shall carry to my grave. Literature has 
 saved my life and my reason. Even now, I dare not, in the intervals of 
 business, remain alone for a minute without a book in my hand. What 
 my course of life will be, when I return to England, is very doubtful. 
 But I am more than half determined to abandon politics, and to give my- 
 self wholly to letters ; to undertake some great historical work which may 
 be at once the business and the amusement of my life ; and to leave the 
 pleasures of pestiferous rooms, sleepless nights, aching heads, and diseased 
 stomachs to Roebuck and to Praed. 
 
 In England I might probably be of a very different opinion. But, in 
 the quiet of my own little grass-plot, — when the moon, at its rising, finds 
 me with the Philoctetes or the De Finibus in my hand, — I often wonder 
 what strange infatuation leads men who can do something better to 
 squander their intellect, their health, their energy, on such objects as those 
 which most statesmen are engaged in pursuing. I comprehend perfectly 
 how a man who can debate, but who would make a very indifferent figure 
 as a contributor to an annual or a magazine, — such a man as Stanley, for 
 example, — should take the only line by which he can attain distinction. 
 But that a man before whom the two paths of literature and politics lie 
 open, and who might hope for eminence in either, should choose politics, 
 and quit literature, seems to me madness. On the one side is health, 
 leisure, peace of mind, the search after truth, and all the enjoyments of 
 friendship and conversation. On the other side is almost certain ruin to 
 
 In the middle of August the Irish Tithe Bill went up to the House of Lords, where 
 it was destined to undergo a mutilation which was fatal to its existence. 
 
1834-38- • 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 287 
 
 the constitution, constant labor, constant anxiety. Every friendship which 
 a man may have, becomes precarious as soon as he engages in politics. 
 As to abuse, men soon become callous to it ; but the discipline which 
 makes them callous is very severe. And for what is it that a man who 
 might, if he chose, rise and lie down at his own hour, engage in any 
 study, enjoy any amusements, and visit any place, consents to make him- 
 self as much a prisoner as if he were within the rules of the Fleet ; to be 
 tethered during eleven months of the year within the circle of half a mile 
 round Charing Cross ; to sit, or stand, night after night for ten or twelve 
 hours, inhaling a noisome atmosphere, and listening to harangues of which 
 nine-tenths are far below the level of a leading article in a newspaper ? 
 For what is it that he submits, day after day, to see the morning break 
 over the Thames, and then totters home, with bursting temples, to his 
 bed? Is it for fame ? Who would compare the fame of Charles Towns- 
 hend to that of Hume, that of Lord North to that of Gibbon ; that of Lord 
 Chatham to that of Johnson ? Who can look back on the life of Burke, and 
 not regret that the years which he passed in ruining his health and temper 
 by political exertions were not passed in the composition of some great and 
 durable work ? Who can read the letters to Atticus, and not feel that Cicero 
 would have been an infinitely happier and better man, and a not less cele- 
 brated man, if he had left us fewer speeches, and more Academic Questions 
 and Tusculan Disputations ; if he had passed the time which he spent in 
 brawling with Vatinius and Clodius in producing a history of Rome superior 
 even to that of Livy ? But these, as I said, are meditations in a quiet garden, 
 situated far beyond the contagious influence of English faction. What I 
 might feel if I again saw Downing Street and Palace Yard is another 
 question. I tell you sincerely my present feelings. 
 
 I have cast up my reading account, and brought it to the end of the 
 year 1835. includes December 1834 ; for I came into my house and 
 unpacked my books at the end of November 1834. During the last thir- 
 teen months I have read ^schylus twice ; Sophocles twice ; Euripides 
 once; Pindar twice; Callimachus; Apollonius Rhodius ; Quintus Cala- 
 ber ; Theocritus twice ; Herodotus ; Thucydides ; almost all Xenophon’s 
 works ; almost all Plato ; Aristotle’s Politics, and a good deal of his 
 Organon, besides dipping elsewhere in him ; the whole of Plutarch’s 
 Lives ; about half of Lucian ; two or three books of Athenaeus ; Plautus 
 twice; Terence twice ; Lucretius twice ; Catullus; Tibullus; Propertius; 
 Lucan; Statius; Silius Italicus ; Livy; Velleius Paterculus; Sallust; 
 Caesar; and, lastly, Cicero. I have, indeed, still a little of Cicero left; 
 but I shall finish him in a few days. I am now deep in Aristophanes and 
 Lucian. Of Aristophanes I think as I always thought ; but Lucian has 
 agreeably surprised me. At school I read some of his Dialogues of the 
 Dead when I was thirteen ; and, to my shame, I never, to the best of my 
 
288 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VI. 
 
 belief, read a line of him since. I am charmed with him. His style seems 
 to me to be superior to that of any extant writer who lived later than the 
 age of Demosthenes and Theophrastus. He has a most peculiar and 
 delicious vein of humor. It is not the humor of Aristophanes ; it is not 
 that of Plato ; and yet it is akin to both ; — not quite equal, I admit, to 
 either, but still exceedingly charming. I hardly know where to find an 
 instance of a writer, in the decline of a literature, who has shown an in- 
 vention so rich, and a taste so pure. But, if I get on these matters, I 
 shall fill sheet after sheet. ’ They must wait till we take another long walk, 
 or another tavern dinner, together ; that is, till the summer of 1838. 
 
 ' I had a long story to tell you about a classical examination here ; but 
 I have not time. I can only say that some of the competitors tried to 
 read the Greek with the papers upside down ; and that the great man of 
 the examination, the Thirlwall of Calcutta, a graduate of Trinity College, 
 Dublin, translated the words of Theophrastus, onaq T^LTovpyiaq leXet/- 
 TovpyrjKE* “ how many times he has performed divine service.” 
 
 Ever yours affectionately, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 That the enormous list pf classical works recorded in the foregoing 
 letter was not only read through, but read with care, is proved by the 
 pencil marks, single, double, and treble, which meander down the margin 
 of such passages as excited the admiration of the student j and by the re- 
 marks, literary, historical, and grammatical, with which the critic has in- 
 terspersed every volume, and sometimes every page. In the case 'of a 
 favorite writer, Macaulay frequently corrects the errors of the press, and 
 even the punctuation, as minutely as if he were preparing the book for an- 
 other edition. He read Plautus, Terence, and Aristophanes four times 
 through at Calcutta ; and Euripides thrice. In his copy of Quintus Cla- 
 ber, (a versifier who is less unknown by the title of Quintus Smyrnaeus,) 
 appear the entries 
 
 “ September 22, 1835. 
 
 Turned over, July 13, 1837.” 
 
 It may be doubted whether the Pandects would have attained the celebri- 
 ty which they enjoy, if, in the course 'of the three years during which Jus- 
 tinian’s Law Commission was at work, the president Tribonian had read 
 Quintus Smyrnaeus twice. 
 
 * “ Ho\ir many public services he had discharged at his own expense.” Macaulay 
 used to say that a lady who dips into Mr. Grote’s history, and learns that Alcibiades won 
 the heart of his fellow-citizens by the novelty of his theories and the splendor of his litur- 
 gies, may get a very false notion of that statesman’s relations with the Athenian public. 
 
 See the Appendix at the end of this volume. 
 
1834 - 38 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 289 
 
 Calcutta : May 30. 1836- 
 
 Dear Ellis, — I have just received your letter dated December 28, 
 How time flies! Another hot season has almost passed away, and we 
 are daily expecting the beginning of the rains. Cold season, hot season, 
 and rainy season are all much the same to me. I shall have been two 
 years on Indian ground in less than a fortnight, and I have not taken ten 
 grains of solid, or a pint of liquid, medicine during the whole of that time. 
 If I judged only from my own sensations, I should say that this climate is 
 absurdly maligned ; but the yellow, spectral, figures which surround me 
 serve to correct the conclusions which I should be inclined to draw from 
 the state of my own health. 
 
 One execrable effect the climate produces. It destroys all the works 
 of man with scarcely one exception. Steel rusts ; razors lose their edge ; 
 thread decays ; clothes fall to pieces ; books moulder away, and drop out 
 of their bindings ; plaster cracks ; timber rots ; matting is in shreds. 
 The sun, the steam of this vast alluvial tract, and the infinite armies of 
 white ants, make such havoc with buildings that a house requires a com- 
 plete repair 5svery three years. Ours was in this situation about three 
 months ago ; and, if we had determined to brave the rains without any 
 precautions, we should, in all probability, have had the roof down on our 
 heads. Accordingly, we were forced to migrate for six weeks from our 
 stately apartments, and our flower-beds, to a dungeon where we were 
 stifled with the stench of native cookery, and deafened by the noise of 
 native music. At last we have returned to our house. We found it all 
 snow-white and pea-green ; and we rejoice to think that we shall not again 
 be under the necessity of quitting it till we quit it for a ship bound on a 
 voyage to London. 
 
 We have been for some months in the middle of what the people here 
 think a political storm. To a person accustomed to the hurricanes of 
 English faction this sort of tempest in a horsepond is merely ridiculous. 
 We have put the English settlers up the country under the exclusive juris- 
 diction of the Company’s Courts in civil actions in which they are con- 
 cerned with natives. The^ English settlers are perfectly contented ; but 
 the lawyers of the Supreme Court have set up a yelp which they think 
 terrible, and which has infinitely diverted me. They have selected me as 
 the object of their invectives, and I am generally the theme of five or six 
 columns of prose and verse daily. I have not patience to read a tenth 
 part of what they put forth. The last ode in my praise which I perused 
 began, 
 
 Soon we hope they will recall ye, 
 
 Tom Macaulay, Tom Macaulay. 
 
 The last prose which I read was a parallel between me and Lord Straf- 
 
 fold. 
 
 VoL. I. — 19 
 
290 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VI. 
 
 My mornings, from five to nine, are quite my own. I still give them 
 to ancient literature. I have read Aristophanes twice through since 
 Christmas ; aiid have also read Herodotus, and Thucydides, again. I 
 got into a way last year of reading a Greek play every Sunday. I began 
 on Sunday the i8th of October with the Prometheus, and next Sunday 
 I shall finish with the Cyclops of Euripides. Euripides has made a com- 
 plete conquest of me. It has been unfortunate for him that we have so 
 many of his pieces. It has, on the other hand, I suspect, been fortunate 
 for Sophocles that so few of his have come down to us. Almost every 
 play of Sophocles, which is now extant, was one of his masterpieces. 
 There is hardly one of them which is not mentioned with high praise by 
 some ancient writer. Yet one of them, the Trachiniae, is, to my thinking, 
 very poor and insipid. Now, if w'e had nineteen plays of Sophocles, of 
 which twelve or thirteen should be no better than the Trachiniae, — and 
 if, on the other hand, only seven pieces of Euripides had come down to 
 us, and if those seven had been the Medea, the Bacchae, the Iphigenia in 
 Aulis, the Orestes, the Phoenissae, the Hippolytus, and the Alcestis, — I 
 am not sure that the relative position which the two poefs now hold in 
 our estimation would not be greatly altered. 
 
 I have not done much in Latin. I have been employed in turning 
 over several third-rate and fourth-rate writers. After finishing Cicero, I 
 read through the works of both the Senecas, father and son. There is a 
 great deal in the Controversiae both of curious information, and of judi- 
 cious criticism. As to the son, I cannot bear him. His style affects me 
 in something the same way with that of Gibbon. But Luciu^ Seneca’s 
 affectation is even more rank than Gibbon’s. His works are made up of 
 mottoes. There is hardly a sentence which might not be quoted ; but to 
 read him straight forward is like dining on nothing but anchovy sauce. I 
 have read, as one does read such stuff, Valerius Maximus, Annaeus 
 Florus, Lucius Ampelius, and Aurelius Victor. I have also gone through 
 Phaedrus. I am now better employed. I am deep in the Annals of 
 Tacitus, and I am at the same time reading Suetonius. 
 
 You are so rich in domestic comforts that I am inclined to envy you. 
 I am not, however, without my share. I am as fond of my little niece as 
 her father. I pass an hour or more every day in nursing her, and teach- 
 ing her to talk. She has got as far as Ba, Pa, and Ma ; which, as she is 
 not eight months old, we consider as proofs of a genius little inferior to 
 that of Shakespeare or Sir Isaac Newton. 
 
 The municipal elections have put me in good spirits as to English 
 politics. I was rather inclined to despondency. 
 
 Ever yours affectionately, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
1834 - 38 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 291' 
 
 Calcutta : July 25, 1836. 
 
 My dear Ellis, — I have heard from you again, and glad I always am 
 to hear from you. There are few things to which I look forward with 
 more pleasure than to our meeting. It is really worth while to go into 
 banishment for a few years for the pleasure of going home again. Yet 
 that home will in some things be a different home — oh how different a 
 home 1 — from that to which I expected to return. But I will not stir up 
 the bitterness of sorrow which has at last subsided. 
 
 You take interest, I see, in my Greek and Latin studies. I continue 
 to pursue them steadily and actively. I am now reading Demosthenes 
 with interest and admiration indescribable. I am slowly, at odd minutes, 
 getting through the stupid trash of Diodorus. I have read through 
 Seneca, and an affected, empty scribbler he is. I have read Tacitus again, 
 and, by the bye, I will tell you a curious circumstance relating to that 
 matter. In my younger days I always thought the Annals a prodigiously 
 superior work to the History. I was surprised to find that the Annals 
 seemed cold and poor to me on the last reading. I began to think that I 
 had overrated Tacitus. But when I began the History, I was enchanted, 
 and thought more highly of him than ever. I went back to the Annals, 
 and liked them even better than the History. All at once the explanation 
 of this occurred to me. While I was reading the Annals I was reading 
 Thucydides. When I began the History, I began the Hellenics. What 
 made the Annals appear cold and poor to me was the intense interest 
 which Thucydides inspired. Indeed, what coloring is there which would 
 not look tame when placed side by side with the magnificent light, and 
 the terrible shade, of Thucydides.^ Tacitus w'as a great man ; but he 
 was not up to the Sicilian expedition. When I finished Thucydides, and 
 took up Xenophon, the case was reversed. Tacitus had been a foil to 
 Thucydides. Xenophon was a foil to Tacitus. 
 
 I have read Pliny the Younger. Some of the Epistles are interesting. 
 Nothing more stupid than the Panegyric was ever preached in the Uni- 
 versity church. I am reading the Augustan History, and Aulus Gellius. 
 Aulus is a favorite of mine. I think him one of the best writers of his 
 class. 
 
 I read in the evenings a great deal of English, French, and Italian; 
 and a little Spanish. I have picked up Portuguese enough to read Ca- 
 moens with care ; and I want no more. I have adopted an opinion about 
 the Italian historians quite different from that which I formerly held, and, 
 which, I believe, is generally considered as orthodox. I place Fra Paolo 
 decidedly at the head of them, and next to him Davila, whom I take to 
 be the best modern military historian except Colonel Napier. Davila’s 
 battle of Ivry is worthy of Thucydides himself. Next to Davila I put 
 Guicciardini, and last of all Machiavelli. But I do not think that you 
 ever read much Italian. 
 
292 
 
 lifj: and letters of 
 
 CH. VI. 
 
 The English poetry of the clay has very few attractions for me. Van 
 Artevelde i« far the best specimen that I have lately seen. I do not much 
 like Talfourd’s Ion; but I mean to read it again. It contains pretty 
 lines ; but, to my thinking, it is neither fish nor flesh. There is too much, 
 and too little, of the antique about it. Nothing but the most strictly 
 classical costume can reconcile me to a mythological plot; and Ion is a 
 modern philanthropist, whose politics and morals have been learned from 
 the publications of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge. 
 
 I do not know whether the noise which the lawyers of the Supreme 
 Court have been raising against our legislative authority has reached, or 
 will reach, England. They held a public meeting, which ended, — or 
 rather began, continued, and ended, — in a riot ; and ever since then the 
 leading agitators have been challenging each other, refusing each other’s 
 challenges, libelling each other, swearing the peace against each other, 
 and blackballing each other. Mr. Longueville Clarke, who aspires to be 
 the O’Connell of Calcutta, called another lawyer a liar. The last-men- 
 tioned lawyer challenged Mr, Longueville Clarke. Mr. Longueville 
 Clarke refused to fight, on the ground that his opponent had been guilty 
 of hugging attorneys. The Bengal Club accordingly blackballed Longue- 
 ville. This, and some other similar occurrences, have made the opposi- 
 tion here thoroughly ridiculous and contemptible. They will probably 
 send a petition home ; but, unless the House of Commons has undergone 
 a great change since 1833, they have no chance there. 
 
 I havQ almost brought my letter to a close without mentioning the 
 most important matter about which I had to write. I dare say you have 
 heard that my uncle General Macaulay, who died last February, has 
 left me 10,000/. This legacy, together with what I shall have saved by 
 the end of 1837, will make me quite a rich man; — richer than I even wish 
 to be as a single man ; and every day renders it more unlikely that I should 
 marry. 
 
 We have had a very unhealthy season; but sickness has not come near 
 our house. My sister, my brother-in-law, and their little child, are as well 
 as possible. As to me, I think that, as Buonaparte said of himself after 
 the Russian campaign, J’ai le diable au corps. 
 
 Ever yours affectionately, 
 
 T. B. Macaula'v^ 
 
 To Macvey Napier, Esq. 
 
 Calcutta: November 26, 1836. 
 
 Dear Napier. — At last I send you an article of interminable length 
 about Lord Bacon. I hardly know whether it is not too long for an article 
 in a Review ; but the subject is of such vast extent that I could easily have 
 made the paper twice as long as it is. 
 
834 - 38 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 293 
 
 About the historical and political part there is no great probability 
 that we shall differ in opinion; but what I have said about Bacon’s philos- 
 ophy is widely at variance with what Dugald Stewart, and Mackintosh, 
 have said on the same subject. I have not your essay ; nor have I read 
 it since I read it at Cambridge, with very great pleasure, but without any 
 knowledge of the subject. I have at present only a very faint and general 
 recollection of its contents, and have in vain tried to procure a copy of it 
 here. I fear, however, that, differing widely as I do from Stewart and 
 Mackintosh, I shall hardly agree with you. My opinion is formed, not at 
 second-hand, like those of nine-tenths of the people who talk about Bacon ; 
 but after several very attentive perusals of his greatest works, and after a 
 good deal of thought. If I am in the wrong, my errors may set the minds 
 of others at work, and may be the means of bringing both them, and me, 
 to a knowledge of the truth. I never bestowed so much care on anything 
 that I have written. There is not a sentence in the latter half of the arti- 
 cle which has not been repeatedly recast. I have no expectatio’n that the 
 popularity of the article will bear any proportion to the trouble which I 
 have expended on it. But the trouble has been so great a pleasure to me 
 that I have already been greatly overpaid. Pray look carefully to the 
 printing. 
 
 In little more than a year I shall be embarking for England, and I have 
 determined to employ the four months of my voyage in mastering the 
 German language. I should be much obliged to you to send me out, as 
 early as you can, so that they may be certain to arrive in time, the best 
 grammar, and the best dictionary, that can be procured ; a German Bible ; 
 Schiller’s works; Goethe’s works; and Niebuhr’s History, both in the 
 original, and in the translation. My way of learning a language is always 
 to begin with the Bible, which I can read without a dictionary. After a 
 few days passed in this way, I am master of all the common particles, the 
 common rules of syntax, and a pretty large vocabulary. Then I fall on 
 some good classical work. It was in this way that I learned both Span- 
 ish and Portuguese, and I shall try the same course with German. 
 
 I have little or nothing to tell you about myself. My life has flowed 
 away here with strange rapidity. It seems but yesterday that I left my 
 country ; and I am writing to beg you to hasten preparations for my return. 
 I continue to enjoy perfect health, and the little political squalls which I 
 •have had to weather here are mere capfuls of wind to a man who has gone 
 through the great hurricanes of English faction. 
 
 I shall send another copy of the article on Bacon by another ship. 
 
 Yours very truly, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
294 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VI. 
 
 Calcutta: November 28, 1836. 
 
 Dear Napier, — There is an oversight in the article on Bacon which I 
 shall be much obliged to you to correct. I have said that Bacon did not 
 deal at all in idle rants “ like those in which Cicero and Mr. Shandy sought 
 consolation for the loss of Tullia and of Bobby.” Nothing can, as a gen- 
 eral remark, be more true, but it escaped my recollection that two or three 
 of Mr. Shandy’s consolatory sentences are quoted from Bacon’s Essays. 
 The illustration, therefore, is singularly unfortunate. Pray alter it thus ; 
 “ in which Cicero vainly sought consolation for the loss of Tullia.” To be 
 sure, it is idle to correct such trifles at a distance of fifteen thousand 
 miles. 
 
 Yours ever, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 From Lord Jeffrey to Macvey Napier^ Esq. 
 
 May 2, 1837. 
 
 My dear N., — What mortal could ever dream of cutting out the least 
 particle of this precious work, to make it fit better into your Review ? It 
 would be worse than paring down the Pitt Diamond to fit the old setting 
 of a Dowager’s ring. Since Bacon himself, I do not know that there has 
 been anything so fine. The first five or six pages are in a lower tone, but 
 still magnificent, and not to be deprived of a word. 
 
 Still, I do not object to consider whether it might not be best to serve 
 up the rich repast in two courses ; and on the whole I incline to that par- 
 tition. 120 pages might cloy even epicures, and would be sure to surfeit 
 the vulgar ; and the biography and philosophy are so entirely distinct, and 
 of not very unequal length, that the division would not look like a frac- 
 ture. 
 
 Francis Jeffrey. 
 
 In the end, the article appeared entire ; occupying 104 pages of the 
 Review ; and accompanied by an apology for its length in the shape of 
 one of those editorial appeals to “ the intelligent scholar,” and “ the best 
 class of our readers,” which never fail of success. 
 
 The letters addressed to Zachary Macaulay are half filled w’ith anec- 
 dotes of the nursery ; pretty enough, but such as only a grandfather could 
 be expected to read. In other respects, the correspondence is chiefly re- 
 markable for the affectionate ingenuity with which the son selects such 
 topics as would interest the father. ' 
 
 Calcutta : October 12, 1836. 
 
 My dear Father, — We were extremely gratified by receiving, a few days 
 ago, a letter from you which, on the whole, gave a good account of your 
 health and spirits. The day after to-morrow is the first anniversary of 
 your little grand-daughter’s birthday. The occasion is to be celebrated 
 with a sort of droll puppet-show, much in fashion among the natives j an 
 
1834-3S. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 295 
 
 exhibition much in the style of Punch in England, but more dramatic, and 
 more showy. All the little boys and girls from the houses of our friends 
 are invited, and the party will, I have no doubt, be a great deal more 
 amusing than the stupid dinners and routs with which the grown-up peo- 
 ple here kill the time. 
 
 In a few months, — I hope, indeed, in a few weeks, — we shall send up 
 the Penal Code to Government. We have got rid of the punishment of 
 death, except in the case of aggravated treason and wilful murder. W e 
 shall also get rid indirectly of everything that can properly be called 
 slavery in India. There will remain civil claims on particular people for 
 particular services, which claims may be enforced by civil action ; but no 
 person will be entitled, on the plea of being the master of another, to do 
 anything to that other which it would be an offence to do to a free-man. 
 
 Our English schools are flourishing wonderfully. We find it difficult, 
 — indeed, in some places impossible, — to provide instruction for all who 
 want it. At the single town of Hoogly fourteen hundred boys are learn- 
 ing English. The effect of this education on the Hindoos is prodigious. 
 No Hindoo, who has received an English education, ever remains sin- 
 cerely attached to his religion. Some continue to profess it as matter of 
 policy ; but many profess themselves pure Deists, and some embrace 
 Christianity. It is my firm belief that, if our plans of education are fol- 
 lowed up, there will not be a single idolator among the respectable classes 
 in Bengal thirty years hence. And this will be effected without any 
 efforts to proselytise ; without the smallest interference with religious 
 liberty ; merely by the natural operation of knowledge and reflection. I 
 heartily rejoice in the prospect. 
 
 I have been a sincere mourner for Mill. He and I were on the best 
 terms, and his services at the India House were never so much needed 
 as at this time. I had a most kind letter from him a few weeks before I 
 heard of his death. He has a son just come out, to whom I have shown 
 such little attentions as are in my power. ^ 
 
 Within half a year after the time when you read this we shall be mak- 
 ing arrangements for our return. The feelings with which I look forward 
 to that return I cannot express. Perhaps I should be wise to continue 
 here longer, in order to enjoy during a greater numb'er of months the 
 delusion, — for I know that it will prove a delusion, — of this delightful 
 hope. I feel as if I never could be unhappy in my own country ; as if to 
 exist on English ground and among English people, seeing the old famil- 
 iar sights and hearing the sound of my mother tongue, would be enough 
 for me. This cannot be : yet some days of intense happiness I shall 
 surely have ; and one of those will be the day when I again see my dear 
 father and sisters. Ever yours most affectionately, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
296 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VI. 
 
 Calcutta : November 30, 1836. 
 
 Dear Ellis, — How the months run away! Here is another cold 
 season : morning fogs, cloth coats, green peas, new potatoes, and all the 
 accompaniments of a Bengal winter. As to my private life, it has glided 
 on, since I wrote to you last, in the most peaceful monotony. If it were 
 not for the books which I read, and for the bodily and mental growth of 
 my dear little niece, I should have no mark to distinguish one part of the 
 year from another. Greek and Latin, breakfast, business, an evening 
 walk with a book, a drive after sunset, dinner, coffee, my bed, — there you 
 have the history of a day. My classical studies go on vigorously. I have 
 read Demosthenes twice, — I need not say with what delight and admira- 
 tion. I am now deep in Isocrates ; and from him I shall pass to Lysias. 
 I have finished Diodorus Siculus at last, after dawdling over him at odd 
 times ever since last March. He is a stupid, credulous, prosing old ass ; 
 yet I heartily wish that we had a good deal more of him. I have read 
 Arrian’s expedition of Alexander, together with Quintus Curtius. I have 
 at stray hours read Longus’s Romance and Xenophon’s Ephesiaca, and I 
 mean to go through Heliodorus, and Achilles Tatius, in the same way. 
 Longus is prodigiously absurd ; but there is often an exquisite prettiness 
 in the style. Xenophon’s Novel * is the basest thing to be found in. 
 Greek. It was discovered at Florence, little more than a hundred years 
 ago, by an English envoy. Nothing so detestable ever came from the 
 Minerva Press. I have read Theocritus again, and like him better than 
 ever. 
 
 As to Latin, I made a heroic attempt on Pliny’s Natural History ; but 
 I stuck after getting through about a quarter of it. I have read Am- 
 mianus Marcellinus, the worst written book in ancient Latin. The style 
 would disgrace a monk of the tenth century ; but Marcellinus has many 
 of the substantial qualities of a good historian. I have gone through the 
 Augustan history, and much other trash relating to the lower empire ; 
 scurious as illustrating the state of society, but utterly worthless as com- 
 position. I have read Statius again and thought him as bad as ever. I 
 really found only two lines worthy of a great poet in all the Thebais. 
 They are these. What do you think of my taste ? 
 
 Clamorem, bello qualis supremus apertis 
 Urbibus, aut pelago jam descendente carini. 
 
 I am now busy with Quintilian and Lucan, both excellent writers. 
 
 • Xenophon the Ephesian lived in the third or fourth century of the Christian era. 
 At the end of his work Macaulay has written : “ A most stupid, worthless performance, 
 below the lowest trash of an English circulating library.” Achilles Tatius he disposes of 
 with the words “ Detestable trash ; ” and the ^thiopics of Heliodorus, which he appears 
 to have finished on Easter-day 1837, he pronounces “The best of the Greek Romances, 
 which is not saying much for it.” 
 
1834 - 38 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 297 
 
 The dream of Pompey in the seventh book of the Pharsalia is a very 
 noble piece of writing. I hardly know an instance in poetry of so great 
 an effect produced by means so simple. There is something irresistibly 
 pathetic in the lines : 
 
 Quails erat populi facies, clamorque faventum 
 Olim cum juvenis — 
 
 and something unspeakably solemn in the sudden turn which follows : 
 
 Crastina dira quies — 
 
 There are two passages in Lucan which surpass in eloquence anything 
 that I know in the Latin language. One is the enumeration of Pompey’s 
 exploits : 
 
 Quod si tam sacro dignaris nomine saxum — 
 
 The other is the character which Cato gives of Pompey, 
 
 Civis obi’t, inquit — 
 
 a pure gem of rhetoric, vdthout one flaw, and, in my opinion, not very 
 far from historical truth.* When I consider that Lucan died at twenty- 
 six, I cannot help ranking him among the most extraordinary men that 
 ever lived.* 
 
 I am glad that you have so much business, and sorry that you have so 
 little leisure. In a few years you will be a Baron of the Exchequer ; and 
 then we shall have ample time to talk over our favorite classics. Then I 
 will show you a most superb emendation of Bentley’s in Ampellius, and I 
 will give you* unanswerable reasons for pronouncing that Gibbon was 
 mistaken in supposing that Quintus Curtius wrote under Gordian. 
 
 • The following remarks occur at the end of Macaulay’s copy of the Pharsalia : 
 
 “August 30, 1835. 
 
 “ When Lucan’s age is considered, it is impossible not to allow that the poem is a 
 very extraordinary one : more extraordinary, perhaps, than if it had been of a higher 
 kind ; for it is more common for the imagination to be in full vigor at an early time of 
 life than for a young man to obtain a complete mastery of political and philosophical 
 rhetoric. I know no declamation in the world, not even Cicero’s best, which equals some 
 passages in the Pharsalia. As to what were meant for bold poetical flights, — the sea-fight 
 at Marseilles, the Centurion who is covered with wounds, the snakes in the Libyan desert, 
 —it is all as detestable as Cibber’s Birthday Odes. The furious partiality of Lucan takes 
 a\\*ay much of the pleasure which his talents would otherwise afford. A poet who is, as 
 has often been said, less a poet than a historian, should to a certain degree conform to the 
 laws of history. The manner in which he represents the two parties is not to be recon- 
 ciled with the laws even of fiction. The senators are demigods; Pompey, a pure lover of his 
 country ; Cato, the abstract idea of virtue ; while Caesar, the finest gentleman, the most 
 humane conqueror, and the most popular politician that Rome ever produced, is a blood- 
 thirsty ogre. If Lucan had lived, he would probably have improved greatly. Again, 
 December 9, 1836.’’ 
 
298 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VI. 
 
 Remember me most kindly to Mrs. Ellis, I hope that I shall find 
 Frank writing as good Alcaics as his father. 
 
 Ever yours affectionately, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 Calcutta: March 8, 1837. 
 
 Dear Ellis, — I am at present very much worked, and have been so for 
 a long time past. Cameron, after being laid up for some months, sailed at 
 Christmas for the Cape, where I hope his health will be repaired; for this 
 country can very ills pare him. However, we have almost brought our 
 great work to a conclusion. In about a month we shall lay before the 
 Government a complete Penal Code for a hundred millions of people, 
 with a commentary explaining, and defending, the provisions of the text. 
 Whether it is well, or ill, done heaven knows. I only know that it seems 
 to me to be very ill done when I look at it by itself ; and well done when 
 I compare it with Livingstone’s Code, with the French Code, or with the 
 English statutes which have been passed for the purpose of consolidating 
 and amending the Criminal Law. In health I am as well as ever I was in 
 my life. Time glides fast. One day is so like another that, but for a 
 habit which I acquired soon after I reached India of pencilling in my 
 books the date of my reading them, I should have hardly any way of 
 estimating the lapse of time. If I want to know when an event took 
 place, I.call to mind which of Calderon’s plays, or of Plutarch’s Lives, I 
 was reading on that day. I turn to the book ; find the date ; and am 
 generally astonished to see that, what seems removed from me by only 
 two or three months, really happened nearly a year ago. 
 
 I intend to learn German on my voyage home, and I have indented 
 largely, (to use our Indian official term,) for the requisite books. People 
 tell me that it is a hard language ; but I cannot easily believe that there 
 is a language which I cannot master in four months, by working tea hours 
 a day. I promise myself very great delight and information from German 
 literature ; and, over and above, I feel a sort of presentiment, a kind of 
 admonition of the Deity, which assures me that the final cause of mv 
 existence, — the end for which I was sent into this vale of tears, — was to 
 make game of certain Germans. The first thing to be done in obedience 
 to this heavenly call is to learn Germ’an ; and then I may perhaps try, as 
 Milton says, 
 
 Frangere Saxonicas Britonum sub Marte phalanges. 
 
 Ever yours affectionately, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 The years which Macaulay spent in India formed a transition period 
 between the time when he kept no journal at all, and the time when the 
 daily portion of his journal was completed as regularly as the daily por 
 tion of his History. Between 1834 and 1838, he contented himself with 
 
1834-38. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 299 
 
 jotting down any circumstance that struck his fancy in the book which he 
 happened to have in hand. The records of his Calcutta life, written in 
 half a dozen different languages, are scattered throughout the whole range 
 of classical literature from Hesiod to Macrobius. At the end of the 
 seventy-ninth Epistle of Seneca we read : *• April 14, 1836. Hodie praemia 
 distribui roiq ev ru fiovaeUj) 'EavaKpiTiKG) veaviCKoic” * 
 
 On the last page of the Birds of Aristophanes: “Jan. 16, 1836. ol irpt. 
 a^eigol izapa tov (iaol^iug tuv ’Sr/Travliruv ucrjyovro KaA/covrrav.” t 
 
 On the first page of Theocritus ; “ March 20, 1835. Lord W. Bentinck 
 sailed this morning.” 
 
 On the last page of the “De Amicitia : ” “ March 5, 1836. Yesterday 
 Lord Auckland arrived at Government House,* and was sworn in 
 
 Beneath an idyl of Moschus of all places in the world, Macaulay notes 
 the fact of Peel being First Lord of the Treasury; and he finds space, 
 between two quotations in Athenaeus, to commemorate a Ministerial 
 majority of 29 on the Second Reading of the Irish Church Bill. 
 
 A somewhat nearer approach to a formal diary may be found in his 
 Catullus, which contains a catalogue of the English books that he read in 
 the cold season of 1835-36 ; as for instance : 
 
 Gibbon’s Answer to Davis . November 6 and 7 
 Gibbon on Virgil’s VI ^Eneid November 7 
 Whately’s Logic . . November 15 
 
 Thirl wall’s Greece . . November 22 
 
 Edinburgh Review . . November 29 
 
 And all this was in addition to his Greek and Latin studies, to his official 
 work, to the French that he read with his sister, and the unrecorded novels 
 that he read to himself ; which last would alone have afforded occupation 
 for two ordinary men, unless this month of November was different from 
 every other month of his exist^ce since the day that he left Mr. Preston’s 
 schoolroom. There is something refreshing, amidst the long list of graver 
 treatises, to light upon a periodical entry of “ IhKviKiva ” ; the immortal 
 work of a Classic who has had more readers in a single year than Statius, 
 and Seneca, in all their eighteen centuries together. Macaulay turned 
 over with indifference, and something of distaste, the earlier chapters of 
 that modern Odyssey. The first touch which came home to him was 
 Jingle’s “ Handsome Englishman ! ” In that phrase he recognised a 
 master ; and, by the time that he landed in England, he know his Pick- 
 wick almost as intimately as his Grandison. 
 
 * “ Today I distributed the prizes to the students of the Sanscrit College.” 
 t “The ambassadors from the King of Nepaul entered Calcutta yesterday.” It may 
 be observed that Macaulay wrote Greek with, or without, accents, according to the hi’mor, 
 or hurrVt of the moment. 
 
300 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VI. 
 
 Calcutta : June 15, 1837. 
 
 Dear Napier, — Your letter about my review of Mackintosh miscarried, 
 vexatiously enough. I should have been glad to know what was thought 
 of my performance among friends and foes ; for here we have no informa- 
 tion on such subjects. The literary correspondents of the Calcutta news- 
 papers seem to be penny-a-line men whose whole stock of literature comes 
 from the conversations in the Green Room. 
 
 My long article on Bacon has, no doubt, been in your hands some time. 
 I never, to the best of my recollection, proposed to review Hannah 
 More’s Life or Works. If I did, it must have been in jest. She was 
 exactly the very last person in the world about whom I should choose to 
 write a critique. She was a very kind friend to me from childhood. Her 
 notice first called out my literary tastes. Her presents laid the founda- 
 tion of my library. She was to me what Ninon was to Voltaire, — begging 
 her pardon for comparing her to a bad woman, and yours for comparing 
 myself to a great man. She really was a second mother to me. I have a 
 real affection for her memory. I therefore could not possibly write about 
 her unless I wrote in her praise ; and all the praise which I could give to 
 her writings, even after straining my conscience in her favor, would be far 
 indeed from satisfying any of her admirers. 
 
 I will try my hand on Temple, and on Lord Clive. Shaftesbury I 
 shall let alone. Indeed, his political life is so much connected with Tem- 
 ple’s that, without endless repetition, it would be impossible for me to 
 furnish a separate article on each. Temple’s Life and Works; the part 
 which he took in the controversy about the ancients and moderns ; the Ox- 
 ford confederacy against Bentley ; and the memorable victory which Bent- 
 ley obtained, will be good subjects. I am in training for this part of the 
 subject, as I have twice read through the Phalaris controversy since I ar- 
 rived in India. 
 
 I have been almost incessantly engaged in public business since I sent 
 off the paper on Bacon ; but I expect to have comparative leisure during 
 the short remainder of my stay here. The Penal Code of India is finish- 
 ed, and is in the press. The illness of two of my colleagues threw the 
 work almost entirely on me. It is done, however ; and I am not likely to 
 be called upon for vigorous exertion during the rest of my Indian career. 
 
 Yours ever, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 If you should have assigned Temple, or Clive, to anybody else, pray 
 do not be uneasy on that account. The pleasure of writing pays itself. 
 
 Calcutta : December 18, 1837. 
 
 Dear Ellis, — My last letter was on a deeply melancholy subject, the 
 death of our poor friend Malkin. . I have felt very much for his widow. 
 The intensity of her affliction, and the fortitude and good feeling which 
 
LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 301 
 
 1834-38- 
 
 she showed as soon as the first agony was over, have interested me greatly 
 in her. Six or seven of Malkin’s most intimate friends here have joined 
 with Ryan, and me, in subscribing to put up a plain marble tablet in the 
 cathedral, for which I have written an inscription.* 
 
 My departure is now near at hand. This is the last letter which I 
 shall write to you from India. Our passage is taken in the Lord Hunger- 
 ford ; the most celebrated of the huge floating hotels which run between 
 London and Calcutta. She is more renowned for the comfort and luxury 
 of her internal arrangements than for her speed. As we are to stop at the 
 Cape for a short time, I hardly expect to be with you till the end of May, 
 or the beginning of June. I intend to make myself a good German schol- 
 ar by the time of my arrival in England. I have already, at leisure 
 moments, broken the ice. I have read about half of the New Testament 
 in Luther’s translation ; and am now getting rapidly, for a beginner, through 
 Schiller’s History of the Thirty Years’ War. My German library consists 
 of all Goethe’s works, all Schiller’s works, Muller’s History of Switzerland, 
 some of Tieck, some of Lessing, and other works of less fame. I hope to 
 despatch them all on my way home. I like Schiller’s style exceedingly. 
 His history contains a great deal of very just and deep thought, conveyed 
 in language so popular and agreeable that dunces would think him super- 
 ficial. 
 
 I lately took it into my head to obtain some knowledge of the Fathers, 
 and I read therefore a good deal of Athanasius, which by no means raised 
 him in my opinion. I procured the magnificent edition of Chrysostom, by 
 Montfaucon, from a public library here, and turned over the eleven huge 
 folios, reading wherever the subject was of peculiar interest. As to read- 
 ing him through, the thing is impossible. These volumes contain matter 
 at least equal to the whole extant literature of the best times of Greece, 
 from Homer to Aristotle inclusive. There are certainly some very bril- 
 liant passages in his homilies. It seems curious that, though the Greek 
 literature began to flourish so much earlier than the Latin, it continued to 
 flourish so much later. Indeed, if you except the century which elapsed 
 between Cicero’s first public appearance and Livy’s death, I am not sure 
 that there was any time at which Greece had not writers equal or superior 
 to their Roman contemporaries. I am sure that no Latin writer of the 
 age of Lucian is to be named with Lucian ; that no Latin writer of the age 
 of Longinus is to be named with Longinus ; that no Latin prose of the age 
 of Chrysostom can be named with Chrysostom’s compositions. I have 
 read Augustin’s Confessions. The book is not without interest ; but he 
 expresses himself in the style of a field-preacher. 
 
 Our Penal Code is to be published next week. It has cost me very 
 
 This inscription appears in Lord Macaulay’s Miscellaneous Works. 
 
30^ LIFE AND LETTERS OF LORD MACAULAY. CH. VI 
 
 intense labor; and, whatever its faults maybe, it is certainly not a slovenly 
 performance. Whether the work proves useful to India or not, it has been 
 of great use, I feel and know, to my own mind. 
 
 Ever yours affectionately, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 
 I 
 

 A FEW EXTRACTS from the notes pencilled in Macaulay’s Greek and 
 Latin books may interest any one who is wise enough to have kept up his 
 classics, or young enough for it to be still his happy duty to read them. The nurn- 
 ber of the dates scribbled at the conclusion of each volume, and their proximity in 
 point of time, are astonishing when we reflect that every such memorandum implies 
 a separate perusal. 
 
 “ This day I finished Thucydides, after reading him with inexpressible interest 
 and admiration. He is the greatest historian that ever lived. — February 27, 1835.” 
 “I am still of the same mind. — May 30, 1836.” 
 
 At the end of Xenophon’s Anabasis, may be read the words : 
 
 “ Decidedly his best work. — December 17, 1835.” 
 
 “ Most certainly. — February 24, 1837.” 
 
 “ One of the very first works that antiquity has left us. Perfect in its kind. — 
 October 9, 1837.” 
 
 “ I read Plautus four times at Calcutta. 
 
 The first in November and December 1834. 
 
 The. second in January and the beginning of February 1835. 
 
 The third on the Sundays from the 24th of May to the 23d of August 1835. 
 The fourth on the Sundays beginning from the ist of January 1837. 
 
 I have since read him in the Isle of Wight (1850), and in the South of France 
 (1858).” 
 
 “ Finished the second reading of Lucretius this day, March 24, 1835. It is a 
 great pity that the poem is in an unfinished state. The philosophy is for the most 
 part utterly worthless ; but in energy, perspicuity, variety of illustration, knowledge 
 of life and manners, talent for description, sense of the beauty of the external world, 
 and elevation and dignity of moral feeling, he had hardly ever an equal.” 
 
 “ Finished Catullus, August 3, 1835. — An admirable poet. No Latin writer is 
 
 so Greek. The simplicity, the pathos, the perfect grace, which I find in the great 
 Athenian models, are all in Catullus, and in him alone of the Romans.” 
 
 To the Thebai’s of Statius are simply appended the dates “ October 26, 1835.” 
 “ October 31, 1836.” The expressions “ Stuff I ” and “ Trash ! ” occur frequently 
 enough throughout the dreary pages of the poem ; while evidence of the attention 
 with which those pages were studied is afforded by such observations as “ Gray has 
 translated this passage ; ” “ Racine took a hint here ; ” and “ Nobly imitated, indeed 
 far surpassed, by Chaucer.” 
 
 “Finished Silius Italicus; for which Heaven be praised! December 24, 1835. 
 Pope must have read him before me. In the Temple of Fame, and the Essay on 
 Criticism, are some touches plainly suggested by Silius.” 
 
 In the last page of Velleius Paterculus come the following comments : “Vile 
 flatterer ! Yet, after all, he could hardly help it. But how the strong, acute, cynical 
 mind of Tiberius must have been revolted by adulation, the absence of which he 
 would probably have punished! Velleius Paterculus seems to me a remarkably good 
 
 303 
 
3°4 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 epitomist. ^ I hardly know any historical work of which the scale is so small, 
 and the subject so extensive. The Bishop of London admires his style. ' I do not. 
 There are sentences worthy of Tacitus ; but there is an immense quantity of rant, 
 and far too much ejaculation and interrogation for oratory, let alone history. Tune 
 6, 1835. Again, May 14, 1836.” 
 
 “ I think Sallust inferior to both Livy and Tacitus in the talents of an historian. 
 There is a lecturing, declaiming, tone about him which would suit a teacher of 
 rhetoric better than a statesman engaged in recording great events. Still, he is a 
 good writer ; and the view which he here gives of the state of parties at Rome, and 
 the frightful demoralisation of the aristocracy, is full of interest. Tune 10, i8-?t:. 
 May 6, 1837.’’ 
 
 “ I do not think that there is better evidence of the genuineness of any book in 
 the world than of the first seven books of Caesar’s Commentaries. To doubt on 
 that subject is the mere rage of scepticism.” 
 
 After Caesar’s De Bello Civili : “ He is an admirable writer, worth ten of Sallust. 
 His manner is the perfection of good sense and good taste. He rises on me, also, 
 as a man. He was on the right side, as far as in such a miserable government 
 there could be a right side. He used his victory with glorious humanity. Pompey, 
 whether he inclined to it or not, must have established a reign of terror to gratify 
 the execrable aristocracy whose tool he had stooped to be.” 
 
 To the De Bello Alexandrino : “ This is not a bad history. Hirtius is a very 
 respectable writer. The Alexandrian affair is a curious episode in Caesar’s life. 
 No doubt the influence of Cleopatra was the real cause of his strange conduct. He 
 was not a man to play Charles XII. at Bender, except when under the tyranny of 
 some strong passion. The ability with which he got out of scrapes is some set-off 
 against the rashness with which he got into them.” 
 
 To the De Bello Hispaniensi : “This book must have been written by some 
 sturdy old centurion, who fought better than he composed.” 
 
 The odds and ends of Caesar’s conversation, gathered far and wide from classi- 
 cal literature into what is perhaps the most tantalizing biographical fragment in 
 the world, are characterized by Macaulay as “ Disjecta membra gigantis.” 
 
 The three volumes of Macaulay’s Ovid are enlivened, throughout, with pencil- 
 notes charming in their vivacity and versatility. At the conclusion of the fifteenth 
 and last book he writes : “ There are some very fine things in this poem ; and in 
 ingenuity, and the art of doing difficult things in expression and versification as if 
 they were the easiest in the world, Ovid is quite incomparable. But, on the whole, 
 I am much disappointed. I like the romantic poets of Italy far better ; not only 
 Ariosto; but Boiardo, and even Forteguerri. The second book of the Metamor- 
 phoses is by far the best. Next to that comes the first half of the thirteenth. 
 
 “Finished at Calcutta April 28, 1835.” 
 
 “ I like it better this second time of reading . — January 14, 1837 ” 
 
 He was evidently surfeited by the Heroides, and pleased by the Amores ; 
 though he read them both twice through with the strictest impartiality. Of the 
 Ars Amatoria he says : “ Ovid’s best. The subject did not require the power, 
 which he did not possess, of moving the passions. The love, which he has reduced 
 to a system, was little more than the mere sexual appetite, heightened by the art 
 of dress, manner, and conversation . This was an excellent subject for a man so 
 witty and so heartless.” 
 
 The Fasti were almost too much for him. “June 30, 1835. It is odd that I 
 should finish the Fasti on the very dav with which the Fasti terminate. I am 
 cloyed with Ovid. Yet I cannot but admire him.” 
 
 “Finished the Fasti February 26, 1837.” 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 305 
 
 After the Tristia : “ A very melancholy set of poems. They make me very 
 sad, and the more so because I am myself an exile, though in far happier circum- 
 stances, externally, than those of Ovid. It is impossible not to feel contempt, 
 mingled with a sort of pitying kindness, for a man so clever, so accomplished, so 
 weak-spirited and timid, placed, unjustly as it should seem, in so painful a situa- 
 tion. It is curious that the three most celebrated Roman writers who were ban- 
 ished, and whose compositions written in exile have come down to us, Cicero, 
 Seneca, and Ovid, have all shown an impatience and pusillanimity which lower 
 their characters ; ” and which, he might have added, are strangely at variance with 
 the proverbial manliness, and constancy, of the Roman nature. 
 
 At the end of the last volume : “ I have now gone through the whole of Ovid’s 
 works, and heartily tired I am of him and them. Yet he is a wonderfully clever 
 man. But he has two insupportable faults. The one is that he will always be 
 clever ; the other that he never knows when to have done. He is rather a rhetori- 
 cian than a poet.’ There is little feeling in his poems ; even in those which were 
 written during his exile. The pathetic effect of his supplications and lamentations 
 is injured by the ingenious turns of expression, and by the learned allusions, with 
 which he sets off his sorrow. 
 
 “He seems to have been a very good fellow: rather too fond of women; a 
 flatterer and a coward ; but kind and generous ; and free from envy, though a 
 man of letters, and though sufficiently vain of his literary performances. The Art 
 of Love, which ruined poor Ovid, is, in my opinion, decidedly his best work.” 
 
 ^ “ I finished Livy, after reading him with the greatest delight, interest, and ad- 
 miration, May 31, 1835. Again, April 29, 1837.” 
 
 At the end of Livy’s twenty-seventh book there appear the following remarks ; 
 which, in a letter to Mr. Ellis, Macaulay entitles “ Historic Doubts touching the 
 Battle of the Metaurus ” : “I suspect that the whole narrative is too highly-colored, 
 and that far too large a share of the praise is allotted to Nero. Who was Nero ? 
 What did he ever do before or after this great achievement ? His conduct in 
 Spain had been that of an incapable driveller, and we hear of nothing to set off 
 against that conduct till he was made Consul. And, after his first Consulship, 
 why was he not re-elected ? All ordinary rules about succession to offices were 
 suspended while Hannibal was in Italy. Fabius, Fulvius, Marcellus, were elected 
 Consuls over and over. The youth of Scipio did not keep him from holding the 
 highest commands. Why was Nero, who, if Livy can be trusted, was a far abler 
 man than any general whom Rome employed in that war, — who out-generalled 
 Hasdrubal, — whio saved the Republic from the most imminent danger, — never 
 re-employed against the Carthaginians ? 
 
 “ And then, how strange is the silence of the Latin writers anterior to the 
 Augustan age ! There does not exist, as far as I recollect, a single allusion to Nero 
 in all Cicero’s works. But, when we come to the time at which Tiberius was rising 
 to the first importance in the State, we find Nero represented as the most illustrious 
 captain of his age. The earliest panegyric on him that I know is in Horace’s fine 
 ode, Qualem Ministrum. That ode was written to the praise and glory of Tiberius 
 and Drusus, — both Neros. Livy wrote when Tiberius was partner with Augustus 
 in the Empire; Velleius Paterculus when Tiberius was sovereign. They seem to 
 me to have looked back into history for the purpose of finding some topic flattering 
 to the house of Nero ; and they found a victory, — certainly a considerable victory, 
 — gained in the Consulship of a Nero, and by an army, part of which he com- 
 manded. Accordingly, they ascribed to him all the glory of the success. They 
 represented him as having contrived the whole plan ; as having executed it on his 
 own responsibility ; as having completely outwitted both the Carthaginian generals. 
 Yet, after all, the Senate would not let him enter Rome in triumph, but gave all the 
 honor of the victory to his colleague Livius , and I cannot find in Polybius any 
 compliment whatsoever to Nero’s generalship on this occasion. 
 
 “ I daresay that, if the truth were known, it would be something of this so.rt. 
 The Senate ordered Nero to march, and to effect a junction with Livius. The 
 VoL. I. — 20 
 
3o6 
 
 APPENDIX, 
 
 direction of the operations subsequent to that junction probably lay with Livius ; 
 as the province was especially his, and as he was general of by far the larger force. 
 In the action, Livy himself tells us that Livius was opposed to Hasdrubal, which 
 was douljtless the most important post. The universal impression at the time was 
 that the glory of the day belonged to Livius. He alone triumphed for the victory; 
 and no Roman writer, for many generations, ranked Nero with Fabius or Marcellus. 
 But, when the house of Nero acquired supreme power, men of letters employed all 
 their talents in extolling the only Nero of whom it was possible to make a great 
 man ; and they have described his conduct in such a way that he appears to have 
 been a greater man than Scipio, and fully a match for Hannibal.” 
 
 At the end of each drama of the Greek Tragedians Macaulay wrote with a 
 pencil, (and, unfortunately, not a very good pencil,) a little critical essay, from 
 three to twenty lines in length. 
 
 “ The first part of the Ajax is prodigiously fine, I do not know that the 
 agonies of wounded honor have ever been so sublimely represented. Basil, in one 
 of Miss Baillie’s best plays, is a faint shadow of this grand creation of Sophocles. 
 But the interest of the piece dies with Ajax. In the debates which follow, Sopho- 
 cles does not succeed as well as Euripides would have done. The odes, too, are 
 not very good.” 
 
 “ I have been less pleased with this perusal of the CEdipus Tyrannus than I 
 was when I read it in January ; perhaps because I then read it all at one sitting. 
 The construction seems to me less perfect than I formerly thought it. But nothing 
 can exceed the skill with which the discovery is managed. The agony of CEdipus 
 is so unutterably grand ; and the tender sorrow, in which his mind at last reposes 
 after his daughters have been brought to him, is as moving as anything in the 
 Greek Drama.” 
 
 “ The Philoctetes is a most noble play ; conspicuous even among the works of 
 Sophocles for the grace and majesty of effect produced by the most simple means. 
 There is more character in it than in any play in the Greek language ; two or three 
 of Euripides’s best excepted.” 
 
 “ The first half of the Eumenides is equal to anything in poetry. The close is 
 also very fine.” 
 
 • “ The Seven against Thebes is a noble poem ; full of dramatic improprieties ; 
 
 but all on fire with the finest poetical spirit. October 25, 1835. — My birthday. 
 
 \irj <f>iroai tov aTravra vlk^ 2.6yov‘ 
 
 TO S’, eTvei <j>avy, 
 
 PijvcL Keldev, bdevrrep ^kel, 
 
 TToXv Sevrepov, raxiOTa’’ * 
 
 “The Agamemnon is indeed very fine. From the king’s entrance into the 
 house, to the appearance on the stage of iEgistheus, it is beyond all praise. I shall 
 turn it over again next week.” 
 
 To the Prometheus are appended the words, “ One of the greatest of human 
 compositions.” 
 
 • “ The happiest destiny is never to have been bom ; and the next best, by far, is to 
 return, as swiftly as may be, to the bourn whence we came.” The wound caused by his 
 sister Marf;arel’s death was then ten montlis old- 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 307 
 
 ** The Orestes is one of the very finest plays in the Greek language. Among 
 those of Euripides, I should place it next to the Medea and the Bacchae.* It has 
 
 some very real faults ; but it possesses that strong human interest which neither 
 iEschylus nor Sophocles, — poets in many respects far superior to Euripides, — ever 
 gave to their dramas. Orestes and Electra keep a very strong hold on our sym- 
 pathy. The friendship of Pylades is more amiably represented here than any- 
 where else. Menelaus keeps the character which the Athenian dramatists have 
 agreed to give him. The sick-chamber scene, and the scene after the trial, are two 
 of the finest things in ancient poetry. When Milton designated Euripides ‘ sad 
 Electra’s poet,’ he was thinking of the Orestes, I suppose ; and not of the Electra. 
 Schjegel says (and he is perfectly right) that the Electra is Euripides’s worst play. 
 It is quite detestable.” 
 
 I can hardly account for the contempt which, at school and college, I felt for 
 Euripides. I own that I like him now better than Sophocles. The Alcestis has 
 faults enough ; but there are scenes in it of surpassing beauty and tenderness. The 
 Choruses, too, are very fine. Fox thought it the best of Euripides’s plays. I 
 cannot like it so well as the Medea. The odious baseness of Admetus, in accepting 
 the sacrifice of his wife, is a greater drawback than even the absurd machinery. 
 Thomson avoided this very happily in his imitation, by making Eleanora suck the 
 poison while Edward is sleeping.” 
 
 “ The Bacchae is a most glorious play. I doubt whether it be not superior to 
 the Medea. It is often very obscure ; and I am not sure that I fully understand its 
 general scope. But, as a piece of language, it is hardly equalled in the world. 
 And, whether it was intended to encourage or to discourage fanaticism, the picture 
 of fanatical excitement which it exhibits has never been rivalled.” 
 
 • Macaulay ranked the plays of Euripides thus : The Medea ; the Bacchse ; the 
 Orestes ; the Iphigenia in Aulis ; the Alcestis ; the Phoenissae ; the Troades ; the Hip- 
 polytus. 
 
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 [Kract reprint of Longman's 36s. Edition.] 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS 
 
 OF 
 
 LORD MACAULAY 
 
 BY HIS NEPHEW 
 
 GEORGE OTTO TREVELYAN, M.P.. 
 
 MEMBER OP PARLIAMENT FOR HAWICK, DISTRICT OP BURY. 
 
 TWO VOLUMES IN ONE. 
 
 VOL. II. 
 
 LEIPSIC : 
 
 LEMMERMANN 
 
 1876. 
 
 A CO. 
 

 
 j 
 
 
 5 
 
 
 
 } 
 
 ' 9 
 
 t , - . . 
 
 ■ ■ • . 
 
 
 ' 4 /. 
 
co^s^TEl^Ta7S 
 
 OF THE 
 
 SECOND VOLUME. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 1838- 39- 
 
 Death of Zachary Macaulay — Mr. Wallace and Mackintosh — Letters to Mr. Napier and 
 Mr. Ellis — Sir Walter Scott — Lord Brougham — First mention of the History — Ma- 
 caulay goes abroad — His way of regarding scenery — ChSlons-sur-Mame — Lyons— 
 Marseilles — Genoa — Pisa — Florence — Macaulay refuses the Judge Advocateship— 
 Florence to Rome— Thrasymene — St. Peter’s— The New Zealander — The Vatican — 
 The Temporal Power — The doctrine of the Immaculate Conception — Letter to Lord 
 Lansdowne — The Canadian Insurrection — Gibbon — Rome to Naples — Bulwer’s novels 
 —Impressions of Naples — Virgil’s tomb — Macaulay sets out homewards — Mr Goul- 
 bum — V ersailles z 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 1839- 41- 
 
 Macaulay returns to London — He meets Lord Brougham — Letters to Mr. Napier and 
 Mrs. Trevelyan — Correspondence with Mr. Gladstone — Heated state of politics — The 
 hostility of the Peers to Lord Melbourne’s Government — Macaulay’s view of the 
 situation — Verses by Praed — The Bed-chamber question — Macaulay is elected for 
 Edinburgh — Debate on the Ballot — Macaulay becomes a Cabinet Minister — The Times 
 — Windsor Castle — Vote of Want of Confidence — The Chinese War — Irish Registra- 
 tion : scene in the House of Commons — Letters to Napier — Religious Difficulties In 
 Scotland — Lord Cardigan — The Com Laws — The Sugar Duties — Defeat of the Minis- 
 try, and Dissolution of Parliament — Macaulay is re-elected for Edinburgh — Hrs love 
 for street-ballads — The change of Government 32 
 
 CHAPTER IX- 
 
 1841—44. 
 
 Macaulay settles in the Albany — Letters to Mr. Napier — Warren Hastings, and the 
 Vicar of Wakefield — Leigh Hunt — Macaulay’s doubts about the wisdom of publishing 
 his Essays — Lord Palmerston as a writer — The Lays of Rome — Handsome conduct of 
 
VI 
 
 CONTENTS OF THE 
 
 Professor Wilson— Republication of the Essays— Miss Aikin’s Life of Addison— 
 Macaulay in Opposition— The Copyright question— Recall of Lord Ellenborough— 
 Macaulay as a public speaker : opinions of the Reporters’ Gallery- Tour on the Loire 
 -Letters to Mr. Napier — Payment of the Irish Roman Catholic Clergy— Barire 64 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 1844-1847. 
 
 Letters to Mr. Napier — Macaulay modifies his design for an article on Burke and his 
 Times, into a sketch of Lord Chatham’s later years — Tour in Holland — Scene off 
 Dordrecht — Macaulay on the Irish Church — Maynooth — The Ministeral crisis of 
 December 1845 • letters to Lady Trevelyan — Letter to Mr. Macfarlan — Fall of Sir 
 Robert Peel — Macaulay becomes Paymastei^General — Hisre-eleciion at Edinburgh — 
 His position in the House of Commons — General election of 1847 — Macaulay’s de- 
 feat at Edinburgh 99 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 1848- 1849. 
 
 Macaulay retires into private life — Extracts from Lord Carlisle’s journal — Macaulay’s 
 conversation — His memory — His distaste for general society — His ways with children — 
 Letters to his niece Margaret — The judicious poet — Valentines — Sight-seeing — 
 Eastern tours — Macaulay’s method of work — His diligence in collecting his materials 
 — Glencoe — Londonderry — Macaulay’s accuracy — Opinions of Mr. Bagehot and Mr. 
 Buckle — Macaulay’s industry at the desk — His love for his task — Extracts from his 
 diary — His attention to the details of the press — The History appears — Congratula- 
 tions — Lord Halifax ; Lord Jeffrey ; Lord Auckland ; Miss Edgeworth — The popu- 
 larity of the work — Extract from “ Punch ” — Macaulay’s attitude in relation to his 
 critics — The Quarterly Review — The sacrifices which Macaulay made to literature 125 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 1849- 1852. 
 
 Extracts from Macaulay’s diary — Herodotus — Mr. Roebuck — Anticipations of failure and 
 success — Appearance of the History — Progress of the sale — The Duke of Wellington 
 — Lord Palmerston — Letters to Mr. Ellis — Lord Brougham on Euripides — Macau- 
 lay is elected Lord Rector of Glasgow University — His inaugural address — Good 
 resolutions — Croker — Dr. Parr — The Historical Professorship at Cambridge — Byron- 
 Tour in Ireland — Althorp — Lord Sidmouth — LordThurlow — Death of Jeffrey — Mr. 
 Richmond’s portrait of Macaulay — Dinner at the Palace — Robert Montgomery — 
 Death of Sir Robert Peel — The Prelude — Ventnor — Letters to Mr. Ellis — Plautus — 
 Fra Paolo — Gibbon— The Papal Bull — Death of Henry Hallam — Person’s Letters 
 to Archdeacon Travis — Charles Mathews — Windsor Castle — Macaulay sets up his 
 carriage — Opening of the Great Exhibition of 1851 — Cobbett — Malvern — Letters to 
 Mr. Ellis — Wilhelm Meister — The battle of Worcester — Palmerston leaves the 
 Foreign Office — Macaulay refuses an offer of the Cabinet — Windsor Castle— King 
 John — Scene of the Assassination Plot — Royal Academy dinner 158 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 1852-1856. 
 
 The magnetoscope, and table-turning — Macaulay’s re-election for Edinburgh, and the 
 general satisfaction which it occasioned — He has a serious attack of illness — Clifton — 
 Extracts from Macaulay’s journal — His strong feelings for old associations — Barley 
 
SECOND VOLUME. 
 
 vii 
 
 Wood — Letters to Mr. Ellis — Great change in Macaulay’s health and habits — His 
 speech at Edinburgh — The House of Commons — Mr. Disraeli’s Budget— Formation 
 of Lord Aberdeen’s Ministry — The Judges’ Exclusion Bill — The India Bill — The 
 Annuity Tax — Macaulay ceases to take an active part in politics — Letters to Mr. 
 Ellis — Mrs. Beecher Stowe — Tunbridge Wells — Plato — Mr. Vizetelly — Macaulay’s 
 patriotism — The Crimean War — Open competition — The History — Thames Ditton— 
 Publication of Macaulay’s Third and Fourth Volumes — Statistics of the sale of the 
 History — Honors conferred on Macaulay — The British Museum 198 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 1856-1858. 
 
 Macaulay resigns his seat for Edinburgh — He settles himself at Holly Lodge — His house 
 and garden — His notions of hospitality — L’Almanach des Gourmands — Country visits 
 — Continental tours — Chateaubriand — Macaulay as a man of business — His generosity 
 in money matters — His kindness to his relations, and towards children — Picture 
 galleries-;-Macaulay as an instructor — He pays a compliment to Lord Palmerston — 
 Macaulay is made a Peer — His attachment to his old University — He is elected Lord 
 High Steward of the Borough of Cambridge — Macaulay in the House of Lords— 
 French Politics — The Indian Mutiny — The National Fast-day — The capture of Delhi 
 and relief of Lucknow — Professor Owen and the British Museum — Literary ease — The 
 Fifth Volume of the History — Macaulay’s contributions to the Encylopaedia Bri- 
 tannica — His habit of learning by heart — Foreign languages — Macaulay’s modes of 
 amusing himself — The consequences of celebrity — Extracts from Macaulay’s journal— 
 His literary Conservatism — His love for Theology and Church History — His devo- 
 tion to literature 255 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 1859. * 
 
 Melancholy anticipations — Visit to the English lakes and to Scotland — Extracts from 
 Macaulay’s journal — His death and funeral 304 
 

 ■\X. 
 
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LIFE AND LETTERS 
 
 OF 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 1838-39. 
 
 Death of Zachary Macaulay — Mr. Wallace and Mackintosh — Letters to Mr. Napier and 
 Mr. Ellis — Sir Walter Scott — Lord Brougham — First mention of the History — Ma- 
 caulay goes abroad — His way of regarding scenery — Chalons-sur-Marne — Lyons— 
 Marseilles — Genoa — Pisa — Florence — Macaulay refuses the Judge Advocateship — 
 Florence to Rome — Thrasymene — St. Peter’s — The New Zealander — The Vatican 
 — The Temporal Power — The doctrine of the Immaculate Conception — Letter to 
 Lord Lansdowne — The Canadian Insurrection — Gibbon — Rome to Naples — Bulwer’s 
 novels — Impressions of Naples — Virgil’s tomb — Macaulay sets out homewards — Mr. 
 Goulburn — Versailles. 
 
 T he Lord Hungerford justified her reputation of a bad sailer, and the 
 homeward voyage was protracted into the sixth month. This un- 
 usual delay, combined with the knowledge that the ship had met with 
 very rough weather after leaving the Cape, gave rise to a report that she 
 had been lost with all on board, and brought a succession of Whig politi- 
 cians into the City to inquire at Lloyd’s about the safety of her precious 
 freight. But it was in the character of a son and brother, and not of a 
 party orator, that Macaulay was most eagerly and anxiously expected. 
 He had. indeed, been sorely missed. “ You can have no conception,” writes 
 one of his sisters, “ of the change which has come over this household. 
 It is as if the sun had deserted the earth. The chasm Tom’s departure 
 has made can never be supplied. He was so unlike any other being one 
 ever sees, and his visits amongst us were a sort of refreshment which 
 served not a little to enliven and cheer our monotonous way of life; but 
 now day after day rises and sets without object or interest so that some- 
 times I almost feel aweary of this world.” 
 
 VOL. II.— I 
 
2 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. vri. 
 
 Things did not mend as time went on. With Zachary Macaulay, as 
 has been the case with so many like him, the years which intervened be- 
 tween the time when his work was done, and the time when he went to 
 receive his wages, were years of trouble, of sorrow, and even of gloom. 
 Failing health; failing eyesight; the sense of being helpless and useless, 
 after an active and beneficent career ; the consciousness of dependence 
 upon others at an age when the moral disadvantages of poverty are felt 
 even more keenly than youth feels its material discomforts ; — such were 
 the clouds that darkened the close of a life which had never been without 
 its trials. During the months that his children were on their homeward 
 voyage his health was breaking fast; and before the middle of May he 
 died, without having again seen their faces. Sir James .Stephen, writing 
 to Fanny Macaulay, says : “ I know not how to grieve for the loss of your 
 father, though it removes from this world one of the oldest, and, as- 
 suredly, one of the most excellent friends I have ever had. What rational 
 man would not leap for joy at the offer of bearing all his burdens, severe 
 as they were, if he could be assured of the same approving conscience, 
 and of the same blessed reward ? He was almost the last survivor of a 
 noble brotherhood now reunited in affection, and in employment. Mr. 
 Wilberforce, Henry Thornton. Babington, my father, and other not less 
 dear, though less conspicuous, companions of his many labors, have ere 
 now greeted him as their associate in the world of spirits ; and, above all, 
 he has been welcomed by his Redeemer with ‘ Well done, good and faith- 
 ful servant.’ ” 
 
 Zachary Macaulay’s bust in Westminster Abbey bears on its pedestal 
 a beautiful inscription, (which is, and probably will remain, his only biog- 
 raphy, ) in which much more is told, than he himself would wish to have 
 been told, about a man 
 
 WHO DURING FORTY SUCCESSIVE YEARS, 
 
 PARTAKING IN THE COUNSELS AND THE LABORS 
 WHICH, GUIDED BY FAVORING PROVIDENCE, 
 
 RESCUED AFRICA FROM THE WOES, 
 
 AND THE BRITISH EMPIRE FROM THE GUILT, 
 
 OF SLAVERY AND THE SLAVE-TRADE, 
 
 MEEKLY ENDURED THE TOIL, THE PRIVATION. AND THE REPROACH, 
 RESIGNING TO OTHERS THE PRAISE AND THE REWARD. 
 
 His tomb has for many years past been cut off from the body of the 
 nave by an iron railing equally meaningless and unsightly; which with- 
 draws from the eyes of his fellow-countrymen an epitaph at least as pro- 
 vocative to patriotism as those of the innumerable military and naval 
 heroes of the Seventeenth and Eighteenth centuries, who fell in wars the 
 very objects of which are for the most part forgotten, or remembered 
 only to be regretted. 
 
[ 838 - 39 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 3 
 
 The first piece of business which Macaulay found waiting to be settled 
 on his return to England was sufficiently disagreeable. As far back as 
 July 1835, he had reviewed Sir James Mackintosh’s History of the Revo- 
 lution of 1688. This valuable fragment was edited by a Mr. Wallace, 
 who accompanied it with a biographical sketch of his author, whom he 
 treated throughout wnth an impertinence which had an air of inexcusable 
 disloyalty ; but which in truth was due to nothing worse than self-suffi- 
 ciency, thrown into unpleasant relief by the most glaring bad taste. 
 Macaulay, who from a boy had felt for Mackintosh that reverence w’hich 
 is 
 
 Dearer to true young hearts than their own praise, 
 fell upon the editor with a contemptuous vigor, of which some pretty 
 distinct traces remain in the essay as it at present appears in the collected 
 editions, where the following sentence may still be read : “It is plain that 
 Thomas Burnet and his writings were never heard of by the gentleman 
 who has been employed to edit this volume, and who, not content with 
 deforming Sir James Mackintosh’s text by such blunders, has prefixed to 
 it a bad memoir, has appended to it a bad continuation, and has thus suc- 
 ceeded in expanding the volume into one of the thickest, and debasing it 
 into one of the worst, that we ever saw.” What the first vehemence of 
 Macaulay’s indignation was, may be estimated by the fact that this pas- 
 sage, as it now stands, has been deprived of half its sting. 
 
 One extract from the article, in its original form, merits to be repro- 
 duced here, because it explains, and in some degree justifies, Macaulay’s 
 wrath, and in itself is well worth reading. 
 
 “ He ” (the editor) “affects, and for aught we know, feels, something like con 
 tempt for the celebrated man whose life he has undertaken to write, and whom he 
 was incompetent to serve in the capacity even of a corrector of the press. Our 
 readers may form a notion of the spirit in which the whole narrative is composed 
 from expressions which occur at the beginning. This biographer tells us that 
 Mackintosh, on occasion of taking his medical degree at Edinburgh, ‘ not only put 
 off the writing of his Thesis to the last moment, but was an hour behind his time 
 on the day of examination, and kept the Academic Senate waiting for him in full 
 conclave.’ This irregularity, which no sensible professor would have thought de- 
 serving of more than a slight reprimand, is described by the biographer, after a 
 lapse of nearly half a century, as an incredible instance ‘ not so much of indolence, 
 as of gross negligence and bad taste.’ But this is not all. Our biographer has 
 contrived to produce a copy of the Thesis, and has sate down, with his As in praesenti 
 and his Propria quae maribus at his side, to pick out blunders in a composition, 
 written by a youth of twenty-one on the occasion alluded to. He finds one mistake, 
 such a mistake as the greatest scholar might commit when in haste, and as the 
 veriest schoolboy would detect when at leisure. He glories over this precious 
 discovery with all the exultation of a pedagogue. ‘ Deceived by the passive ter- 
 mination of the verb defungor, Mackintosh misuses it in a passive sense.’ He 
 
4 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VII. 
 
 is not equally fortunate in his other discovery. ‘ Laude conspurcare^ whatever he 
 may think, is not an improper phrase. Mackintosh meant to say that there are 
 men whose praise is a disgrace. No person, we are sure, who has read this me- 
 moir, will doubt that there are men whose abuse is an honor.” 
 
 Mr. Wallace did not choose to rest quietly under a castigation which 
 even Macaulay subsequently admitted to have been in excess of his deserts 
 
 3 Clarges Street, London : June 14, 1838. 
 
 Dear Napier, — I did not need your letter to satisfy me of your kind- 
 ness, and of the pleasure which my arrival would give you. I have re- 
 turned with a small independence, but still an independence. All mv 
 tastes and wishes lead me to prefer literature to politics. When I say 
 this to my friends here, some of them seem to think that I am out of my 
 wits, and others that I am coquetting to raise my price. T, on the other 
 hand, believe that I am wise, and know that I am sincere. 
 
 I shall be curious, when we meet, to see your correspondence with 
 Wallace. Empson seemed to be a little uneasy lest the foolish man should 
 give me trouble. I thought it impossible that he could be so absurd ; and, 
 as I have now been in London ten days without hearing of him, I am con- 
 firmed in my opinion. In any event you need not be anxious. If it be 
 absolutely necessary to meet him, I will. But I foresee no such necessity ; 
 and, as Junius says, I never will give a proof of my spirit at the expense 
 of my understanding. 
 
 Ever yours most truly, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 London : August 14, 1838. 
 
 Dear Napier, — Your old friend Wallace and I have been pretty near 
 exchanging shots. However, all is accommodated, and, I think, quite 
 unexceptionably. The man behaved much better to me than he did to 
 you. Perhaps time has composed his feelings. He had, at all events, 
 the advantage of being in good hands. He sent me by Tom Steele, — a 
 furious O’Connellite, but a gentleman, a man of honor, and, on this occa- 
 sion at least, a man of temper, — a challenge very properly worded. He 
 accounted, handsomely enough, for the delay by saying that my long 
 absence, and the recent loss in my family, prevented him from applying 
 to me immediately on my return. I put the matter into Lord Strafford’s 
 hands. I had, to tell you the truth, no notion that a meeting could le 
 avoided ; for the man behaved so obstinately well that there was no pos- 
 sibility of taking Empson’s advice, and sending for the police ; and, 
 though I was quite ready to declaim all intention of giving personal offence, 
 and to declare that, when I wrote the review, I was ignorant of Mr. Wal- 
 lace’s existence, I could not make any apology, or express the least regret, 
 for having used strong language in defence of Mackintosh. Lord Strafford 
 quite approved of my resolution. But he proposed a course which had 
 
•1838-39. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 5 
 
 never occurred to me ; which at once removed all scruples on my side ; 
 and which, to my great surprise, Steele and Wallace adopted without a 
 moment’s hesitation. This was that Wallace should make a preliminary 
 declaring that he meant, by his memoir nothing disrespectful or unkind 
 to Mackintosh, but the direct contrary ; and that then I should declare 
 that, in consequence of Mr. Wallace’s declaration, I was ready to express 
 my regret if I had used any language that could be deemed personally 
 offensive. This way of settling the business appeared to both Lord Straf- 
 ford and Rice perfectly honorable ; and I was of the same mind : for 
 certainly the language which I used could be justified only on the ground 
 that Wallace had used Mackintosh ill ; and, when Wallace made a pre- 
 liminary declaration that he intended nothing but kindness and honor to 
 Mackintosh, I could not properly refuse to make some concession. I was 
 much surprised that neither Steele nor Wallace objected to Lord Strafford’s 
 proposition ; but, as they did not object, it was impossible for me to do so. 
 In this way the matter was settled, — much better settled than by refusing 
 to admit Wallace to the privileges of a gentleman. I hope that ycm will 
 be satisfied with the result. The kind anxiety which you have felt about 
 me renders me very desirous to know that you approve of my conduct. 
 
 Yours ever, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 3 Clarges Street : June 26, 1838. 
 
 Dear Napier, — I assure you that I would willingly, and even eagerly, 
 undertake the subject which you propose, if I thought that I should serve 
 you by doing so. But, depend upon it, you do not know what you are 
 asking for. I have done my best to ascertain what I can and what I can 
 not do. There are extensive classes of subjects which I think myself able 
 to treat as few people can treat them. After this, you cannot suspect me 
 of any affectation of modesty ; and you will therefore believe that I tell you 
 what I sincerely think, when I say that I am not successful in analysing 
 the effect of works of genius. I have written several things on historical, 
 political, and moral questions, of which, on the fullest re-consideratioii, 
 I am not ashamed, and by which I should be willing to be estimated ; but 
 I have never written a page of criticism on poetry, or the fine arts, which 
 I would not burn if I had the power. Hazlitt used to say of himself, “ I 
 am nothing if not critical.” The case with me is directly the reverse. 
 I have a strong and acute enjoyment of works of the imagination; but I 
 have never habituated myself to dissect them. Perhaps I enjoy them the 
 more keenly, for that very reason. Such books as Lessing’s Laocobn,* 
 such passages as the criticism on Hamlet in Wilhelm Meister, fill me with 
 wonder and despair. Now, a review of Lockhart’s book ought to be a 
 
 “ I began Lessing’s Laocoon, and read forty or fifty pages : sometimes dissenting, but 
 always admiring and learning.” — Macaulay’s Journal for September 21, 1851. 
 
6 
 
 LIFE AND LErrERS OF 
 
 CH. VII. 
 
 review of Sir Walter’s literary performances. I enjoy many of them;— - 
 nobody, I believe, more keenly ; — but I am sure that there are hundreds 
 who will criticise them far better. Trust to my knowledge of myself. I 
 never in my life was more certain of anything than of what I tell you, and 
 I am sure that Lord Jeffrey will tell you exactly the same. 
 
 There are other objections of less weight but not quite unimportant. 
 Surely it would be desirable that some person who knew Sir Walter, who 
 had at least seen him and spoken with him, should be charged with this 
 article. Many people are living who had a most intimate acquaintance 
 with him. I know no more of him than I know of Dryden or Addison, 
 and not a tenth part so much as I know of Swift, Cowper, or Johnson. 
 Then again, ][ have not, from the little that I do know of him, formed so 
 high an opinion of his character as most people seem to entertain, and as 
 it would be expedient for the Edinburgh Review to express. He seems 
 to me to have been most carefully, and successfully, on his guard against 
 the sins which most easily beset literary men. On that side he multiplied 
 his precautions, and set double watch. Hardly any writer of note has 
 been so free from the petty jealousies, and morbid irritabilities, of our 
 caste. But I do not think that he kept himself equally pure from faults 
 of a very different kind, from the faults of a man of the world. In politics, 
 a bitter and unscrupulous partisan ; profuse and ostentatious in expense ; 
 agitated by the hopes and fears of a gambler ; perpetually sacrificing the 
 perfection of his compositions, and the durability of his fame, to his eager- 
 ness for money ; writing with the slovenly haste of Dryden, in order to 
 satisfy wants which were not. like those of Dryden, caused by circumstances 
 beyond his control, but which were produced by his extravagant waste or 
 rapacious speculation ; this is the way in which he appears to me. I am 
 sorry for it, for I sincerely admire the greater part of his works : but I 
 cannot think him a high-minded man, or a man of very strict principle. 
 Now these are opinions which, however softened, it would be highly un- 
 popular to publish, particularly in a Scotch Review. 
 
 But why cannot you prevail on Lord Jeffrey to furnish you with this 
 article ? No man could do it half so well. He knew and loved Scott ; 
 and would perform the critical part of the work, which is much the most 
 important, incomparably. I have said a good deal in the hope of convinc- 
 ing you that it is not without reason that I decline a task which I see that 
 you wish me to undertake. 
 
 I am quite unsettled. Breakfasts every morning, dinners every even- 
 ing, and calls all day, prevent me from making any regular exertion. My 
 books are at the baggage warehouse. My book-cases are in the hands of 
 the cabinet-maker. Whatever I write at present I must, as Bacon some- 
 where says, spin like a spider out of my own entrails, and I have hardly a 
 minute in the week for such spinning. London is in a strange state of 
 
I S3S- 39- 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 7 
 
 excitement. The western streets are in a constant ferment. The influx 
 of foreigners and rustics has been prodigious, and the regular inhabitants 
 are almost as idle and curious as the sojourners. Crowds assemble per- 
 petually, nobody knows why, with a sort of vague expectation that there 
 will be something to see ; and, after staring at each other, disperse with- 
 out seeing anything. This will last till the Coronation is over. The 
 only quiet haunts are the streets of the City. For my part I am sick to 
 death of the turmoil, and almost wish myself at Calcutta again, or be- 
 calmed on the equator. 
 
 Ever yours most truly, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 3 Charles Street, London: July 20, 1838. 
 
 Dear Napier, — As to Brougham, I understand and feel for your em- 
 barrassments. I may perhaps refine too much ; but I should say that this 
 strange man, finding himself almost alone in the world, absolutely uncon- 
 nected with either Whigs or Conservatives, and not having a single vote 
 in either House of Parliament at his command except his own, is desirous 
 to make the Review his organ. With this intention, unless I am greatly 
 deceived, after having during several years contributed little or nothing of 
 value, he has determined to exert himself as if he were a young writer 
 struggling into note, and to make himself important to the work by his 
 literary services. And he certainly has succeeded. His late articles, par- 
 ticularly the long one in the April number, have very high merit. ' They 
 are, indeed, models of magazine writing as distinguished from other sorts 
 of writing. They are not, I think, made for duration. Everything about 
 them is exaggerated, incorrect, sketchy. All the characters are either too 
 black, or too fair. The passions of the writer do not suffer him even to 
 maintain the decent appearance of impartiality. And the style, though 
 striking and animated, will not bear examination through a single para- 
 graph. But the effect of the first perusal is great ; and few people read 
 an article in a review twice. A bold, dashing, scene-painting manner is 
 that which always succeeds best in periodical writing ; and I have no 
 doubt that these lively and vigorous papers of Lord Brougham will be of 
 more use to you than more highly finished compositions. His wish, I 
 imagine, is to establish in this way such an ascendency as may enable him 
 to drag the Review along with him to any party to which his furious pas- 
 sions may lead him ; to the Radicals ; to the Tories ; to any set of men 
 by whose help he may be able to revenge himself on old friends, whose 
 only crime is that they could not help finding him to be an habitual and 
 incurable traitor. Hitherto your caution and firmness have done wonders. 
 Yet already he has begun to use the word “ Whig ” as an epithet of re- 
 proach, exactly as it is used in the lowest writings of the Tories, and of 
 the extreme Radicals; exactly as it is used in Blackwood, in Fraser, in the 
 
8 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VII. 
 
 Age. in Tail’s Magazine. There are several instances in the article on 
 Lady Charlotte Bury. “ The Whig notions of female propriety.” “ The 
 Whig secret tribunal.” I have no doubt that the tone of his papers will 
 become more and more hostile to the Government ; and that, in a short 
 time, it will be necessary for you to take one of three courses, to every 
 one of which there are strong objections; — to break with him ; to admit 
 his papers into the Review, while the rest of the Review continues to be 
 written in quite a different tone ; or to yield to his dictation, and to let 
 him make the Review a mere tool of his ambition and revenge. 
 
 As to Brougham’s feelings towards myself, I know, and have known 
 for a long time, that he hates me. If during the last ten years I have 
 gained any reputation either in politics or in letters, — if I have had any 
 success in life, — it has been without his help or countenance, and often in 
 spite of his utmost exertions to keep me down. It is strange that he should 
 be surprised at my not calling on him since my return. I did not call on 
 him when I went away. When he was Chancellor, and I was in office, I 
 never once attended his levee. It would be strange . indeed if now, when 
 he is squandering the remains of his public character in an attempt to 
 ruin the party of which he was a member then, and of which I am a mem- 
 ber still, I should begin to pay court to him. For the sake of the long in- 
 timacy which subsisted between him and my father, and of the mutual good 
 offices which passed between them, I will not, unless I am compelled, make 
 any public attack on him. But this is really the only tie which restrains 
 me : for I neither love him, nor fear him. 
 
 With regard to the Indian Penal Code, if you are satisfied that Empson 
 really wishes to review it on its own account, and not merely out of kind- 
 ness to me, I should not at all object to his doing so. The subject is one 
 of immense importance. The work is of a kind too abstruse for common 
 readers, and can be made known to them only through the medium of 
 some popular exposition. There is another consideration which weighs 
 much with me. The Press in India has fallen into the hands of the lower 
 legal practitioners, who detest all law-reform ; and their scurrility, though 
 mere matter of derision to a person accustomed to the virulence of En- ' 
 glish factions, is more formidable than you can well conceive to the mem- 
 bers of the Civil Service, who are quite unaccustomed to be dragged 
 rudely before the public. It is, therefore, highly important that the 
 members of the Indian Legislature, and of the Law Commission, should 
 be supported against the clamorous abuse of the scribblers who surround 
 them by seeing that their performances attract notice at home, and are 
 judged with candor and discernment by writers of a far higher rank in 
 literature than the Calcutta editors. For these reasons I should be glad to 
 see an article on the Penal Code in the Edinburgh Review. But I must 
 stipulate that my name may not be mentioned, and that everything may be 
 
i^38-39- 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 9 
 
 attributed to the Law Commission as a body. I am quite confident that 
 Empson’s own good taste, and regard for me, will lead him, if he should 
 review the Code, to abstain most carefully from everything that resembles 
 puffing. His regard to truth and the public interest will, of course, lead 
 him to combat our opinions freely wherever he thinks us wrong. 
 
 There is little chance that I shall see Scotland this year. In the 
 autumn I shall probably set out for Rome, and return to London in the, 
 spring. As soon as I return, I shall seriously commence my History 
 Tlie first part, (which, I think, will take up five octavo volumes,) will ex- 
 tend from the Revolution to the commencement of Sir Robert Walpole’s 
 long administration ; a period of three or four and thirty very eventful 
 years. From the commencement of Walpole’s administration to the com- 
 mencement of the American war, events may be despatched more concise- 
 ly. From the commencement of the American war it will again become 
 necessary to be copious. These, at least, are my present notions. How 
 far I shall bring the narrative down I have not determined. The death of 
 George the Fourth would be the best halting-place. The History would 
 then be an entire view of all the transactions which took place, between 
 the Revolution which brought the Crown into harmony with the Parlia- 
 ment, and the Revolution which brought the Parliament into harmony 
 with the nation. But there are great and obvious objections to contem- 
 porary history. To be sure, if I live to be seventy, the events of George 
 the Fourth’s reign will be to me then what the American war and the 
 Coalition are to me now. , 
 
 Whether I shall continue to reside in London seems to me very uncer- 
 tain. I used to think that I liked London ; but, in truth, I liked things 
 which were in London, and which are gone. My family is scattered. I 
 have no Parliamentary or official business to bind me to the capital. The 
 business to which I propose to devote myself is almost incompatible with 
 the distractions of a town life. I am sick of the monotonous succession 
 of parties, and long for quiet and retirement. To quit politics for letters 
 is, I believe, a wise choice. To cease to be a Member of Parliament only 
 to become a diner-out would be contemptible ; and it is not easy for me to 
 avoid becoming a mere diner-out if I reside here. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 London: September 15, 1838. 
 
 Dear Ellis, — On Monday I shall set off for Liverpool by the railroad, 
 which will then be opened for the whole way I shall remain there about 
 a week. The chief object of my visit is to see my little nephew, the son of 
 my sister Margaret. It is no visit of pleasure, though I hear everything 
 most hopeful and pleasing about the boy’s talents and temper.^ Indeed, 
 * The boy died in 1847, having already shown as fair promise of remarkable ability, 
 
lO 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VII. 
 
 it is not without a great effort that I force myself to go But I will say 
 no more on this subject, for\I cannot command myself when I approach it 
 
 Empson came to London yesterday night, with his lady in high beauty 
 and good humor. It is, you know, quite a proverbial truth that wives 
 never tolerate an intimacy between their husbands and any old friends, 
 except in two cases : the one, when the old friend was, before the mar- 
 riage, a friend of both wife and husband ; the other, when the friendship 
 is of later date than the marriage. I may hope to keep Empson’s friend- 
 ship under the former exception, as I have kept yours under the latter. 
 
 Empson brings a sad account of poor Napier : all sorts of disquiet and 
 trouble, with dreadful, wearing, complaints which give his friends the 
 gravest cause for alarm. And, as if this were not enough, Brougham is 
 persecuting him with the utmost malignity. I did not think it possible for 
 human nature, in an educated civilised man, — a man, too, of great intellect, 
 — to have become so depraved. He writes to Napier in language of the 
 most savage hatred, and of the most extravagant vaunting. The Minis- 
 ters, he says, have felt only his little finger. He will now put forth his red 
 right hand. They shall have no rest. As to me, he says that I shall rue 
 my baseness in not calling on him. But it is against Empson that he is 
 most furious. He says that, in consequence of this new marriage,* he 
 will make it the chief object of his life to prevent Jeffrey from ever being 
 Lord President of the Court of Session. He thinks that there is some 
 notion of making Empson editor of the Review. If that be done, he says, 
 he will relinquish every other object in order to ruin the Review. He 
 will lay out his last sixpence in that enterprise. He will make revenge on 
 Empson the one business of the remaining years of his life. Empson says 
 that nothing so demoniacal was ever written in the world. For my part, 
 since he takes it into his head to be angry, I am pleased that he goes on 
 in such a way ; for he is much less formidable in such a state than he would 
 be, if he kept his temper. I sent to Napier on Thursday along article on 
 Temple. It is superficial ; but on that account, among others, I shall be 
 surprised if it does not take. 
 
 Hayter has painted me for his picture of the House of Commons. I 
 cannot judge of his performance. I can only say, as Charles the Second 
 did on a similar occasion, “ Odds fish, if I am like this, I am an ugly fel- 
 low.” 
 
 Yours ever, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 and fine character, as can be given at the age of thirteen. “ I feel the calamity much,” 
 Macaulay wrote. ” I had left the dear boy my library, little expecting that I should ever 
 wear mourning for him.” 
 
 * Mr. Empson had married the daughter of Lord Jeffrey. 
 
1838-39. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 II 
 
 In the middle of October Macaulay started for a tour in Italy. Just 
 past middle life, with his mind already full, and his imagination still fresh 
 and his health unbroken, — it may be doubted whether any traveller had 
 carried thither a keener expectation of enjoyment since Winckelmann for 
 the first time crossed the Alps. A diary, from which extracts will be given 
 in the course of this chapter, curiously illustrates the feelings with which 
 he regarded the scenes around him. He viewed the works, both of man, 
 and of nature, with the eyes of an historian, and not of an artist. The 
 leading features of a tract of country impressed themselves rapidly and 
 indelibly on his observation ; all its associations and traditions swept at 
 once across his memory ; and every line of good poetry, which its fame, 
 or its beauty, had inspired, rose almost involuntarily to his lips. But, 
 compared with the wealth of phrases on which he could draw at will when 
 engaged on the description of human passions, catastrophes, and intrigues, 
 his stock of epithets applicable to mountains, seas, and clouds was singu- 
 larly scanty ; and he had no ambition to enlarge it. When he had record- 
 ed the fact that the leaves were green, the sky blue, the plains rich, and the 
 hills clothed with wood, he had said all he had to say, and there was an 
 end of it. He had neither the taste, nor the power, for rivalling those 
 novelists who have more colors in their vocabulary than ever Turner had 
 on his palette ; and who spend over the lingering phases of a single sun- 
 set as much ink as Richardson consumed in depicting the death of his vil- 
 lain, or the ruin of his heroine. “ I have always thought,” said Lady Tre- 
 velyan, “ that your uncle was incomparable in showing a town, or the place 
 where any famous event occurred ; but that he did not care for scenery, 
 merely as scenery. He enjoyed the country in his way. He liked sitting 
 out on a lawn, and seeing grass and flowers around him. Occasionally a 
 view made a great impression on him, such as the view down upon Susa, 
 going over Mont Cenis ; but I doubt whether any scene pleased his eye 
 more than his own beloved Holly Lodge, or Mr. Thornton’s garden at 
 Battersea Rise. When we were recalling the delights of an excursion 
 among the Surrey hills, or in the byeways at the English lakes, he would 
 be inclined to ask, ‘ What went ye out for to see ? ’ Yet he readily took in 
 the points of a landscape ; and I remember being much struck by his de- 
 scription of the country before you reach Rome, which he gives in Hora- 
 tius. When I followed him over that ground many years after, I am sure 
 that I marked the very turn in the road where the lines struck him : 
 
 From where Cortona lifts to heaven 
 Her diadem of towers ; 
 
 and so on through ‘ reedy Thrasymene,’ and all the other localities of the 
 poem.” 
 
 Chdlons-sur-Saone. Tuesday^ October 2 j, /5j5. — The road from Autun is 
 for some way more beautiful than anything I had yet seen in France; or, indeed, 
 
T2 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VII. 
 
 in that style, anywhere else, except, perhaps, the ascent to the table-land of the 
 Neilgherries. I traversed a winding pass, near two miles in length, running by the 
 side of a murmuring brook, and between hills covered with forest. The landscape 
 appeared in the richest coloring of October, under a sun like that of an English 
 June. The earth was the earth of autumn, but the sky was the sky of summer. 
 The foliage, — dark green, light green, purple, red, and yellow, — seen by the evening 
 sun, produced the effect of the plumage of the finest eastern birds. I walked up 
 the pass exceedingly pleased. To enjoy scenery you should ramble amidst it; let 
 the feelings to which it gives rise mingle with other thoughts ; look around upon it 
 in intervals of reading ; and not go to it as one goes to see the lions fed at a fair. 
 The beautiful is not to be stared at, but to be lived with. I have no pleasure from 
 books which equals that of reading over for the hundredth time great productions 
 which I almost know by heart ; and it is just the same with scenery.” 
 
 '‘'•Lyons. Thursday, October 23. — My birthday. Thirty-eight years old. 
 Thought of Job, Swift, and Antony, Dressed, and went down to the steamer. I 
 was delighted by my first sight of the blue, rushing, healthful-looking Rhone, I 
 thought, as I wandered along the quay, of the singular love and veneration which 
 rivers excite in those who live on their banks ; of the feeling of the Hindoos about 
 the Ganges ; of the Hebrews about the Jordan ; or the Egyptians about the Nile 
 of the Romans, 
 
 Cuique fuit rerura promissa potentia Tibrin ; 
 
 of the Germans about the Rhine. Is it that rivers have, in a greater degree than 
 almost any other inanimate object, the appearance of animation, and something 
 resembling character ? They are sometimes slow and dark-looking ; sometimes 
 fierce and impetuous ; sometimes bright, dancing, and almost flippant. The attach- 
 ment of the French for the Rhone may be explained into a very natural sympathy. 
 It is a vehement, rapid, stream. It seems cheerful, and full of animal spirits, even 
 to petulance. But this is all fanciful,” 
 
 " October 2b. — On board the steamer for Avignon. Saw the famous junction of 
 the two rivers, and thought of Lord Chatham’s simile.* But his expression ‘ lan- 
 guid, though of no depth,’ is hardly just to the Sadne, however just it may be to 
 the Duke of Newcastle. We went down at a noble rate. The day, which had been 
 dark and foggy, became exceedingly beautiful. After we had left Valence the 
 scenery grew wilder : the hills bare and rocky like the sides of Lethe water in Cum- 
 berland ; the mountains of Dauphine in the distance reminded me of the outline of 
 Ceylon as I saw it from the sea ; and, there and there, I could catch a glimpse of 
 white peaks which I fancied to be the summits of the Alps. I chatted with the 
 French gentlemen on board, and found them intelligent and polite. We talked of 
 their roads and public works, and they complimented me on my knowledge of 
 French history and geography. ‘ Ah, monsieur, vous avez beaucoup approfondi 
 
 * “ One fragment of this celebrated oration remains in a state of tolerable preserva- 
 tion. It is the comparison between the coalition of Fox and Newcastle, and the junction 
 of the Rhone and the Sabne. ‘ At Lyons,’ said Pitt, ‘ I was taken to see the place where 
 the two rivers meet; the one gentle, feeble, languid, and though languid, yet of no 
 depth ; the other a boisterous and impetuous torrent. But, different as they are, they 
 meet at last.’ ” — Macaulay’s Essay on Chatham. 
 
LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 1838-39. 
 
 13 
 
 ces choses-lk.’ The evening was falling when we came to the Pont St. Esprit, a 
 famous work of the monks, which pretends to no ornament, and needs none.” 
 
 “ October 28 . — The day began to break as we descended into Marseilles. It was 
 Sunday ; but the town seemed only so much the gayer. I looked hard for churches, 
 but for a long time I saw none. At last I heard bells, and the noise guided me to a 
 chapel, mean inside, and mean outside, but crowded as Simeon’s Church used to be 
 crowded at Cambridge. The Mass was nearly over. 1 stayed to the end, wonder- 
 ing that so many reasonable beings could come together to see a man bow, drink, 
 bow again, wipe a cup, wrap up a napkin, spread his arms, and gesticulate with his 
 hands ; and to hear a low muttering which they could not understand, interrupted 
 by the occasional jingling of a bell. A fine steamer sails to-morrow for Leghorn. I 
 am going to lock this hulking volume up, and I shall next open it in Tuscany.” 
 
 “ Wednesday, October 31 . — This was one of the most remarkable days of my 
 life. After being detained, by the idle precautions which are habitual with these 
 small absolute Governments, for an hour on deck, that the 'passengers might be 
 counted ; for another hour in a dirty room, that the agent of the police might write 
 down all our names ; and for a third hour in another smoky den, while a custom- 
 house officer opened razor-cases to see that they concealed no muslin, and turned over 
 dictionaries to be sure that they contained no treason or blasphemy, I hurried on 
 shore, and by seven in the morning I was in the streets of Genoa. Never have I 
 been more struck and enchanted. There was nothing mean or small to break the 
 charm, as one huge, massy, towering palace succeeded to another. True it is that 
 none of these magnificent piles is a strikingly good architectural composition ; but 
 the general effect is majestic beyond description. When the King of Sardinia 
 became sovereign of Genoa, he bought the house of the Durazzo family, and found 
 himself at once lodged as nobly as a great prince need wish to be. What a city, 
 where a king has only to go into the market to buy a Luxembourg, or a St. James’s ! 
 Next to the palaces, or rather quite as much, I admired the churches. Outside 
 they are poor and bad, but within they dazzled and pleased me more than I can 
 express. It was the awakening of a new sense, the discovery of an unsuspected 
 pleasure. I had drawn all my notions of classical interiors from the cold, white, 
 and naked walls of such buildings as St. Paul’s, or St. Genevieve’s ; but the first 
 church door that I opened at Genoa let me into another world. One harmonious 
 glow pervaded the whole of the long Corinthian arcade from the entrance to the 
 altar. In this way I passed the day, greatly excited and delighted.” 
 
 With this, perhaps the only jingling sentence which he ever left un- 
 blotted, Macaulay closes the account of his first, but far from his last, 
 visit to the queen of the Tyrrhenian sea. To the end of his days, when 
 comparing, as he loved to compare, the claims of European cities to the 
 prize of beauty, he would place at the head of the list the august names 
 of Oxford, Edinburgh, and Genoa. 
 
 November 2.— I shall always have an interesting recollection of Pisa. There 
 is something pleasing in the way in which all the monuments of Pisan greatness lie 
 together, in a place not unlike the close of an English cathedral surrounded with 
 green turf ; still kept in the most perfect preservation, and evidently matters of 
 
14 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VII. 
 
 admiration, and of pride, to the whole population. Pisa has always had a great 
 hold on my mind; partly from its misfortunes ; and partly, I believe, because my 
 first notions about the Italian Republics were derived from Sismondi, whom I read 
 while at school : and Sismondi, who is, or fancies that he is, of Pisan descent, does 
 all in his power to make the country of his ancestors an object of interest. I like 
 Pisa, too, for having been Ghibelline. After the time of Frederick Barbarossa my 
 preference, as far as one can have preferences in so wretched a question, are all 
 Ghibelline. 
 
 “ As I approached Florence, the day became brighter; and the country looked, 
 not indeed strikingly beautiful, but very pleasing. The sight of the olive-trees 
 interested me much. I had, indeed, seen what I was told were olive-trees, as 1 was 
 whirled down the Rhone from Lyons to Avignon ; but they might, for anything I 
 saw, have been willows or ash-trees. Now they stood, covered with berries, along 
 the road for miles. 1 looked at them with the same sort of feeling with which 
 Washington Irving says that he heard the nightingale for the first time when he 
 came to England, after having read descriptions of her in poets from his childhood. 
 I thought of the Hebrews, and their numerous images drawn from the olive ; of 
 the veneration in which the tree was held by the Athenians : of Lysias’s speech ; 
 of the fine ode in the CEdipus at Colonus ; of Virgil and Lorenzo de’ Medici. 
 Surely it is better to travel in mature years, with all these things in one’s head, 
 than to rush over the Continent while still a boy ! ” 
 
 Florence, November j. — Up before eight, and read Boiardc at breakfast. My 
 rooms look into a court adorned with orange trees, and marble statues. I never 
 look at the statues without thinking of poor Mignon. 
 
 Und Marmorbilden stehn und sehn mich an : 
 
 Was hat man dir, du armes Kind, gethan ? 
 
 I know no two lines in the world which I would sooner have written than those. I 
 went to a Gabinetto Litterario hard by, subscribed, and read the last English news- 
 papers. I crossed the river, and walked through some of the rooms in the Palazzo 
 Pitti ; greatly admiring a little painting by Raphael from Ezekiel, which was so 
 fine thal it almost reconciled me to seeing God the Father on canvas. 
 
 “ Then to the church of Santa Croce : an ugly mean outside ; and not much to 
 admire in the architecture within, but consecrated by the dust of some of the 
 greatest men that ever lived. It was to me what a visit to Westminster Abbey 
 would be to an American. The first tomb which caught my eye, as I entered, was 
 that of Michael Angelo. I was much moved, and still more so when, going for 
 ward, I saw the stately monument lately erected to Dante. The figure of the poet 
 seemed to me fine and finely placed; and the inscription very happy; his own 
 words, the proclamation which resounds through the shades when Virgil returns, 
 Onorate I’altissimo poeta. 
 
 The two allegorical figures were not much to my taste. It is particularly absurd to 
 represent Poetry weeping for Dante. These weeping figures are all very well, 
 when a tomb is erected to a person lately dead ; but, when a group of sculpture is 
 set up over a man who has been dead more than five hundred years, such lamenta- 
 tion is nonsensical. Who can help laughing at the thought of tears of regret shed 
 
1838-39. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 IS 
 
 because a man who was bom in the time of our Henry the Third is not still alive? 
 Yet I was very near shedding tears of a different kind as I looked at this magnifi- 
 cent monument, and thought of the sufferings of the great poet, and of his incom- 
 parable genius, and of all the pleasure which 1 have derived from him, and of his 
 death in exile, and of the late justice of posterity. 1 believe that very few people 
 have ever had their minds more thoroughly penetrated with the spirit of any great 
 work than mine is with that of the Divine Comedy. His execution 1 take to be far 
 beyond that of any other artist who has operated on the imagination by means of, 
 words. 
 
 O degli altri poeti onore e lume, 
 
 Vagliami il lungo studio e ’1 grande amore 
 Che m’ han fatto cercar lo tuo volume.* 
 
 I was proud to think that I had a right to apostrophise him thus. I went on, and 
 next I came to the tomb of Alfieri, set up by his mistress the Countess of Albany. 
 I passed forward, and in another minute my foot was on the grave of Machiavel.” 
 
 “ November 7. — While walking about the town, I picked up a little Mass-book, 
 and read for the first time in my life, — strange, and almost disgraceful, that it 
 should be so, — the service of the Mass from beginning to end. It seemed to me 
 inferior to our Communion Service in one most important point. The phraseology 
 of Christianity has in Latin a barbarous air, being altogether later than the age of 
 pure Latinity. But the English language has grown up in Christian times ; and 
 the whole vocabulary of Christianity is incorporated with it. The fine passage in 
 the Communion Service : ‘ Therefore with Angels, and Archangels, and all the 
 company of heaven ' is English of the best and most genuine description. But the 
 answering passage in the Mass : ‘ Laudant Angeli, adorant dominationes, tremunt 
 potestates, caeli Ccelorumque virtutes ac beata Seraphim ’ would not merely have 
 appeared barbarous, but would have been utterly unintelligible, — a mere gibberish, 
 — to every one of the great masters of the Latin tongue, Plautus, Cicero, Caesar, 
 and Catullus. I doubt whether even Claudian would have understood it. I intend 
 to frequent the Romish worship till I come thoroughly to understand this cere- 
 monial.” 
 
 Florence : November 4, 1838. 
 
 Dear Napier, — I arrived here the day before yesterday in very good 
 health, after a journey of three weeks from London. I find that it will be 
 absolutely impossible for me to execute the plan of reviewing Pauizzi’s 
 edition of Boiardo in time for your next Number. I have not been able 
 to read one half of Boiardo’s poem, and, in order to do what I propose, I 
 must read Berni’s rifacimento too, as well as Pulci’s Morgante ; and this, 
 I fear, will be quite out of the question. The day is not long enough for 
 what I want to do in it : and if I find this to be the case at Florence, I 
 may be sure that at Rome I shall have still less leisure. However, it is 
 
 • Glory and light of all the tuneful train. 
 
 May it avail me that I long with zeal 
 
 Have sought thy volume, and with love immense 
 
 Have conn’d it o’er 1 
 
i6 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VII. 
 
 my full intention to be in England in February, and, on the day on which 
 I reach London, I will begin to work for you on Lord Clive. 
 
 I know little English news. I steal a quarter of an hour in the day 
 from marbles and altar-pieces to read the Times, and the Morning 
 Chronicle. Lord Brougham, I have a notion, will often wish that he had 
 left Lord Durham alone. Lord Durham will be in the House of Lords, 
 with his pugnacious spirit, and with his high reputation among the Radi- 
 cals. In oratorical abilities there is, of course, no comparison between 
 the men ; but Lord Durham has quite talents enough to expose Lord 
 Brougham, and has quiet as much acrimony and a great deal more nerve 
 than Lord Brougham himself. I should very much like to know what 
 the general opinion about this matter is. My own suspicion is that the 
 Tories in the House of Lords will lose reputation, though I do not 
 imagine that the Government will gain any. As to Brougham, he has 
 reached that happy point at which it is equally impossible for him to gain 
 character and lose it. 
 
 Ever, dear Napier, 
 
 Y ours most truly, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 There was, indeed, very little reputation to be gained out of the busi- 
 ness. No episode in our political history is more replete with warning 
 to honest and public-spirited men, who, in seeking to serve their country, 
 forget what is due to their own interests and their own security, than the 
 story of Lord Durham. He accepted the Governorship of Canada during 
 a supreme crisis in the affairs of that colony. He carried with him thither 
 the confidence of the great body of his fellow-countrymen ; — a confidence 
 which he had conciliated by his earnest and courageous demeanor in the 
 warfare of Parliament ; by the knowledge that, when he undertook his 
 present mission, he had stipulated for the largest responsibility, and 
 refused the smallest emolument ; and, above all, by the appeal which, 
 before leaving England, he made in the House of Lords to friends and 
 foes alike. “ I feel,” he said, “that I can accomplish my task only by 
 the cordial and energetic support, — a support which I am sure I shall 
 obtain, — of my noble friends the members of Her Majesty’s Cabinet ; by 
 the co-operation of the Imperial Parliament ; and, permit me to say, by 
 the generous forbearance of the noble lords opposite, to whom I have 
 always been politically opposed.” From his political opponents, in the 
 place of generous forbearance, he met with unremitting persecution ; and, 
 as for the character of the support which he obtained from those Minis- 
 ters who had themselves placed him in the forefront of the battle, it is 
 more becoming to leave it for Tory historians to recount the tale. To 
 Lord Brougham’s treatment of his former colleague justice is done in the 
 last sentence of Macaulay’s letter. But Macaulay was mistaken in ex- 
 
835 - 39 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 17 
 
 pecting that Lord Durham would call his enemies to account, and still less 
 his friends. His heart was broken, but not estranged. His tongue, which 
 had too seldom, perhaps, refrained from speaking out what was brave 
 and true, could keep silence w'hen silence was demanded by the claims of 
 past alliancs and the memory of old friendships. During the remnant of his 
 life, Lord Durham continued to support the Whig Cabinet with all the 
 loyalty and modesty of a young Peer hopeful of an Under Secretaryship, 
 or grateful for having been selected to second the Address. But none the 
 less had the blow gone home ; and the Administration, which had so long 
 been trembling and dying, was destined to survive by many months the 
 most single-minded, and high-natured, among that company of statesmen 
 who had wrought for our people the great deliverance of 1832. 
 
 Friday, Ncrvetnber q. — Went to Dante’s ‘bel San Giovanni,’ and heard Mass 
 there. Then to another church, and heard another Mass. I begin to follow the 
 service as well as the body of the hearers ; which is not saying much. I paid a third 
 visit to Santa Croce, and noticed in the cloister a monument to a little baby, ‘ II piu 
 bel bambino che mai fosse ; ’ not a very wise inscription for parents to put up : but 
 it brought tears into my eyes. I thought of the little thing * who lies in the ceme- 
 tery at Calcutta. I meditated some verses for my ballad of Romulus,! but made 
 only one stanza to my satisfaction. I finished Casti’s Giuli Tre, and have liked it 
 less than I expected. The humor of the work consists in endless repetition. It is 
 a very hazardous experiment to attempt to make fun out of that which is the great 
 cause of yawning, perpetual harping on the same topic. Sir Walter Scott was very 
 fond of this device for exciting laughter : as witness Lady Margaret, and his Sacred 
 Majesty’s disjune ; Claude Halcro, and Glorious John ; Sir Dugald Dalgetty, and 
 the Marischal College of Aberdeen ; the Baillie, and his father, the deacon ; old 
 Trapbois, and ‘for a consideraion.’ It answered, perhaps, once, for ten times that 
 it failed.” 
 
 '•''Saturday, November 10, 1838. — A letter from Mr. Aubin, our Charg6 
 d’Affaires here, to say that he has a confidential message for me, and asking when 
 he might call. I was in bed. I sent word that I would call on him as soon as I 
 had breakfasted. I had a little doubt that the Ministers wanted my help in Parlia- 
 ment. I went to him, and he delivered to me two letters, — one^ from Lord Mel- 
 bourne, and the other from Rice. They press me to become Judge Advocate, and 
 assure me that a seat in Parliament may be procured for me with little expense. 
 Rice dwells much on the salary, which he says is 2,500/. a year. I thought it had 
 been cut down ; but he must know. He also talks of the other advantages con- 
 nected with the place. The offer did not strike me as even tempting. The money 
 I do not want. I have little ; but I have enough. The Right Honorable before 
 my name is a bauble which it would be far, very far indeed, beneath me to care 
 about. The power is nothing. As an independent Member of Parliament I should 
 have infinitely greater power. Nay, as I am, I have far greater power. I can now 
 
 ♦ A little niece, who died in 1837, three months old. 
 
 t The poem which was published as “ The Prophecy of Capys.” 
 
 VOL. II.— 2 
 
i8 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VII. 
 
 write what I choose ; and what I write may produce considerable effect on the 
 public mind. In office I must necessarily be under restraint. If, indeed, I had a 
 Cabinet office I should be able to do something in support of my own views of 
 government ; but a man in office, and out of the Cabinet, is a mere slave. I have 
 felt the bitterness of that slavery once. Though I hardly knew where to turn for a 
 morsel of bread, my spirit rose against the intolerable thraldom. I was mutinous, 
 and once actually resigned. I then went to India to get» independence, and I have 
 got it, and I will keep it. So I wrote to Lord Melbourne and Rice. I told them 
 that I would cheerfully do anything to serve them in Parliament ; but that office, 
 except indeed office of the highest rank, to which I have no pretensions, had not 
 the smallest allurements for me; that the situation of a subordinate was unsuited to 
 my temper ; that I had tried it, that I had found it insupportable, and that I would 
 never make the experiment again I begged them not to imagine that I thought a 
 place which Mackintosh had been anxious to obtain beneath me. Very far from it. 
 I admitted it to be above the market price of my services ; but it was below the 
 fancy price which a peculiar turn of mind led me to put on my liberty and my 
 studies. The only thing that would ever tempt me to give up my liberty and my 
 studies was the power to effect great things ; and of that power, as they well knew, 
 no man had so little as a man in office out of the Cabinet. 
 
 “ I never in my life took an important step with greater confidence in my own* 
 judgment, or with a firmer conviction that I was doing the best for my own happi- 
 ness, honor, and usefulness. I have no relentings. If they take me at my word, 
 and contrive to bring me into Parliament without office, I shall be, I think, in the 
 most eligible of situations : but this I do not much expect.” 
 
 On the 1 2th of November Macaulay set out from Florence, by way of 
 Cortona and Perugia. 
 
 “ Tuesday, November fj . — My journey lay over the field of Thrasyraenus, and, 
 as soon as the sun rose, I read Livy’s description of the scene, and wished that I 
 had brought Polybius too. However, it mattered little, for I could see absolutely 
 nothing. I was exactly in the situation of the consul Flaminius ; completely hid in 
 the morning fog. I did not discern the lake till the road came quite close to it, and 
 then my view extended only over a few yards of reedy mud and shallow water, so 
 that I can truly say that I have seen precisely what the Roman army saw on that 
 day. After some time we began to ascend, and came at last, with the help of oxen, 
 to an eminence on which the sun shone bright. All the hill tops round were per 
 fectly clear, and the fog lay in the valley below like a lake winding among moun- 
 tains. I then understood the immense advantage which Hannibal derived from 
 keeping his divisions on the heights, where he could see them all, and where they 
 could all see each other, while the Romans were stumbling and groping, without 
 the possibility of concert, through the thick haze below. Towards evening I began 
 to notice the white oxen of Clitumnus.” 
 
 November 14 . — Up and off by half-past four. The sun triumphed over the 
 mist just as I reached Narni. The scenery was really glorious : far finer than that 
 of Matlock or the Wye, in something of the same style. The pale line of the river 
 which brawled below, though in itself not agreeable, was interesting from classical 
 
1838 - 39 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 9 
 
 recollections. I thought how happily Virgil had touched the most striking and 
 characteristic features of Italian landscape. As the day wore on, I saw the Tiber 
 for the first time. I saw Mount Soracte, and, unlike Lord Byron, I loved the sight 
 for Horace’s sake. And so I came to Civita Castellana, where I determined to 
 stop, though it was not much after two. I did not wish to enter Rome by night. 
 I wanted to see the dome of St. Peter’s from a distance, and to observe the city dis- 
 closing itself by degrees.” 
 
 “ November /j. — On arriving this morning, I walked straight from the hotel 
 door to St. Peter’s. I was so much excited by the expectation of what I was to see 
 that I could notice nothing else. I was quite nervous. The colonnade in front is 
 noble, — very, very noble : yet it disappointed me ; and would have done so had it 
 been the portico of Paradise. In I went, and I was for a minute fairly stunned by 
 the magnificence and harmony of the interior. I never in my life saw, and never, I 
 suppose, shall again see, anything so astonishingly beautiful. I really could have 
 cried with pleasure. I rambled about for half an hour or more, paying little or no 
 attention to details, but enjoying the effect of the sublime whole. 
 
 “ In rambling back to the Piazza di Spagna I found myself before the portico 
 of the Pantheon. I was as much struck and affected as if I had not known that 
 there was such a building in Rome. There it was, the work of the age of Augus- 
 tus ; the work of men who lived with Cicero, and Caesar, and Horace, and Virgil. 
 What would they have said if they had seen it stuck all over with Invito Sacro, and 
 Indulgenza perpetua ? ” 
 
 '■‘•November ib . — As soon as it cleared up I hastened to St. Peter’s again. 
 There was one spot near which an Englishman could not help lingering for a few 
 minutes. In one of the side aisles, a monument by Canova marks the burial-place 
 of the latest princes of the House of Stuart; James the Third; Charles Edward; 
 and Cardinal York, whom the last of the Jacobites affected to call Henry the Ninth. 
 I then went towards the river, to the spot where the old Pons Sublicius stood, and 
 looked about to see how my Horatius agreed with the topography. Pretty well : 
 but his house must be on Mount Palatine ; for he would never see Mount Ccelius 
 from the spot where he fought.* Thence to the Capitol, and wandered through 
 the gallery of paintings placed there by Benedict the Fourteenth, my favorite 
 Pope.” 
 
 “ Norvember 22 . — I went to see a famous relic of antiquity lately discovered ; 
 the baker’s tomb. This baker, and his wife, and the date of his baking perform- 
 ances, and the meaning of that mysterious word ‘ apparet,’ are now the great sub- 
 jects of discussion amongst the best circles of Rome. Strange city ; once sovereign 
 of the world, whose news now consists in the discovery of the buried tomb of a 
 tradesman who has been dead at least fifteen hundred years! The question 
 whether apparet is the short for apparitoris is to them what the Licinian Rogations, 
 and the Agrarian Laws, were to their fathers ; what the Catholic Bill and the 
 Reform Bill have been to us. Yet, to indulge in a sort of reflection which I often 
 
 But he saw on Palatinus 
 The white porch of his home ; 
 
 And he spake to the noble river 
 That rolls by the walls of Rome. 
 
20 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VII. 
 
 fall into here, the day may come when London, then dwindled to the dimensions of 
 the parish of St. Martin’s, and supported in its decay by the expenditure of wealthy 
 Patagonians and New Zealanders,* may have no more important questions to 
 decide than the arrangement of ‘ Afflictions sore long time I bore ’ on the grave- 
 stone of the wife of some baker in Houndsditch.” 
 
 “ November 2b . — At ten Colyar f came, and we set out. The day would furnish 
 matter for a volume. We went to the English College, and walked about the clois- 
 ters ; interesting cloisters to an Englishman. There lie several of our native 
 dignitaries who died at Rome before the Reformation. There lie, too, the bones of 
 many Jacobites, honest martyrs to a worthless cause. We looked into the refectory, 
 much like the halls of the small colleges at Cambridge in my time, — that of Peter- 
 house for example, — and smelling strongly of yesterday’s supper, which strength- 
 ened the resemblance. We found the principal. Dr. Wiseman, a young ecclesiastic 
 full of health and vigor, — much such a ruddy, strapping, divine as I remember 
 Whcwell eighteen years ago, — in purple vestments standing in the cloister. With 
 him was Lord Clifford, in the uniform of a Deputy Lieutenant of Devonshire, 
 great from paying his court to Pope Gregory. He was extremely civil, and talked 
 with gratitude of General Macaulay’s kindness to him in Italy. Wiseman chimed 
 in. Indeed, I hear my uncle’s praises wherever I go. Lord Clifford is not at all 
 like my notion of a great Catholic Peer of old family. I always imagine such an 
 one proud and stately, with the air of a man of rank, but not of fashion ; such a 
 personage as Mrs. Inchbald’s Catholic Lord in the Simple Story, or as Sir Walter’s 
 Lord Glenallan without the remorse. But Lord Clifford is all quicksilver. He 
 talked about the Pope’s reception of him and Lord Shrewsbury. His Holiness is 
 in high health and spirits, and is a little more merry than, strict formalists approve. 
 Lord Shrewsbury says that he seems one moment to be a boy eager for play, and 
 the next to be another Leo arresting the march of Attila. The poor King of 
 Prussia, it seems, is Attila. We went into Dr. Wiseman’s apartments, which are 
 snugly furnished in the English style, and altogether are very like the rooms of a 
 senior Fellow of Trinity. After visiting the library, where I had a sight of the 
 identical copy of Fox’s Book of Martyrs in which Parsons made notes for his 
 answer, I took leave of my countrymen with great good-will. 
 
 “ We then crossed the river, and turned into the Vatican. I had walked a 
 hundred feet through the library without the faintest notion that I was in it. No 
 books, no shelves, were visible. All was light and brilliant ; nothing but white, 
 and red, and gold ; blazing arabesques, and paintings on ceiling and wall. And 
 this was the Vatican Library ; a place which I used to think of with awe as a far 
 sterner and darker Bodleian ! The books and manuscripts are all in low wooden 
 cases ranged round the walls ; and, as these cases are painted in light colors, they 
 
 * It may be worth mention that the celebrated New Zealander appears at the end of 
 the third paragraph of the essay on Von Ranke’s History of the Popes. 
 
 t Mr. Colyar was an English Catholic gentleman, residing in Rome, who was particu- 
 larly well-informed with regard to everything concerning the city, ancient and modern. 
 He was in high favor with priests and prelates, and was therefore an invaluable acquaint- 
 ance for English travellers ; at whose disposal he was very ready to place both his knowl- 
 edge and his influence. 
 
1838-39. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 21 
 
 harmonize with the gay aspect of everything around them, and might be supposed 
 to contain musical instruments, masquerade dresses, or china for the dances and 
 suppers for which the apartments seem to be meant. They bore inscriptions, how- 
 ever, more suited to my notions of the place. 
 
 “ Thence I went through the Museum, quite distracted by the multitude and 
 magnificence of the objects which it contained. The splendor of the ancient mar- 
 bles, the alabaster, the huge masses of porphyry, the granites of various colors, 
 made the whole seem like a fairy region. I wonder that nobody in this moneyed 
 and luxurious age attempts to open quarries like those which supplied the ancients. 
 The wealth of modern Europe is far greater than that of the Roman Empire ; and 
 these things are highly valued, and bought at enormous prices. And yet we con- 
 tent ourselves with digging for them in the ruins of this old city and its suburbs, 
 and never think of seeking them in the rocks from which the Romans extracted 
 them. Africa and Greece, were the parts of the world which afforded the most 
 costly marbles; and, perhaps, now that the French have settled in Africa, and that 
 a Bavarian prince reigns in Greece, some researches may be made. 
 
 “ I looked into the apartments where the works in mosaic are carried on. A 
 noble figure of Isaiah by Raphael had just been completed. We ought to have a 
 similar workshop connected with the National Gallery. What a glorious vestibule 
 to a palace might be made, with the ^Cartoons in mosaic covering the walls ! The 
 best portraits of the great men of England, reproduced in the material, beginning 
 with Holbein’s Wolsey and More, and coming down to Lawrence’s Wellington and 
 Canning, would be worthy decorations to the new Houses of Parliament. I should 
 like to see the walls of St. Paul’s incrusted with porphyry and verde antique, and 
 the ceiling and dome glittering with mosaics and gold. 
 
 “ The Demosthenes is very noble. There can be no doubt about the face of 
 Demosthenes. There are two busts of him in the Vatican, besides this statue. They 
 are all exactly alike, being distinguished by the strong projection of the upper lip. 
 The face is lean, wrinkled, and haggard ; the expression singularly stern and intense. 
 You see that he was no trifler, no jester, no voluptuary ; but a man whose soul was 
 devoured by ambition, and constantly on the S’tretch. The soft, sleek, plump, 
 almost sleepy, though handsome, face of .Eschines presents a remarkable contrast. 
 
 I was much interested by the bust of Julius, with the head veiled. It is a most 
 striking countenance, indeed. He looks like a man meant to be master of the 
 world. The endless succession of these noble works bewildered me, and I went 
 home almost exhausted with pleasurable excitement.” 
 
 In a letter written during the latter half of December, Macaulay gives 
 his impressions of the Papal Government at greater length than in his 
 diary. “ Rome was full enough of English when I arrived, but now the 
 crowd is insupportable. I avoid society, as much as I can without being 
 churlish ; for it is boyish to come to Italy for the purpose of mixing with 
 the set, and hearing the tattle, to which one is accustomed in Mayfair. 
 The Government treats us very well. The Pope winks at a Protestant 
 chapel, and indulges us in a reading-room, where the Times and Morning 
 Chronicle make their appearance twelve days after they are published in 
 
22 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VII. 
 
 London. It is a pleasant city for an English traveller. He is not har- 
 assed, or restrained. He lives as he likes, and reads what he likes, and 
 suffers little from the vices of the administration ; but I can conceive 
 nothing more insupportable than the situation of a layman who should 
 be a subject of the Pope. In this government there is no avenue to dis- 
 tinction for any but priests. Every office of importance, diplomatic, finan- 
 cial, and judicial, is held by the clergy. A prelate, armed with most for- 
 midable powers, superintends the police of the streets. The military 
 department is directed by a Commission, over which a Cardinal presides. 
 Some petty magistracy is the highest promotion to which a lawyer can 
 look forward ; and the greatest nobles of this singular State can expect 
 nothing better than some place in the Pope’s household, which may en- 
 title them to walk in procession on the great festivals. Imagine what 
 England would be if all the Members of Parliament, the Ministers, the 
 Judges, the Ambassadors, the Governors of Colonies, the very Comman- 
 ders-in-Chief and Lords of the Admiralty, were, without one exception, 
 bishops or priests ; and if the highest post open to the noblest, wealthiest, 
 ablest, and most ambitious layman were»a Lordship of the Bed chamber 1 
 And yet this would not come up to the truth, for our clergy can marry ; 
 but here every man who takes a wife cuts himself off for ever from all 
 dignity and power, and puts himself into the same position as a Catholic 
 in England before the Emancipation Bill. The Church is therefore filled 
 with men who are led into it merely by ambition, and who, though they 
 might have been useful and respectable as laymen, are hypocritical and 
 immoral as churchmen ; while on the other hand the .State suffers greatly, 
 for you may guess what sort of Secretaries at War, and Chancellors of 
 the Exchequer, are likely to be found among bishops and canons. Cor- 
 ruption infects all the public offices. Old women above, liars and cheats 
 below, — that is the Papal administration. The States of the Pope are, I 
 suppose, the worst governed in the civilized world ; and the imbecility of 
 the police, the venality of the public servants, the desolation of the 
 country, and the wretchedness of the people, force themselves on the 
 observation of the most heedless traveller. It is hardly an exaggeration 
 to say that the population seems to consist chiefly of foreigners, priests, 
 and paupers. Indeed, whenever you meet a man who is neither in can- 
 onicals nor rags, you may bet two to one that he is an Englishman.” 
 
 “ Tuesday, December 4 . — I climbed the Janiculan Hill to the Convent 
 of St. Onofrio, and went into the church. It contains only one object of 
 interest ; a stone in the pavement, with the words ‘ Hie jacet Torquatus 
 Tassus.’ He died in this convent, just before the day fixed for his coro- 
 nation at the Capitol. I was not quite in such raptures as I have heard 
 other people profess. Tasso is not one of my favorites, either as a man 
 
1838 - 39 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 23 
 
 or a poet. There is too little of the fine frenzy in his verses, and too 
 much in his life. 
 
 “ I called on the American Consul. He was very civil, and, k la 
 mode d’Amerique, talked to me about my writings.* I turned the con- 
 versation instantly. No topic, I am glad to say, is less to my taste. I 
 dined by myself, and read an execrably stupid novel called Tylney Hall. 
 Why do I read such stuff ? ” 
 
 Saturday, December — No letters at the post office; the reading- 
 room shut ; and the churches full. It is the feast of the Immaculate 
 Conception of the Virgin Mary; a day held in prodigious honor by the 
 Franciscans, who first, I believe, introduced this absurd notion, which 
 even within the Catholic Church the Dominicans have always combated, 
 and which the Council of Trent, if I remember Fra Paolo right, refused 
 to pronounce orthodox. I spent much of the day over Smollett’s His- 
 tory. It is exceedingly bad ; detestably so.t I cannot think what had 
 happened to him. His carelessness, partiality, passion, idle invective, 
 gross ignorance of facts, and crude general theories, do not surprise me 
 much. But the style, wherever he tries to be elevated, and wherever he 
 attempts to draw a character, is perfectly nauseous ; which I cannot un- 
 derstand. He says of old Horace Walpole that he was an ambassador 
 without dignity, and a plenipotentiary without address. I declare I would 
 rather have a hand cut off than publish such a precious antithesis.” 
 
 “ Tuesday, December 18. — I stayed at home till late, reading and medi- 
 
 * An injury of this nature was still fresh in Macaulay’s mind. Writing from Florence 
 he says : “ I do not scamper about with a note-book, in my hand, and a cicerone gabbling 
 in my ear ; but I go often, and stay long, at the places which interest me. I sit quietly an 
 hour or two every morning in the finest churches, watching the ceremonial, and the de- 
 meanor of the congregation. I seldom pass less than an hour daily in the Tribune, where 
 the Venus de Medici stands, surrounded by other masterpieces in sculpture and painting. 
 Yesterday, as I was looking at some superb portraits by Raphael and Titian, a Yankee 
 clergyman introduced himself to me ; told me that he had heard who I was ; that he beg- 
 ged to thank me for my writings in the name of his countrymen ; that he had himself 
 reprinted my paper on Bacon ; that it had a great run in the States ; and that my name 
 was greatly respected there. I bowed ; thanked him ; and stole away ; leaving the Grand 
 Duke’s pictures a great deal sooner than I had intended.” 
 
 The same scene, with the same actors, was repeated on the next day beneath the frown 
 of the awful Duke who sits aloft in the Chapel of the Medici, adjoining the Church of 
 San Lorenzo ; whither Macaulay had repaired “to snatch a Mass, as one of Sir Walter’s 
 heroes says.” 
 
 t Even Charles Lamb, who was far too chivalrous to leave a favorite author in the 
 lurch, cau find nothing to say in defence of Smollett’s History except a delightful, but 
 perfectly gratuitous, piece of impertinence to Hume. “ Smollett they ” (the Scotch) 
 “ have neither forgotten, nor forgiven, for his delineation of Rory and his companions 
 upon their first introduction to our metropolis. Speak of Smollett as a great genius, and 
 they will retort upon you Hume’s History compared with his Continuation of it. What 
 if the historian had continued Humphrey Clinker?” 
 
24 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. vir. 
 
 tating. I have altered some parts of Horatius to my mind ; and I have 
 thought a good deal during the last few days about my History. The 
 I great difficulty of a work of this kind is the beginning. How is it to be 
 joined on to the preceding events ? Where am I to commence it ? I 
 cannot plunge, slap dash, into the middle of events and characters. I 
 I cannot, on the other hand, write a history of the whole reign of James the 
 Second as a preface to the history of William the Third ; and, if I did, a 
 history of Charles the Second would still be equally necessary, as a pre- 
 face to that of the reign of James the Second. I sympathize with the 
 poor man who began the war of Troy ‘gemino ab ovo.’ But, after much 
 consideration, I think that I can manage, by the help of an introductory 
 chapter or two, to glide imperceptibly into the full current of my narrative. 
 I am more and more in love with the subject. I really think that pos- 
 terity will not willingly let my book die. 
 
 “ To St. Peter’s again. This is becoming a daily visit.” 
 
 Rome : December 19, 1838. 
 
 Dear Lord Lansdowne, — I have received your kind letter, and thank 
 you for it. I have now had ample time to reflect on the determination 
 which I expressed to Lord Melbourne and Rice ; and I am every day 
 more and more satisfied that the course which I have taken is the best for 
 myself, and the best also for the Government. If I thought it right to 
 follow altogether my own inclinations, I should entirely avoid public life. 
 But I feel that these are not times for flinching from the Whig banner. I 
 feel that at this juncture no friend of toleration, and of temperate liberty, 
 is justified in withholding his support from the Ministers ; and I think 
 that, in the present unprecedented and inexplicable scarcity of Parlia- 
 mentary talent among the young men of England, a little of that talent 
 may be of as much service as far greater powers in times more fertile of 
 eloquence. I would therefore make some sacrifice of ease, leisure, and 
 money, in order to serve the Government in the House of Commons. 
 But I do not think that public duty at all requires me to overcome the 
 dislike which I feel for official life. On the contrary, my duty and inclina- 
 tion are here on one side. For I am certain that, as an independent 
 Member of Parliament, I should have far more w’eight than as Judge 
 Advocate. It is impossible for me to be ignorant of my position in the 
 world, and of the misconstructions to which it exposes me. Entering 
 Parliament as Judge Advocate, I should be considered as a mere political 
 adventurer. My speeches might be complimented as creditable rhetorical 
 performances ; but they would never produce the sort of effect which I 
 have seen produced by very rude sentences stammered by such men as 
 Lord Spencer and Lord Ebrington. If I enter Parliament as a place- 
 man, nobody will believe, what nevertheless is the truth, that I am quite 
 as independent, quite as indifferent to salary, as the Duke of Northumber- 
 
1838-39. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 25 
 
 land can be. As I have none of tliat authority which belongs to large 
 fortune and high rank, it is absolutely necessary to my comfort, and will 
 be greatly conducive to my usefulness, that I should have the authority 
 which belongs to proved disinterestedness. I should also, as a Member 
 of Parliament not in office, have leisure for other pursuits, which I cannot 
 bear to think of quitting, and which you kindly say you do not wish me 
 to quit. A life of literary repose would be most to my own taste. Of 
 my literary repose I am, however, willing to sacrifice exactly as much as 
 public duty requires me to sacrifice ; but I will sacrifice no more ; and by 
 going into Parliament without office I both make a smaller personal 
 sacrifice, and do more service to the public, than by taking office. I hope 
 that you will think these reasons satisfactory ; for you well know that, 
 next to my own approbation, it w’ould be my first wish to have yours. 
 
 I have been more delighted than I can express by Italy, and above all 
 by Rome. I had no notion that an excitement so powerful and so agree- 
 able, still untried by me, was to be found in the world. I quite agree 
 with you in thinking that the first impression is the weakest ; and that 
 time, familiarity, and reflection, which destroys the charm of so many 
 objects, heighten the attractions of this wonderful place. I hardly know 
 whether I am more interested by the old Rome or by the new Rome, — by 
 the monuments of the extraordinary empire which has perislied, or by 
 the institutions of the still more extraordinary empire which, after all the 
 shocks which it has sustained, is still full of life and of perverted energy. 
 If there were not a single ruin, fine building, picture, or statue in Rome I 
 should think myself repaid for my journey by having seen the head-quar- 
 ters of Catholicism, and learned something of the nature and effect of 
 the strange Brahminical government established in the Ecclesiastical 
 State. Have you read Von Ranke’s History of the Papacy since the 
 Reformation ? I have owed much of my pleasure here to what I learned 
 from him. 
 
 Rome is full of English. We could furnish exceedingly respectable 
 Houses of Lords and Commons., There are at present twice as many cor- 
 oneted carriages in the Piazza di Spagna as in St. James’s parish. 
 
 Ever, my dear Lord, 
 
 Yours most faithfully, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 “ Saturday^ December 22 . — The Canadian insurrection seems to be entirely 
 crushed. I fear that the victorious caste will not be satisfied without punishments 
 so rigorous as would dishonor the English Government in the eyes of all Europe, 
 and in our own eyes ten years hence. I wish that Ministers would remember that 
 the very people, who bawl for wholesale executions now, will be the first to abuse 
 them for cruelty when this excitement is gone by. The Duke of Cumberland in 
 Scotland did only what all England was clamoring for ; but all England changed its 
 
26 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VII. 
 
 mind, and the Duke became unpopular for yielding to the cry which was set up in a 
 moment of fear and resentment. As to hanging men by the hundred, it really is 
 not to be thought of with patience. Tenor twelve examples well selected would be 
 quite sufficient, together with the slaughter and burning which have already taken 
 place. If the American prisoners are transported, or kept on the roads at hard 
 labor, their punishment will do more good than a great wholesale execution. The 
 savage language of some of the newspapers, both in Canada and London, makes me 
 doubt whether we are so far beyond the detestable Carlists and Christinos of Spain 
 as I had hoped. 
 
 “ I read a good deal of Gibbon. He is grossly partial to the pagan persecutors ; 
 quite offensively so. His opinion of the Christian fathers is very little removed 
 from mine: but his excuses for the tyranny of their oppressors give to his book the 
 character which Porson describes.* He writes like a man who had received some 
 personal injury from Christianity, and wished to be revenged on it and all its profes- 
 sors. I dined at home, and read some more of Pelham in the evening. I know few 
 things of the kind so good as the character of Lord Vincent.” 
 
 Macaulay, who had not yet lost his taste for a show, took full advantage 
 of his presence at Rome during the Christmas festivals. He pronounced 
 the procession in St. Peter’s to be the finest thing cf the kind that he had 
 ever seen ; but it would be unfair on him to expose to general criticism 
 his off-hand description of a pageant, which no written sentences, however 
 carefully arranged and polished, could depict one-tenth as vividly as the 
 colors in which Roberts loved to paint the swarming aisles of a stately 
 cathedral. And yet, perhaps, not even Titian himself (although in a pic- 
 ture at the Louvre, according to Mr. Ruskin, he has put a whole library of 
 dogmatic theology into the backs of a row of bishops), could find means 
 to represent on canvas the sentiments which suggest themselves to the 
 spectators of this the most impressive of earthly ceremonies. “ I was 
 deeply moved,” says Macaulay, “ by reflecting on the immense antiquity of 
 the Papal dignity, which can certainly boast of a far longer, clear, known, 
 and uninterrupted succession than any dignity in the world ; linking to- 
 gether, as it does, the two great ages of human civilization. Our modern 
 feudal kings are mere upstarts compared with the successors in regular 
 order, not, to be sure, of Peter, but of Sylvester and Leo the Great.” 
 
 There was one person among the bystanders, through whose brain 
 
 * The passage alluded to occurs in the Preface to the Letters to Archdeacon Travis, 
 which Macaulay regarded as a work of scholarship second only to Bentley’s Phalaris. 
 “ His” (Gibbon’s) “ reflections are often just and profound. He pleads eloquently for 
 the rights of mankind, and the duty of toleration ; nor does his humanity ever slumber 
 unless when women are ravished, or the Christians persecuted. * * * He often makes, 
 when he cannot readily find, an occasion to insult our religion, which he hates so cordially 
 that he might seem to revenge some personal insult. Such is his eagerness in the cause, 
 that he stoops to the most despicable pun, or to the most awkward perversion of language, 
 for the pleasure of turning the Scriptures into ribaldry, or of calling Jesus an impostor.” 
 
1838 - 39 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 27 
 
 thoughts of this nature were doubtless coursing even more rapidly than 
 through Macaulay’s own. “ On Christmas eve I found Gladstone in the 
 throng ; and I accosted him ; as we had met, though we had never been 
 introduced to each other. He received my advances with very great evt' 
 frasement indeed, and we had a good deal of pleasant talk.” 
 
 December 2q . — I went to Torlonia’s to get money for my journey. What a 
 curious effect it has to see a bank in a palace, among orange trees, colonnades, mar- 
 ble statues, and all the signs of the most refined luxury I It carries me back to the 
 days of the merchant princes of Florence ; when philosophers, poets, and painters 
 crowded to the house of Cosmo de’ Medici. I drew one hundred pounds worth of 
 scudi, and had to lug it through the streets in a huge canvas bag, muttering with 
 strong feeling Pope’s ‘ Blest paper credit.’ I strolled through the whole of the vast 
 collection of the Vatican with still increasing pleasure. The Communion of St. 
 Jerome seems to me finer and finer every time that I look at it ; and the Transfig- 
 uration has at last made a complete conquest of me. In spite of all the faults of the 
 plan, I feel it to be the first picture in the world. Then to St. Peter’s for the last 
 time, and rambled about it quite sadly. I could not have believed that it would 
 have pained me so much to part from stone and mortar.” 
 
 January I ^ iSjg . — I shall not soon forget the three days which I passed be- 
 tween Rome and Naples. As I descended the hill of Velletri, the huge Pontine 
 Marsh was spread out below like a sea. I soon got into it ; and, thank God, soon 
 got out of it. If the Government has not succeeded in making this swamp salubri- 
 ous, at any rate measures have been taken for enabling people to stay in it as short 
 a time as possible. The road is raised, dry, and well paved ; as hard as a rock, and 
 as straight as an arrow. It reminded me of the road in the Pilgrim’s Progress, 
 running through the Slough of Despond, the quagmire in the Valley of the Shadow 
 of Death, and the Enchanted Land. At the frontier the custom-house officer beg- 
 ged me to give him a place m my carriage to Mola. I refused, civilly, but firmly. 
 I gave him three crowns not to plague me by searching my baggage, which indeed 
 was protected by a lascia passare. He pocketed the three crowns, but looked very 
 dark and sullen at my refusal to accept his company. Precious fellow ; to think 
 that a public functionary to whom a little silver is a bribe is fit society for an English 
 gentleman ! 
 
 “I had a beautiful view of the Bay of Gaeta, with Vesuvius at an immense dis- 
 tance. The whole country is most interesting historically. They pretend to point 
 out on the road the exact spot where Cicero was murdered. I place little more faith 
 in these localities than in the head of St. Andrew, or the spear of Longinus, but it 
 is certain that hereabouts the event took place. The inn at Mola, in which I slept, 
 is called the Villa di Cicerone. The chances are infinite that none of the ruins now 
 extant belonged to Cicero ; but it pleased me to think how many great Romans, 
 when Rome was what England is now, loved to pass their occasional holidays on 
 this beautiful coast. I travelled across the low country through which Horace’s 
 Liris flows ; by the marshes of Minturnae, where Marius hid himself from the ven- 
 geance of Sulla; over the field where Gonsalvo de Cordova gained the great victory of 
 Garigliano. The plain of Capua seemed to retain all 'ts old richness. Since I have 
 
28 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CII. VII. 
 
 been in Italy I have often thought it very strange that the English have never introduced 
 the olive into any of those vast regions which they have colonized. I do not believe that 
 there is an olive tree in all the United States, or in South Africa, or in Australasia. 
 
 “ On my journey through the Pontine Marshes I finished Bulwer’s Alice. It af- 
 fected me much, and in a way in which I have not been affected by novels these 
 many years. Indeed, I generally avoid all novels which are said to have much 
 pathos. The suffering which they produce is to me a very real suffering, and of 
 that I have quite enough without them. I think of Bulwer, still, as I have always 
 thought. He has considerable talent and eloquence ; but he is fond of writing about 
 what he only half understands, or understands not at all. His taste is bad; and bad 
 from a cause which lies deep and is not to be removed ; from want of soundness, 
 manliness, and simplicity of mind. This work, though better than anything of his 
 that I have read, is far too long.” 
 
 “ Thursday^ January 3 . — I must say that the accounts which I had heard of 
 Naples are very incorrect. There is far less beggary than at Rome, and far more 
 industry. Rome is a city of priests. It reminded me of the towns in Palestine 
 which were set apart to be inhabited by the Levites. Trade and agriculture seem 
 only to be tolerated as subsidiary to devotion. Men are allowed to work ; because, 
 unless somebody works, nobody can live ; and, if nobody lives, nobody can pray. 
 But, as soon as you enter Naples, you notice a striking contrast. It is the difference 
 between Sunday and Monday. Here the business of civil life is evidently the great 
 thing, and religion is the accessory. A poet might introduce Naples as Martha, and 
 Rome as Mary. A Catholic may think Mary’s the better employment ; but even a 
 Catholic, much more a Protestant, would prefer the table of Martha. I must ask 
 many questions about these matters. At present, my impressions are very favora- 
 ble to Naples. It is the only place in Italy that has seemed to me to have the same 
 sort of vitality which you find in all the great English ports and cities. Rome and 
 Pisa are dead and gone ; Florence is not dead, but sleepeth ; while Naples over- 
 flows with life. 
 
 “ 1 have a letter from Empson, who tells me that everybody speaks handsomely 
 about my refusal of the Judge Advocateship, Holt Mackenzie praised the Code 
 highly at Rogers’s, the other day. I am glad of it. It is, however, a sort of work 
 which must wait long for justice, as I well knew when I labored at it.” 
 
 '•'■Naples^ Sunday, January 6. — I climbed to the top of the hill to see Virgil’s 
 tomb. The tomb has no interest but what it derives from its name. I do not know 
 the history of this ruin ; but, if the tradition be an immemorial tradition, — if nobody 
 can fix any time when it originated, — I should be inclined to think it authentic. 
 Virgil was just the man whose burial-place was likely to be known to every genera- 
 tion which has lived since his death. There has been no period, from the .Augustan 
 age downward, when there were not readers of the Aineid in Italy. The suspicious 
 time with the religion of the Catholic Church is the early time. I suppose nobody 
 doubts that the sepulchre now shown as that of Christ is the same with the sepul- 
 chre of Helena, or that the place now pointed out as the tomb of St. Paul is the 
 same which was so considered in the days of Chrysostom. The local traditions of 
 Christianity are clear enough during the last 1300 or 1400 years. It is during the 
 first two or three centuries that the chain fails. Now, as to Virgil, there can be no 
 
LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 29 
 
 1838-39. 
 
 doubt that his burial-place would have been as well known till the dissolution of the 
 Western Empire as that of Shakespeare is now : and, even in the dark ages, there 
 would always have been a certain number of people interested about his remains. 
 I returned to my hotel, exceedingly tired with walking and climbing. I dined ; had 
 a pint of bottled porter, worth all the Falernian of these days ; and finished the 
 evening by my fireside over Theodore Hook’s Jack Brag. He is a clever, coarse, 
 vulgar writer.’ ’ 
 
 “ Friday^ January it. — When I woke it was snowing ; so that I determined to 
 give up Paestum, for which I was rather sorry when, at about eleven, it became fine 
 and clear. But I was not quite well, and it is bitterly cold to a returned Indian. I 
 stayed by my fire and read Bulwer’s Pompeii. It has eloquence and talent, like all 
 his books. It has also more learning than I expected ; but it labors under the usual 
 faults of all works in which it is attempted to give moderns a glimpse of ancient 
 manners. After all, between us and them there is a great gulf, which no learning 
 will enable a man to clear. Strength of imagination may empower him to create a 
 world unlike our own ; but the chances are a thousand to one that it is not the world 
 which has passed away. Perhaps those act most wisely who, in treating poetically 
 of ancient events, stick to general human nature, avoid gross blunders of costume, 
 and trouble themselves about little more. All attempts to exhibit Romans talking 
 slang, and jesting with each other, however clever, must be failures. There are a 
 good many pretty obvious blots in Bulwer’s book. Why in the name of common 
 sense did Glaucus neglect to make himself a Roman citizen ? He, a man of fortu ne 
 and talents residing in Italy, intimate with Romans of distinction ! Arbaces, too, is 
 not a citizen. Rich, powerful, educated, subjects of Rome, dwelling in a considera- 
 ble Italian town, and highly acceptable in all societies there, yet not citizens ! The 
 thing was never heard of, I imagine. The Christianity of Bulwer’s book is not to 
 my taste. The Trinity ; the Widow’s son ; the recollections of the preaching of St. 
 Paul, spoil the classical effect of the story. I do not believe that Christianity had, 
 at that time, made the very smallest impression on the educated classes in Italy ; 
 some Jews, of course, excepted. Bulwer brings down the Greek valor and free 
 spirit to too late an age. He carries back the modern feelings of philanthropy to 
 too early an age. His Greeks are made up of scraps of the Athenian Republican, 
 and scraps of the Parisian philosophe ; neither of which suit with the smart, voluble, 
 lying, cringing jack-of-all-trades that a Greek under the Flavian family would have 
 been. It is very clever, nevertheless.” 
 
 “ January 12. — This was the King’s birthday. The Court was attended by 
 many foreigners. The King paid no attention to the English, — not even to so 
 great a man as the Duke of Buccleuch, — but reserved his civilities for the Russians. 
 Fool to think that either the lion or the bear cares which side the hare takes in these 
 disputes ! In the evening, as I was sipping Marsala, and reading a novel called 
 Crichton, — by the author of Rookwood, and worse than Rookwood, — in came Ver- 
 ney to beg me to take a seat in his opera-box at the Teatro di San Carlo, which 
 was to be illuminated in honor of the day. I care little for operas ; but, as this thea- 
 tre is said to be the finest in Italy, — indeed in Europe, — and as the occasion was a 
 great one, I agreed. The Royal Family were below us, so that we did not see them ; 
 and I am sure that I would not give a carlino to sec every Bourbon, living and dead. 
 
30 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VII. 
 
 of the Spanish branch. The performance tired me to death, or rather to sleep ; and 
 I actually dozed for half an hour. Home, and read Gil Bias charming. I am never 
 tired of it.” 
 
 Macaulay returned from Naples to Marseilles by a coasting steamer, 
 which touched at Civita Vecchia, where 
 
 “ Goulburn came on board.* He was very civil and friendly. We chatted a 
 good deal at dinner, and even got upon politics, and talked without the least acri- 
 mony on either side. Once I had him, and he felt it. He was abusing the Election 
 Committees. ‘ You really think then, Mr. Goulburn, that the decisions of the 
 Election Committees are partial and unfair?’ ‘I do,’ he said, ‘most decidedly.’ 
 ‘ Well then,’ said I, ‘ I cannot but think that it was rather hard to pass a vote of cen- 
 sure on O’Connell for saying so.’ I never saw a man more completely at a nonplus. 
 He quite colored, — face, forehead, and all, — and looked 
 As I have seen him in the Capitol, 
 
 Being crossed in conference with some senators. 
 
 He had really nothing to say, except that he had given his opinion about Election 
 Committees to me in private. I told him that I of course understood it so ; and I 
 was too generous and polite to press my victory. But, really, a vote of censure is a 
 serious thing ; and I do not conceive that any man is justified in voting for it, unless 
 he thinks it deserved. There is little difference between a dishonest vote in an 
 Election Committee, and a dishonest vote in a question of censure. Both are judi- 
 cial proceedings. The oath taken by members of a Committee is merely a bugbear 
 for old women, and men like old women. A wise and honest man has other guides 
 than superstition to direct his conduct. I like Goulburn’s conversaliion and man- 
 ners. I had a prejudice against him which, like most prejudices conceived merely 
 on the ground of political difference, yields readily to a little personal intercourse. 
 And this is a man whom I have disliked for years without knowing him, and wlio 
 has probably disliked me with just as little reason ! A lesson. 
 
 “I read Botta’s History of the American War. The book interested me; 
 though he is not a writer to my taste. He is fair enough ; and, when he misrepre- 
 sents, it is rather from ignorance than from partiality. But he is shallow, and his 
 style is the most affected that can be imagined, I can better excuse his speeches, 
 put into the mouths of his heroes, and his attempts to give a classical air to our 
 English debates ; his substitution of ‘ Signor Giorgio Grenville ’ for ‘ the right hon- 
 orable gentleman,’ and ‘ cari concittadini,’ or ‘ venerabili senator!,’ for ‘ Mr. Speaker.’ 
 But his efforts at naivete move my disgust. The affectation of magnificence I can 
 pardon ; but the affectation of simplicity is loathsome : for magnificence may co-exist 
 with affectation, but simplicity and affectation are in their natures opposite. Botta uses 
 so many odd old words that even Italians require a glossary to read him ; and 
 he is particularly fond of imitating the infantine style which is so delightful in Boc- 
 cacio. He perpetually introduces into his narrative vulgar Florentine proverbs of 
 the fourteenth century. He tells us that God, ‘ who does not stay till Saturday to 
 pay wages,’ took signal vengeance on the ravagers of Wyoming '; and that they were 
 repaid for their outrages ‘ with collier’s measure.’ ” 
 
 ♦ Mr. Goulburn was subsequently Chancellor of the Exchequer in Sir Robert Peel’s 
 Government. 
 
1838-39. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 31 
 
 “ Paris^ February 2, /5j9. — The sky was clear ; though it was very cold, and 
 the snow covered everything. I resolved to go to Versailles. The palace is a huge 
 heap of littleness. On the side towards Paris the contrast between the patches of 
 red brick in the old part, and the attempt at classical magnificence in the later part, 
 is simply revolting. Enormous as is the size of the Place des Armes, it looks paltry 
 beyond description. The statues which used to stand at Paris on the bridge in front 
 of the Chamber of Deputies are ranged round this court. Wretched, strutting, 
 things they were ; heroes storming like captains of banditti blustering through a bad 
 melodrama in a second-rate theatre. I had hoped never to have seen them again 
 when I missed them on the bridge ; and I fancied, more fool I, that the Government 
 might have had the good taste to throw them into the Seine. In the middle of the 
 court is an equestrian statue of Louis XIV. He showed his sense, at least, in put- 
 ting himself where he could not see his own architectural performances. I was glad 
 to walk through the Orangerie, and thence I went some little way into the gardens. 
 The snow was several inches deep; but I saw enough to satisfy me that these 
 famous grounds, in meanness and extravagance, surpassed my expectations ; and my 
 expectations were not moderate. The garden fagade of the palace is certainly fine 
 by contrast with the other front ; but, when the enormous means employed are com- 
 pared with the effect, the disproportion is wonderful. This fagade is about 2,000 
 feet in length, and is elevated on a lofty terrace. It ought to be one of the most 
 striking works of human power and art. I doubt whether there be anywhere any 
 single architectural composition of equal extent. I do not believe that all the works 
 of Pericles, — nay, that even St. Peter’s, colonnade and all, — cost so much as was 
 lavished on Versailles ; and yet there are a dozen country houses of private individ- 
 uals in England alone which have a greater air of majesty, and splendor, than this 
 huge quarry. Castle Howard is immeasurably finer. I went inside, and was struck 
 by the good sense, — I would even say magnanimity, — which the present King has 
 shown in admitting all that does honor to the nation, without regard to personal or 
 family considerations. The victories of Buonaparte furnish half the rooms. Even 
 Charles the Tenth is fairly dealt with. Whatever titles he had to public respect ; — 
 the African victories ; Navarino ; the Dauphin’s exploits, such as they were, in 
 Spain ; all have a place here. The most interesting thing, however, in the whole 
 palace, is Louis the Fourteenth’s bedroom with its original furniture. I thought of 
 all St. Simon’s anecdotes about that room and bed.” 
 
32 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VIII. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 1839-41. 
 
 Macaulay returns to London — He meets Lord Brougham — Letters to Mr. Napier and 
 Mrs. Trevelyan — Correspondence with Mr. Gladstone — Heated state of politics — The 
 hostility of the Peers to Lord Melbourne’s Government — Macaulay’s view of the 
 situation — Verses by Praed — The Bed-chamber question — Macaulay is elected for 
 Edinburgh— Debate on the Ballot— Macaulay becomes a Cabinet Minister— The Times 
 — Windsor Castle — Vote of Want of Confidence — The Chinese War — Irish Registra- 
 tion : scene in the House of Commons — Letters to Napier — Religious Difficulties in 
 Scotland — Lord Cardigan — The Corn Laws — The Sugar Duties — Defeat of the Minis- 
 try, and Dissolution of Parliament — Macaulay is re-elected for Edinburgh — His love 
 for street-ballads — The change of Government. 
 
 A t the end of the first week in February 1839, Macaulay was again in 
 London. 
 
 “ Friday, February 8. — I have been reading Lord Durham’s Canadian Report, 
 and think it exceedingly good and able. I learn, with great concern, that the busi- 
 ness has involved Lord Glenelg’s resignation. Poor fellow ! I love him and feel for 
 him.* I bought Gladstone’s book : a capital shrovetide cock to throw at. Almost 
 too good a mark.” 
 
 “ February 13 — I read, while walking, a good deal of Gladstone’s book. The 
 Lord hath delivered him into our hand. I think 1 see my way to a popular, and at 
 the same time gentlemanlike, critique. I called on the Miss Berrys, who are very 
 desirous to collect my articles. I gave them a list, and procured some numbers for 
 them at a bookseller’s near Leicester Square. Thence to Ellis, and repeated to him 
 Romulus, the alterations in Horatius, and the beginning of Virginia. He was much 
 pleased. We walked away together to Lincoln’s Inn Fields, and met Brougham : 
 an awkward moment. But he greeted me just as if we had parted yesterday, shook 
 hands, got between us, and walked with us some way. He was in extraordinary 
 force, bodily and mental. He declared vehemently against the usage which Lord 
 Glenelg has experienced, and said that it was a case for pistolling, an infamous 
 league of eleven men to ruin one. It will be long enough before he takes to the 
 remedy which he recommends to others. He talked well and bitterly of Lord Dur- 
 ham’s report. It was, he said, a second-rate article for the Edinburgh Review. 
 
 * See page 293 of Vol. I. 
 
1839 - 41 - 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 33 
 
 ‘ The matter came from a swindler ; the style from a coxcomb ; and the dictator 
 furnished only six letters, D-u-r-h-a-m.’ As we were walking, Allen the Quaker 
 came by. Brougham hallooed to him, and began to urge him to get up the strongest 
 opposition to Lord John Russell’s Education plan. I was glad when we parted. 
 Home and thought about Gladstone. In two or three days I shall have the whole in 
 my head, and then my pen will go like fire.” 
 
 3 Clarges Street : February 26, 1839. 
 
 Dear Napier, — I can now promise you an article in a week, or" ten 
 days at furthest. Of its length I cannot speak with certainty. I should 
 think it would fill about forty pages ; but I find the subject grow on me. 
 I think that I shall dispose completely of Gladstone’s theory. I wish that 
 I could see my way clearly to a good counter-theory ; but I catch only 
 glimpses here and there of what I take to be truth. 
 
 I am leading an easy life ; not unwilling to engage in the Parliamentary 
 battle if a fair opportunity should offer, but not in the smallest degree 
 tormented by a desire for the House of Commons, and fully determined 
 against office. I enjoyed Italy intensely ; far more than I had expected. 
 By the bye, I met Gladstone at Rome. We talked and walked together 
 in St. Peter’s during the best part of an afternoon. He is both a clever 
 and an amiable man. 
 
 As to politics, the cloud has blown over ; the sea has gone down ; the 
 barometer is rising. The session is proceeding through what was expected 
 to be its most troubled stage in the same quiet way in which it generally 
 advances through the dog days towards its close. Everything and every- 
 body is languid, and even Brougham seems to be somewhat mitigated. I 
 met him in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, the other day, when I was walking with 
 Ellis. He greeted me as if we had breakfasted together that morning and 
 went on to declaim against everybody with even more than his usual 
 parts, and with all his usual rashness and flightiness. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 London : March 20, 1839. 
 
 Dearest Hannah, — I have passed some very melancholy days since I 
 wrote last. On Sunday afternoon I left Ellis tolerably cheerful. His 
 wife’s disorder was abating. The next day, when I went to him, I found 
 the house shut up. I meant only to have asked after him ; but he would 
 see me. He gave way to very violent emotion ; but he soon collected 
 himself, and talked to me about her for hours. “ I w*as so proud of her,” 
 he said. “ I loved so much to show her to anybody that I valued. And 
 now, what good will it do me to be a Judge, or to make ten thousand a 
 year ? I shall not have her to go home to with the good news.” I could 
 not speak, for I know what that feeling is as well as he. He talked much 
 of the sources of happiness that were left to him, — his children, his rela* 
 VoL. II.— 3 
 
34 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VIII. 
 
 tions and hers, and my friendship. He ought, he said, to be very grateful 
 that I had not died in India, but was at home to comfort him. Comfort 
 him I could not, except by hearing him talk of her with tears in my eyes. 
 I stayed till late. Yesterday I went again, and passed most of the day 
 with him, and I shall go to him again to-day ; for he says, and I see, that 
 my company does him good. I would with pleasure give one of my 
 fingers to get him back his wife, which is more than most widowers would 
 give to get back their own. 
 
 I have had my pn.)ofs from Napier. He magnifies the article prodi- 
 giously. In a letter to Empson he calls it exquisite and admirable, and 
 to me he writes that it is the finest piece of logic that ever was printed. I 
 do not think it so ; but I do not think that I have disposed of all Glad- 
 stone’s theories unanswerably; and there is not a line of the paper with 
 which even so strict a judge as Sir Robert Inglis, or my uncle Babington, 
 could quarrel at as at all indecorous. How is my dear little girl ? Is 
 she old enough to take care of a canary-bird or two ? From her tender- 
 ness for the little fish, I think I may venture to trust her with live animals. 
 
 I have this instant a note from Lord Lansdowne, who was in the chair 
 of the Club* yesterday night, to say that I am unanimously elected. Poor 
 Ellis’s loss had quite put it out of my head. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 On the loth of April Macaulay received a letter from Mr. Gladstone, 
 who in generous terms acknowledged the courtesy, and, with some 
 reservations, the fairness of his article. “ I have been favored,” Mr. 
 Gladstone wrote, “ with a copy of the forthcoming number of the Edin- 
 burgh Review ; and I perhaps too much presume upon the bare acquaint- 
 ance with you, of which alone I can boast, in thus unceremoniously 
 assuming you to be the author of the article entitled ‘ Church and State,^ 
 and in offering you my very warm and cordial thanks for the manner in 
 which you have treated both the work, and the author on whom you 
 deigned to bestow your attention. In whatever you write, you can 
 hardly hope for the privilege of most anonymous productions, a real con- 
 cealment ; but, if it had been possible not to recognize you, I should have 
 questioned your authorship in this particular case, because the candor 
 
 * The Club, as it was,invariably called (for its members would not stoop to identify it 
 by any distinctive title,) was the club of Johnson, Gibbon, Burke, Goldsmith, Garrick, 
 and Reynolds. Under the date April 9, 1839, the following entry occurs in Macaulay’s 
 diary : “ I went to the Thatched House, and was well pleased to meet the Club for the 
 first time. We had Lord Holland in the chair, the Bishop of London, Lord Mahon, 
 Phillips the painter, Milman, Elphinstone, Sir Charles Grey, and Hudson Goumey. I 
 was amused, in turning over the records of the Club, to come upon poor Bozzy’s signa- 
 ture, evidently affixed when he was too drunk to guide his pen.” 
 
1839-41- 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 35 
 
 and singlemindedness which it exhibits are, in one who has long been 
 connected in the most distinguished manner with political party, so rare 
 as to be almost incredible.* * * In these lacerating times one clings to 
 everything of personal kindness in the past, to husband it for the future ; 
 and, if you will allow me, I shall earnestly desire to carry with me such a 
 recollection of your mode of dealing with a subject upon which the attain- 
 ment of truth, we shall agree, so materially depends upon the temper in 
 which the search for it is instituted and conducted.” 
 
 How much this letter pleased Macaulay is indicated by the fact of his 
 having kept it unburned ; a compliment which, except in this single 
 instance, he never paid to any of his correspondents. “ I have very 
 seldom,” he writes in reply to Mr. Gladstone, “ been more gratified than 
 by the very kind note which I have just received from you. Your book 
 itself, and everything that I heard about you, though almost all my infor- 
 mation came, — to the honor, I must say, of our troubled times, — ^from 
 people very strongly opposed to you in politics, led me to regard you with 
 respect and good will, and I am truly glad that I have succeeded in 
 marking those feelings. I was half afraid, when I read myself over again 
 in print, that the button, as is too common in controversial fencing even 
 between friends, had once or twice come off the foil.” 
 
 The emphatic allusions, which both these letters contain, to the pre- 
 vailing bitterness and injustice of party feeling, may well sound strangely 
 to U.S, who have already for two sessions been living in that atmosphere 
 of good temper and good manners which pervades the House of Com- 
 mons whenever the Conservatives are contented, and the Liberals despon- 
 dent. It was a different matter in 1839. The closing years of the Whig 
 Administration were one long political crisis, with all the disagreeable 
 and discreditable accompaniments from which no political crisis is free. 
 Public animosity, and personal virulence, had risen to a higher, or at any 
 rate, to a more sustained temperature than had ever been reached since 
 the period when, amidst threats of impeachment and accusations of 
 treason, perfidy, and corruption. Sir Robert Walpole was tottering to his 
 fall. 
 
 Lord Melbourne’s Cabinet had rendered immense services to the coun- 
 try, and the greatest of those services was the fact of its own existence. In 
 November 1834, the King, of his own will and pleasure, had imj^osed a 
 Tory Government on a House of Commons which contained a large Whig 
 majority. The fierce onslaught upon that Government, so gallantly and 
 skilfully led by Lord John Russell, while it presented (as it could not 
 fail to present), a superficial appearance of factious self-seeking, was in 
 truth a struggle fought to establish, once and for ever, the most vital of all 
 constitutional principles. Not a vote nor a speech was thrown away, of 
 all that were directed against Sir Robert Peel’s first Ministry. It was 
 
36 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VIII. 
 
 worth any expenditure of time, and breath, and energy, to vindicate the 
 right of the country to choose its rulers for itself, instead of accepting 
 those who might be imposed upon it from above. The story of the 
 session of 1835 reads strangely to us who have been born, and hope to 
 grow old, within the reign of the monarch who, by a long course of loyal 
 acquiescence in the declared wishes of her people, has brought about what 
 is nothing less than another Great Revolution, all the more beneficent be- 
 cause it has been gradual and silent. We cannot, without an effort of 
 the imagination, understand the indignation and disquietude of the Whig 
 leaders, when they saw William, the Fourth recurring to those maxims of 
 personal government which his father had effectually practiced, and after 
 which his brother had feebly and fitfully hankered. To get Peel out was 
 in their eyes the whole duty of public men ; a duty which they strenuously 
 and successfully accomplished. But, in pursuing their end with an audacity 
 and determination which those who had not divined the real bearings of 
 the situation mistook for want of scruple, they made hosts of new enemies, 
 and embittered all their old ones. They aroused against themselves the 
 furies of resentment, alarm, and distrust, which attended them relentlessly 
 until they in their turn succumbed. The passions heated during the 
 debates of 1835 were cooled only in the deluge w'hich overwhelmed the 
 Whigs at the general election of 1841. 
 
 The Peers gave them no chance from the first. Those who have join- 
 ed in the idle jubilation over the impotence and helplessness of the House of 
 Lords, with which, in our own day, triumphant partizans celebrated the 
 downfall of the Irish Church and the abolition of Purchase in the Army, 
 would do well to study the history of the decline and fall of Lord Mel- 
 bourne’s Administration. There they would learn how substantial and 
 how formidable is the power of Conservative statesmen who, surveying 
 the field of action from the secure stronghold of an assembly devoted to 
 their interests, can discern through all the dust and clamor of a popular 
 movement the exact strength and attitude of the hostile forces. An Upper 
 Chamber which will accept from Ministers whom it detests no measure 
 that has not behind it an irresistible mass of excited public opinion, has, 
 sooner or later, the fate of those Ministers in its hand. For, on the one 
 hand, the friction generated by the process of forcing a Bill through a re- 
 luctant House of Lords annoys and scandalizes a nation which soon grows 
 tired of having a revolution once a twelvemonth ; and, on the other hand, 
 the inability of a Cabinet to conduct through both Houses that continuous 
 flow of legislation, which the ever-changing necessities of a country like 
 ours demand, alienates those among its more ardent supporters who take 
 little account of its difficulties, and see only that it is unable to turn its 
 Bills into Acts. 
 
 Never was the game of obstruction played more ably, and to better 
 
1839 - 41 - 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 37 
 
 purpose, than during the three sessions which preceded, and the three 
 which followed, the accession of Queen Victoria. “ Lord Cadogan,” 
 Macaulay writes, “ talked to me well of the exceedingly difficult situation 
 of the Ministers in the Lords. They have against them Brougham, the 
 first speaker of the age ; the Duke, with the highest character of any pub- 
 lic man of the age ; Lyndhurst, Aberdeen, Ellenborough, and others every 
 one of whom is an overmatch for our best orator. And this superiority 
 in debate is backed by a still greater superiority in number.” These ad- 
 vantages in point of votes, and talents, were utilized to the utmost by con- 
 summate Parliamentary strategy. The struggle was fought out over the 
 destination of a sum of money expected to accrue from the improved 
 management of Church property in Ireland. The Whigs proposed to 
 appropriate this money to the education of the people at large, without 
 distinction of religious persuasion ; while the Opposition insisted on leav- 
 ing it at the disposal of the Church, to be used exclusively for Church 
 purposes. It was an admirable battle-ground for the Conservatives. 
 The most exalted motives of piety and patriotism, the blindest prejudices 
 of race and creed, were alike arrayed behind the impregnable defences 
 which guarded the position so adroitly selected by the Tory leaders. In 
 the fourth year of the contest the Ministers yielded, with a disastrous 
 effect upon their own influence and reputation, from which they never 
 recovered. But the victory had been dearly brought. In exchange for the 
 reversion of a paltry hundred thousand pounds the Irish Establishment 
 had bartered away what remained to it of the public confidence and es- 
 teem. The next sacrifice which it was called upon to make was of a very 
 different magnitude ; and it was fated to read by the light of a bitter 
 experience the story of the Sibylline books, — that fable the invention of 
 which is in itself sufficient to stamp the Romans as a constitutional peo- 
 ple. 
 
 Macaulay’s letters from Calcutta prove with what profound uneasiness 
 he watched the course of public affairs at home. A looker-on, who 
 shares the passions of the combatants, is seldom inclined to underrate 
 the gravity of the situation, or the drastic nature of the remedies that 
 are required. “ I am quite certain,” so he writes to Mr. Ellis, “ that in a 
 few years the House of Lords must go after old Sarum and Gatton. 
 What is now passing is mere skirmishing and manoeuvring between two 
 general actions. It seems to be of little consequence to the final result 
 how these small operations turn out When the grand battle comes to 
 be fought, I have no doubt about the event.” At length his sense of 
 coming evil grew so keen, that he took the step of addressing to Lord 
 Lansdowne a carefully reasoned letter, a State paper in all but the form ; 
 urging the imminent perils that threatened a constitution in which a re- 
 formed House of Commons found itself face to face with an unreformed 
 
38 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VIII. 
 
 House of Lords ; and setting forth in detail a scheme for reconstructing 
 the Upper Chamber on an elective basis. Macaulay’s notions were not at 
 all to his old friend’s taste ; and, after a single interchange of opinions, 
 the subject never appeared in their correspondence. 
 
 On the tactics pursued by Peel and Lyndhurst Macaulay expressed 
 the sentiments of a Whig politician in the language of a student of history. 
 “Your English politics,” he writes from India during the first week of 
 1838, “are in a singular, state. The elections appear to have left the 
 two parties still almost exactly equal in Parliamentary strength. There 
 seems to be a tendency in the public mind to moderation ; but there 
 seems also to be a most pernicious disposition to mix up religion with 
 politics. For my own part I can conceive nothing more dangerous to the 
 interests of religion than the New Conservative device of representing a 
 reforming spirit as synonymous with an infidel spirit. For a short time 
 the Tories may gain something by giving to civil abuses the sanctity of 
 religion ; but religion will very soon begin to contract the unpopularity 
 which belongs to civil abuses. There will be, I am satisfied, a violent 
 reaction ; and ten years hence Christianity will be as unpopular a topic 
 on the hustings as the duty of seeking the Lord would have been at the 
 time of the Restoration. The world is governed by associations. That 
 which is always appealed to as a defence for every grievance will soon be 
 considered as a grievance itself. No cry which deprives the people of 
 valuable servants, and raises jobbers and oppressors to power, will long 
 continue to be a popular cry.” 
 
 There is something almost pathetic in this unbounded and unshaken 
 faith in ths virtues of a political party. The praise which in a confidential 
 letter a man bestows upon his contemporaries is pretty sure to be sincere ; 
 and, when Macaulay described Lord Melbourne’s Administrations as a 
 breakwater which stemmed the advancing tide of Tory jobbery, no one 
 who knew him, or who knows his writings, can doubt that he believed 
 what he said. And yet it required not a little courage to represent the 
 Whigs of 1838 as deaf to the claims of private interests and family con- 
 nections. So widespread, and so deeply rooted, was the conviction that 
 the Ministers gave more thought to placing their dependents than to 
 governing the country, that their best actions were beginning to be mis- 
 construed by their oldest friends. The invaluable series of investigations, 
 by Royal Commissions, into all that concerned the moral, social, and 
 religious welfare of the people, which was conducted under Lord Mel- 
 bourne’s auspices, presented itself to all his opponents, and some of his 
 allies, in the light of a gigantic machinery devised by the people in power 
 with the express purpose of providing for briefless sons and nephews. 
 Sydney Smith, whose appetite for reform was very soon satiated when 
 the era of reform had once fairly set in, declared in a burst of humorous 
 
1839 - 41 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 39 
 
 consternation that the whole earth was in Commission, and that mankind 
 had been saved from the Flood only to be delivered over to barristers of 
 six years standing. The onus probandi, he declared, rested with any 
 one who said that he was not a Commissioner ; and the only doubt which 
 a man felt on seeing a Whig whom he had never met before was, not 
 whether he was a Commissioner or no, but what the department of human 
 life might be into which he had been appointed to inquire. 
 
 That which was fussiness and nepotism in the eyes of an original found- 
 er of the Edinburgh Review, to a contributor to the Morning Post seemed 
 little better than recklessness and rapacity. It was about this period that 
 Praed assailed the Ministry in some of the most incisive couplets which a 
 political satirist has ever penned.* 
 
 Sure none should better know how sweet 
 The tenure of official seat 
 Than one who every session buys 
 At such high rate the gaudy prize ; 
 
 One who for this so long has borne 
 The scowl of universal scorn ; 
 
 Has seen distrust in every look ; 
 
 Has heard in every voice rebuke ; * 
 
 Exulting yet, as home he goes 
 
 From sneering friends and pitying foes, 
 
 That, shun him, loathe him, if they will, 
 
 He keeps the seals and salary still. 
 
 And, truth to say, it must be pleasant 
 To be a Minister at present : 
 
 To make believe to guide the realm 
 Without a hand upon the helm, 
 
 And wonder what with such a crew 
 A pilot e’er should find to do ; 
 
 To hold what people are content 
 To fancy is the government. 
 
 And touch extremely little of it 
 Except the credit and the profit ; 
 
 When Follett presses, Sugden poses. 
 
 To bid gay Stanley t count the noses. 
 
 And leave the Cabinet’s defence 
 To Bulwer’s wit, and Blewitt’s sense ; 
 
 To hear demands of explanation 
 On India, Belgium, trade taxation. 
 
 And answer that perhaps they’ll try 
 To give an answer by and by ; 
 
 • The little poem, from which these lines are taken, has hitherto remained unpublished, 
 with the exception of the concluding appeal to the young Queen,— a passage which is 
 marked by an elevation of tone unusual in Praed’s political effusions. 
 
 t The late Lord Stanley of Alderley was Treasury Whip to the Melbourne Adminis- 
 tration. The traditions of the lobby still point to his tenure of office as tile culminating 
 epoch in the art of Parliamentary management. 
 
40 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VIII. 
 
 To save the Church, and serve the Crown 
 By letting others pull them down ; 
 
 To promise, pause, prepare, postpone, 
 
 And end by letting things alone ; 
 
 In short, to earn the people’s pay 
 By doing nothing every day ; 
 
 These tasks, these joys, the Fates assign 
 To well-placed Wliigs in Thirty-nine. 
 
 A greater man than Praed or Sydney Smith has traced an indelible 
 record of the impression produced upon himself, and others like him, by 
 the events of that melancholy epoch. Carlyle had shared to the full in the 
 ardor and enthusiasm which hailed the passing of the Great Reform Bill ; 
 and he now had rather more than his share of the disappointment and the 
 gloom, which, after seven years’ experience of a Reformed House 
 of Commons, led by the Whigs, and thwarted by the Peers, had begun to 
 settle down upon the minds of all who loved their country better than their 
 party. In more than one of his volumes he has told us the story of a 
 “young ardent soul, looking with hope and joy into a world infinitely beau- 
 tiful to him, though overhung with falsities and foul cobwebs, which were 
 to be swept away amidst heroic joy, and enthusiasm of victory and battle ; *’ 
 and of the discouragement that eclipsed these gallant anticipations, when 
 one session after another was spent on getting, “ with endless jargoning, 
 debating, motioning, and counter-motioning, a settlement effected between 
 the Honorable Mr. This and the Honorable Mr. That as to their respect- 
 ive pretensions to ride the high horse.” The time had arrived when to 
 the passion and energy of 1832 had succeeded the unedifying spectacle of 
 “ hungry Greek throttling down hungry Greek on the floor of St. Stephen’s, 
 until the loser cried, ‘ Hold ! The place is thine.’ ” 
 
 The responsibility for the continuance of this sterile and ignoble politi- 
 cal ferment, which for some years had lain at the door of the House of 
 Lords, began to be shared by the Whig Government soon after Macaulay’s 
 return from India. From that time forward Lord Melbourne and his 
 brother Ministers could not have failed to perceive, by those signs which 
 are so familiar to veteran politicians, that their popularity was waning ; 
 and that, with their popularity, their power for good was disappearing fast. 
 When their measures were mangled and curtailed in the Commons, and 
 quashed in the Peers, — when one bye election after another told the same 
 tale of general dissatisfaction and distrust, — it became incumbent on them 
 to show themselves at least as ready to surrender office as, in 1835, they 
 had been resolute in seizing it. The hour had arrived when statesmen 
 should have caught eagerly at the first opportunity of proving that our 
 unwritten constitution provides a key to that problem, on the right solution 
 of which the -prosperity, and even the existence, of a free community 
 depends : — the problem how rulers, who have for a time lost the favor and 
 
1839 - 41 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 41 
 
 confidence of the governed, may for a time be removed from power, with- 
 out impairing the force and the authority of the Executive Government. 
 Unfortunately there were considerations, honorable in themselves, which 
 deterred the Cabinet from that wise and dignified course ; and the month 
 of May, 1839, saw the leaders of the great party, which had marched into 
 office across the steps of a throne, standing feebly at bay behind the petti- 
 coats of their wives and sisters. Whether the part which they played was 
 forced upon them by circumstances, or whether it was not, their example 
 was disastrous in its effect upon English public life. Our standard of 
 Ministerial duty was lower from that day forth ; until, in June, 1866, it was 
 raised to a higher point than ever by the refusal of Earl Russell and his 
 colleagues to remain in power, after they had found themselves unable to 
 carry in its integrity the measure of Reform which they had promised to 
 the nation. 
 
 As soon as the Whigs had made up their minds to solve the Bedcham- 
 ber difficulty by resuming office, they were, naturally enough, anxious to 
 bring within the walls of the House of Commons all the ability and elo- 
 quence of their party. Times were coming when they were likely to find 
 occasion for as much oratory as they could muster. Towards the end of 
 May the elevation to the peerage of Mr. Abercromby, the Speaker, left a 
 seat at Edinburgh vacant. The Ministers did all that could be done in 
 London to get Macaulay accepted as the Liberal candidate, and the con- 
 stituency gave a willing response. He introduced himself to the electors 
 in a speech that in point of style came up to their expectations, and with 
 the substance of which they were very well contented. He conciliated the 
 Radicals by pledging himself to the ballot ; the reminiscences of Lord 
 Melville’s despotism were still too fresh in Scotch memories to make it 
 worth while for the Tories even to talk of contesting the representation of 
 the Scotch capital ; and the Whigs would have been monsters of ingrati- 
 tude if they had not declared to a man in favor of one, who was a Whig 
 with the same intensity of conviction that Montrose had been a Royalist, 
 or Carnot a Jacobin. “I look with pride,” said Macaulay, “on all that 
 the Whigs have done for the cause of human freedom and of human hap- 
 piness. I see them now hard pressed, struggling with difficulties, but still 
 fighting the good fight. At their head I see men who have inherited the 
 spirit and the virtues, as well as the blood, of old champions and martyrs 
 of freedom. To those men I propose to attach myself. While one shred of 
 the old banner is flying, by that banner will I, at least, be found. Whether 
 in or out of Parliament, — whether speaking with that authority which 
 must always belong to the representative of this great and enlightened 
 community, or expressing the humble sentiments of a private citizen, — I 
 will to the last maintain inviolate my fidelity to principles which, though 
 they may be borne down for a time by senseless clamor, are yet strong 
 
42 
 
 LIKE AND LETTERS OK 
 
 CH. VIII. 
 
 with the strength, and immortal with the immortality, of truth ; and which, 
 however they may be misunderstood or misrepresented by contemporaries, 
 will assuredly find justice from a better age.” Such fervor will provoke a 
 smile from those who survey the field of politics with the serene compla- 
 cency of the literary critic, more readily than from statesmen who have 
 learned the value of party loyalty by frequent and painful experience of its 
 opposite. 
 
 The first speech which Macaulay made after his reappearance in Par- 
 liament was on Mr. Grote’s motion for leave to introduce the Ballot Bill. 
 That annual question (to which the philosophical reasoning, and the 
 classical erudition, of its champion had long ere this ceased to impart 
 any charm more attractive than respectability), in 1839 had recovered a 
 certa,in flavor of novelty from the fact that Lord Melbourne’s Cabinet, at 
 its wits’ end for something that might make it popular, had agreed that 
 the more advanced among the Ministers might be at liberty to vote as 
 they pleased. The propriety of this course was, naturally enough, chal- 
 lenged by their opponents. Macaulay had an admirable opportunity of 
 giving the House, which was eager to hear him, a characteristic touch of 
 his quality, as he poured forth a torrent of historical instances to prove 
 that Governments, which had regard for their own stability, or for the 
 consciences of their individual members, always had recognized, and 
 always must recognize, the necessity of dealing liberally with open ques- 
 tions. “ I rejoice,” he said, “ to see that we are returning to the wise, the 
 honest, the moderate maxims which prevailed in this House in the time 
 of our fathers. If two men are brought up together from their child- 
 hood ; if they follow the same studies, mix in the same society, and exer- 
 cise a mutual influence in forming each other’s minds, a perfect agreement 
 between them on political subjects cannot even then be expected. But 
 Governments are constructed in such a manner that forty or fifty gentle- 
 men, some of whom have never seen each other’s faces till they are united 
 officially, or have been in hot opposition to each other all the rest of their 
 lives, are brought all at once into intimate connection. Among such men 
 unanimity would be an absolute miracle. ‘Talk of divided houses!’ 
 said Lord Chatham. ‘ Why there never was an instance of an united 
 Cabinet ! When were the minds of twelve men ever cast in one and the 
 same mould.?’ Within the memory of many persons now living the rule 
 was this, that all questions whatever were open questions in a Cabinet, 
 except those which came under two classes ; — measures brought forward 
 by the Government as a Government, which all the members of the Gov- 
 ernment were, of course, expected to support ; and motions brought for- 
 ward with the purpose of casting a censure, express or implied, on the 
 Government, or any department of it, which all the members of the Gov- 
 ernment were, of course, expected to oppose. Let Honorable Gentle- 
 
1839-41. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 43 
 
 men,” said Macaulay, warming to his theme, “run their minds over the 
 history of Mr. Pitt’s Administration : ” and Honorable Gentlemen were 
 reminded, or, not impossibly, informed, how, on Parliamentary Reform, 
 Mr. Pitt and Mr. Dundas had voted against Lord Mulgrave and Lord 
 Grenville ; and how, on the question of the Slave-trade, Mr. Dundas and 
 Lord Thurlow had voted against Lord Grenville and Mr. Pitt ; and so on 
 through the Law of Libel, and the impeachment of Warren Hastings, 
 and the dropping of the impeachment of Warren Hastings, until the 
 names of Mr. Pitt’s Cabinet had been presented to the view of Honor- 
 able Gentlemen in every possible variation, and every conceivable combi- 
 nation. “And was this the effect of any extraordinary weakness on the 
 part of the statesman who was then Prime Minister ? No. Mr. Pitt was 
 a man whom even his enemies acknowledged to possess a brave, and 
 commanding, spirit. And was the effect of his policy to enfeeble his 
 Administration, to daunt his adherents, to render them unable to with- 
 stand the attacks of the Opposition ? On the contrary, never did a Min- 
 istry present a firmer or more serried front ; nor is there the slightest 
 doubt but that their strength was increased in consequence of their giving 
 each member more individual liberty.” 
 
 Sir Robert Peel, after expressing in handsome, and even chivalrous, 
 terms, his satisfaction at finding himself once more confronted by so re- 
 doutable an antagonist, proceeded to reply with a feeble and partial argu- 
 ment, set off by a fine quotation from Burke. To this day there remains 
 unanswered Macaulay’s protest against the cruelty of needlessly placing 
 men in a position where they must be false, either to their personal con- 
 victions, or to a factitious theory of Ministerial obligation ; a protest 
 which has still greater force when directed against the extravagant im- 
 policy of bringing the immense weight and authority of the Treasury 
 bench to influence the vote upon an abstract motion, which can have no 
 possible value, except in so far as it affords a genuine and unbiassed in- 
 dication of Parliamentary opinion. 
 
 London : July 4, 1839. 
 
 Dear Napier, — I am sorry that you had set your heart on a paper from 
 me. I was really not aware that you expected one, or I would have 
 written earlier to tell you that it would be quite impossible for me to do 
 anything of the kind at present. I mean to give you a life of Clive for 
 October. The subject is a grand one, and admits of decorations and 
 illustrations innumerable. 
 
 I meant to have spoken on the Education question ; but the Ministers 
 pushed up Vernon Smith just as I was going to rise, and I had no other 
 opportunity till Goulburn sate down, having thoroughly wearied the 
 House. Five hundred people were coughing and calling for the ques- 
 tion ; and, though some of our friends wanted me to try my fortune, I 
 
44 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VIII. 
 
 was too prudent. A second speech is a critical matter ; and it is always 
 hazardous to address an impatient audience after midnight. 
 
 I do not like to write for you on Education, or on other pending politi- 
 cal questions. I have two fears, — one that I may commit myself, the 
 other that I may unseat myself. I shall keep to history, general litera- 
 ture, and the merely speculative part of politics, in what I write for the 
 Review. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 Edinburgh : September 2, 1839. 
 
 Dear Napier, — I shall work on Clive as hard as I can, and make the 
 paper as short as I can ; but I am afraid that I cannot positively pledge 
 myself either as to time or as to length. I rather think, however, that 
 the article will take. 
 
 I shall do my best to be in London again on the i8th. God knows 
 what these Ministerial changes may produce. Office was never, within 
 my memory, so little attractive, and therefore, I fear I cannot, as a man 
 of spirit, flinch, if it is offered to me. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 London : September 20, 1839. 
 
 Dear Napier, — I reached town early this morning; having, principally 
 on your account, shortened my stay at Paris, and crossed to Ramsgate in 
 such weather that the mails could not get into the harbor at Dover. I 
 hoped to have five or six days of uninterrupted work, in which I might 
 finish my paper for the Review. But I found waiting for me — this is 
 strictly confidential — a letter from Lord Melbourne with an offer of the 
 Secretaryship at War, and a seat in the Cabinet. I shall be a good deal 
 occupied, as you may suppose, by conferences and correspondence during 
 some time ; but I assure you that every spare minute shall be employed 
 in your service. I shall hope to be able, at all events, to send you the 
 article by the 30th. I will write the native names as clearly as I can, and 
 trust to your care without a proof. 
 
 My historical plans must for the present be suspended ; * but I see no 
 reason to doubt that I shall be able to do as much as ever for the Review. 
 Again, remember, silence is the word. 
 
 Yours, ever, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 * “ Friday, March 9. — I began my History with a sketch of the early revolutions of 
 England. Pretty well ; but a little too stately and rhetorical.” — Macaulay’s Journal for 
 
 *839. 
 
1839 - 41 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 45 
 
 Macaulay accepted the Secretaryship at War without any show of 
 reluctance ; but he did not attain to this great elevation without incurring 
 the penalties of success. A man who, having begun life without rank, 
 fortune or private interest, finds himself inside the Cabinet and the Privy 
 Council before his fortieth birthday, must expect that the world will not 
 be left in ignorance of anything that can be said against him. The Times, 
 which had been faithful to Sir Robert Peel through every turn of fortune, 
 grafted on to its public quarrel with the Whig Government a personal 
 grudge against the new Minister. That grudge was vented in language 
 that curiously marks the change which, between that day and this, has 
 come over the tone of English journalism. For weeks together, even in 
 its leading articles, the great newspaper could find no other appellation 
 for the great man than that of “ Mr. Babbletongue Macaulay.” When, 
 in company with Sheil, he was sworn of the Privy Council, the disgust of 
 the Times could only be expressed by ejaculations which even then were 
 unusual in political controversy. “ These men Privy Councillors ! These 
 men petted at Windsor Castle I Faugh! Why they are hardly fit to fill 
 up the vacancies that have occurred by the lamented death of her Ma- 
 jesty’s two favorite monkeys.” 
 
 It so happened that, at this very moment, Macaulay got into a scrape 
 which enabled his detractors to transfer their abuse from the general to 
 the particular. When it became his duty to announce to his constituents 
 that he had taken office, he was careless enough to date his address from 
 Windsor Castle. The Times rose, or rather sank, to the occasion ; but 
 it would be an ungracious act to dignify the ephemeral scurrility of some 
 envious scribbler, by reproducing it under the name of that famous 
 journal, which, for a generation back, has seldom allowed a week to pass 
 without an admiring reference to Macaulay’s writings, or a respectful 
 appeal to his authority. 
 
 Many months elapsed before the new Secretary at War heard the last 
 of Windsor Castle. That unlucky slip of the pen afforded matter for 
 comment, and banter, in Parliament, on the hustings, and through every 
 corner of the daily and weekly press. It has obtained a chance of longer 
 life than it deserves by reason of a passing allusion in the published 
 works of Thackeray.* In later years the great novelist appears to have 
 
 * “ Time was when the author’s trade was considered a very mean one, which a gentle- 
 man of family could not take up but as an amateur. This absurdity is pretty well worn 
 out now, and I do humbly hope and pray for the day when the other shall likewise dis- 
 appear. If there be any nobleman with a talent that way, why, why don’t we see him 
 among R. A.s ? 
 
 501 The Schoolmaster (sketch taken ( Brum, Henry, Lord, R.A., F.R.S., S. A. of the 
 
 abroad) ( National Institute of France. 
 
 502 View^f^the^Artist’s residence at j Maconkey, Right Honorable T. B. 
 
46 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VIII. 
 
 felt undue contrition for what was, after all, a very innocent, and not ill- 
 natured, touch of satire. In his generous and affecting notice of Macau- 
 lay’s death he writes : “ It always seemed to me that ample means, and 
 recognized rank, were Macaulay’s as of right. Years ago there was a 
 wretched outcry raised because Mr. Macaulay dated a letter from Windsor 
 Castle, where he was staying. Immortal Gods 1 Was this man not a fit 
 guest for any palace in the world, or a fit companion for any man or 
 woman in it I dare say, after Austerlitz, the old court officials and foot- 
 men sneered at Napoleon for dating from Schonbrunn. But that miser- 
 able Windsor Castle outcry is an echo out of fast -retreating old-world 
 remembrances. The place of such a natural chief was amongst the first 
 of the land ; and that country is best, according to our British notion at 
 least, where the man of eminence has the best chance of investing his 
 genius and intellect.” 
 
 Macaulay took his promotion quietly, and paid little or no heed to 
 the hard words which it brought him. He kept his happiness in his own 
 hands, and never would permit it to depend upon the goodwill, or the 
 forbearance, of others. His biographer has no occasion to indite those 
 woful passages, in which the sufferings of misunderstood genius are 
 commended to the indignant commiseration of posterity. In December, 
 i839,he writes to Mr. Napier: “You think a great deal too much about 
 the Times. What does it signify whether they abuse me or not.!* There 
 is nothing at all discouraging in their violence. It is so far from being a 
 means or a proof of strength, that it is both a cause and a symptom of 
 weakness.” This is the only instance, throughout his entire journals and 
 correspondence, in which Macaulay even refers to a series of invectives 
 extending over many months, and of a nature most unusual in the columns 
 of a leading newspaper, when the subject of attack is a man of acknowl- 
 edged eminence, and blameless character. 
 
 He was just now less disposed than ever to trouble himself about the 
 justice or injustice of the treatment which he met. with from the outside 
 world. An event had occurred, most unexpectedly, which opened to him 
 a long and secure prospect of domestic happiness. At the end of the 
 year 1839, his brother-in-law, Mr. Trevelyan, was appointed to the Assist- 
 ant Secretaryship of the Treasury ; one of the few posts in the English 
 Civil Service which could fully compensate a man of energy and public 
 spirit for renouncing the intensely interesting work, and the rare oppor- 
 tunities of distinction, presented by an Indian career. “This event,” 
 writes Lady Trevelyan, “ ef course made England our home during your 
 
 503 Murder of the Babes in the Tower. . Bustle, Lord J. Pill, Right Honorable Sir Robert. 
 
 504 A little Agitation O’Carroll, Daniel, M.R.I.A, 
 
 Fancy, I say, such names as these figuring in the Catalogue of the Academy ! ’’ 
 
1839-41- 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 47 
 
 uncle’s life. He could never afterwards speak of it without emotion. 
 Throughout the autumn of 1839, his misery at the prospect of our return 
 to India was the most painful and hourly trial ; and, when the joy and 
 relief came upon us, it restored the spring and flow of his spirits. He 
 took a house in Great George Street, and insisted on our all living together, 
 and a most happy year 1840 was.” 
 
 Like other happy years, it was a busy year too. Macaulay, who had 
 completely laid aside his History for the present, devoted his powers to 
 his official work. He conducted the business of his department in Parlia- 
 ment with the unobtrusive assiduity, and the unvaried courtesy, by which 
 a prudent Minister may do so much to shorten discussion and to deprecate 
 opposition. And, indeed,- the spirit of the age was such that he had every 
 chance of an easy life. The House of Commons of 1840 spent upon the 
 army very little of its own time, or of the nation’s money. The paucity, 
 and insignificance, of the questions, which it fell to Macaulay’s lot to 
 master, might well rouse the envy of a Secretary of State for War in these 
 troubled days of alternate military reorganization and reaction. He passed 
 his Estimates, which were of an amount to make a modern reformer’s 
 mouth water, after a short grumble from Hume, and a single division, in 
 which that implacable economist took with him into the lobby hardly as 
 many adherents as the Government asked for millions. Mr. Charles 
 Macaulay, who at this time was his brother’s private secretary, is the 
 authority for an anecdote which is worth recording. He remembers being 
 under the gallery with Sulivan, the Assistant Secretary at War, and with 
 the Estimate clerk of the War office, when Macaulay was submitting to 
 the House his first Army Estimate. In the course of his speech he made 
 a statement to which the Estimate clerk demurred. ‘.‘That is a mistake,” 
 said the clerk. “ No, it isn’t,” said Sulivan, “for a hundred pounds! 
 
 I never knew him make a blunder in anything which he had once got up 
 and it turned out that Sulivan was right. 
 
 On the 14th of March 1840, Macaulay writes to Mr. Ellis : “I have '' 
 got through my estimates with flying colors ; made a long speech of 
 figures and details without hesitation, or mistake, of any sort; stood 
 catechizing on all sorts of questions ; and got six millions of public money 
 in the course of an hour or two. I rather like the sort of work, and I 
 have some aptitude for it. I find business pretty nearly enough to occupy 
 all my time ; and, if I have a few minutes to myself, I spend them with 
 my sister and niece ; so that, except while I am dressing and undressing, 
 
 I get no reading at all. I do not know but that it is as well for me to live 
 thus for a time. I became too mere a bookworm in India, and on my 
 voyage home. Exercise, they say, assists digestion ; and it may be that 
 some months of hard official and Parliamentary work may make my studies 
 more nourishing.” 
 
48 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VIIL 
 
 But Macaulay’s course in Parliament was not all plain sailing when he 
 ventured from the smooth waters of the War Office into the broken seas 
 of general politics. The session of 1840 had hardly commenced, when Sir 
 John Yarde Buller moved a resolution professing want of confidence in 
 the Ministry, — amotion which the Tories supported with all their strength 
 both of vote and lung. For the first, and, as he himself willingly confessed, 
 for the last time in bis life Macaulay did not get a fair hearing. On the 
 second night of the debate. Sir James Graham, speaking with the acrimony 
 which men of a certain character affect when they are attacking old allies, 
 by a powerful invective, spiced with allusions to the Windsor Castle ad- 
 dress, had goaded the Opposition ranks into a fit of somewhat insolent ani- 
 mosity. When Macaulay rose to reply, the indications of that animosity 
 were so manifest that he had almost to commence his remarks with an ap- 
 peal for tolerance. “ I trust,” he said, “that the first Cabinet Minister 
 who, when the question is, whether the Government be or be not worthy 
 of confidence, offers himself in debate, will find some portion of that gen- 
 erosity and good feeling which once distinguished English gentlemen.” 
 The words “ first Cabinet Minister.” were no sooner out of his mouth 
 than the honorable gentlemen opposite, choosing wilfully to misconstrue 
 those words as if he were putting forward an absurd claim to the leading 
 place in the Cabinet, burst forth into a storm of ironical cheering which 
 would have gone far to disconcert O’Connell. Macaulay, (who, to speak 
 his best, required the sympathy, or, at any rate, the indulgence of his 
 audience,) said all that he had to say, but said it without spirit or spon- 
 taneity ; and did not succeed in maintaining the enthusiasm either of him- 
 self, or his hearers, at the rather high pitched level of the only one of his 
 Parliamentary efforts which could in any sense be described as a failure.* 
 Some days afterwards he met Sir James Graham in the Park, who ex- 
 pressed a hope that nothing which appeared rude or offensive had escaped 
 his lips. “ Not at all,” said Macaulay. “ Only I think that your speech 
 would have been still more worthy of you, if you had not adopted the worn- 
 out newspaper jests about my Windsor letter.” On the 7th of April, Sir 
 James himself brought forward a vote of censure on the Government for 
 having led the country into war with China ; and Macaulay, who again 
 followed him in the debate, achieved a brilliant and undoubted success in 
 an oration crowned by a noble tribute to the majesty of the British flag, — 
 quite incomparable as an example of that sort of rhetoric which goes 
 
 * In 1853 Macaulay was correcting his speeches for publication. On the 28th of July 
 of that year he writes in his journal “ I worked hard, but without much heart ; for it 
 was that unfortunate speech on Buller’s motion in 1840 ; one of the few unlucky things in 
 a lucky life. I cannot conceive why it failed. It is far superior to many of my speeches 
 which have succeeded. Buh as old Demosthenes said, the power of oratory is as much in 
 the ear as in the tongue.” 
 
1839 - 41 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 49 
 
 straight to the heart of a British House of Commons.* When they met 
 again, Sir James said to him ; “ In our last encounter none but polished 
 weapons were used on both sides : and I am afraid that public opinion 
 rather inclines to the belief that you had the best of it.” “ As to the pol- 
 ished weapons,” said Macaulay, “my temptations are not so misleading as 
 yours. You never wrote a Windsor letter.” His adversaries paid him a 
 high compliment when they were reduced to make so much of a charge, 
 which was the gravest that malice itself ever brought against him in his 
 character of a public man. 
 
 Throughout the sessions of 1840, and 1841, a series of confused and 
 angry discussions took place over a multitude of bills dealing with the 
 Registration of Voters in Ireland ; which were brought forward from every 
 quarter of the House, and with every possible diversity of view. In these 
 debates Macaulay gave marked proof of having profited by the severe 
 legal training, which was not the least valuable and enduring reward of 
 his Indian labors. Holding his own against Sugden in technical argument, 
 he enforced his points with his customary wealth of language and illustra- 
 tion, much of which unfortunately perished between his lips and the repor- 
 ters’ gallery. “ Almost every clause of this Bill which is designed for 
 keeping out the wrongful, acts just as effectually against the rightful claim- 
 ant. Let me suppose the case of a man of great wealth, and of imperious, 
 obstinate, and arbitrary temper ; — one of those men who thinks much of 
 the rights of property, and little of its duties. Let me suppose that man 
 willing to spend six or seven thousand a year in securing the command of 
 a county, — an ambition, as every one knows, not impossible even in En- 
 gland. I will not mention any recent transaction ; nor do I wish to mix 
 up personalities with this serious debate ; but no one is ignorant how a 
 certain man now dead, provoked by the opposition he received in a certain 
 town, vowed that he would make the grass grow in its streets, and how 
 
 * “ I was much touched, and so, I dare say, were many other gentlemen, by a passage, 
 in one of Captain Elliot’s despatches. I mean that passage in which he describes his ar- 
 rival at the factory in the moment of extreme danger- As soon as he landed he was sur- 
 rounded by his countrymen, all in an agony of distress and despair. The first thing which 
 he did was to order the British flag to be brought from his boat, and planted in the balcony. 
 The sight immediately revived the hearts of those who had a minute before given them- 
 selves up for lost. It was natural that they should look up with hope and confidence to 
 that victorious flag. For it reminded them that they belonged to a country unaccustomed 
 to defeat, to submission, or to shame; to a country which had exacted such reparation for 
 the wrongs of her children as had made the ears of all who heard it to tingle; to a country 
 which had made the Dey of Algiers humble himself to the dust before her insulted consul; 
 to a country which had avenged the victims of the Black Hole on the field of Piassey; to a 
 country which had not degenerated since the great Protector vowed that he would make 
 the name of Englishman as much respected as ever had been the name of Roman citizen. 
 They knew that, surrounded as they were by enemies, and separated by great oceans and 
 continents from all help, not a hair of their head would be harmed with impunity.” 
 
 VOL. II. — 4 
 
so 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VIII. 
 
 that vow was kept. Another great person ejected four hundred voters in 
 one shire, and entered two hundred and twenty-five civil actions. Such a 
 man could easily command an Irish county. It would only be a picture 
 the less in his gallery, or an antique gem the less in his collection.” 
 
 The conflict was not always carried on with such scrupulous abstinence 
 from personalities. 
 
 “ Thursday, June rz . — I went from the office to the House, which was engaged 
 upon Stanley’s Irish Registration Bill. The night was very stormy. I have never 
 seen such unseemly demeanor, or heard such scurrilous language in Parliament. 
 Lord Norreys was whistling, and making all sorts of noises. Lord Maidstone was 
 so ill-mannered that I hope he was drunk. At last, after much grossly indecent con- 
 duct, at which Lord Eliot expressed his disgust to me, a furious outbreak took place. 
 O’Connell was so rudely interrupted that he used the expression ‘ beastly bellowings.’ 
 Then rose such an uproar as no O.P. mob at Covent Garden Theatre, — no crowd 
 of Chartists in front of a hustings, — ever equalled. Men on both sides stood up, 
 shook their fists, and bawled at the top of their voices. Freshfield, who was in the 
 chair, was strangely out of his element. Indeed, he knew his business so little that, 
 when first he had to put a question, he fancied himself at Exeter Hall, or the'Crown 
 and Anchor, and said : ‘ As many as are of that opinion please to signify the same 
 by holding up their hands,’ He was quite unable to keep the smallest order when 
 the storm came. O’Connell raged like a mad bull ; and our people — I for one — 
 while regretting and condemning his violence, thought it much extenuated by the 
 provocation. Charles Buller spoke with talent, as he always does ; and with earnest- 
 ness, dignity, and propriety, which he scarcely ever does. A short and most amus- 
 ing scene passed between O’Connell and Lord Maidstone, which in the tumult es- 
 caped the observation of many, but which I watched carefully. ‘ If,’ said Lord 
 Maidstone, ‘ the word beastly is retracted, I shall be satisfied. If not, I shall 
 
 not be satisfied.’ ‘ I do not care whether the noble Lord be satisfied or not.’ ‘ I 
 wish you would give me satisfaction.’ ‘ I advise the noble Lord to carry his 
 liguor meekly.’ At last the tumult ended from absolute physical weariness. It 
 was past one, and the steady bellowers of the Opposition had been howling from 
 six o’clock with little interruption. I went home with a headache, and not in high 
 spirits. But how different my frame of- mind from what it was two years ago ! 
 How profoundly domestic happiness has altered my whole way of looking at life 1 
 I have my share of the anxieties and vexations of ambition ; but it is only a second- 
 ary passion now.” 
 
 November 1839. 
 
 Dear Napier, — I send back the paper on Clive. Remember to let me 
 have a revise. I have altered the last sentence, so as to make it clearer 
 and more harmonious ; but I cannot consent to leave out the well-earned 
 compliment * to my dear old friend. Lord William Bentinck, of whom 
 
 * “ To the warrior, history will assign a place in the same rank with Lucullus and 
 Trajan. Nor will she deny to the reformer a share of that veneratio* with which France 
 cherishes the memory of Turgot, and with which the latest generations of Hindoos will 
 contemplate the statue of Lord William Bentinck.” 
 
1839 - 41 - 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 51 
 
 Victor Jacquemont said, as truly as wittily, that he was William Penn on 
 the throne of the Mogul, and at the head of two hundred thousand soldiers. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 Lord William Bentinck, since his return from India, had taken an active, 
 and sometimes even a turbid, part in politics as member for Glasgow. 
 Those who will turn to the last words of the Essay on Lord Clive will 
 understand Mr. Napier’s uneasiness at the notion of placing on so con- 
 spicuous a literary pedestal the effigy of one, who, for the time, had come 
 to be regarded as the radical representative of a large Scotch constituency 
 is apt to be regarded during a period of Conservative reaction. 
 
 London : October 14, 1840. 
 
 Dear Napier, — I am glad that you are satisfied.* I dare say that there 
 will be plenty of abuse ; but about that I have long ceased to care one 
 straw. 
 
 I have two plans, indeed three, in my head. Two might, I think, be 
 executed for the next number. Gladstone advertises another book about 
 the Church. That subject belongs to me ; particularly as he will very prob- 
 ably say something concerning my former article. 
 
 Leigh Hunt has brought out an edition of Congreve, Wycherley, and 
 F arquhar. I see it in the windows of the booksellers’ shops ; but I have 
 not looked at it. I know their plays, and the literary history of their time, 
 well enough to make an amusing paper. Collier’s controversy with Con- 
 greve, on the subject of the Drama, deserves to be better known than it is ; 
 and there is plenty of amusing and curious anecdote about Wycherley. If 
 you will tell Longman to send me the book, I will see whether I can give 
 you a short, lively article on it. 
 
 My third plan cannot yet be executed. It is to review Capefigue’s his- 
 tory of the Consulate and Empire of Napoleon. A character both of the 
 man, and of the government, such as the subject deserves, has not yet, in 
 my opinion, appeared. But there are still two volumes of Capefigue’s 
 book to come, if . not more ; and, though he writes with wonderful rapidity, 
 he can hardly bring them out till the beginning of next year. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 London : October 29, 1840. 
 
 Dear Napier, — I have received Hunt’s book, and shall take it down 
 with me to Southampton, whither I hope to be able to make a short trip. 
 I shall give it well to Hunt about Jeremy Collier, to whom he is scandal- 
 ously unjust. I think Jeremy one of the greatest public benefactors in 
 our history. 
 
 * This refers to the article on Von Ranke’s History of the Popes. 
 
52 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. virr. 
 
 Poor Lord Holland ! It is vain to lament. A whole generation is 
 gone to the grave with him. While he lived, all the great orators and 
 statesmen of the last generation were living too. What a store of histori- 
 cal information he has carried away ! But his kindness, generosity, and 
 openness of heart were more valuable than even his fine accomplishments. 
 I loved him dearly. 
 
 Ever yours truly, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 London: November 13, 1840. 
 
 Dear Napier, — Yesterday evening I received Gladstone’s book, and 
 read it. I do not think that it would be wise to review it. I observed in 
 it very little that had any reference to politics, and very little indeed that 
 might not be consistently said by a supporter of the Voluntary system. It 
 is, in truth, a theological treatise ; and I have no mind to engage in a 
 controversy about the nature of the sacraments, the operation of holy 
 orders, the visibility of the Church, and such points of learning ; except 
 when they are connected, as in his former work they were connected, with 
 questions of government. I have no disposition to split hairs about the 
 spiritual reception of the body and blood of Christ in the Eucharist, or 
 about baptismal regeneration. I shall try to give you a paper on a very 
 different subject, — Wycherley, and the other good-for-nothing fellows, 
 whose indecorous wit Leigh Hunt has edited. 
 
 I see that a Life orf Warren Hastings is just coming out. I mark it 
 for mine. I will try to make as interesting an article, though I fear not 
 so flashy, as that on Clive. 
 
 The state of things at Edinburgh has greatly vexed me. Craig advises 
 me not to go down, at least for some time. But, if I do not go soon, I 
 shall not be able to go at all this year. What do you think about the 
 matter ? 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 There was, indeed, little to tempt him northwards. All Scotland was 
 in a ferment between two great controversies ; and the waves of religious 
 passion, still surging with the excitement of the Church Extension agita- 
 tion, already felt the first gusts of the rising storm which was soon to rage 
 over the more momentous question of Patronage. Lord Melbourne and 
 his colleagues were ignorant of the strength and meaning either of the 
 one movement or the other. Incapable of leading the opinion of the 
 country, they meddled from time to time only to make discords more 
 pronounced, and difficulties more insoluble than ever. The nation was 
 split up into ill-defined, but not, on that account, less hostile, camps. On 
 the platform and at the polling-booth, — in the pulpit, the press, the pres- 
 byteries, and the law courts, — churchmen were arrayed against dissenters, 
 
I 39-41- 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 53 
 
 and against each other. The strife was one whose issues could never be 
 finally determined, except in accordance with principles which Paisley 
 weavers, and Perthshire shepherds, were beginning to understand much 
 more clearly than ever did Her Majesty’s Ministers. It was the general 
 opinion of Macaulay’s friends at Edinburgh that he would do well to avoid 
 exposing himself to the blows, which were sure to fall about the head of a 
 Parliamentary representative, at a time when his constituents were en- 
 g iged in such fierce cross-fighting. He certainly consulted his comfort, 
 and possibly his political interests, when he decided on refraining from an 
 interference which would have offended most parties, and satisfied none. 
 
 London : December 8, 1840. 
 
 Dear Napier, — I shall work at my article on Hunt whenever I have a 
 leisure hour, and shall try to make it amusing to lovers of literary gossip. 
 
 I will not plague you with arguments about the Eastern question. My 
 own opinion has long been made up. Unless England meant to permit a 
 virtual partition of the Ottoman Empire between France and Russia, she 
 had no choice but to act as she has acted. Had the treaty of July not 
 been signed, Nicholas would have been really master of Constantinople 
 and Thiers of Alexandria. The treaty once made, I never would have 
 consented to flinch from it, whatever had been the danger. I am satisfied 
 that the War party in France is insatiable and unappeasable ; that con- 
 cessions would only have strengthened and emboldened it ; and that, after 
 stooping to the' lowest humiliations, w^e should soon have had to fight 
 without allies, and at every disadvantage. The policy' which has been 
 followed I believe to be not only a just and honorable, but eminently a 
 pacific policy. Whether the peace of the world will long be preserved I 
 do not pretend to say; but I firmly hold that the best chance of preserv- 
 ing it was to make the treaty of July, and having made it, to execute it 
 resolutely. For my own part I will tell you plainly that, if the course of 
 events had driven Palmerston to resign, I would have resigned with him, 
 though I had stood alone. Look at what the late Ministers of Louis 
 Philippe have avowed with respect to the Balearic Islands. Were such 
 designs ever proclaimed before, except in a crew of pirates, or a den of 
 robbers ? Look at Barrot’s speeches about England. Is it for the sake 
 of such friendships as this that our country is to abdicate her rank, and 
 sink into a dependency .!* I like war quite as little as Sir William Moles- 
 worth, or Mr. Fonblanque. It is foolish and wicked to bellow for war, 
 merely for war’s sake, like the rump of the Mountain at Paris. I would 
 never make offensive war. I would never offer to any other power a pro- 
 vocation which might be a fair ground for war. But I never would abstain 
 from doing what I had clear right to do, because a neighbor chooses to 
 threaten me with an unjust war ; first, because I believe that such a policy 
 would, in the end, inevitably produce war ; and, secondly, because I think 
 
54 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VIII. 
 
 war, though a very great evil, by no means so great an evil as subjugation, 
 and national humiliation. 
 
 In the present case, I think the course taken by the Government un- 
 exceptionable. If Guizot prevails, — that is to say, if reason, justice, and 
 public law prevail, — we shall have no war. If the writers of the National, 
 and the singers of the Marseillaise prevail, we can have no peace. At 
 whatever cost, at whatever risk, these banditti must be put down ; or 
 they will put down all commerce, civilization, order, and the independence 
 of nations. 
 
 Of course what I write to you is confidential ; not that I should hesi- 
 tate to proclaim the substance of what I have said on the hustings, or in 
 the House of Commons ; but because I do not measure my words in 
 pouring myself out to a friend. But I have run on too long, and should 
 have done better to have given the last half-hour to Wycherley. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 London : January ir, 1841. 
 
 Dear Napier, — As to my paper on the Dramatists, if you are content, 
 so am I. I set less value on it than on anything I have written since I 
 was a boy. 
 
 I have hardly opened Gleig’s book on Warren Hastings, and I cannot 
 yet judge whether I can review it before it is complete. I am not quite 
 sure that so vast a subject may not bear two articles. The scene of the 
 first would lie principally in India. The Rohilla War, the disputes of 
 Hastings and his Council, the character of Francis, the death of Nun- 
 comar, the rise of the Empire of Hyder, the seizure of Benares, and 
 many other interesting matters, would furnish out such a paper. In the 
 second, the scene would be changed to Westminster. There we should 
 have the Coalition ; the India Bill ; the impeachment ; the characters of 
 all the noted men of that time, from Burke, who managed the prosecution 
 of Hastings, down to the wretched Tony Pasquin, who first defended 
 and then libelled him. I hardly know a story so interesting, and of such 
 various interest. And the central figure is in the highest degree striking 
 and majestic. I think Hastings, though far from faultless, one of the 
 greatest men that England ever produced. He had pre-eminent talents for 
 government, and great literary talents too ; fine taste, a princely spirit, 
 and heroic equanimity in the midst of adversity and danger. He was a 
 man for whom nature had done much of what the Stoic philosophy pre- 
 tended, and only pretended, to do for its disciples. “ Mens aequa in 
 arduis ” is the inscription under his picture in the Government House at 
 Calcutta ; and never was there a more appropriate motto. This story 
 has never been told as well as it deserves. Mill’s account of Hastings’ 
 administration is indeed very able ; — the ablest part, in my judgment, of 
 
1839-41- 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 SS 
 
 his work ; — but it is dry. As to Gleig, unless he has greatly improved 
 since he wrote Sir Thomas Munro’s life, he will make very little of his 
 subject. I am not so vain as to think that I can do it full justice ; but the 
 success of my paper on Clive has emboldened me, and I have the advan- 
 tage of being in hourly intercourse with Trevelyan, who is thoroughly well 
 acquainted with the languages, manners, and diplomacy of the Indian Courts. 
 
 Ever yours, T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 London : April 26, 1841. 
 
 Dear Napier, — I have arranged with Leigh Hunt for a paper on the 
 Colmans, which will be ready for the July number. He has written some 
 very pretty lines on the Queen, who has been very kind to him, both by 
 sending him money, and by countenancing his play. It has occurred to 
 me that, if poor Southey dies (and his best friends must now pray for 
 his death), Leigh Hunt might very fitly have the laurel, if that absurd 
 fashion is to be kept up ; or at all events, the pension and the sack. 
 
 I wish that you could move Rogers to write a short character of Lord 
 Holland for us. Nobody knew his house so well ; and Rogers is no mean 
 artist in prose.* 
 
 As to Lord Cardigan, he has deserved some abuse ; he has had ten 
 times as much as he deserved ; and, as I do not choose to say a word 
 more than I think just against him, I come in for a share. You may 
 easily suppose that it troubles me very little. Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 During the session of 1841 Macaulay, as Secretary at War, had very 
 little to do in the House of Commons except to defend Lord Cardigan ; 
 but that in itself was quite sufficient occupation for one Minister. Mr. 
 Kinglake, who enjoyed large, and even over-abundant opportunities for 
 studying his Lordship, has described his character in a passage almost too 
 well known for quotation. “ Having no personal ascendency, and no 
 habitual consideration for the feelings of others, he was not, of course, at 
 all qualified to exert easy rule over English gentlemen. There surely was 
 cruelty in the idea of placing human beings under the military control of 
 an officer at once so arbitrary and so narrow ; but the notion of such a 
 man having been able to purchase for himself a right to hold Englishmen 
 in military subjection is, to my mind, revolting.” Lord Cardigan bought 
 himself up from Cornet to Lieutenant-Colonel in the course of seven 
 years ; and by an expenditure, it is said, of four times as many thousand 
 pounds. So open-handed a dealer had, of course, the pick of the market. 
 He selected a fine cavalry regiment, which he proceeded to drag through 
 a slough of scandal, favoritism, petty tyranny, and intrigue, into that 
 
 * In a letter of May 4th, 1841, Macaulay writes ; “ Lady Holland is so earnest with 
 me to review her husband’s ‘ Protests in the House of Lords’ that I hardly know what to 
 do. I cannot refuse her.” 
 
56 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VIII. 
 
 glare of notoriety which to men of honor is even more painful than the 
 misery which a commanding officer of Lord Cardigan’s type has such 
 unbounded power of inflicting upon his subordinates. Within the space 
 of a single twelvemonth, one of his captains was cashiered for writing 
 him a challenge ; he sent a coarse and insulting verbal message to an- 
 other, and then punished him with prolonged arrest, because he respect- 
 fully refused to shake hands with the officer who had been employed to 
 convey the affront : he fought a duel with a lieutenant who had left the 
 corps, and shot him through the body ; and he flogged a soldier on Sun- 
 day, between the services, on the very spot where, half an hour before, 
 the man’s comrades had been mustered for public worship. The Secre- 
 tary at War had to put the best face he could on these ugly stories. 
 When it was proposed to remove Lord Cardigan from the command of 
 his regiment, Macaulay took refuge in a position which he justly regarded 
 as impregnable. “ Honorable gentlemen should beware how they take 
 advantage of the unpopularity of an individual to introduce a precedent 
 which, if once established, would lead to the most fatal effects to the 
 whole of our military system, and work a great injustice to all officers in 
 Her Majesty’s service. What is the case with officers in the army ? 
 They buy their commissions at a high price, the interest of which would 
 be very nearly equal to the pay they receive ; they devote the best years 
 of their lives to the service, and are liable to be sent to the most unhealthy 
 parts of the globe, where their health, and sometimes their lives, fell a 
 sacrifice. Is it to be expected that men of spirit and honor will consent 
 to enter this service, if they have not, at least, some degree of security 
 for the permanence of their situation : ” — in other words, if they are not 
 allowed to do as they will with their own. 
 
 Meanwhile the political crisis was approaching its agony. The Whig 
 Government was now in such a plight that it could neither stand with 
 decency, nor fall with grace. Their great measure of the year, the Irish 
 Registration Bill, narrowly escaped the perils of a .Second Reading, and 
 was ingloriously wrecked in Committee. Their last year’s Deficit, of 
 something under one million, had this year grown to something over two ; 
 and they could no longer rely upon the wave of popular favor to tide 
 them over their troubles. All the enthusiasm for progress, which still 
 survived, had been absorbed into the ranks of those fier}' reformers, who 
 were urging the crusade against the Corn Laws under the guidance of 
 leaders who sate elsewhere than on the Treasury bench, or did not sit in 
 Parliament at all. As far back as 1839 Macaulay was writing in his diary: 
 “ The cry for free-trade in corn seems to be very formidable. The Times 
 has joined in it. I was quite sure that it would be so. If the Ministers 
 play their game well, they may now either triumph completely, or retire 
 with honor. They have excellent cards, if they know how to use them.” 
 
1839-41* 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 57 
 
 Dire necessity had gradually brought even the most timid members of the 
 Cabinet to acquiesce in these heroic sentiments, and the Whigs at length 
 made up their minds to come before the country in the character of Free- 
 traders. In a letter to Mr. Napier, on the 30th day of April, 1841, Mac- 
 aulay says: “All the chances of our party depend on to-night. We 
 shall play double or quits. I do not know what to expect; and as far as I 
 am concerned I rather hope for a defeat. I pine for liberty and ease, 
 freedom of speech, and freedom of pen. I have all that I want ; a small 
 competence, domestic happiness, good health and spirits. If at forty I 
 can get from under this yoke, I shall not easily be induced to bear it 
 again.” So wrote the Secretary at War in the morning ; and, at four 
 o’clock in the afternoon of the same day, Lord John Russell gave notice 
 that, on the 31st of May, he should move that the House resolve itself 
 into a Committee to consider the Acts relating to the trade in corn. 
 
 But it was too late to make a change of front in the face of the greatest 
 Parliamentary captain of the age, and of a whole phalanx of statesmen, 
 who were undoubtedly superior to the Ministers in debate, and who were 
 generally believed to be far abler as administrators. A great deal was to 
 happen between the 30th of April and the 31st of May. One main feature 
 in the Budget was a proposal to reduce the duty on foreign sugar ; a seri- 
 ous blow to the privilege which the free labor of our own colonies en- 
 joyed, as against the slave labor of the Spanish plantations. Lord 
 Sandon moved an amendment, skilfully framed to catch the votes of 
 Abolitionist members of the Liberal party, and the question was dis- 
 cussed through eight livelong nights, with infinite repetition of argument, 
 and dreariness of detail. Mr. Gladstone, who had early learned that 
 habit of high-toned courtesy which is the surest presage of future great- 
 ness, introduced into the last sentences of a fine speech an allusion that 
 pleased no one so much as him against whom it was directed. “ There is 
 another name,’’ said he, “ strangely associated with the plan of the Min- 
 istry. I can only speak from tradition of the struggle for the abolition of 
 slavery ; but, if I have not been misinformed, there was engaged in it a 
 man who was the unseen ally of Mr. Wilberforce, and the pillar of his 
 strength; a man of profound benevolence, of acute understanding, of 
 indefatigable industry, and of that self-denying temper which is content to 
 work in secret, to forego the recompense of present fame, and to seek for 
 its reward beyond the grave. The name of that man was Zachary Mac- 
 aulay, and his son is a member of the existing Cabinet.” 
 
 In the early morning of the 19th of May, Lord Sandon’s amendment 
 was carried by thirty-six votes ; and, on the morrow, the House was 
 crammed inside and out, in the confident expectation of such an announce- 
 ment as generally follows upon a crushing Ministerial defeat. Neither 
 the friends of the Government, nor its enemies, could believe their ears. 
 
LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VIII. 
 
 S8 
 
 when the Chancellor of the Exchequer, with the self-possessed air of a 
 Minister who has a working majority and a financier who has an available 
 surplus, gave notice that he should bring forward the usual sugar duties 
 in Committee of Ways and Means ; and, before the audience could re- 
 cover its breath. Lord John Russell followed him with a motion that thus 
 House, on its rising, do adjourn to Monday. The Earl of Darlington, in 
 a single sentence of contemptuous astonishment, asked on what day the 
 noble Lord proposed to take the question of the Corn Laws. When 
 that day had been ascertained to be the fourth of June, the subject drop- 
 ped at once ; and an unhappy Member began upon the grievances of the 
 Royal Marines, amidst the buzz of conversation, expressive of gratified 
 or disappointed curiosity, with which, after a thrilling episode, the House 
 relieves its own nerves, and tortures those of the wretch whose ambition 
 or ill-luck has exposed him to the most formidable ordeal which can be 
 inflicted on a public speaker. 
 
 But the matter was not to end thus. The fourth of June, instead of 
 being the first day of the debate on the Corn Laws, was the fifth and last 
 of an obstinate and dubious conflict waged over a direct vote of want of 
 confidence ; which was proposed by the Conservative leader in a quiet 
 and carefully reasoned speech, admirably worthy of the occasion, and of 
 himself. Macaulay, who had shown signs of immense interest while Sir 
 Robert was unfolding his budget of historical parallels and ruling cases, 
 replied on the same night with an ample roll of the instances in which 
 Lord Sunderland, and Mr. Pitt, and Lord Liverpool had accepted defeat 
 without resorting either to Resignation or Dissolution. But all the pre- 
 cedents in the Journals of Parliament, though collected by Hallam and set 
 forth by Canning, would have failed to prove that the country had any 
 interest whatsoever in the continued existence of a Ministry, which had 
 long been powerless, and was rapidly becoming discredited. When Sir 
 James Graham rose, there was a break in that tone of mutual forbearance 
 which the principal speakers, on either side, had hitherto maintained. The 
 Honorable Baronet could not resist the temptation of indulging himself 
 in an invective which, as he proceeded towards his peroration, degenerated 
 into a strain of downright ribaldry ; * but the Government was already 
 
 ♦ “ I cannot address the people of this country in the language of the quotation used 
 by the noble Lord : 
 
 ‘ O passi graviora ; ’ — 
 
 for never was a country cursed with a worse, a more reckless, or a more dangerous 
 Government. The noble Lord, the Secretary for Ireland, talks of ‘ lubricity; ’ but, thank 
 God, we have at last pinned you to something out of which you cannot wriggle ; and, as we 
 have the melancholy satisfaction to know that there is an end to all things, so I can now 
 say with the noble Lord : 
 
 ‘ Dabit Deus his quoque finem ; 
 
 thank God we have at last got rid of such a Government as this.’ ” 
 
I 839-4 »• 
 
 LORD iMACAULAY. 
 
 59 
 
 too far gone to profit by the mistakes, or the excesses, of its adversaries ; 
 and the Opposition triumphed by one vote, in a House fuller by twenty 
 than that which, ten years before, had carried the second reading of the 
 Reform Bill by exactly the same majority. 
 
 Within three weeks Parliament was dissolved, and the Ministers went 
 to the country on the question of a fixed duty on foreign wheat. There 
 could be but one issue to a general election which followed upon such a 
 session, and but one fate in store for a party whose leaders were fain to 
 have recourse to so feeble and perfunctory a cry. Lord Melbourne and 
 his colleagues had touched the Corn Laws too late, and too timidly, for 
 their reputation, and too soon for the public opinion of the constituencies. 
 They sent their supporters on what was indeed a forlorn hope, when, as a 
 sort of political afterthought, they bade them attack the most powerful 
 interest in the nation. North of Trent the Whigs held their ground ; but 
 throughout the southern districts of England, they were smitten hip and 
 thigh from Lincoln to St. Ives. The adherents of the Government had to 
 surrender something of their predominance in the boroughs, while those 
 who sate for the counties were turned out by shoals. There were whole 
 shires which sent back their writs inscribed with an unbroken tale of 
 Protectionists. All the ten Essex members were Conservatives, in town 
 and country alike ; and so were all the twelve members for Shropshire. 
 Before the Irish returns had come to hand, it was already evident that the 
 Ministerial loss would be equivalent to a hundred votes on a stand and 
 fall division. The Whigs had experienced no equally grave reverse since, 
 in 1784, Pitt scattered to the winds the Coalition majority ; and no such 
 other was destined again to befall them. 
 
 Until a day more dark and drear. 
 
 And a more memorable year, 
 
 should, after the lapse of a generation, deliver over to misfortune and 
 defeat 
 
 A mightier host, and haughtier name. 
 
 Scotland, as usual, was not affected by the contagion of reaction, 
 Indeed, the troubles of candidates to the north of the Border proceeded 
 rather from the progressive, than the retrogressive, tendencies of the 
 electors. Macaulay was returned unopposed, in company with Mr. 
 William Gibson Craig ; though he had been threatened with a contest by 
 the more ardent members of that famous party in the Scotch Church 
 which, within two years from that time, was to give such a proof as history 
 will not forget of its willingness to sacrifice, for conscience sake,* things 
 far more precious even than the honor of sending to St. Stephen’s an 
 eloquent and distinguished representative. 
 
 The Disruption of the Scotch Church took place on the i8th of May, 1843. 
 
6o 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VIII, 
 
 To Miss F. Macaulay. 
 
 Edinburgh : June 28, 1841. 
 
 Dearest Fanny, — We have had a meeting. — a little stormy when church 
 matters were touched on, but perfectly cordial on other points. I took 
 the bull by the horns, and have reason to believe that I was right, both 
 in principle, and in policy. A Non-intrusion opposition has been talked 
 of. My language at the meeting displeased the violent churchmen, and 
 they were at one time minded even to coalesce with the Tories against me. 
 The leading Non-intrusionists, however, have had a conference with me; 
 and, though we do not exactly agree, they own that they shall get more 
 from me than from a Tory. I do not think that there is now any serious 
 risk of a contest, and there is none at all of a defeat ; but in the mean time 
 I am surrounded by the din of a sort of controversy which is most distaste- 
 ful to me. “Yes, Mr. Macaulay; that is all very well for a statesman. 
 But what becomes of the headship of our Lord Jesus Christ ? ” And I can- 
 not answer a constituent quite as bluntly as I should answer any one else 
 who might reason after such a fashion. 
 
 Ever yours, T. B. M. 
 
 London : July 12, 1841. 
 
 Dear Ellis, — I cannot send you Virginius, for I have not a copy by me 
 at present, and have not time to make one. When you return I hope to 
 have finished another ballad, on the Lake Regillus. I have no doubt that 
 the author of the original ballad had Homer in his eye. The battle of the 
 Lake Regillus is a purely Homeric battle. I am confident that the ballad- 
 maker has heard of the fight over the body of Patroclus. We will talk 
 more about this. I may, perhaps, publish a small volume next spring. 
 I am encouraged by the approbation of all who have seen the little pieces, 
 I find the unlearned quite as well satisfied as the learned. 
 
 I have taken a very comfortable suite of chambers in the Albany ; and 
 I hope to lead, during some years, a sort of life peculiarly suited to my 
 taste, — college life at the West-end of London. I have an entrance hall, 
 two sitting-rooms, a bed-room, a kitchen, cellars, and two rooms for 
 servants, — all for ninety guineas a year ; and this in a situation which no 
 younger son of a Duke need be ashamed to put on his card. We shall 
 have, I hope, some very pleasant breakfasts there, to say nothing of 
 dinners. My own housekeeper will do very well for a few plain dishes 
 and the Clarendon is within a hundred yards. 
 
 I own that I am quite delighted with our prospects. A strong opposi- 
 tion is the very thing that I wanted. I shall be heartily glad if it lasts till 
 I can finish a History of England, from the Revolution, to the Accession 
 of the House of Hanover. Then I shall be willing to go in again for a 
 few years. It seems clear that we shall be just about 300. This is what 
 I have always supposed. I got through very triumphantly at Edinburgh, 
 
1839 - 41 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 6l 
 
 and very cheap. I believe I can say what no other man in the kingdom 
 can say. I have been four times returned to Parliament by cities of more 
 than a hundred and forty thousand inhabitants; and all those four elec- 
 tions together have not cost me five hundred pounds. 
 
 Your ballads are delightful. I like that of Ips,* Gips, and Johnson 
 best. “ Napoleon ” is excellent, but hardly equal to the “ Donkey wot 
 wouldn’t go.” 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 Macaulay’s predilection for the Muse of the street has already furnished 
 more than one anecdote to the newspapers. It is, indeed, one of the few 
 personal facts about him which up to this time has taken hold of the 
 public imagination. He bought every halfpenny song on which he could 
 lay his hands ; if only it was decent, and a genuine, undoubted poem of 
 the people. He has left a scrap-book containing about eighty ballads ; for 
 the most part vigorous and picturesque enough, however defective they, 
 may be in rhyme and grammar ; printed on flimsy discolored paper, and 
 headed with coarsely executed vignettes, seldom bearing even the most 
 
 * Ips, Gips, and Johnson were three Northumbrian butchers ; who, when riding from 
 market, heard a cry for help, and came upon a woman who had been reduced to the dis- 
 tressful plight in which ladies were so often discovered by knights errant. 
 
 Then Johnson, being a valiant man, a man of courage bold. 
 
 He took his coat from oflE his back to keep her from the cold. 
 
 As they rode over Northumberland, as hard as they could ride. 
 
 She put her fingers in her ears, and dismally she cried. 
 
 Then up there start ten swaggering blades, with weapons in their hands. 
 And riding up to Johnson they bid him for to stand. 
 
 “ It’s I’ll not stand,” says Ipson : “ then no indeed not I.” 
 
 “ Nor I’ll not stand,” says Gipson : I’ll sooner live than die.” 
 
 “ Then I will stand,” says Johnson : “ I’ll stand the while I can. 
 
 I never yet was daunted, nor afraid of any man. 
 
 Johnson thereupon drew his sword, and had disposed of eight out of his ten assailants 
 when he was stabbed from behind by the woman, and died, upbraiding her with having 
 killed 
 
 The finest butcher that ever the sun shone on . 
 
 It is not so easy to identify “ Napoleon ” among a sheaf of ballads entitled “ The Island 
 of St. Helena,” “ Maria Louisa’s Lamentation,” and “ Young Napoleon, or the Bunch 
 of Roses though from internal evidence there is reason to believe that the song in ques- 
 tion was ” Napoleon’s Farewell to Paris,” which commences with an apostrophe so gor- 
 geous as to suggest the idea that the great Emperor’s curious popularity with our trou- 
 badours of the kerbstone is of Irish origin. 
 
 Farewell, ye splendid citadel. Metropolis, called Paris, 
 
 Where Phoebus every morning shoots refulgent beams ; 
 
 Where Flora’s bright Aurora advancing from the Orient 
 With radiant light illumines the pure shining streams, 
 
62 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. VIII. 
 
 remote reference to the subjects which they are supposed to illustrate. 
 Among the gems of his collection he counted “ Plato, a favorite song,” 
 commencing with a series of questions in which it certainly is not easy to 
 detect traces of the literary style employed by the great dialectician : 
 
 Says Plato, “ Why should man be vain. 
 
 Since bounteous Heaven has made him great ? 
 
 Why look with insolent disdain 
 On those not decked with pomp or state ? ” 
 
 It is not too much to say that Macaulay knew the locality, and, at this 
 period of his life, the stock in trade, of every book-stall in London. 
 “ After office hours,” says his brother Charles, “ his principal relaxation 
 was rambling about with me in the back lanes of the City. It was then 
 that he began to talk of his idea of restoring to poetry the legends of 
 which poetry had been robbed by history; and it was in these walks that 
 I heard for the first time from his lips the Lays of Rome, which were not 
 published until some time afterwards. In fact, I heard them in the making, 
 I never saw the hidden mechanism of his mind so clearly as in the course 
 of these walks. He was very fond of discussing psychological and ethical 
 questions ; and sometimes, but more rarely, would lift the veil behind 
 which he habitually kept his religious opinions.” 
 
 On the 19th of August Parliament met, to give effect to the verdict of 
 the polling-booths. An amendment on the Address, half as long as the 
 Address itself, the gist of which lay in a respectful representation to Her 
 Majesty that her present advisers did not possess the confidence of the 
 country, was moved simultaneously in both Houses. It was carried on 
 the first night of the debate by a majority of seventy-two in the Lords, 
 and on the fourth night by a majority of ninety-one in the Commons. 
 Macaulay of course voted with his colleagues ; but he did not raise his 
 voice to deprecate a consummation which on public grounds he could not 
 desire to see postponed, and which as far as his private inclinations were 
 concerned he had for some time past anticipated with unfeigned, and all 
 but unmixed delight. 
 
 London : July 27, 1841. 
 
 Dear Napier, — I am truly glad that you are satisfied. I do not know 
 what Brougham means by objecting to what I have said of the first Lord 
 Holland. I will engage to find chapter and verse for it all. Lady Hol- 
 land told me that she could hardly conceive where I got so correct a notion 
 of him. 
 
 I am not at all disappointed by the elections. They have, indeed, gone 
 very nearly as I expected. Perhaps I counted on seven or eight votes more ; 
 and even these we may get on petition. I can truly say that I have not, for 
 many years, been so happy as I am at present. Before I went to India, I 
 had no prospect in the event of a change of government, except th^t of 
 
1839 - 41 * 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 63 
 
 living by my pen, and seeing my sisters governesses. In India I was an 
 exile. When I came back, I was for a time at liberty ; but I had before 
 me the prospect of parting in a /few months, probably for ever, with my 
 dearest sister and her children. That misery was removed ; but I found 
 myself in office, a member of a Government wretchedly weak, and strug- 
 gling for existence. Now I am free. I am independent. I am in Par- 
 liament as honorably seated as man can be. My family is comfortably 
 off. I have leisure for literature ; yet I am not reduced to the necessity 
 of writing for money. If I had to choose a lot from all that there are in 
 human life, I am not sure that I should prefer any to that which has 
 fallen to me. I am sincerely and thoroughly contented. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
64 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. IX. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 1841-44 
 
 Macaulay settles in the Albany— Letters to Mr. Napier — Warren Hastings, and the Vicar 
 of Wakefield — Leigh Hunt — Macaulay’s doubts about the wisdom of publishing his 
 Essays — Lord Palmerston as a writer — The Lays of Rome — Handsome conduct of 
 Professor Wilson — Re-publication of the Essays — Miss Aikin’s Life of Addison — 
 Macaulay in Opposition — The Copyright question — Recall of Lord Ellenborough — 
 Macaulay as a public speaker : opinions of the Reporters’ Gallery — Tour on the Loire 
 — Letters to Mr. Napier — Payment of the Irish Roman Catholic Clergy — Barfere. 
 
 T he change of Government was anything but a misfortune to Macau- 
 lay. He lost nothing but an income, which he could well do with- 
 out, and the value of which he was erelong to replace many times over by 
 his pen ; and he gained his time, his liberty, the power of speaking what 
 he thought, writing when he would, and living as he chose. The plan of 
 life which he selected was one eminently suited to the bent of his tastes, 
 and the nature of his avocations. Towards the end of the year 1840, 
 Mr. and Mrs. Trevelyan removed to Clapham ; and, on their departure, 
 Macaulay broke up his establishment in Great George Street, and quar- 
 tered himself in a commodious set of rooms on a second floor in the 
 Albany; that luxurious cloister, whose inviolable tranquillity affords so 
 agreeable a relief from the roar and flood of the Piccadilly traffic. His 
 chambers, every corner of which was library, were comfortably, though 
 not very brightly furnished. The ornaments were few, but choice : — 
 half a dozen fine Italian engravings from his favorite great masters ; a 
 handsome French clock, provided with a singularly melodious set of 
 chimes, the gift of his friend and publisher, Mr. Thomas Longman ; and 
 the well-known bronze statuettes of Voltaire and Rousseau (neither of 
 them heroes of his own), * which had been presented to him by Lady 
 Holland as a remembrance of her husband. 
 
 * Macaulay says in a letter to Lord Stanhope : “ I have not made up my mind about 
 John, Duke of Bedford. Hot-headed he certainly was. That is a quality which lies on 
 the surface of a character, and about which there can be no mistake . Whether a man is 
 cold-hearted, or not, is a much more difficult question. Strong emotions may be hid by 4 
 
1841 - 44 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 6 $ 
 
 The first use which Macaulay made of his freedom was in the capacity 
 of a reviewer. Mr. Gleig, who had served with distinction during the 
 last years of the great French war as a regimental officer, after having 
 been five times wounded in action, had carried his merit into the Church, 
 and his campaigning experiences into military literature. The author of 
 one book which is good, and of several which are not amiss, he flew at 
 too high game when he undertook to compile the Memoirs of Warren 
 Hastings. In January, 1841, Macaulay, who was then still at the War 
 Office, wrote to the editor of the Edinburgh Review in these terms : “ I 
 think the new Life of Hastings the worst book that I ever saw. I should 
 be inclined to treat it mercilessly, were it not that the writer, though I 
 never saw him, is, as an Army chaplain, in some sense placed officially 
 under me ; and I think that there would be something like tyranny and 
 insolence in pouring contempt on a person who has a situation from which 
 I could, for aught I know, have him dismissed, and in which I certainly 
 could make him very uneasy. It would be far too Crokerish a proceeding 
 for me to strike a man who would find some difficulty in retaliating. I 
 shall therefore speak of him much less sharply than he deserves ; unless, 
 indeed, we should be out, which is not improbable. In that case I should, 
 of course, be quite at liberty.” 
 
 Unfortunately for Mr. Gleig, the Whigs were relegated to private life 
 in time to set Macaulay at liberty to make certain strictures ; which, in- 
 deed, he was under an absolute obligation to make if there was any mean- 
 ing in the motto of the Edinburgh Review.* The first two paragraphs of 
 the Essay on Warren Hastings originally ran as follows : 
 
 stoical deportment. Kind and caressing manners may conceal an unfeeling disposition. 
 Romilly, whose sensibility was morbidly strong and who died a martyr to it, was by many 
 thought to be incapable of affection. Rousseau, who was always soaking people’s waist- 
 coats with his tears, betrayed and slandered all his benefactors in turn, and sent his chil- 
 dren to the Enfans Trouv^s.” 
 
 Macaulay’s sentiments with regard to Voltaire are pretty fully expressed in his essay 
 on Frederic the Great. In 1853 he visited Ferney. “The cabinet where Voltaire used 
 to write looked, not towards Mont Blanc, of which he might have had a noble view, but 
 towards a terrace and a grove of trees. Perhaps he wished to spare his eyes. He used 
 to complain that the snow hurt them. I was glad to have seen a place about which I had 
 read, and dreamed, so much ; a place which, eighty years ago, was regarded with the 
 deepest interest all over Europe, and visited by pilgrims of the highest rank and greatest 
 genius. I suppose that no private house ever received such a number of illustrious guests 
 during the same time as were entertained in Ferney between 1768 and 1778. I thought 
 of Marmontel, and his ‘ ombre chevalier ; ’ of La Harpe, and his quarrel with the Patri- 
 arch ; of Madame de Genlis, and of all the tattle w-hich fills Grimm’s Correspondence. 
 Lord Lansdowne was much pleased. Ellis less so. He is no Voltairian ; nor am I, ex- 
 actly ; but I take a great interest in the literary history of the last century.” In his diary 
 of the 28th of December, 1850, he writes : “ Read the ‘ Physiology of Monkeys,’ and 
 Collin’s account of Voltaire ; — as mischievous a monkey as any of them.” 
 
 * “Judex damnatur cum nocens absolvitur.” 
 
 VOL. II.— 5 
 
66 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. IX. 
 
 “ This book seems to have been manufactured in pursuance of a contract, by 
 which the representatives of Warren Hastings, on the one part, Iwund themselves to 
 furnish papers, and Mr. Gleig, on the other part, bound himself to furnish praise. 
 It is but just to say that the covenants on both sides have been most faithfully kept ; 
 and the result is before us in the form of three big bad volumes, full of undigested 
 corresp>ondence and undiscerning panegyric. 
 
 “If it were worth while to examine this performance in detail, we could easily 
 make a long article by merely pointing out inaccurate statements, inelegant expres- 
 sions, and immoral doctrines. But it would be idle to waste criticism on a book- 
 maker ; and, whatever credit Mr. Gleig may have justly earned by former works, it 
 is as a bookmaker, and nothing more, that he now comes before us. More eminent 
 men than Mr. Gleig have written nearly as ill as he, when they have stooped to 
 similar drudgery. It would be unjust to estimate Goldsmith by the Vicar of Wake- 
 field, or Scott by the Life of Napoleon. Mr. Gleig is neither a Goldsmith nor a 
 Scott ; but it would be unjust to deny that he is capable of something better than 
 these Memoirs. It would also, we hope and believe, be unjust to charge any Chris- 
 tian minister with the guilt of deliberately maintaining some of the propositions 
 which we find in this book. It is not too much to say, that Mr. Gleig has written 
 several passages which bear the same relation to the ‘ Prince ’ of Machiavelli tliat the 
 ‘ Prince ’ of Machiavelli bears to the ‘ Whole Duty of Man,’ and which would excite 
 admiration in a den of robbers, or on board of a schooner of pirates. But we are 
 willing to attribute these offences to haste, to thoughtlessness, and to that disease of 
 the understanding which may be called the Furor Biographicus, and which is to 
 writers of lives what the goitre is to an Alpine shepherd, or dirt-eating to a negro 
 slave.” 
 
 If this passage was unduly harsh, the punishment which overtook its 
 author was instant and terrible. It is difficult to conceive any calamity 
 which Macaulay would regard with greater consternation than that, in the 
 opening sentences of an article which was sure to be read by everybody 
 who read anything, he should pose before the world for three mortal 
 months in the character of a critic who thought the Vicar of Wakefield a 
 bad book. 
 
 Albany, London : October 26, 1841. 
 
 Dear Napier, — I write chiefly to point out, what I dare say you have 
 already observed, the absurd blunder in the first page of my article. I 
 have not, I am sorry to say, the consolation of being able to blame either 
 you or the printers : for it must have been a slip of my own pen. I have 
 put the “Vicar of Wakefield” instead of the “ History of Greece.” Pray 
 be so kind as to correct this in the errata of the next number. I am, 
 indeed, so much vexed by it that I could wish that the correction were 
 made a little more prominent than usual, and introduced with two or 
 three words of preface. But this I leave absolutely to your taste and 
 judgment. 
 
 Ever yours truly. 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
1841 - 44 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 67 
 
 Albany, London : October 30, 1841. 
 
 Dear Napier, — I have received your letter, and am truly glad to find 
 that you are satisfied with the effect of my article. As to the pecuniary 
 part of the matter, I am satisfied, and more than satisfied. Indeed, as 
 you well know, money has never been my chief object in writing. It was not 
 so even when I was very poor ; and at present I consider myself as one 
 of the richest men of my acquaintance ; for I can well afford to spend a 
 thousand a year, and I can enjoy every comfort on eight hundred. I own, 
 however, that your supply comes agreeably enough to assist me in furnish- 
 ing my rooms, which I have made, unless I am mistaken, into a very 
 pleasant student’s cell. 
 
 And now a few words about Leigh Hunt. He wrote to me yesterday 
 in great distress, and enclosed a letter which he had received from you, 
 and which had much agitated him. In truth, he misunderstood you ; and 
 you had used an expression which was open to some little misconstruction. 
 You told him that you should be glad to have a “ gentlemanlike ” article 
 from him, and Hunt took this for a reflection on his birth. He implored me 
 to tell him candidly whether he had given you any offence, and to advise 
 him as to his course. I replied that he had utterly misunderstood you ; 
 that I was sure you meant merely a literary criticism ; that your taste in 
 composition was more severe than his, more indeed than mine ; that you 
 were less tolerant than myself of little mannerisms springing from pecu- 
 liarities of temper and training ; that his style seemed to you too collo- 
 quial ; that I myself thought that he was in danger of excess in that 
 direction ; and that, when you received a letter from him promising a 
 very “ chatty ” article, I was not surprised that you should caution him 
 against his besetting sin. I said that I was sure that you wished him 
 well, and would be glad of his assistance ; but that he could not expect a 
 person in your situation to pick his words very nicely ; that you had dur- 
 ing many years superintended great literary undertakings ; that you had 
 been under the necessity of collecting contributions from great numbers 
 of writers, and that you were responsible to the public for the whole. 
 Your credit was so deeply concerned that you must be allowed to speak 
 plainly. I knew that you had spoken to men of the first consideration 
 quite as plainly as to him. I knew that you had refused to insert pas- 
 sages written by so great a man as Lord Brougham. I knew that you 
 had not scrupled to hack and hew articles on foreign politics which had 
 been concocted in the Hotels of Ambassadors, and had received the 
 imprimatur of Secretaries of State. I said that therefore he must, as a 
 man of sense, suffer you to tell him what you might think, whether rightly 
 or wrongly, to be the faults of his style. As to the sense which he had 
 put on one or two of your expressions, I took it on myself, as your friend, 
 to affirm that he had mistaken their meaning, and that you would never 
 
68 
 
 LIKE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. IX, 
 
 have used those words if you had foreseen that they would have been so 
 understood. Between ourselves, the word “ gentlemanlike ” was used in 
 rather a harsh way.* Now I have told you what has passed between him 
 and me ; and I leave you to act as you think fit. I am sure that you will 
 act properly and humanely. But I must add that I think you are too hard 
 on his article. 
 
 As to the Vicar of Wakefield, the correction must be deferred, I 
 think, till the appearance of the next Number. I am utterly unable to 
 conceive how I can have committed such a blunder, and failed to notice 
 it in the proofs. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 Albany, London : November 5, 1841. 
 
 Dear Napier, — Leigh Hunt has sent me a most generous and amiable 
 letter, which he has received from you. He seems much touched by it, 
 and more than satisfied, as he ought to be. 
 
 I have at last begun my historical labors ; I can hardly say with how 
 much interest and delight. I really do not think that there is in our 
 literature so great a void as that which I am trying to supply. English 
 history, from 1688 to the French Revolution, is even to educated people 
 almost a terra incognita. I will venture to say that it is quite an even 
 chance whether even such a man as Empson, or Senior, can repeat ac- 
 curately the names of the Prime Ministers of that time in order. The 
 materials for an amusing narrative are immense. I shall not be satisfied 
 unless I produce something which shall for a few days supersede the last 
 fashionable novel on the tables of young ladies. 
 
 I should be very much obliged to you to tell me what are the best 
 sources of information about the Scotch Revolution in 1688, the campaign 
 of Dundee, the massacre of Glencoe, and the Darien scheme. I mean 
 to visit the scenes of all the principal events both in Great Britain and 
 Ireland, and also on the Continent. Would it be worth my while to pass 
 a fortnight in one of the Edinburgh Libraries next summer ? Or do you im- 
 agine that the necessary information is to be got at the British Museum ? 
 
 By the bye, a lively picture of the state of the Kirk is indispensable. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 Albany, London : December 1, 1841. 
 
 Dear Napier, — You do not seem to like what I suggested about Henry 
 the Fifth.f Nor do I, on full consideration. What do you say to an 
 * It is worth notice that “ gentlemanlike ” is the precise epithet which Macaulay ap- 
 plied to his own article on Gladstone’s “ Church and State.” See page 32. 
 
 t Macaulay had written on the loth of November : “ If Longman will send me 
 Mr. Tyler’s book on Henry the Fifth, I will see whether I cannot, with the help of 
 Froissart and Monstrelet, furnish a spirited sketch of that short and most brilliant life.” 
 
LORD MACAULAY, 
 
 1841-44. 
 
 69 
 
 article on Frederic the Great ? Tom Campbell is bringing out a book 
 about His Majesty. 
 
 Now that I am seriously engaged in an extensive work, which will 
 probably be the chief employment of the years of health and vigor which 
 remain to me, it is necessary that I should choose my subjects for reviews 
 with some reference to that work. I should not choose to write an article 
 on some point which I should have to treat again as a historian ; for, if I 
 did, I should be in danger of repeating myself. I assure you that I a 
 little grudge you Westminster Hall, in the paper on Hastings. On the 
 other hand, there are many characters and events which will occupy little 
 or no space in my History, yet with which, in the course of my historical 
 researches, I shall necessarily become familiar. There cannot be a better 
 instance than Frederic the Great. His personal character, manners, 
 studies, literary associates ; his quarrels with Voltaire, his friendship for 
 Maupertuis, and his own unhappy m€tromanie will be very slightly, if at 
 all, alluded to in a History of England.* Yet in order to write the His- 
 tory of England it will be necessary to turn over all the Memoirs, and all 
 the writings, of Frederic, connected with us, as he was, in a most impor- 
 tant war. In this way my reviews would benefit by* my historical re- 
 searches, and yet would not forestall my history, or materially impede its 
 progress. I should not like to engage in any researches altogether alien 
 from what is now my main object. Still less should I like to tell the 
 same story over and over again, which I must do if I were to write on 
 such a subject as the Vernon Correspondence, or Trevor’s History of 
 William the Third. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay, 
 
 In January, 1842, Macaulay writes to Mr. Napier: “As to Frederic, I 
 do not see that I can deal with him well under seventy pages. I shall try 
 to give a life of him after the manner of Plutarch. That, I think, is my 
 forte. The paper on Clive took greatly. That on Hastings, though in 
 my own opinion by no means equal to that on Clive, has been even more 
 successful. I ought to produce something much better than either of 
 those articles with so excellent a subject as Frederic. Keep the last 
 place for me if you can. I greatly regret my never having seen Berlin 
 and Potsdam.” 
 
 Albany, London : April 18. 1842. 
 
 My dear Napier, — I am much obliged to you for your criticisms on my 
 article on Frederic. My copy of the Review I have lent, and cannot 
 therefore refer to it. I have, however, thought over what you say, and 
 
 * At this period of his career Macaulay still purposed, and hoped, to write the history 
 of England “ down to a time which is within the memory of men still living.” 
 
70 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. IX. 
 
 should be disposed to admit part of it to be just. But I have several 
 distinctions and limitations to suggest. 
 
 The charge to which I am most sensible is that of interlarding my 
 sentences with French terms. I will not positively affirm that no such 
 expre.ssion may have dropped from my pen, in writing hurriedly on a 
 subject so very French. It is, however, a practice to which I am extremely 
 averse, and into which I could fall only by inadvertence. I do not really 
 know to what you allude ; for as to the words “ Abbe ” and “ Parc-aux- 
 Cerfs,” which I recollect, those surely are not open to objection. I re- 
 member that I carried my love of English in one or two places almost to 
 the length of affectation. For example I called the “ Place des Victories,” 
 the “place of Victories ; ” and the “ P'ermier General” D’Etioles, a 
 “ publican.” I will look over the article again, when I get it into my 
 hands, and try to discover to what you allude. 
 
 The other charge, I confess, does not appear to me to be equally 
 serious. I certainly should not, in regular history, use some of the phrases 
 which you censure. But I do not consider a review of this sort as regular 
 history, and I really think that, from the highest and most unquestionable 
 authority, I could^ vindicate my practice. Take Addison, the model of 
 pure and graceful writing. In his Spectators I find “ wench,” “ baggage,” 
 “ queer old put,” “ prig,” “ fearing that they should smoke the Knight.” 
 All these expressions I met this morning, in turning over two or three of 
 his papers at brealcfast, I would no more use the word “ bore ” or “ awk- 
 ward squad ” in a composition meant to be uniformly serious and earnest, 
 than Addison would in a State paper have called Louis an “ old put,” or 
 have described Shrewsbury and Argyle as “ smoking ” the design to bring 
 in the Pretender. But I did not mean my article to be uniformly serious 
 and earnest. If you judge of it as you would judge of a regular history, 
 your censure ought to go very much deeper than it does, and to be directed 
 against the substance as well as against the diction. The tone of many 
 passages, nay of whole pages, would justly be called flippant in a regular 
 history. But I conceive that this sort of composition has its own char- 
 acter, and its own laws. I do not claim the honor of having invented it ; 
 that praise belongs to Southey ; but I may say that I have in some points 
 improved upon his design. The manner of these little historical essays 
 bears, I think, the same analogy to the manner of Tacitus or Gibbon 
 which the manner of Ariosto bears to the manner of Tasso, or the manner 
 of Shakespeare’s historical plays to the manner of Sophocles. Ariosto, 
 when he is grave and pathetic, is as grave and pathetic as Tasso ; but he 
 often takes a light fleeting tone which suits him admirably, but which in 
 Tasso would be quite out of place. The despair of Constance in Shake- 
 speare is as lofty as that of CEdipus in Sophocles ; but the levities of the 
 
LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 841-44. 
 
 n 
 
 bastard Faulconbridge would be utterly out of place in Sophocles. Yet 
 we feel that they are not out of place in Shakespeare. 
 
 So with these historical articles. Where the subject requires it, they 
 may rise, if the author can manage it, to the highest altitudes of Thucyd- 
 ides. Then, again, they may without impropriety sink to the levity and 
 colloquial ease of Horace Walpole’s Letters. This is my theory. Whether 
 I have succeeded in the execution is quite another question. You will, 
 however, perceive that I am in no danger of taking similar liberties in 
 my History. I do, indeed, greatly disapprove of those notions which 
 some writers have of the dignity of history. For fear of alluding to the 
 vulgar concerns of private life, they take no notice of the circumstances 
 which deeply affect the happiness of nations. But I never thought of 
 denying that the language of history ought to preserve a certain dignity. 
 I would, however, no more attempt to preserve that dignity in a paper 
 like this on Frederic than I would exclude from such a poem as Don 
 Juan slang terms, because such terms would be out of place in Paradise 
 Lost, or Hudibrastic rhymes, because such rhymes would be shocking in 
 Pope’s Iliad. 
 
 As to the particular criticisms which you have made, I willingly sub- 
 mit my judgment to yours, though I think that I could say something on 
 the other side. The first rule of all writing, — that rule to which every 
 other is subordinate, — is that the words used by the writer shall be such 
 as most fully and precisely convey his meaning to the great body of his 
 readers. All considerations about the purity and dignity of style ought 
 to bend to this consideration. To write what is not understood in its 
 whole force for fear of using some word which was unknown to Swift or 
 Dryden, would be, I 'think, as absurd as to build an Observatory like that 
 at Oxford, from which it is impossible to observe, only for the purpose of 
 exactly preserving the proportions of the Temple of the Winds at Athens. 
 That a word which is appropriate to a particular idea, which everybody 
 high and low uses to express that idea, and which expresses that idea 
 with a completeness which is not equalled by any other single word, and 
 scarcely by any circumlocution, should be banished from writing, seems 
 to be a mere throwing away of power. Such a word as “ talented ” it is 
 proper to avoid ; first, because it is not wanted ; secondl}^ because you 
 never hear it from those who speak very good English. But the word 
 “shirk” as applied to military duty is a word which everybody uses; 
 which is the word, and the only word, for the thing ; which in every regi- 
 ment, and in every ship, belonging to our country is employed ten times 
 a day ; which the Duke of Wellington, or Admiral Stopford, would use 
 in reprimanding an officer. To interdict it, therefore, in what is meant to 
 be familiar, and almost jocose, narrative seems to me rather rigid. 
 
 But I will not go on. I will only repeat that I am truly grateful for 
 
73 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. IX. 
 
 your advice, and that if you will, on future occasions, mark with an as- 
 terisk any words in my proof sheets which you think open to objection, I 
 will try to meet your wishes, though it may sometimes be at the expense 
 of my own. 
 
 Ever yours most truly, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 Albany, London : April 25, 1842. 
 
 Dear Napier, — Thank you for your letter. We shall have no disputes 
 about diction. The English language is not so poor but that I may very 
 well find in it the means of contenting both you and myself. 
 
 I have no objection to try Madame D’Arblay for the October Num- 
 ber. I have only one scruple, — that some months ago Leigh Hunt told me 
 that he thought of proposing that subject to you, and I approved of his 
 doing so. Now, I should have no scruple in taking a subject out of 
 Brougham’s hands, because he can take care of himself, if he thinks him- 
 self ill-used. But I would not do anything that could hurt the feelings of 
 a man whose spirit seems to be quite broken by adversity, and who lies 
 under some obligations to me. 
 
 By the way, a word on a subject which I should be much obliged to 
 you to consider, and advise me upon. I find that the American pub- 
 lishers have thought it worth while to put forth two, if not three, editions 
 of my reviews ; and I receive letters from them, saying that the sale is 
 considerable. I have heard that several people here have ordered them 
 from America. Others have cut them out of old numbers of thie Edin- 
 burgh Review, and have bound them up in volumes. Now, I know that 
 these pieces are full of faults, and that their popularity has been very far 
 beyond their merit ; but, if they are to be republished, it would be better 
 that they should be republished under the eye of the author, and with his 
 corrections, than that they should retain all the blemishes inseparable 
 from hasty writing and hasty printing. Longman proposed something of 
 the kind to me three years ago ; but at that time the American publica- 
 tion had not taken place, which makes a great difference. Give me your 
 council on the subject. 
 
 Ever yours truly, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 Albany, London : June 24, 1842. 
 
 Dear Napier, — I have thought a good deal about republishing my 
 articles, and have made up my mind not to do so. It is rather provok- 
 ing, to be sure, to learn that a third edition is coming out in America, 
 and to meet constantly with smuggled copies. It is still more provoking 
 to see trash, of which I am perfectly guiltless, inserted among my writ- 
 ings. But, on the whole, I think it best that things should remain as they 
 are. The public judges, and ought to judge, indulgently of periodical 
 
1841-44* 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 73 
 
 works. They are not expected to be highly finished. Their natural life 
 is only six weeks. Sometimes their writer is at a distance from the 
 books to which he wants to refer. Sometimes he is forced to hurry 
 through his task in order to catch the post. He may blunder ; he may 
 contradict himself ; he may break off in the middle of a story ; he may 
 give an immoderate extension to one part of his subject, and dismiss 
 an equally important part in a few words. All this is readily forgiven if 
 there be a certain spirit and vivacity in his style. But, as soon as he re- 
 publishes, he challenges a comparison with all the most symmetrical and 
 polished of human compositions. A painter, who has a picture in the 
 Exhibition of the Royal Academy, would act very unwisely if he took it 
 down, and carried it over to the National Gallery. Where it now hangs, 
 surrounded by a crowd of daubs which are only once seen, and then for- 
 gotten, it may pass for a fine piece. He is a fool if he places it side by 
 side with the master-pieces of Titian and Claude. My reviews are gener- 
 ally thought to be better written, and they certainly live longer, than the 
 reviews of most other people ; and this ought to content me. The moment 
 I come forward to demand a higher rank, I must expect to be judged by 
 a higher standard. Fonblanque may serve for a beacon. His leading 
 articles in the Examiner were extolled to the skies, while they were con- 
 sidered merely as leading articles ; for they were, in style and manner, 
 incomparably superior to anything in the Courier, or Globe, or Standard ; 
 nay, to anything in the Times. People said that it was a pity that such 
 admirable compositions should perish; so Fonblanque determined to 
 republish them in a book. He never considered that in that form they 
 would be compared, not with the rant and twaddle of the daily and weekly 
 press, but with Burke’s pamphlets, with Pascal’s letters, with Addison’s 
 Spectators and Freeholders. They would not stand this new test a 
 moment. I shall profit by the warning. What the Yankees may do I 
 cannot help ; but I will not found my pretensions to the rank of a classic 
 on my reviews. I will remain, according to the excellent precept in the 
 Gospel, at the lower end of the table, where I am constantly accosted 
 with “ Friend, go up higher,” and not push my way to the top at the risk 
 of being compelled with shame to take the lowest room. If I live twelve 
 or fifteen years, I may perhaps produce something which I may not be 
 afraid to exhibit side by side with the performance of the old masters. 
 
 Ever yours truly, 
 
 T. B. MACAUL.A.Y. 
 
 Albany, London : July 14, 1842. 
 
 Dear Napier, — As to the next Number, I must beg you to excuse me. 
 I am exceedingly desirous to get on with my History, which is really in a 
 fair train. I must go down into Somersetshire and Devonshire to see the 
 scene of Monmouth’s campaign, and to follow the line of William’s march 
 
74 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. IX. 
 
 from Torquay. I have also another plan of no great importance, but one 
 which will occupy me during some days. You are acquainted, no doubt, 
 with Perizonius’s theory about the early Roman history; — a theory which 
 Niebuhr revived, and which Arnold has adopted as fully established. I 
 have myself not the smallest doubt of its truth. It is, that the stories of 
 the birth of Romulus and Remus, the fight of the Horatii aaid Curatii, 
 and all the other romantic tales which fill the first three or four books of 
 Livy, came from the lost ballads of the early Romans. I amused myself 
 in India with trying to restore some of these long-perished poems. Arnold 
 saw two of them,* and wrote to me in such terms of eulogy that I have 
 been induced to correct and complete them. There are four of them, 
 and I think that, though they are but trifles, they may pass for scholar- 
 like and not inelegant trifles. I must prefix short prefaces to them, and I 
 think of publishing them next November in a small volume. I fear, 
 therefore, that just at present I can be of no use to you. Nor, indeed, 
 should I find it easy to select a subject. Romilly’s Life is a little stale. 
 Lord Cornwallis is not an attractive subject. Clive and Hastings were 
 great men, and their history is full of great events. Cornwallis was a 
 respectable specimen of mediocrity. His wars were not brilliantly suc- 
 cessful ; fiscal reforms were his principal measures ; and to interest 
 English readers in questions of Indian finance is quite impossible. 
 
 I am a little startled by the very careless way in which the review on 
 Duelling has been executed. In the historical part there are really as 
 many errors as assertions. Look at page 439. Ossory never called out Clar- 
 endon. The Peer whom he called out, on the Irish Cattle Bill, was Buck- 
 ingham. The provocation was Buckingham’s remark that whoever op- 
 posed the Bill had an Irish interest, or an Irish understanding. It is 
 Clarendon who tells the whole story. Then, as to the scuffle between 
 Buckingham and a free-trading Lord Dorchester in the lobby, the scuffle 
 was not in the lobby, but at a Conference in the Painted Chamber ; nor 
 had it anything to do with free-trade ; for at a Conference all the Lords 
 are on one side. It was the effect of an old quarrel, and of an accidental 
 jostling for seats. Then, a few lines lower, it is said that Lady Shrews- 
 bury dissipated all her son’s estate, which is certainly not true ; for, soon 
 after he came of age, he raised 40,000/. by mortgage, which at the then 
 rate of interest he never could have done unless he had a good estate. 
 Then, in the next page, it is said that Mohun murdered rather than killed 
 the Duke of Hamilton, — a gross blunder. Those who thought that the 
 
 * Dr. Arnold never saw the Lays in print. Just a month previous to the date of this 
 letter Macaulay wrote to his sister Fanny : “ But poor Arnold ! I am deeply grieved for 
 him and for the public. It is really a great calamity, and will be felt as such by hundreds 
 of families. There was no such school : and from the character of the Trustees, who 
 almost all are strong, and even bitter, Tories, I fear that the place is likely to be filled by 
 somebody of very different spirit.” 
 
1841 - 44 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 75 
 
 Duke was murdered always attributed the murder not to Mohun, but to 
 Mohun’s second, Macartney. The fight between the two principals was 
 universally allowed to be perfectly fair. Nor did Steele rebuke Thornhill 
 for killing Dering, but on the contrary did his best to put Thornhill’s con- 
 duct in the most amiable light, and to throw the whole blame on the bad 
 usages of society. I do not know that there ever was a greater number 
 of mistakes as to matters of fact in so short a space. I have read only 
 those two pages of the article. If it is all of a piece, it is a prodigy 
 indeed. 
 
 Let me beg that you will not mention the little literary scheme which 
 I have confided to you. I should be very sorry that it were known till 
 the time of publication arrives. 
 
 Ever yours truly, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 Albany, London : July 20, 1842. 
 
 Dear Napier, — I do not like to disappoint you; and I really would try 
 to send you something, if I could think of a subject that would suit me. 
 My objections to taking Romilly’s Life are numerous. One of them is 
 that I was not acquainted with him, and never heard him speak, except 
 for a few minutes when I was a child. A stranger, who writes a descrip- 
 tion of a person whom hundreds still living knew intimately, is almost 
 certain to make mistakes ; and, even if he makes no absolute mistake, his 
 portrait is not likely to be thought a striking resemblance by those who 
 knew the original. It is like making a bust from a description. The 
 best sculptor must disappoint those who knew the real face. I felt this 
 even about Lord Holland; and nothing but Lady Holland’s request 
 would have overcome my unwillingness to say anything about his Parlia- 
 mentary speaking, which I had never heard. I had, however, known him 
 familiarly in private ; but Romilly I never saw except in the House of 
 Commons. 
 
 You do not quite apprehend the nature of my plan about the old 
 Roman ballads ; but the explanation will come fast enough. I wish from 
 my soul that I had written a volume of my History. I have not written 
 half a volume ; nor do I consider what I have done as more than rough 
 hewn. 
 
 I hear with some concern that Dickens is going to publish a most 
 curious book against the Yankees. I am told that all the Fearons, Trol- 
 lopes, Marryats, and Martineaus together have not given them half so 
 much offence as he will give. This may be a more serious affair than 
 the destruction of the Caroline, or the mutiny in the Creole.* 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 * The Caroline was an American' steamboat, which had been employed to convey 
 
76 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. IX. 
 
 In a subsequent letter Macaulay says : “ I wish Dickens’s book to be 
 kept for me. I have never written a word on that subject ; and I have a 
 great deal in my head. Of course I shall be courteous to Dickens, whom 
 I know, and whom I think both a man of genius, and a good-hearted 
 man, in spite of some faults of taste.” 
 
 Mr. Napier was very anxious to turn the enforced leisure of the Whig 
 leaders to some account, by getting an article for his October Number 
 from the Foreign Secretary of the late Administration. In August 1842 
 Macaulay writes : “ I had a short talk about the Edinburgh Review with 
 Palmerston, just before he left London. I told him, what is quite true, 
 that there were some public men of high distinction whom I would never 
 counsel to write, both with a view to the interests of the Review, and to 
 their own ; but that he was in no danger of losing by his writings any part 
 of the credit which he had acquired by speech and action. I was quite 
 sincere in this, for he writes excellently.” Lord Palmerston, after think- 
 ing the matter over, sent Macaulay a letter promising to think it over a 
 little more; and stating, in his free pleasant style, the difficulties which 
 made him hesitate aboui acceding to the proposal. “ If one has any good 
 hits to make about the present state of foreign affairs one feels disposed 
 to reserve them for the House of Commons; while, in order to do justice 
 to the British Government, it might now and then be necessary to say 
 things about some foreign Governments which would not come altogether 
 well from anybody who had been, and might be thought likely again at 
 some future time to be, concerned in the management of affairs. Perhaps 
 you will say that the last consideration need not restrain the pen of any of 
 us, according to present appearances.” 
 
 Albany, London : August 22, 1842. 
 
 Dear Ellis, — For the ballads many thanks. Some of them are capital. 
 
 I have been wishing for your advice. My little volume is nearly 
 finished, and I must talk the prefaces over with you fully. I have made 
 some alterations which I think improvements, and, in particular, have 
 shortened the Battle of Regill us by near thirty lines, without, I think, 
 omitting any important circumstance. 
 
 It is odd that we never, in talking over this subject, remembered that 
 in all probability, the old Roman lays were in the Saturnian metre ; and 
 it is still more odd that my ballads should, by mere accident, be very like 
 the Saturnian metre : quite as like, indeed, as suits the genius of our 
 language. The Saturnian metre is acatalectic dimeter lambic, followed 
 
 arms and stores to the Canadian insurgents. A party of loyalists seized the vessel, and 
 sent her down the Falls of Niagara. The Creole difficulty arose from the mutiny of a 
 ship-load of Virginian slaves, who, in an evil hour for their owner, bethought themselves 
 that they were something better than a cargo of cattle. 
 
LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 1841-44. 
 
 77 
 
 by three trochees. A pure Saturnian line is preserved by some gramma- 
 rian ; 
 
 Dabunt malum Metelli Nxvio poets. 
 
 Now, oddly enough, every tetrastich, and almost every distich, of my 
 ballads opens with an acatalectic dimeter lambic line. 
 
 Lars Porsena of Clusium 
 
 is precisely the same with 
 
 Dabunt malum Metelli. 
 
 I have not kept the trochees, which really would be very unpleasing to an 
 English ear. Yet there are some verses which the omission of a single 
 syllable would convert into pure Saturnian metre, as 
 
 In Alba’s lake no fisher 
 (His) nets to-day is flinging. 
 
 Is not this an odd coincidence ? 
 
 The only pure Saturnian line, that I have been able to call to mind, in 
 all English poetry, is in the nursery song 
 
 The queen was in her parlor 
 • Eating bread and honey. 
 
 Let me know when you come to town. I shall be here. Fix a day 
 for dining with me next week, the sooner after your arrival the better. I 
 must give you one good boring about these verses before I deliver them 
 over to the printer’s devils. 
 
 Have you read Lord Londonderry’s Travels ? I hear that they contain 
 the following pious expressions of resignation to the divine will : “ Here 
 I learned that Almighty God, for reasons best known to Himself, had been 
 pleased to burn down my house in the county of Durham.” Is not the 
 mixture of vexation with respect admirable ? 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 In a later letter to Mr. Ellis, Macaulay says : “ Your objection to the 
 ' lines 
 
 * By heaven,’ he said, * yon rebels 
 Stand manfully at bay,’ 
 
 is quite sound. I also think the word ‘ rebels * objectionable, as raising 
 certain modern notions about allegiance, divine right. Tower Hill, and the 
 Irish Croppies, which are not at all to the purpose. What do you say to 
 this couplet ? 
 
 Quoth he, * The she-wolf’s litter 
 Stand savagely at bay.’ 
 
 * Litter ’ is used by our best writers as governing the plural number.” 
 
78 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. IX. 
 
 . Albany : September 29, 1842. 
 
 Dear Ellis, — Many thanks for the sheets. I am much obliged to 
 Adolphus for the trouble which he has taken. Some of his criticisms are 
 quite sound. I admit that the line about bringing Lucrece to shame is 
 very bad, and the worse for coming over so often.* I will try to mend it. 
 I admit, also, that the inventory of spoils in the last poem is, as he says, 
 too long. I will see what can be done with it. He is not, I think, in the 
 right about “the true client smile.” “The true client smile” is not 
 exactly in the style of our old ballads ; but it would be dangerous to make 
 these old ballads models, in all points, for satirical poems which are 
 supposed to have been produced in a great strife between two parties, 
 crowded together within the walls of a republican city. And yet even in 
 an old English ballad I should not be surprised to find an usurer described 
 as having the “ righte Jew grinne.” 
 
 I am more obliged to Adolphus than I can express for his interest in 
 these trifles. As to you, I need say nothing. But pray be easy, I am 
 so, and shall be so. Every book settles its own place. I never did, and 
 never will, directly or indirectly take any step for the purpose of obtaining 
 praise, or deprecating censure. Longman came to ask what I wished him 
 to do before the volume appeared. I told him that I stipulated for nothing 
 but that there should be no puffing of any sort. I have told Napier that 
 I ask it, as a personal favor, that my name and writings may nei'^er be 
 mentioned in the Edinburgh Review. I shall certainly leave this volume 
 as the ostrich leaves her eggs, in the sand. 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 Albany : October ig, 1842. 
 
 Dear Napier, — This morning I received Dickens’s book. I have now 
 read it. It is impossible for me to review it ; nor do I think that you 
 would wish me to do so. I cannot praise it, and I will not cut it up. I 
 cannot praise it, though it contains a few lively dialogues and descriptions ; 
 for it seems to me to be on the whole a failure. It is written like the 
 worst parts of Humphrey’s Clock. What is meant to be easy and sprightly 
 is vulgar and flippant, as in the first two pages. What is meant to be , 
 fine is a great deal too fine for me, as the description of the Fall of 
 Niagara. A reader who wants an amusing account of the United States 
 had better go to Mrs. Trollope, coarse and malignant as she is. A reader 
 who wants information about American politics, manners, and literature, 
 had better go even to so poor a creature as Buckingham. In short, I 
 * It is evident from this letter that the line 
 
 “ That brought Lucrece to shame” 
 originally stood wherever the line 
 
 “ That wrought the deed of shame ” 
 
 stands now. 
 
LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 1841-44. 
 
 79 
 
 pronounce the book, in spite of some gleams of genius, at once frivolous 
 and dull. 
 
 Therefore I will not praise it. Neither will I attack it; first, because 
 I have eaten salt with Dickens ; secondly, because he is a good man, and 
 a man of real talent ; thirdly, because he hates slavery as heartily as I do ; 
 and, fourthly, because I wish to see him enrolled in our blue and yellow 
 corps, where he may do excellent service as a skirmisher and sharp- 
 shooter. 
 
 Ever yours truly, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 My little volume will be out, I think, in the course of the week. But 
 all that I leave to Longman, except that I have positively stipulated that 
 there shall be no puffing. 
 
 The sails of the little craft could dispense with an artificial breeze. 
 Launched without any noise of trumpets, it went bravely down the wind 
 of popular favor. Among the first to discern its merits was Macaulay’s 
 ancient adversary. Professor Wilson, of Edinburgh, who greeted it in 
 Blackwood’s Magazine with a paean of hearty, unqualified panegyric ; 
 which was uttered with all the more zest because the veteran gladiator of 
 the press recognized an opportunity for depreciating, by comparison with 
 Macaulay, the reigning verse-writers of the day. 
 
 “ What ! Poetry from Macaulay ? Ay, and why not ? The House hushes itself to 
 hear him, even though Stanley is the cry 1 If he be not the first of critics (spare our 
 blushes), who is? Name the Young Poet who could have written the Armada. 
 The Young Poets all want fire; Macaulay is full of fire. The Young Poets are 
 somewhat weakly ; he is strong. The Y oung Poets are rather ignorant ; his knowl- 
 edge is great. The Young Poets mumble books; he devours them. The Young 
 Poets dally with their subject ; he strikes its heart. The Young Poets are still their 
 own heroes ; he sees but the chiefs he celebrates. The Young Poets weave dreams 
 with shadows transitory as clouds without substance ; he builds realities lasting as 
 rocks. The Young Poets steal from all and sundry, and deny their thefts ; he robs 
 in the face of day. Whom? Homer.” 
 
 Again and again in the course of his article Christopher North indulges 
 himself in outbursts of joyous admiration, which he had doubtless re- 
 pressed, more or less consciously, ever since the time when, “ twenty- 
 years ago, like a burnished fly in pride of May, Macaulay bounced through 
 the open windows of Knight’s Quarterly Magazine.” He instructs his 
 readers that a war-song is not to be skimmed through once, and then laid 
 aside like a pamphlet on the Corn Laws. 
 
 “ Why, Sir Walter kept reciting his favorite ballads almost every day for forty 
 years, and with the same fire about his eyes, till even they grew dim at last. Sir 
 Walter would have rejoiced in Horatius as if he had been a doughty Douglas. 
 
8o 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. IX. 
 
 Now by our sire Quirinus 
 It was a goodly sight 
 To see the thirty standards 
 Swept down the tide of flight. 
 
 That is the way of doing business 1 A cut and thrust style, without any flourish. 
 Scott’s style when his blood was up, and the first words came like a vanguard im- 
 patient for battle.” 
 
 The description of Virginia’s death is pronounced by the Reviewer to 
 be “ the only passage in which Mr. Macaulay has sought to stir up pathetic 
 emotion. Has he succeeded ? We hesitate not to say that he has, to our 
 heart’s desire. This effect has been wrought simply by letting the course 
 of the great natural affections flow on, obedient to the promptings of a 
 sound manly heart.” Slight as it is, this bit of criticism shows genuine 
 perspicacity. Frequent allusions in Macaulay’s journals leave no doubt 
 that in these lines he intended to embody his feelings towards his little 
 niece Margaret, now Lady Holland, to whom then, as always, he was 
 deeply and tenderly attached. 
 
 By making such cordial amends to an author whom in old days he had 
 unjustly disparaged. Professor Wilson did credit to his own sincerity: but 
 the public approbation needed no prompter, either then or thereafter. 
 Eighteen thousand of the Lays of Ancient Rome were sold in ten years ; 
 forty thousand in twenty years; and, by June, 1875, upwards of a hundred 
 thousand copies had passed into the hands of readers. But it is a work 
 of superfluity to measure by statistics the success of poems every line of 
 which is, and long has been, too hackneyed for quotation. 
 
 Albany, London : November 16, 1842. 
 
 Dear Napier, — On my return from a short tour I found your letter On 
 my table. I am glad that you like my Lays, and the more glad because I 
 know that, from good-will to me, you must have been anxious about their 
 fate. I do not wonder at your misgivings. I should have felt similar 
 misgivings if I had learned that any person, however distinguished by 
 talents and knowledge, whom I knew as a writer only by prose works, 
 was about to publish a volume of poetry. Had I seen advertised a poem 
 by Mackintosh, by Dugald Stewart, or even by Burke, I should have 
 argued nothing but failure ; and I am far from putting myself on a level 
 even with the least of the three. So much the better for me. Where 
 people look for no merit, a little merit goes a long way ; and, without the 
 smallest affectation of modesty, I confess that the success of my little 
 book has far exceeded its just claims. I shall be in no hurry to repeat the 
 experiment ; for I am well aware that a second attempt would be made 
 under much less favorable circumstances. A far more severe test would 
 now be applied to my verses. I shall, therefore, like a wise gamester, 
 leave off while I am a winner, and not cry Double or Quits. 
 
1 84 1 - 44 - 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 8l 
 
 As to poor Leigh Hunt, I wish that I could say, with you, that I heard 
 nothing from him. I have a letter from him on my table asking me to 
 lend him money, and lamenting that my verses want the true poetical 
 aroma which breathes from Spenser’s Faery Queen. I am much pleased 
 with him for having the spirit to tell me, in a begging letter, how little he 
 likes my poetry. If he had praised me, knowing his poetical creed as I 
 do, I should have felt certain that his praises were insincere. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 Albany, London : Decembers, 1842. 
 
 Dear Napier, — Longman has earnestly pressed me to consent to the 
 republication of some of my reviews. The plan is one of which, as you 
 know, I had thought ; and which, on full consideration, I had rejected. 
 But there are new circumstances in the case. The American edition is 
 coming over by wholesale.* To keep out the American copies by legal 
 measures, and yet to refuse to publish an edition here, would be an odious 
 course, and in the very spirit of the dog in the manger, I am, therefore, 
 strongly inclined to accede to Longman’s proposition. And if the thing is 
 to be done, the sooner the better. 
 
 I am about to put forth a second edition of my Roman Lays. They 
 have had great success. By the bye, Wilson, whom I never saw but at 
 your table, has behaved very handsomely about them. I am not in the 
 habit of returning thanks for favorable criticism ; for, as Johnson says in 
 his Life of Lyttleton, such thanks must be paid either for flattery or for 
 justice. But, when a strong political opponent bestows fervent praise on 
 a work which he might easily depreciate by means of sly sneer and cold 
 commendations, and which he might, if he chose, pass by in utter silence, 
 he ought, I think, to be told that his courtesy and good feeling are justly 
 appreciated. I should be really obliged to you if, when you have an op- 
 portunity, you will let Professor Wilson know that his conduct has affect- 
 ed me as generous conduct affects men not ungenerous. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 Macaulay spent the first weeks of 1843 preparing for the republica- 
 tion of his Essays. “ I find from many quarters,” he writes to Mr. Long- 
 man on the 25th of January, “ that it is thought that the article on South- 
 ey’s edition of Bunyan ought to be in the collection. It is a favorite with 
 the Dissenters.” And again : “ Pray omit all mention of my Prefatory 
 Notice. It will be very short and simple, and ought by no means to be 
 
 * In a subsequent letter Macaulay writes : “ The question is now merely this, whether 
 Longman and I, or Carey and Hart of Philadelphia, shall have the supplying of the 
 English market with these papers. The American copies are coming over by scores, and 
 measures are being taken for bringing them over by hundreds.” 
 
 VoL. IL— 6 
 
82 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. IX. 
 
 announced beforehand as if it were anything elaborate and important.” 
 The world was not slow to welcome, and, having welcomed, was not in a 
 hurry to shelve, a book so unwillingly and unostentatiously presented to 
 its notice. Upwards of a hundred and twenty thousand copies have been 
 sold in the United Kingdom alone by a single publisher. Considerably 
 over a hundred and thirty thousand copies of separate essays have been 
 printed in the series known by the name of the Traveller’s Library. And it 
 is no passing, or even waning popularity which these figures represent. Be- 
 tween the years 1843 the yearly sales by Messrs. Longman of the 
 
 collected editions averaged 1 230 copies ; between 1853 and 1864, they rose 
 to an average of 4700 ; and, since 1864, more than six thousand copies 
 have, one year with another, been disposed of annually. The publishers 
 of the United States are still pouring forth reprints by many thousands at 
 a time ; and in British India, and on the Continent of Europe, these pro- 
 ductions, which their author classed as ephemeral, are so greedily read 
 and so constantly reproduced, that, taking the world as a whole, there is 
 probably never a moment when they are out of the hands of the composi- 
 tor. The market for them in their native country is so steady, and ap- 
 parently so inexhaustible, that it perceptibly falls and rises with the 
 general prosperity of the nation ; and it is hardly too much to assert that 
 the demand for Macaulay varies with the demand for coal. The astonish- 
 ing success of this celebrated book must be regarded as something of far 
 higher consequence than a mere literary or commercial triumph. It is no 
 insignificant feat to have awakened in hundreds of thousands of minds 
 the taste for letters and the yearning for knowledge ; and to have shown 
 by example that, in the interests of its own fame, genius can never be so 
 well employed as on the careful and earnest treatment of serious themes. 
 
 Albany, London : January 18, 1843. 
 
 Dear Napier, — Another paper from me is at present out of the ques- 
 tion. One in half a year is the very utmost of which I can hold oat any 
 hopes. I ought to give my whole leisure to my History ; and I fear that, 
 if I suffer myself to be diverted from that design as I have done, I shall, 
 like poor Mackintosh, leave behind me the character of a man who would 
 have done something, if he had concentrated his powers, instead of frit- 
 tering them away. I do assure you that, if it were not on your account, I 
 should have already given up writing for the Review at all. There are 
 people who can carry on twenty works at a time. Southey would write 
 the History of Brazil before breakfast, an ode after breakfast, then the 
 History of the Peninsular War till dinner, and an article for the Quarterly 
 Review in the evening. But I am of a different temper. I never write to 
 please myself until my subject has for the time driven every other out of 
 my head. When I turn from one work to another, a great deal of time is 
 
LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 1841-44. 
 
 83 
 
 lost in the mere transition. I must not go on dawdling and reproaching 
 myself all my life. Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 Albany, London : April ig, 1843. 
 
 Dear Napier, — You may count on an article from me on Miss Aikin’s 
 Life of Addison. Longman sent me the sheets as they were printed. I 
 own that I am greatly disappointed. There are, to be sure, some charm- 
 ing letters by Addison which have never yet been published ; but Miss 
 Aikin’s narrative is dull, shallow, and inaccurate. Either she has fallen 
 off greatly since she wrote her former works, or I have become much 
 more acute since I read them. By the bye, I have an odd story to tell 
 you. I was vexed at observing, in a very hasty perusal of the sheets, a 
 great number of blunders, any of which singly was discreditable, and all 
 of which united were certain to be fatal to the book. To give a few 
 specimens, the lady called Evelyn “ Sir John Evelyn ; ” transferred 
 Christ Church from Oxford to Cambridge ; confounded Robert, Earl of Sun- 
 derland, James the Second’s Minister, with his son Charles, Earl of Sunder- 
 land, George the First’s Minister ; confounded Charles Montague, Earl 
 of Halifax, with George Savile, Marquis of Halifax; called the Marquis 
 of Hertford “ Earl of Hertford,” and so forth. I pointed the grossest 
 blunders out to I.,ongman, and advised him to point them out to her with- 
 out mentioning me. He did so. The poor woman could not deny that 
 my remarks were just ; but she railed most bitterly both at the publishers, 
 and at the Mr. Nobody, who had had the insolence to find any blemish in 
 her writings. At first she suspected Sedgwick. She now knows that she 
 was wrong in that conjecture, but I do not think that she has detected me. 
 This, you will say, is but a bad return to me for going out of my way to 
 save her book from utter ruin. I am glad to learn that, with all her 
 anger, she has had the sense to cancel some sheets in consequence of Mr, 
 Nobody’s criticisms. 
 
 My collected reviews have succeeded well. Longman tells me that 
 he must set about a second edition. In spite, however, of the applause 
 and of the profit, neither of which I despise, I am sorry that it had 
 become necessary to republish these papers. There are few of them 
 which I read with satisfaction. Those few, however, are generally the 
 latest, and this is a consolatory circumstance. The most hostile critic must 
 admit, I think, that I have improved greatly as a writer. The third vol- 
 ume seems to me worth two of the second, and the second worth ten of the 
 first. 
 
 Jeffrey is at work on his collection. It will be delightful, no doubt ; 
 but to me it will not have the charm of novelty ; for I have read, and re- 
 read, his old articles till I know them by heart. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
84 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. IX. 
 
 Albany: June 15, 1843. 
 
 Dear Napier, — I mistrust my own judgment of what I write so much, 
 that I shall not be at all surprised if both you and the public think my 
 paper on Addison a failure ; but I own that I am partial to it. It is now 
 more than half finished. I have some researches to make before I pro- 
 ceed ; but I have all the rest in my head, and shall write very rapidly. I 
 fear that I cannot contract my matter into less than seventy pages. You 
 will not, I think, be inclined to stint me. 
 
 I am truly vexed to find Miss Aikin’s book so very bad that it is im- 
 possible for us, with due regard to our own character, to praise it. All 
 that I can do is to speak civilly of her writings generally, and to express 
 regret that she should have been nodding. I have found, I will venture 
 to say, not less than forty gross blunders as to matters of fact in the first 
 volume. Of these I may, perhaps, point out eight or ten as courteously 
 as the case will bear. Yet it goes much against my feelings to censure 
 any woman, even with the greatest lenity. My taste and Croker’s are by 
 no means the same. I shall not again undertake to review any lady’s 
 book till I know how it is executed. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 Albany, London : July 22, 1843. 
 
 Dear Napier, — I hear generally favorable opinions about my article. 
 I am much pleased with one thing. You may remember how confidently 
 I asserted that “little Dicky” in the old Whig was the nickname of some 
 comic actor.* Several people thought that I risked too much in assuming 
 
 * “ One calumny, which has been often repeated, and never yet contradicted, it is our 
 duty to expose. It is asserted, in the Biographia Britannica, that Addison designated 
 Steele as ‘little Dicky.’ This assertion was repeated by Johnson, who had never seen 
 the Old Whig, and was therefore excusable. It has also been repeated by Miss Aikin, 
 who has seen the Old Whig, and for whom therefore there is less excuse. Now, it is true 
 that the words ‘ little Dicky ’ occur in the Old Whig, and that Steele’s name was Richard. 
 It is equally true that the w'ords ‘little Isaac’ occur in the Duenna, and that Newton’s 
 name was Isaac. But we confidently affirm that Addison’s little Dicky had no more to do 
 with Steele, than Sheridan’s little Isaac with Newton. If we apply the words ‘little 
 Dicky’ to Steele, we deprive a very lively and ingenious passage, not only of all its wit, 
 but of all its meaning. Little Dicky was evidently the nickname of some comic actor who 
 played the usurer Gomez, then a most popular part, in Dryden’s Spanish Friar.” 
 
 This passage occurs in Macaulay’s article on Miss Aikin’s Life and Writings of Addi- 
 son, as it originally appeared in July, 1843. There is a marked difference of form between 
 this, and all his previous contributions to the Edinburgh Review. The text of the article 
 on Addison is, with few and slight variations, the text of the Collected Edition ; while all 
 that relates to Miss Aikin is relegated to the foot-notes. Thus in the note on page 239 we 
 read: “Miss Aikin says that the Guardian was launched in November, 1713. It was 
 launched in March, 1713, and was given over in the following September.” And in the 
 note on page 247 : “ Miss Aikin has been most unfortunate in her account of this Rebel- 
 lion. We will notice only two errors, which occur in one page. She says that the Re- 
 
I S4 1 -44- 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 8s 
 
 this so strongly on mere internal evidence. I have now, by an odd acu- 
 dent, found out who the actor was. An old prompter of Drury Lane 
 Theatre, named Chetwood, published, in 1749, a small volume, containing 
 an account of all the famous performers whom he remembered, arranged 
 in alphabetical order. This little volume I picked up yesterday, for six- 
 pence, at a book-stall in Holborn ; and the first name on which I opened 
 was that of Henry Norris, a favorite comedian, who was nicknamed Dicky, 
 because he first obtained celebrity by acting the part of Dicky in the Trip 
 to the Jubilee. It is added that his figure was very diminutive. He was, 
 it seems, in the height of his popularity at the very time when the Old 
 Whig was written. You will, I think, agree with me that this is decisive. 
 
 I am a little vain of my sagacity, which I really think would have dubbed 
 me a “ vir clarissimus ” if it had been shown on a point of Greek or Latin 
 learning ; but I am still more pleased that the vindication of Addison from 
 an unjust charge, which has been universally believed since the publication 
 of the Lives of the Poets, should thus be complete. Should you have any 
 objection to inserting a short note at the end of the next number.? Ten 
 lines would suffice ; and the matter is really interesting to all lovers of 
 literary history. 
 
 As to politics, the Ministers are in a most unenviable situation ; and, as 
 far as I can see, all the chances are against them. The immense name of 
 the Duke, though now only a “ magni nominis umbra,” is of great service 
 to them. His assertion, unsupported by reasons, saved Lord Ellenborough. 
 His declaration that sufficient precautions had been taken against an 
 outbreak in Ireland has done wonders to calm the public mind. Nobody 
 can safely venture to speak in Parliament with bitterness, or contempt, of 
 any measure which he chooses to cover with his authority. But he is 
 seventy-four, and, in constitution, more than seventy-four. His death will 
 be a terrible blow to these people. I see no reason to believe that the 
 Irish agitation will subside of itself, or that the death of O’Connell would 
 quiet it. On the contrary, I much fear that his death would be the signal 
 for an explosion. The aspect of foreign politics is gloomy. The finances 
 are in disorder. Trade is in distress. Legislation stands still. The To- 
 ries are broken up into three or more factions, which hate each othfer more 
 than they hate the Whigs ; the faction which stands by Peel, the faction 
 which is represented by Vivian and the Morning Post, and the faction of 
 
 bellion was undertaken in favor of James the Second, who had been fourteen years dead, 
 and that it was headed by Charles Edward, who was not born.” 
 
 Macaulay was now no longer able to conceal from himself the fact, that, whether he 
 liked it or not, his Essays would live ; and he accordingly took pains to separate the part 
 of his work which was of permanent literary value, from those passing strictures upon his 
 author which as a Reviewer he was bound to make, in order to save himself the trouble of 
 subsequent revision and expurgation. 
 
86 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. IX. 
 
 Smythe and Cochrane. I should not be surprised if, before the end of the 
 next session, the Ministry were to fall from mere rottenness. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 Macaulay was right in thinking that the Government was rotten, and 
 Lord Palmerston* in believing that it was safe. Sir Robert Peel was not 
 the first Minister, and perhaps he is not destined to be the last, who has 
 been chained down to office by the passive weight, of an immense but dis- 
 contented majority. Unable to retire in favor of his opponents, and com- 
 pelled to disgust his supporters at every turn, he had still before him three 
 more years of public usefulness and personal mortification. One, at any 
 rate, among his former antagonists did much to further his measures, and 
 little or nothing to aggravate his difficulties. The course which Macaulay 
 pursued between the years 1841 and 1846 deserves to be studied as a 
 model of the conduct which becomes a statesman in opposition. In fol- 
 lowing that course he had a rare advantage. The continuous and absorb- 
 ing labors of his History filled his mind and occupied his leisure, and 
 relieved him from the craving for occupation and excitement that lies at 
 the root of half the errors to which politicians out of office are prone; — 
 errors which the popular judgment most unfairly attributes to lack of 
 patriotism, or excess of gall. In the set party fights, that from time to 
 time took place, he spoke seldom, and did not speak his best ; but, when 
 subjects came to the front on which his knowledge was great, and his 
 opinion strongly marked, he interfered with decisive and notable effect 
 It has been said of Macaulay, with reference to this period of his politi- 
 cal career, that no member ever produced so much effect upon the pro 
 ceedings of Parliament who spent so many hours in the Library, and so 
 few in the House. Never has any public man, unendowed with the autho- 
 rity of a Minister, so easily moulded so important a piece of legislation 
 into a shape which so accurately accorded with his own views, as did 
 Macaulay the Copyright Act of 1842. In 1814 the term, during which the 
 right of printing a book was to continue private property, had been fixed 
 at twenty-eight years from the date of publication. The shortness of this 
 term had always been regarded as a grievance by authors and by publish- 
 ers, and was beginning to be so regarded by the world at large. “ The 
 family of Sir Walter Scott,” says Miss Martineau in her History of Eng- 
 land, “ stripped by his great losses, might be supposed to have an honor- 
 able provision in his splendid array of works, which the world was 'still 
 buying as eagerly as ever : but the copyright of Waverley was about to 
 expire; and there was no one who could not see the injustice of transfer- 
 ring to the public a property so evidently sacred as theirs.” 
 
 * See page 76. 
 
1 *^ 4 1 - 44 - 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 87 
 
 An arrangement which bore hardly upon the children of the great 
 Scotchman, whose writings had been popular and profitable from the first, 
 was nothing less than cruel in the case of authors who, after fighting a life- 
 long battle against the insensibility of their countrymen, had ended by 
 creating a taste for their own works. Wordsworth’s poetry was at length 
 being freely bought by a generation which he himself had educated to 
 enjoy it ; but, as things then stood, his death would at once rob his heirs 
 of all share in the produce of the Sonnets and the Ode to Immortality, and 
 would leave them to console themselves as they best might with the copy- 
 right of the Prelude. Southey (firmly possessed, as he was, with the no- 
 tion that posterity would set the highest value upon those among his pro- 
 ductions which living men were the least disposed to purchase), had given 
 it to be understood that in the existing state of the law, he should under- 
 take no more works of research like the History of Brazil, and no more 
 epic poems on the scale of Madoc and Roderick. But there was nothing 
 which so effectually stirred the sympathies of men in power, and persuad- 
 ed their reason, as a petition presented to the House of Commons by 
 “ Thomas Carlyle, a writer of books ; ” which began by humbly showing 
 “That your petitioner has written certain books, being incited thereto by 
 certain innocent and laudable considerations ; ” which proceeded to urge 
 “that this his labor has found hitherto, in money or money’s worth, small 
 recompense or none : that he is by no means sure of its ever finding 
 recompense : but thinks that, if so, it will be at a distant time, when he the 
 laborer, will probably no longer be in need of money, and those dear to 
 him will still be in need of it;” and which ended by a prayer to the House 
 to forbid “extraneous persons, entirely unconcerned in this adventure of 
 his, to steal from him his small winnings, for a space of sixty years at the 
 shortest. After sixty years, unless your Honorable House provide other- 
 wise, they may begin to steal.” 
 
 In the session of 1841, Serjeant Talfourd brought in a measure, devised 
 with the object of extending the term of copyright in a book to sixty 
 years, reckoned from the death of the author. Macaulay, speaking with 
 wonderful force of argument and brilliancy of illustration, induced a thin 
 House to reject the bill by a few votes. Talfourd, in the bitterness of 
 his soul, exclaimed that Literature’s own familiar friend, in whom she 
 trusted, and who had eaten of her bread, had lifted up his heel against 
 her. A writer of eminence has since echoed the complaint , but none 
 can refuse a tribute of respect to a man who, on high grounds of public 
 expediency, thought himself bound to employ all that he possessed of 
 energy, and ability, on the task of preventing himself from being placed 
 in a position to found a fortune, which, by the year 1919, might well have 
 ranked among the largest funded estates in the country. 
 
 Admonished, but not deterred, by Serjeant Talfourd’s reverse. Lord 
 
88 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. IX. 
 
 Mahon next year took up the cause of his brother authors, and introduced 
 a bill in which he proposed to carry out the objectionable principle, but 
 to carry it less far than his predecessor. Lord Mahon was for giving 
 protection for five-and-twenty years, reckoned from the date of death ; 
 and his scheme was regarded with favor, until Macaulay came forward 
 with a counter-scheme, giving protection for forty-two years, reckoned 
 from the date of publication. He unfolded his plan in a speech, terse, 
 elegant, and vigorous ; as amusing as an essay of Elia, and as convincing 
 as a proof of Euclid.^ When he resumed his seat, Sir Robert Peel 
 
 * “ But this is not all. My noble friend’s plan is not merely to institute a lottery in 
 which some writers will draw prizes and some will draw blanks. His lottery is so con- 
 trived that, in the vast majority of cases, the blanks will fall to the best books, and the 
 prizes to books of inferior merit. 
 
 “ Take Shakespeare. My noble friend gives a longer protection than I should give to 
 Love’s Labor’s Lost, and Pericles, Prince of Tyre ; but he gives a shorter protection 
 than I should give to Othello and Macbeth. 
 
 “Take Milton. Milton died in 1674. The copyrights of Milton’s great works would, 
 according to my noble friend’s plan, expire in 1699. Comus appeared in 1634, the Para- 
 dise Lost in 1668. To Comus, then, my noble friend would give sixty-five years of copy- 
 righ-t, and to Paradise Lost only thirty-one years. Is that reasonable? Comus is a noble 
 poem : but who would rank it with the Paradise Lost ? My plan would give forty-two 
 years both to the Paradise Lost, and to Comus. 
 
 “ Let us pass on from Milton to Dryden. My noble friend would give more than 
 sixty years of copyright to Dryden’s worst works ; to the encomiastic verses on Oliver 
 Cromwell, to the Wild Gallant, to the Rival Ladies, to other wretched pieces as bad as 
 anything written by Flecknoe or Settle : but for Theodore and Honoria, for Tancred and 
 Sigismunda, for Cimon and Iphigenia, for Palamon and Arcite, far Alexander’s Feast, 
 my noble friend thinks a copyright of twenty-eight years sufficient. Of all Pope’s works, 
 that to which my noble friend would give the largest measure of protection is the volume 
 of Pastorals, remarkable only as the production of a boy. Johnson’s first work was a 
 Translation of a Book of Travels in Abyssinia, published in 1735. It was so poorly exe- 
 cuted that in his later years he did not like to hear it mentioned. Boswell once picked up 
 a copy of it, and told his friend that he had done so. ‘ Do not talk about it,’ said John- 
 son : ‘ it is a thing to be forgotten.’ To this performance my noble friend would give 
 protection during the enormous term of seventy-five years. To the Lives of the Poets he 
 would give protection during about thirty years- * * * 
 
 “ I have, I think, shown from literary history that the effect of my noble friend’s plan 
 would be to give to crude and imperfect works a great advantage over the highest produc- 
 tions of genius. What I recommend is that the certain term, reckoned from the date of 
 publication, shall be forty-two years instead of twenty-eight years. In this arrangement 
 there is no uncertaintyj no inequality. The advantage which I propose to give will be the 
 same to every book. No work will have so long a copyright as my noble friend gives to 
 some books, or so short a copyright as he gives to others. No copyright will last ninety 
 years. No copyright will end in twenty-eight years. To every book published in the 
 last seventeen years of a writer’s life I give a longer term of copyright than my noble 
 friend gives ; and I am confident that no person versed in literary history will deny this, 
 — that in general the most valuable works of an author are published in the last seventeen 
 years of his life. To Lear, to Macbeth, to Othello, to the Faery Queen, to the Paradise 
 Lost, to Bacon’s Novum Organum and de Augmentis, to Locke’s Essay on the Human 
 
1841 - 44 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 89 
 
 walked across the floor, and assured him that the last twenty minutes had 
 radically altered his own views on the law of copyright. One member 
 after another confessed to an entire change of mind ; and, on a question 
 which had nothing to do with party, each change of mind brought a vote 
 with it. The bill was remodelled on the principle of calculating the 
 duration of copyright from the date of publication, and the term of forty- 
 two years was adopted by a large majority. Some slight modifications 
 were made in Macaulay’s proposal ; but he enjoyed the satisfaction of 
 having framed according to his mind a Statute which may fairly be de- 
 scribed as the charter of his craft, and of having added to Hansard what 
 are by common consent allowed to be among its most readable pages. 
 
 There was another matter, of more striking dimensions in the eyes of 
 his contemporaries, on which, by taking an independent course and per- 
 severing in it manfully, Macaulay brought round to his own opinion first 
 his party, and ultimately the country. The Afghan war had come to a close 
 in the autumn of 1842. The Tories claimed for Lord Ellenborough the 
 glory of having saved India ; while the Opposition held that he had with 
 difficulty been induced to refrain from throwing obstacles in the way of 
 its being saved by others. Most Whigs believed, and one Whig was 
 ready on all fit occasions to maintain, that his Lordship had done nothing 
 to deserve national admiration in the past, and a great deal to arouse the 
 gravest apprehensions for the future. Macaulay had persuaded himself 
 and was now bent on persuading others, that, as long as Lord Ellen- 
 borough continued Governor-General, the peace of our Eastern Empire, 
 was not worth six months’ purchase. 
 
 Albany: February, 1843., 
 
 Dear Ellis, — I never thought that I should live to sympathize with 
 Brougham’s abuse of the Whigs ; but I must own that we deserve it all. 
 I suppose that you have heard of the stupid and disgraceful course which 
 our leaders have resolved to take. I really cannot speak or write of it 
 with patience. They are going to vote thanks to Ellenborough, in direct 
 opposition to their opinions, and with an unanswerable case against him 
 in their hands, only that they may save Auckland from recrimination. 
 They will not save him, however. Cowardice is a mighty poor defence 
 against malice. And to sacrifice the whole weight and respectability of 
 
 Understanding, to Clarehdon’s History, to Hume’s History, to Gibbon’s History, to 
 Smith’s Wealth of Nations, to Addison’s Spectators, to almost all the great works of 
 Burke, to Clarissa and Sir Charles Grandison, to Joseph Andrews, Tom Jones, and 
 Amelia, and, with the single exception of Waverley, to all the novels of Sir Walter Scott, 
 I give a longer term of copyright than my noble friend gives. Can he match that list ? 
 Does not that list contain what England has produced greatest in many various ways, 
 poetry, philosophy, history, eloquence, wit, skilful portraiture of life and manners ? I 
 confidently, therefore, call on the Committee to take my plan in preference to the plan of 
 my noble friend.” 
 
90 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. IX. 
 
 our party to the feelings of one man is — but the thing is too bad to talk 
 about. I cannot avert the disgrace of our party ; but I do not choose to 
 share it. I shall therefore go to Clapham quietly, and leave those, who 
 have cooked this dirt-pie for us, to eat it. I did not think that any poli- 
 tical matter would have excited me so much as this has done. I fought a 
 very hard battle, but had nobody except Lord Minto and Lord Clanri- 
 carde to stand by me. I could easily get up a mutiny among our rank 
 and file, if I chose ; but an internal dissension is the single calamity from 
 which the Whigs are at present exempt. I will not add it to all their other 
 plagues. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 On the 20th of February the House of Commons was called upon to 
 express its gratitude to the Governor-General ; and a debate ensued, in 
 which the speeches from the front Opposition benches were as good as 
 could be made by statesmen, who had assumed an attitude such that they 
 could not very well avoid being either insincere, or ungracious. The Vote 
 of Thanks was unanimously passed ; and, within three weeks’ time, the 
 Whigs were, almost to a man, engaged in hot support of a motion of Mr. 
 Vernon Smith involving a direct and crushing censure on Lord Ellen- 
 borough. Lord Stanley (making, as he was well able, the most of the 
 opportunity) took very good care that there should be no mistake about 
 the consistency of men who, between the opening of the session and the 
 Easter holidays, had thanked a public officer for his “ ability and judg- 
 ment,” and had done their best to stigmatize him as guilty of conduct 
 “unwise, indecorous, and reprehensible.” Happily, Macaulay’s con- 
 science was clear ; and his speech, in so far as the reader’s pleasure is a 
 test of excellence, will bear comparison with anything that still remains 
 of those orations against Warren Hastings, in which the great men of a 
 former generation contested with each other the crown of eloquence. 
 
 The division went as divisions go, in the most good-natured of all 
 national assemblies, when the whole strength of a powerful Government is 
 exerted to protect a reputation. On the 14th of March the Duke of 
 Wellington wrote to Lord Ellenborough : “Nothing could have been 
 more satisfactory than the debate in the House of Lords, and I am told 
 it was equally so in the Commons.” The Duke’s informant could not 
 have seen far below the surface. Macaulay’s measured and sustained 
 denunciation of Lord Ellenborough’s perilous levity had not fallen on 
 inattentive ears. He had made, or at any rate had implied, a prophecy. 
 “ Who can say what new freak we may hear of by the next mail ? I am 
 quite confident that neither the Court of Directors, nor Her Majesty’s 
 Ministers, can look forward to the arrival of that mail without uneasi- 
 ness.” He had given a piece of advice. “ I camrot sit down without 
 
1841-44* 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 91 
 
 addressing myself to those Directors of the East Indian Company who 
 are present. I exhort them to consider the heavy responsibility which 
 rests on them. They have the power to recall Lord Ellenborough ; and 
 I trust that they will not hesitate to exercise that power.” The prophecy 
 came true, and the advice was adopted to the letter. Before another 
 tw’elve-month had elapsed, Lord Ellenborough was in a worse scrape than 
 ever. This time, Macaulay resolved to take the matter in hand himself. 
 He had a notice of motion on the books of the House, and his speech 
 was already in his head, when, on the 26th of April, 1844, Sir Robert Peel 
 announced that Her Majesty’s Government had received a communication 
 from the Court of Directors “stating that they had exercised the power 
 which the law gives them to recall at their will and pleasure the Governor- 
 General of India.” 
 
 Macaulay’s reputation and authority in Parliament owed nothing to 
 the outward graces of the orator. On this head the recollections of the 
 Reporters’ Gallery (which have been as gratefully accepted as they were 
 kindly offered) are unanimous and precise. Mr. Clifford, of the Times, 
 says: “His action, — the little that he used, — was rather ungainly. His 
 voice was full and loud ; but it had not the light and shade, or the modu- 
 lation, found in practiced speakers. His speeches were most carefully 
 prepared, and were repeated without the loss, or omission, of a single 
 word.” 
 
 This last observation deserves a few sentences of comment. Macaulay 
 spoke frequently enough on the spur of the moment ; and some excellent 
 judges were of opinion that, on these occasions, his style gained more in 
 anin>ation than it lost in ornament. Even when he rose in his place to 
 take part in a discussion which had been long foreseen, he had no notes 
 in his hand, and no manuscript in his pocket. If a debate was in prospect, 
 he would turn the subject over while he paced his chamber, or .tramped 
 along the streets. Each thought, as it rose in his mind, embodied itself 
 in phrases, and clothed itself in an appropriate drapery of images, in- 
 stances, and quotations; and when, in the course of his speech, the 
 thought recurred, all the words which gave it point and beauty, spontane- 
 ously recurred with it. 
 
 “ He used scarcely any action,” says a gentleman on the staff of the 
 Standard. “ He would turn round on his heel, and lean slightly on the 
 table ; but there was nothing like demonstrative or dramatic action. He 
 spoke with great rapidity ; and there was very little inflection in the voice, 
 which, however, in itself was not unmusical. It was somewhat monoton- 
 ous, and seldom rose or fell. The cadences were of small range. He 
 spoke with very great fluency, and very little emphasis. It was the 
 matter and the language rather than the manner, that took the audience 
 captive.” 
 
92 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. IX. 
 
 Mr. Downing of the Daily News writes: “ It was quite evident that 
 Macaulay had not learned the art of speaking from the platform, the 
 pulpit, the forum, or any of the usual modes of obtaining a fluent diction. 
 He was at once too robust, and too recondite, for these methods of intro- 
 duction to the oratorical art. In all probability it was that fulness of 
 mind, which broke out in many departments, that constituted him a born 
 orator. Vehemence of thought, vehemence of language, vehemence of 
 manner, were his chief characteristics. The listener might almost fancy 
 he heard ideas and words gurgling in the speaker’s throat for priority of 
 utterance. There was nothing graduated, or undulating, about him. He 
 plunged at once into the heart of the matter, and continued his loud re- 
 sounding pace from beginning to end, without halt or pause. This vehe- 
 mence and volume made Macaulay the terror of the reporters; and, 
 when he engaged in a subject outside their ordinary experience, they were 
 fairly non-plussed by the display of names, and dates, and titles. He 
 was not a long-winded speaker. In fact, his earnestness was so great 
 that it would have failed under a very long effort. He had the faculty, 
 possessed by every great orator, of compressing a great deal in a short 
 space.” 
 
 A fourth witness, after confirming the testimony of his colleagues, 
 concludes with the remark : “ Macaulay was wonderfully telling in the 
 House of Commons. Every sentence was perfectly devoured by the 
 listeners.” 
 
 As soon as the session of 1843 ended, Macaulay started for a trip up 
 and down the Loire. Steaming from Orleans to Nantes, and back again 
 from Nantes to Angers, he indulged to the full his liking for river travel 
 and river scenery, and his passion for old cities which had been the 
 theatre of memorable events. His letters to his sister abundantly prove 
 that he could have spoken off a very passable historical handbook for 
 Central France, without having trained himself for the feat by a course of 
 special reading. His catalogue of the successive occupants of Chambord 
 is marvellously accurate and complete, from Francis the First and his 
 Italian architects, to the time when “the royalists got up a subscription to 
 purchase it for the Duke of Bern’s posthumous son, whom they still call 
 Henry the Fifth. The project was not popular, but, by dint of bullying, 
 and telling all who objected that they would be marked men as long as 
 they lived, a sufficient sum was extorted.” There are touches that mark 
 the historian in his desciption 0;f the Castle of Blois, when he speaks of 
 “the chimney at which Henry, Duke of Guise sate down for the last time 
 to warm himself,” and “ the observatory of Catherine de Medici, designed 
 rather for astrological than for astronomical observations ; ” but, taken 
 as a whole, the letters have too much of the tourist’s journal about them 
 to bear printing in their integrity. 
 
I $4 1 -44- 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 93 
 
 “ Paris, August 21, 1843. 
 
 “ Dearest Hannah, — What people travel for is a mystery. I have never, during 
 the last forty-eight hours, had any wish so strong as to be at home again. To be 
 sure, those forty-eight hours have hardly been a fair specimen of a traveller’s life. 
 They have been filled with little miseries, such as made Mr. Testy roar, and Mr. 
 Sensitive sigh. I could very well add a chapter to the ‘ Miseries of Human Life.’ 
 For example : — 
 
 “ Groan i. The Brighton railway ; in a slow train ; a carriage crowded as full as 
 it would hold ; a sick lady smelling of aether ; a healthy gentleman smelling of 
 brandy ; the thermometer at 102° in the shade, and I not in the shade, but exposed 
 to the full glare of the sun from noon till half after two, the effect of which is that 
 my white trowsers have been scorched into a pair of very serviceable nankeens. 
 
 “Groan 2; — and for this Fanny is answerable, who made me believe that the 
 New Steyne Hotel at Brighton was a good one. A coffee-room ingeniously contrived 
 on the principle of an oven, the windows not made to open ; a dinner on yesterday’s 
 pease-soup, and the day before yesterday’s cutlets ; not an ounce of ice ; and all the 
 beverages, — wine, water, and beer, — in exactly the state of the Church of Lao- 
 dicea. 
 
 “ Groan 3. My passage to Dieppe. We had not got out of sight of the Beachy 
 Head lights, when it began to rain hard. I was therefore driven into the cabin, and 
 compelled to endure the spectacle, and to hear the unutterable groans and gasps, of 
 fifty sea-sick people. I went out when the rain ceased ; but everything on deck was 
 soaked. It was impossible to sit, so that I walked up and down the vessel all night. 
 The wind was in our faces, and the clear grey dawn was visible before we entered 
 the harbor of Dieppe. Our baggage was to be examined at seven ; so that it was 
 too late to go to bed, and yet too early to find any shop open, or anything stirring. 
 All our bags and boxes were in the custody of the authorities, and I had to pace 
 sulkily about the pier for a long time, without even the solace of a book. 
 
 “ Groan 4. The custom-house. I never had a dispute with custom-house officers 
 before, having found that honesty answered m England, France, and Belgium, and 
 •orruption in Italy. But the officer at Dieppe, finding among my baggage some 
 cotton stockings which had not been yet worn, threatened to confiscate them, and 
 exacted more than they were worth — between thirteen and fourteen francs — by way 
 of duty. I had just bought these unlucky stockings to do honor to our country in 
 the eyes of foreigners ; being unwilling that the washer-women of Paris and Orleans 
 should see an English Member of Parliament’s stockings either in holes, or darned. 
 See what the fruits of patriotism are. 
 
 “ Groan 5. Mine inn at Dieppe. I need not describe it, for it was the very same 
 at which we stopped for a night in 1840, and at which you ate of a gigot as memor- 
 nble as Sam Johnson’s shoulder of mutton.* I did not discover where I was till 
 too late. I had a cup of coffee worse than I thought any French cook could make 
 for a wager. In the bedroom, where I dressed, there was a sort of soap which I had 
 
 * In the review on Croker, Macaulay calls it a leg of mutton. As a matter of fact, 
 Boswell does not specify whether it was a leg or a shoulder. Whatever the joint may 
 have been. Dr. Johnson immortalized it in these words : “ It is as bad as bad can be — it 
 
 is ill-fed, ill-killed, ill-kept, and ill-dressed.” 
 
94 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. IX. 
 
 half a mind to bring away, that men of science might analyze it. It would be, I 
 should think, an excellent substitute for Spanish flies in a blister. I shaved with it, 
 and the consequence is that I look as if I had that complaint which our mother held 
 in such horror. If I used such cosmetics often, I should be forced to beg Queen 
 Victoria to touch me. 
 
 “ The cathedral, which was my chief object at Chartres, rather disappointed me ; 
 not that it is not a fine church ; but I had heard it described as one of the most 
 magnificent in Europe. Now, I have seen finer Gothic churches in England, France, 
 and Belgium. It wants vastness ; and its admirers make the matter worse by prov- 
 ing to you that it is a great deal larger than it looks, and by assuring yor that the 
 proportions are so exquisite as to produce the effect of littleness, I have heard the 
 same cant canted about a much finer building, — St. Peter’s. But, surely, it is im- 
 possible to say a more severe thing of an architect than that he has a knack of building 
 edifices five hundred feet long, which look as if they were only three hundred feet long. 
 If size be an element of the sublime in architecture, — and this, I imagine, everybody’s 
 feelings will prove,— then a great architect ought to aim, not at making buildings look 
 smaller than they are, but at making them look larger than they are. If there be 
 any proportions which have the effect of making St, Paul’s look larger than St. 
 Peter’s, those are good proportions. To say that an artist is so skilful that he 
 makes buildings, which are really large, look small, is as absurd as it would be to 
 say that a novelist has such skill in narration as to make amusing stories dull, or to 
 say that a controversialist has such skill in argument that strong reasons, when he 
 states them, seem to be weak ones.” 
 
 “ September i, 1843. 
 
 “ I performed my journey to Bourges, comfortably enough, in the coupee of the 
 diligence. There was a prodigious noise all night of people talking in English on 
 the roof. At Vierzon, I found that this noise proceeded from seven English labor- 
 ers, good-looking fellows enough, who were engaged to work on a line of railroad, 
 and were just going to quit the coach. I asked them about their state and prospects, 
 told them that I hoped they would let a countryman treat them to breakfast, and 
 gave them a Napoleon for that purpose. They were really so pleased and grateful 
 for being noticed in that way that I was almost too strongly moved by their thanks. 
 Just before we started, one of them, a very intelligent man and a sort of spokesman, 
 came to the window, and asked me with great earnestness to tell them my name, 
 which I did. ‘ Ah, sir, we have all heard of you. You have always been a good 
 friend to the country at home ; and it will be a great satisfaction to us all to know 
 this.’ He told me, to my comfort, that they did very well, — being, as he said, sober 
 men ; that the wages were good ; and that they were well treated, and had no quar- 
 rels with their French fellow-laborers. 
 
 “ 1 could not, after this, conceal my name from a very civil, good-natured French- 
 man who travelled in the coupee with me, and with whom I had already had some 
 conversation. He insisted on doing the honors of Bourges to me, and has really 
 been officiously kind and obliging. Indeed, in this city I have found nothing but 
 courtesy worthy of Louis the Fourteenth’s time. Queer old-fashioned colintry gen- 
 tlemen of long descent, who recovered part of their estates on their return from emi- 
 gration, abound in the neighborhood. They have hotels in Bourges, where they 
 
1841 - 44 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 95 
 
 often pass the winter, instead of going up to Paris. The manners of the place are 
 most ceremonious. Hats come off at every word. If you ask your way, a gentle- 
 man insists on escorting you. Did you ever read Georges Dandin ? If not, read it 
 before you sleep. There you will see how Molifere has portrayed the old-fashioned 
 provincial gentry. I could fancy that many Messieurs and Mesdames de Sotenville 
 were to be found at Bourges.” 
 
 “ September 6, 
 
 “ I know nothing about politics except what I glean from French newspapers in 
 the coffee-houses. The people here seem to be in very ill-humor about the Queen’s 
 visit ; and I think it, I must own, an ill-judged step. Propriety requires that a 
 guest, a sovereign, and a woman, should be received by Louis Phillippe with some- 
 thing of a chivalrous homage, and with an air of deference. To stand punctiliously 
 on his quality in intercourse with a young lady would be uncourteous, and almost 
 insulting. But the French have taken it strongly into their heads that their Gov- 
 ernment is acting a servile part towards England, and they are therefore disposed to 
 consider every act of hospitality and gallantry on the part of the king as a national 
 humiliation, I see that the journals are crying out that France is for ever degraded 
 because the band of a French regiment played ‘ God Save the Queen’ when Her 
 Majesty landed. I fear that Louis Philippe cannot possibly behave on this occasion 
 so as at once to gratify his guest and his subjects. They are the most unreasonable 
 people which exists ; that is the truth ; and they will never be wiser until they have 
 had another lesson like that of 1815.” 
 
 September 9, 1843. 
 
 “ It was just four in the morning when I reached Angers ; but I found a caf6 
 open, made a tolerable breakfast, and before five was on board a steamer for Tours. 
 It was a lovely day. The banks were seen to every advantage, and, without posses- 
 sing beauty of the highest class, presented an endless succession of pretty and cheer" 
 ful landscapes. With the scenery, and a book, I was in no want of company. A 
 Frenchman, however, began to talk to me, and proved a sensible and well-bred man. 
 He had been in England, and, when ill had been kindly treated by the people among 
 whom he found himself. He always, therefore, he said, made a point of paying 
 attention to Englishmen. I could not help telling him that he might easily get 
 himself into a scrape with some swindler, or worse, if he carried his kindness to our 
 nation too far. ‘ Sans doute,’ said he, ‘ il faut distinguer ; ’ and then he paid me the 
 highest compliment that ever was paid me in my life ; for he said that nobody who 
 knew the world could fail to perceive that I was what the English call a gentleman, 
 homme comme il faut,’ That you may fully appreciate the value of this compli- 
 ment I must tell you that, having travelled all the preceding night, I had a beard of 
 two day’s growth, that my hair was unbrushed, my linen of yesterday, my coat like 
 a miller’s, and my waistcoat, which had been white when I left Nantes, in a state 
 which filled me with self-abhorrence. Nor had he the least notion who I was ; for 
 I gave no hint, and my name was not on my baggage. I shall, therefore, hencefor- 
 ward consider myself as a person of singularly noble look and demeanor. 
 
 “ Will you let me recommend you a novel ? Try Soeur Anne, by Paul de Kock. 
 It is not improper, and the comic parts are really delightful. I have laughed over 
 them till I cried. There are tragic parts which I skipped for fear of crying in an- 
 other sense.” 
 
96 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. IX. 
 
 Albany, London : November 25, 1843. 
 
 Dear Napier, — Many thanks for your excellent letter. I have consid- 
 ered it fully, and I am convinced that by visiting Edinburgh at present I 
 should do unmixed harm. 
 
 The question respecting the Catholic clergy is precisely in that state 
 in which a discussion at a public meeting can do no good, and may do 
 great mischief. It is in a state requiring the most painful attention of 
 the ablest heads ; nor is it by any means certain that any attention, or any 
 ability, will produce a satisfactory solution of the problem. 
 
 My own view is this, I do not on principle object to the paying of the 
 Irish Catholic priests. I regret that such a step was not taken in 1829. 
 I would, even now, gladly support any well digested plan which might be 
 likely to succeed. But I fear that the difficulties are insurmountable. 
 Against such a measure there are all the zealots of the High Church, and 
 all the zealots of the Low Church ; the Bishop of Exeter, and Hugh 
 McNeil ; Oxford, and Exeter Hall; all the champions of the voluntary 
 system; all the English Dissenters; all Scotland; all Ireland; both 
 Orangemen and Papists. If you add together the mass which opposed 
 the late Government on the Education question, the mass which opposed 
 Sir James Graham’s Education clauses last year,* and the mass which is 
 crying out for repeal in Ireland, you get something like a notion of the 
 force which will be arrayed against a Bill for paying the Irish Catholic 
 clergy. 
 
 What have you on the other side? You have the statesmen, both 
 Tory and Whig ; but no combination of statesmen is a match for a gen- 
 eral combination of fools. And, even among the statesmen, there is by no 
 means perfect concord. The Tory statesmen, are for paying the Catholic 
 priests, but not for touching one farthing of the revenue of the Protestant 
 Church. The Liberal statesmen (I for one, if I may lay claim to the 
 name) would transfer a large part of the Irish Church revenues from the 
 Protestants to the Catholics. For such a measure I should think it my 
 duty to vote, though I were certain my vote would cost me my seat in 
 Parliament. Whether I would vote for a measure which, leaving the 
 Protestant Church of Ireland untouched, should add more than half a 
 million to our public burdens for the maintenance of the Popish priest- 
 hood, is another question. I am not ashamed to say that I have not 
 quite made up my mind, and that I should be glad, before I made it up, 
 to hear the opinions of others. 
 
 As things stand, I do not believe that Sir Robert or Lord John, or 
 even Sir Robert and Lord John united, could induce one third part of the 
 
 * In 1843, Sir James Graham, speaking for the Government, proposed a scheme for 
 educating the population of our great towns, which was defeated by the opposition of the 
 N onconformists . 
 
1841 - 44 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 97 
 
 members of the House of Commons to vote for any plan whatever, of 
 which the object should be the direct payment of the Irish Catholic 
 priests. Thinking thus, I have turned my mind to the best indirect ways 
 of effecting this object, and I have some notions which may possibly bear 
 fruit. I shall probably take an opportunity of submitting them to the 
 House of Commons. Now I can conceive nothing more inexpedient than 
 that, with these views, I should at the present moment go down to Edin- 
 burgh. If I did, I should certainly take the bull by the horns. I should 
 positively refuse to give any promise. I should declare that I was not, 
 on principle, opposed to the payment of Catholic priests ; and I should 
 reserve my judgment as to any particular mode of payment, till the details 
 were before me. The effect would be a violent explosion of public feel- 
 ing. Other towns would follow the example of Edinburgh. Petitions 
 would pour in by thousands as soon as Parliament had assembled, and 
 the difficulties with which we have to deal, and which are great enough 
 as it is, would be doubled. 
 
 I do not, however, think that the Edinburgh Review ought to be under 
 the same restraints under which a Whig Cabinet is necessarily placed. 
 The Review has not to take the Queen’s pleasure, to count votes in the 
 Houses, or to keep powerful supporters in good humor. It should ex- 
 pound and defend the Whig theory of government ; a theory from which 
 we are forced sometimes to depart in practice. There can be no objection 
 to Senior’s arguing in the strongest manner for the paying of the Catholic 
 priests. I should think it very injudicious to lay down the rule that the 
 Whig Review should never plead for any reforms except such as a Whig 
 Ministry could prudently propose to the Legislature. 
 
 I have a plan in my head which I hope you will not dislike. I think 
 of reviewing the Memoirs of Barere. I really am persuaded that I could 
 make something of that subject. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 Albany, London : December 13, 1843. 
 
 Dear Napier, — You shall have my paper on Barere before Parliament 
 meets. I never took to writing anything with more hearty goodwill. If 
 I can, I will make the old villain shake even in his grave. Some of the 
 lies in which I have detected him are such as you, with all your experi- 
 ence in literary matters, will find it difficult to believe without actual in- 
 spection of the authorities.* 
 
 * “ As soon as he ceases to write trifles, he begins to write lies ; and such lies ! A 
 man who has never been within the tropics does not know what a thunderstorm means ; 
 a man who has never looked on Niagara has but a faint idea of a cataract ; and he who 
 has not read Harare’s Memoirs may be said not to know what it is to lie.” — Macaulay’s 
 Article on Barere. 
 
 VoL. II.— 7 
 
98 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. IX. 
 
 What do you hear of Jeffrey’s book?* My own general impression 
 is that the selection is ill made, and that a certain want of finish, which 
 in a periodical work is readily excused, and has sometimes even the effect 
 of a grace, is rather too perceptible in many passages. On the other 
 hand, the variety and versatility of Jeffrey’s mind seems to me more 
 extraordinary than ever. I think that there are few things in the four 
 volumes which one or two other men could not have done as well ; but I 
 do not think that any one man except Jeffrey, nay that any three men, 
 could have produced such diversified excellence. When I compare him 
 with Sydney and myself, I feel, with humility perfectly sincere, that his 
 range is immeasurably wider than ours. And this is only as a writer ; 
 but he is not only a writer ; he has been a great advocate, and he is a great 
 Judge. Take him all in all, I think him more nearly an universal genius 
 than any man of our time ; certainly far more nearly than Brougham, 
 much as Brougham affects the character. Brougham does one thing well, 
 two or three things indifferently, and a hundred things detestably. His 
 Parliamentary speaking is admirable, his forensic speaking poor, his 
 writings, at the very best, second-rate. As to his hydrostatics, his political 
 philosophy, his equity judgments, his translations from the Greek, they 
 are really below contempt. Jeffrey, on the other hand, has tried nothing 
 in which he has not succeeded, except Parliamentary speaking ; and there 
 he obtained what to any other man would have been great success, and 
 disappointed his hearers only because their expectations were extrava- 
 gunt. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 Albany, London : April lo, 1844. 
 
 Dear Napier, — I am glad that you like my article. It does not please 
 me now, by any means, as much as it did while I was writing it. It is 
 shade, unrelieved by a gleam of light. t This is the fault of the subject 
 rather than of the painter ; but it takes away from the effect of the por- 
 trait. And thus, to the many reasons which all honest men have for 
 hating Barere I may add a reason personal to myself, that the excess of 
 his rascality has spoiled my paper on him. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 * Lord Jeffrey s contributions to the Edinburgh Review. 
 
 t “Whatsoever things are false, whatsoever things are dishonest, whatsoever things 
 are unjust, whatsoever things are impure, whatsoever things are hateful, whatsoever 
 things are of evil report, if there be any vice, and if there be any infamy, all these things 
 were blended in Barfere.” 
 
1844 - 47 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 99 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 1844-1847. 
 
 Letters to Mr. Napier — Macaulay modifies his desigpi for an article on Burke and his 
 Times, into a sketch of Lord Chatham’s later years — Tour in Holland — Scene off 
 Dordrecht — Macaulay on the Irish Church — Maynooth — The Ministeral crisis of 
 December, 1845 : letters to Lady Trevelyan — Letter to Mr. Macfarlan — Fall of Sir 
 Robert Peel — Macaulay becomes Paymaster-General — His re-election at Edinburgh — 
 His position in the House of Commons — General election of 1847 — Macaulay’s de- 
 feat at Edinburgh. 
 
 EAR NAPIER, — I have been working hard for you during the last 
 
 week, and have covered many sheets of foolscap; and now I find 
 that I have taken a subject altogether unmanageable.* There is no want 
 of materials. On the contrary, facts and thoughts, both interesting and 
 new, are abundant. But this very abundance bewilders me. The stage 
 is too small for the actors. The canvas is too narrow for the multitude of 
 figures. It is absolutely necessary that I should change my whole plan. I 
 will try to write for you, not a History of England during the earlier part 
 of George the Third’s reign, but an account of the last years of Lord Chat- 
 ham’s life. I promised or half promised this ten years ago, at the end of 
 my review of Thackeray’s book. Most of what I have written will come in 
 very well. The fourth volume of the Chatham Correspondence has not, 
 I think, been reviewed. It will furnish a heading for the article. 
 
 ♦ The unmanageable subject was a review of Burke’s Life and Writings. “ I should 
 wash,” Macaulay writes, “ to say a good deal about the Ministerial revolutions of the early 
 part of George the Third’s reign ; about the characters of Bute, Mansfield, Chatham, 
 Townshend, George Grenville, and many others ; about Wilkes’s and Churchill’s lam- 
 poons, and so forth. I should wish also to go into a critical examination of the Essay on 
 the Sublime and Beautiful, and to throw out some hints on the subject which have long 
 been rolling up and down in my mind. But this would be enough for a long article ; and, 
 when this is done, we have only brought Burke to the threshold of the House of Com- 
 mons. The American War, the Coalition, the Impeachment of Hastings, the French 
 Revolution, still remain.” 
 
 Albany, London : August 14, 1844. 
 
 Ever yours truly. 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
lOO 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. X. 
 
 A week later Macaulay writes: “The article on Chatham goes on 
 swimmingly. A great part of the information which I have is still in manu- 
 script ; — Horace Walpole’s Memoirs of George the Third’s reign, which 
 were transcribed for Mackintosh; and the first Lord Holland’s Diary, 
 which Lady Holland permitted me to read. I mean to be with you on 
 Saturday the 31st. I would gladly stay with you till the Tuesday; but I 
 shall not be quite my own master. It is certainly more agreeable to repre- 
 sent such a place as Paisley, or Wolverhampton, than such a place as Edin- 
 burgh. Hallam or Everett can enjoy the society and curiosities of your 
 fine city; but I am the one person to whom all those things are inter- 
 dicted.” 
 
 Shortly before Macaulay’s arrival in India, a civilian, employed as 
 Resident at a native court, came under the suspicion of having made use 
 of his position to enrich himself by illicit means. Bills came to hand 
 through Persia, drawn in his favor for great sums of money on the East 
 Indian Company itself. The Court of Directors naturally took the alarm, 
 and sent a hint to the Governor-General, who wrote to the officer in ques- 
 tion inviting him to clear his character before a Commissioner of Inquiry. 
 But the bird had already flown. The late Resident was well on his way 
 to Europe ; and his answer to Lord William Bentinck, in which the offer 
 of an investigation was civilly but most positively declined, was actually 
 addressed from the Sandheads at the mouth of the Hooghly. The follow- 
 ing letters will sufficiently indicate the aspect under which the transaction 
 presented itself to Macaulay. His behavior on this occasion may seem 
 unnecessarily harsh to that section of society which, in its dealings with 
 gilded rogues, takes very good care not to err on the side of intolerance ; 
 but most readers will think the better of him because, when he found him- 
 self in questionable company, he obeyed the instinct which prompted him 
 to stand on his dignity as an honest man. 
 
 Rotterdam: October 9, 1844. 
 
 Dear Hannah, — After a very pleasant day at Antwerp, I started at 
 seven yesterday morning by the steamer for Rotterdam. I had an odd 
 conversation on board, and one which, I think, will amuse both you and 
 Trevelyan. As we passed Dordrecht, one of the passengers, an English- 
 man, said that he had never seen anything like it. Parts of it reminded 
 me of some parts of Cape Town; and I said so. An elderly gentleman 
 immediately laid hold of me. “ You have been at the Cape, Sir ? ” “Yes, 
 Sir.” “ Perhaps you have been in India ? ” “ Yes, Sir.” “ My dear, here 
 
 is a gentleman who has been in India.” So I became an object of atten- 
 tion to an ill-looking vulgar woman, who appeared to be the wife of my 
 questioner ; and to his daughter, a pretty girl enough, but by no means 
 lady-like. “ And how did you like India ? Is it not the most delightful 
 place in the world ? ” “ It is well enough,” I said, “ for a place of exile.” * 
 
1844 - 47 - 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 lOl 
 
 “ Exile ! ” says the lady. “ I think people are exiled when they come away 
 from India.” “ I have never,” said the old gentleman, “ had a day's good 
 health since I left India.” A little chat followed about mangoes and man- 
 go-fish, punkahs and palanquins, white ants and cockroaches. I maintained, 
 as I generally do on such occasions, that all the fruits of the tropics are 
 not worth a pottle of Convent Garden strawberries, and that a lodging up 
 three pair of stairs in London is better than a palace in a compound at 
 Chowringhee. My gentleman was vehement in asserting that India was 
 the only country to live in. “ I went there,” he said, “ at sixteen, in 1800, 
 and stayed till 1830, when I was superannuated. If the Company had not 
 chosen to superannuate me, I should have been there still. I should like 
 to end my days there.” I could not conceive what he meant by being 
 superannuated at a time when he could have been only forty-six years old, 
 and consequently younger than most of the field-officers in the Indian 
 army, and than half the Senior Merchants in the Civil Service ; but I was 
 too polite to interrogate him. 
 
 That was a politeness, however, of which he had no notion. “ How 
 long,” he asked, “were you in India?” “ Between four and five years.” 
 “ A clergyman, I suppose ? ” Whether he drew this inference from the 
 sanctity of my looks, or from my olive-colored coat and shawl waistcoat, I 
 do not pretend to guess ; but I answered that I had not the honor to be- 
 long to so sacred a profession. “ A mercantile gentleman, no doubt ? ” 
 “ No.” Then his curiosity got the better of all the laws of good breeding, 
 and he went straight tothe point. “May I ask. Sir, to whom I have the 
 honor of talking ? ” I told him. “ Oh, Sir,” said he, “ you must often 
 
 have heard of me. I am Mr. . I was long at Lucknow.” “ Heard 
 
 of you ! ” thought I. “ Yes ; and a pretty account I have heard of you ! ” 
 I should have at once turned on my heel, and walked away, if his 
 daughter had not been close to us : and, scoundrel as he is, I could not 
 affront him in her presence. I merely said, with the coldest tone and look : 
 
 “Certainly I have heard of Mr. .” He went on: “ You are related, 
 
 I think, to a civil servant w'homade a stir about Sir Edward Colebrooke.” 
 It was just on my lips to say : “ Yes. It was by my brother-in-law’s means 
 that Sir Edward was superannuated f but I commanded myself, and mere- 
 ly said that I was nearly related to Mr. Trevelyan ; and I then called to 
 the steward, and pretended to be very anxious to settle with him about 
 some coffee that I had taken. While he was changing me a gold William, 
 I got away from the old villain; went to the other end of the poop ; took 
 out my book ; and avoided looking towards him during the rest of the 
 passage. And yet I could not help thinking a little better of him for 
 what had happened, for it reminded me of what poor Macnaghten once 
 said to me at Ootacamund. “ has certain excuses which Cole- 
 
 brooke and others have not had ; for he is really so great a fool that he 
 
102 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. X. 
 
 can hardly be called a responsible agent.” I certainly never knew such 
 an instance of folly as that to which I had just been witness. Had he 
 been a man of common sense, he would have avoided all allusion to India ; 
 or, at any rate, would have talked about India only to people who were 
 likely to be unacquainted with his history. He must have known that I 
 was Secretary to the Board of Control when that Board expressed its en- 
 tire concurrence in the measures taken by the Company against him. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 Four days later Macaulay writes from Amsterdam : “ I have been 
 
 pestered by those s all the way from Rotterdam hither, and shall 
 
 probably be pestered by them the whole way back. We are always in 
 the same inns ; we always go to Museums at the same hour ; and we have 
 been as near as possible to travelling in the same diligence. I resolutely 
 turn away from the old rogue, and pretend not to see him. He perfectly 
 comprehends my meaning, and looks as if he were in the pillory. But it 
 is not pleasant to have such scenes daily in the presence of his wife and 
 daughter.” 
 
 During 1844 and 1845 Macaulay pretty frequently addressed the House 
 of Commons. He earned the gratitude of the Unitarians by his successful 
 vindication of their disputed title to their own chapels and cemeteries. 
 By his condemnation of theological tests at Scotch Universities, and his 
 adventurous assault upon the Church of Ireland, he appealed to the 
 confidence of those Edinburgh dissenters whose favor he for some time 
 past had been most undeservedly losing. It is hard to conceive how 
 United Presbyterians, and Free Churchmen fresh from the Disruption, 
 could have found it in their hearts to quarrel with a representative who 
 was able to compose, and willing to utter, such a declaration as this : “ I 
 am not speaking in anger, or with any wish to excite anger in others ; I 
 am not speaking with rhetorical exaggeration ; I am calmly and deliberately 
 expressing, in the most appropriate terms, an opinion which I formed 
 many years ago, which all my observations and reflections have confirmed, 
 and which I am prepared to support by reasons, when I say that, of all 
 the institutions of the civilized world, the Established Church of Ireland 
 seems to me the most absurd.” 
 
 When Sir James Graham was called to account for opening Mazzini’s 
 envelopes, Macaulay attacked that unlucky statesman in a speech, which, 
 in writing to a correspondent, he mentions as having fallen “ like a shell 
 in a powder magazine.” He likewise was active and prominent in the 
 controversy that raged over the measure by which the question of May- 
 nooth College was sent to an uneasy sleep of five-and-twenty years. The 
 passage in which he drew a contrast, glowing with life and color, between 
 the squalor of the Irish Seminary anti the wealth of the Colleges at Cam- 
 
1844 - 47 * 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 103 
 
 bridge and Oxford, will rank higher than anj' other sample of his oratory 
 in the estimation of school-boys ; and especially of such school-boys as are 
 looking forward longingly to the material comforts of an university career.* 
 But men, who are acquainted with those temptations and anxieties which 
 underlie the glitter of Parliamentary success, will give their preference to 
 the closing sentences ; — sentences more honorable to him who spoke them 
 than the most finished and famous among all his perorations. “ Yes, Sir, 
 to this bill, and to every bill which shall seem to me likely to promote the 
 real Union of Great Britain and Ireland, I will give my support, regard- 
 less of obloquy, regardless of the risk which I may run of losing my seat 
 in Parliament. For such obloquy I have learned to consider as true 
 glory ; and as to my seat, I am determined that it never shall be held by 
 an ignominious tenure ; and I am sure that it can never be lost in a more 
 honorable cause.’' These words were not the idle flourish of an adroit 
 speaker, certain of impunity, and eager only for the cheer which is the 
 unfailing reward of a cheap affectation of courage and disinterestedness. 
 They were given forth in grave earnest, and dictated by an expectation of 
 impending trouble which the event was not slow to justify. 
 
 In September, 1853, when Macaulay, much against his will, was preparing 
 his speeches for publication, he notes in his diary : “ After breakfast I 
 wrote out the closing passages of Maynooth. How white poor Peel looked 
 while I was speaking ! I remember the effect of the words, •* There you 
 
 sit .’ I have a letter from my Dutch translator. He is startled by 
 
 the severity of some of my speeches, and no wonder. He knows nothing 
 of the conflict of parties.” 
 
 Peel might well look white beneath the flood of unanswerable taunts 
 which was poured forth by his terrible ally. Even in his utmost need, it 
 was a heavy price to pay for the support of Macaulay and his party. 
 “ There is too much ground for the reproaches of those who, having, in 
 spite of a bitter experience, a second time trusted the Right Honorable 
 Baronet, now find themselves a second time deluded. It has been too 
 much his practice, when in Opposition, to make use of passions with 
 
 * “ When I think of the spacious and stately mansions of the heads of houses, of the 
 commodious chambers of the fellows and scholars, of the refectories, the combination 
 rooms, the bowling greens, the stabling, of the state and luxury of the great feast days, 
 of the piles of old plate on the tables, of the savory steam of the kitchens, of the 
 multitude of geese and capons which turn at once on the spits, of the oceans of excellent 
 ale in the butteries ; and when I remember from whom all this splendor and plenty is 
 derived ; when I remember what was the faith of Edward the Third and of Henry the 
 Sixth, of Margaret of Anjou and Margaret of Richmond, of William of Wykeham and 
 William of Waynefleet, of Archbishop Chicheley and Cardinal Wolsey ; when I remember 
 what we have taken from the Roman Catholics, — King’s College, New College, Christ 
 Church, my own Trinity ; and when I look at the miserable Dotheboys Hall which we 
 have given them in exchange, I feel, I must own, less proud than I could wish of being a 
 Protestant and a Cambridge man.” — Page 366 of Macaulay’s Speeches. 
 
104 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. X. 
 
 wliich he has not the slightest sympathy, and of prejudices which he 
 regards with a profound contempt. As soon as he is in power a change 
 takes place. The instruments which have done his work are flung aside. 
 The ladder by which he has climbed is kicked down. * * * Can we 
 wonder that the eager, honest, hot-headed Protestants, who raised you to 
 power in the confident hope that you would curtail the privileges of the 
 Roman Catholics, should stare and grumble when you propose to give 
 public money to the Roman Catholics.^ Can we wonder that, from one 
 end of the country to the other, everything should be ferment and uproar ; 
 that petitions should, night after night, whiten all our benches like a 
 snow-storm ? Can we wonder that the people out of doors should be 
 exasperated by seeing the very men who, when we were in office, voted 
 against the old grant to Maynooth, now pushed and pulled into the House 
 by your whippers-in to vote for an increased grant The natural conse- 
 quences follow. All those fierce spirits, whom you hallooed on to harass 
 us, now turn round and begin to worry you. The Orangeman raises his 
 war-whoop; Exeter Hall sets up its bray ; Mr. McNeil shudders to see 
 more costly cheer than ever provided for the priests of Baal at the table 
 of the Queen ; and the Protestant operatives of Dublin call for impeach- 
 ments in exceedingly bad English. But what did you expect ? Did you 
 think, when, to serve your turn, you called the devil up, that it was as easy 
 to lay him as to raise him ? Did you think, when you went on, session 
 after session, thwarting and reviling those whom you knew to be in the 
 right, and flattering all the worst passions of those whom you knew to be 
 in the wrong, that the day of reckoning would never come ? It has come. 
 There you sit, doing penance for the disingenuousness of years.” 
 
 Between the House of Commons and his History, Macaulay had no 
 time to spare for writing articles. Early in 1845 ^ rumor had found its 
 way into the newspapers, to the effect that he had discontinued his con- 
 nection with the Edinburgh Review. He at once assured Mr. Napier 
 that the rumor in question had not been set on foot by himself ; but, in 
 the same letter, he announced his resolution to employ himself exclusively 
 upon his History, until the first portion of it was completed. “ If I had 
 not taken that resolution, my History would have perished in embryo, 
 like poor Mackintosh’s. As soon as I have finished my first two volumes, 
 I shall be happy to assist you again. But when that will be it is difficult 
 to say.* Parliamentary business, at present, prevents me from writing a 
 line. I am preparing for Lord John’s debate on Sugar, and for Joseph 
 Hume’s debate on India ; and it is one of my infirmities — an infirmity, I 
 grieve to say, quite incurable — that I cannot correctly and heartily apply 
 my mind to several subjects together. When an approaching debate is in 
 
 Macaulay never again wrote for the Edinburgh Review. 
 
LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 1844-47. 
 
 105 
 
 my head, it is t« no purpose that I sit down at my desk to write history, 
 and I soon get up again in disgust.” 
 
 London : December ii, 1845. 
 
 Dear Hannah, — I am detained for a few minutes at Ellis’s chambers 
 with nothing to do. I will therefore employ my leisure in writing to you 
 on a sheet of paper meant for some plea or replication. Yesterday morn- 
 ing, I learned that the Ministers had gone down to the Isle of Wight for 
 the purpose of resigning, and that Lord John had been sent for. This morn- 
 ing, all the world knows it. There are many reports ; but my belief is 
 that the Duke of Wellington, after having consented to support Peel, was 
 alarmed by the symptoms of opposition among the Lords of the Tory 
 party, and retracted. How this is we shall probably soon learn. In the 
 meantime, London is in confusion. The politicians run from club to club 
 picking up and circulating rumors, and nobody knows exactly what to ex- 
 pect. All discerning men, among whom I rank myself, are anxious and mel- 
 ancholy. What is to befall the country ? Will Lord John attempt to form 
 a Government Can such a Government abolish the Corn duties? Can it 
 stand three months with the present House of Commons ? Would even a dis- 
 solution give the Whigs a working majority in the Commons ? And, even if 
 we had such a majority in the Commons, what could we do with the Lords ? 
 Are we to swamp them, as Lord Grey’s Ministry proposed to do ? Have we 
 sufficient support in the country to try so extreme a measure ? Are we to 
 go on, as Lord Melbourne’s Ministry did — unable to carry our own bills, 
 and content with holding the executive functions, and distributing the 
 loaves and fishes ? Or are we, after an unsuccessful attempt to settle the 
 Co^n question, to go out ? If so, do we not leave the question in a worse 
 position than at present? Or are Peel and Lord John to unite in one 
 Government? How are personal pretensions to be adjusted in such an 
 arrangement? How are questions of Foreign policy, and of Irish policy, 
 to be settled ? How can Aberdeen and Palmerston pull together ? How 
 can Lord John himself bear to sit in the same Cabinet with Graham? 
 And, supposing all these difficulties got over, is it clear that even a coali- 
 tion between Peel and the Whigs could carry the repeal of the Corn Law 
 through the Lords ? What then remains, except an Ultra-Tory Adminis- 
 tration composed of such men as the Dukes of Buckingham and Rich- 
 mond ? Yet how can such an Administration look in the face an Opposi- 
 tion, which will contain every statesman and orator in the House of Com- 
 mons ? What, too, will be the effect produced out of doors by such an 
 Administration? What is there that may not be apprehended if we should 
 have a year of severe distress, and if the manufacturers should impute all 
 their sufferings to the selfish tyranny and rapacity of the Ministers of the 
 Crown ? It is difficult, I think, to conceive a darker prospect than that 
 which lies before us. Yet I have a great confidence in the sense, virtue, and 
 
io6 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. X. 
 
 self-command of the nation ; and I, therefore, hope that we shall get out 
 of this miserable situation, as we have got out of other situations not less 
 miserable. 
 
 I have spent some hours in carefully considering my own position, and 
 determining on my own course. I have at last made up my mind ; and I 
 send you the result of my deliberations. 
 
 If, which is not absolutely impossible, though improbable, Peel should 
 still try to patch up a Conservative Administration, and should, as the 
 head of that Administration, propose the repeal of the Corn Laws, my 
 course is clear. I must support him with all the energy that I have, till 
 the question is carried. Then I am free to oppose him. If an Ultra- 
 Tory Ministry should be framed, my course is equally clear. I must 
 oppose them with every faculty that God has given me. 
 
 If Lord John should undertake to form a Whig Ministry, and should 
 ask for my assistance, I cannot in honor refuse it. But I shall distinctly 
 tell him, and tell my colleagues and constituents, that I will not again go 
 through what I went through in Lord Melbourne’s Administration. I am 
 determined never again to be one of a Government which cannot carry 
 the measures which it thinks essential. I am satisfied that the great error 
 of Lord Melbourne’s Government was, that they did not resign as soon as 
 they found that they could not pass the Appropriation Clause. They 
 would have gone out with flying colors, had they gone out then. This 
 was while I was in India. When I came back, I found the Liberal 
 Ministry in a thoroughly false position ; but I did not think it right to 
 separate myself from them. Now the case is different. Our hands are 
 free. Our path is still clear before us ; and I never will be a party to any 
 step which may bring us into that false position again. I will, therefore, 
 supposing that Lord John applies to me, accept office on this express con 
 dition, — that, if we find that we cannot carry the total repeal of the Corn 
 Laws we will forthwith resign ; or, at all events, that I shall be at liberty 
 forthwith to resign. I am quite sure that this is the right course ; and I 
 am equally sure that, if I take it, I shall be out of office at Easter. 
 
 There remains another possible case. What if Lord John and Peel 
 should coalesce, and should offer me a place in their Cabinet ? I have 
 fully made up my mind to refuse it. I should not at all blame them for 
 coalescing. I am willing, as an independent Member, to support them as 
 far as I can ; and, as respects the question of the Corn Laws, to support 
 them with all my heart and soul. But, after the language which I have 
 held respecting Peel, and which I am less than ever disposed to retract, I 
 feel that I cannot, without a loss of personal dignity, and without exposing 
 myself to suspicions and insinuations which would be insupportable to me, 
 hold any situation under him. The circumstance that my fortune, though 
 amply sufficient for my wants, is small when compared with the fortunes 
 
1844 - 47 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 107 
 
 of all the other Cabinet Ministers of our time, makes it fit that I should 
 avoid with punctilious care everything which the multitude may attribute 
 to sordid motives. There are other reasons which do not apply to Lord 
 John, to Lord Lansdowne, to Palmerston, to Baring, to Labouchere, and 
 to Grey; but which would prevent me from holding office in such an ar- 
 rangement. My opinions about the Irish Church are stronger than those 
 of my friends, and have recently been expressed in a manner which has 
 excited attention. The question of the ballot would also be an insupera- 
 ble obstacle. I have spoken and voted for it ; I will not vote against it for a 
 place ; and I am certain that Peel will never consent to let it be an open 
 question. This is an objection which does not apply to Lord John, and 
 to others whom I have named ; for they always opposed the ballot. My 
 full resolution therefore is, if a Coalition Ministry should be formed, to 
 support it, but not to be a member of it. 
 
 I hope that you will not be dissatisfied with this long exposition of my 
 views and intentions. I must now make haste home, to dress for dinner 
 at Milman's, and for the Westminster Play. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 Albany : December 13, 1845. 
 
 Dear Hannah, — I am glad that you sympathize with me, and approve 
 of my intentions. I should have written yesterday ; but I was detained 
 till after post-time at a consultation of Whigs, which Lord John had sum- 
 moned. We were only five, — Lord John, Lord Cottenham, Clarendon, 
 Palmerston, and myself. This morning we metagain at eleven, and were 
 joined by Baring, by Lord Lansdowne, and by the Duke of Bedford. 
 The posture of affairs is this. Lord John has not consented to form a 
 Ministry. He has only told the Queen that he would consult his friends, 
 and see what could be done. We are all most unwilling to take office, and 
 so is he. I have never seen his natural audacity of spirit so much temper- 
 ed by discretion, and by a sense of responsibility, as on this occasion. The 
 question of the Corn Laws throws all other questions into the shade. Yet 
 even if that question were out of the way, there would be matters enough 
 to perplex us. Ireland, we fear, is on the brink of something like a ser- 
 vile war, — the effect, not of Repeal agitation, but of the severe distress 
 endured by the peasantry. Foreign politics look dark. An augmentation 
 of the army will be necessary. Pretty legacies to leave to a Ministry which 
 will be in a minority in both Houses ! I have no doubt that there is not 
 a single man among us who would not at once refuse to enlist, if he could 
 do so with a clear censcience. Nevertheless, our opinion is that, if we 
 have a reasonable hope of being able to settle the all-important question 
 of the Corn Laws in a satisfactory way, we ought, at whatever sacrifice of 
 quiet and comfort, to take office, though only for a few weeks. But can 
 
io8 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. X. 
 
 we entertain such a hope ? That is the point ; and, till we are satisfied 
 about it, we cannot positively accept or refuse. A few days must pass be- 
 fore we are able to decide. 
 
 It is clear that we cannot win the battle with our own unassisted 
 strength. If we win it at all, it must be by the help of Peel, Graham, 
 and their friends. Peel has not seen Lord John ; but he left with the 
 Queen a memorandum, containing a promise to support a Corn Bill 
 founded on the principles of Lord John’s famous letter to the electors of 
 London.* Graham has had both a correspondence, and a personal con- 
 ference, with Lord John and with Lord Lansdowne, and has given similar 
 assurances. But we all feel that this is too vague, and that we may still 
 be left in the lurch. Lord John has asked for a sketch of Peel’s own 
 plan. This we cannot get. In fact, strange as it seems, the plan was 
 never drawn up in a distinct form, or submitted to the late Cabinet in 
 detail. As soon as the general nature of it was stated, the opposition 
 became so strong that nothing was said as to minor points. We have 
 therefore determined on the following course. All our friends who are 
 likely to be Cabinet Ministers are summoned to London, and will, with 
 scarcely an exception, be here in a day or two. We shall then resolve on 
 the heads of a Corn Law, such as we think that we can with honor intro- 
 duce. When this is done, we shall send it to Peel and Graham, and 
 demand categorically whether they will cordially support such a Bill, aye 
 or no. If they refuse, or use vague language, we shall at once decline to 
 form a Government. If they pledge themselves to stand by us, we must 
 undertake the task. 
 
 This is a very strange, indeed an unprecedented course. But the 
 situation is unprecedented. We are not coming into office as conquerors, 
 leading a majority in Parliament, and driving out our predecessors. Our 
 predecessors, at a most critical moment, throw up the reins in confusion 
 and despair, while they have a strong majority in both Houses, and im- 
 plore us, who are a minority, to extricate the country from its troubles. 
 We are therefore entitled, if we consent, to demand their honest support 
 as a right, not to supplicate it as a favor. My hope is that Peel will not 
 accede to our terms, and that we shall be set at liberty. He will then be 
 forced to go on with a Ministry patched up as well as he can patch it up. 
 In the meantime, nothing can be more public-spirited or disinterested than 
 the feelings of all our friends who have yet been consulted. This is a 
 good sign. 
 
 If I do come in, I shall take a carriage by the month from Newman, 
 and remain at the Albany for some weeks. I have no doubt that we shall 
 
 * “ The imposition of any duty at present, without a provision for its extinction within 
 a short period, would but prolong a contest already sufficiently fruitful of animosity and 
 discontent.” Such was the cardinal sentence of Lord John Russell’s celebrated letter. 
 
1844 - 47 - 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 109 
 
 all be out by Easter in any event. If we should remain longer, I must, of 
 course, take a house ; but nobody can expect that I should be provided 
 with a house at a day’s notice. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 Albany : December 19, 1845. 
 
 Dear Hannah, — It is an odd thing to see a Ministry making. I never 
 witnessed the process before. Lord John has been all day in his inner 
 library. His ante-chamber has been filled with comers and goers, some 
 talking in knots, some writing notes at tables. Every five minutes some- 
 body is called into the inner room. As the people who have been closeted 
 come out, the cry of the whole body of expectants is “ What are you ? ” 
 I was summoned almost as soon as I arrived, and found Lord Auckland 
 and Lord Clarendon, sitting with Lord John. After some talk about other 
 matters. Lord John told me that he had been trying to ascertain my 
 wishes, and that he found that I wanted leisure and quiet more than salary 
 and business. Labouchere had told him this. He therefore offered me 
 the Pay Office, one of the three places which, as I have often told you, I 
 should prefer. I at once accepted it. The tenure by which I shall hold 
 it is so precarious that it matters little what its advantages may be ; but I 
 shall have two thousand a year for the trouble of signing my name. I 
 must indeed attend Parliament more closely than I have of late done ; 
 but my mornings will be as much my own as if I were out of office. If I 
 give to my History the time which I used to pass in transacting business 
 when I was Secretary at War, I shall get on nearly as fast as when I was 
 in Opposition. Some other arrangements promise to be less satisfactory. 
 Palmerston will hear of nothing but the Foreign Office, and Lord Grey 
 therefore declines taking any place. I hope that Lord John will give one 
 of the Secretaryships of State to George Grey. It would be a great eleva- 
 tion ; but I am sure that it is the right thing to do. I have told Grey that 
 I look to him as our future leader in the Commons, and that no preten- 
 sions of mine shall ever interfere with this. Labouchere feels exactly as 
 I do. Labouchere and Baring are at least as good men of business as 
 Grey ; and I may say without vanity that I have made speeches which 
 were out of the reach of any of the three. But, taking the talent for 
 business and the talent for speaking together. Grey is undoubtedly the 
 best qualified among us for the lead ; and we are perfectly sensible of 
 this. Indeed, I may say that I do not believe that there was ever a set 
 of public men who had less jealousy of each other, or who formed a 
 more correct estimate of themselves, than the younger members of this 
 Cabinet. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
no 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. X. 
 
 Albany, London : December 20 , 1845. 
 
 Dear Hannah, — All is over. Late at night, just as I was undressing, 
 a knock was given at the door of my chambers. A messenger had come 
 from Lord John with a short note. The quarrel between Lord Grey and 
 Lord Palmerston had made it impossible to form a Ministry. I went to 
 bed, and slept sound. In the morning I went to the corner of Belgrave 
 Square, which is now the great place for political news, and found that 
 Lord John had gone to Windsor to resign his trust into the Queen’s 
 hands. 
 
 I have no disposition to complain of the loss of office. On the con- 
 trary, my escape from the slavery of a placeman is my only consolation.* 
 But I feel that we are in an ignominious position as a party. After agree- 
 ing on the principles of our measure, after agreeing that our public duty 
 required us to take office, we have now thrown the game up, not on ac- 
 count of any new matter affecting the national interests, but solely be- 
 cause we are, as the French say, mauvais coucheurs, and cannot adjust 
 ourselves to accommodate each other. I do not blame Lord John ; but 
 Lord Grey and Lord Palmerston are both at fault. I think Lord Grey, 
 highly as I esteem his integrity and ability, chiefly responsible for the 
 unfortunate situation in which we are now placed ; but I suspect that 
 Palmerston will be made the scapegoat. He is no favorite with the pub- 
 lic. A large portion of our own friends think him a dangerous Minister. 
 By the whole continental and American press he has been represented as 
 the very Genius of War and Discord. People will now say that, when 
 every other place was within his reach; when he might have had the 
 Home Office, the Colonies, the Admiralty, a peerage, — in short, his own 
 terms, — he declared that, unless he was allowed to be where he was gen- 
 erally considered as a firebrand, he would blow up his party, at a crisis 
 when the fate of his party involved the fate of his country. I suspect 
 that a great storm of public indignation will burst upon him, and that he 
 will sink under it. In the meantime what is to happen ? 
 
 I have had an anxious time since you were away ; but I can truly say 
 that I have done nothing through all these troubles which I should be 
 ashamed to hear proclaimed at Charing Cross, or which I would not do 
 again. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 * “On the whole,” Macaulay wrote to Mr. Ellis, “ I am inclined to think that what 
 has happened will do more good than harm. Perhaps the pleasure with which I have 
 this morning looked round my chambers, and resumed my History, has something to do 
 in making me thus cheerful. Let me advise you to put forth a little tract, after the 
 fashion of the seventeeth century, entitled ‘ A Secret History of some Late Passages, 
 as they were communicated by a Person of Honor to T. F. E., a Gentleman of the Inner 
 Temple.’ ” 
 
1844 - 47 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Macaulay’s readiness to brave publicity was soon put to a most un* 
 pleasant test. Mr. Macfarlan, a constituent who was much in his con- 
 fidence, had transmitted to him for presentation a memorial to the Queen, 
 praying for the removal of all restriction on the importation of corn. 
 Macaulay replied by a letter which commenced as follows; “You will 
 have heard the termination of our attempt to form a Government. All 
 our plans were frustrated by Lord Grey. I hope that the public interests 
 will not suffer. Sir Robert Peel must now undertake the settlement of 
 the question. It is certain that he can settle it. It is by no means certain 
 that we could have done so : for we shall to a man support him ; and a 
 large proportion of those who are now in office would have refused to 
 support us. On my own share in these transactions I reflect with un- 
 mixed satisfaction. From the first, I told Lord John that I stipulated for 
 one thing only, — total and immediate repeal of the Corn Laws ; that my 
 objections to gradual abolition were insurmountable ; but that, if he de- 
 clared for total and immediate repeal, I would be, as to all other matters, 
 absolutely in his hands ; that I would take any office or no office, just as 
 it suited him best ; and that he should never be disturbed by any personal 
 pretensions or jealousies on my part. If everybody else had acted thus, 
 there would now have been a Liberal Ministry. However, as I said, per- 
 haps it is best as it is.” 
 
 It unfortunately happened that Mr. Macfarlan, forgetting both prud- 
 ence and propriety in his eagerness to seize so good an opportunity of 
 establishing his Member’s character as an uncompromising free-trader, 
 thought the letter much too good to be kept to himself. It accordingly 
 appeared in the columns of the Scotsman, and was copied into all the 
 newspapers of the country, to the heartfelt, and, as his diaries prove, the 
 lifelong, regret of Macaulay. He was deeply pained at being paraded 
 before the world as the critic of an old friend and colleague.* 
 
 Bowood : January 4, 1846. 
 
 My dear Napier, — I am, as ever, grateful for your kindness. Of 
 course you were perfectly right in supposing that I was altogether taken 
 by surprise when I saw my letter to Macfarlan in print. I do not think 
 that I was ever more astonished or vexed. However, it is very little my 
 way to brood over what is done and cannot be helped. 
 
 I am not surprised that many should blame me ; and yet I cannot 
 admit that I was much to blame. I was writing to an active friendly con- 
 
 * “ May 17, 1850. Macfarlan called ; a man who did me a great injury ; but he 
 meant no harm, and I have long forgiven him ; though to the end of my life I shall oc- 
 casionally feel twinges of a very painful sort at the recollection.’'* 
 
 And again : “ July 4, 1851. I stayed at home all the morning, and wrote not amiss. 
 Macfarlan called. What harm that man did me ! What misery for a time he caused 
 me ! In my happy life that was one of the calamities which cut deep. There is still a 
 scar.” So keenly did Macaulay feel the only circumstance which ever threw a momen- 
 tary doubt upon the loyalty of his friendship. 
 
I 12 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. X. 
 
 stituent who had during some years been in almost constant communica* 
 tion with me. We had corresponded about Edinburgh intrigues, about 
 the Free Church, about Maynooth ; and I had always written with open- 
 ness, and had never found any reason to complain of indiscretion. After 
 all, I wrote only what everybody at Brooks’s, and at the Reform Club, 
 was saying from morning to night. I will venture to affirm, that, if the 
 post-bags of the last fortnight were rummaged, it would appear that Lord 
 John, Lord Morpeth, Lord Grey himself, — in fact, everybody concerned 
 in the late negotiations, — has written letters quite as unfit for the public 
 eye as mine. However, I well know that the world always judges by the 
 event ; and I must be content to be well abused till some new occurrence 
 puts Macfarlan’s prank out of people’s heads. 
 
 I should be much obliged to you, whenever an opportunity offers, to 
 say from me that I am surprised and indignant at the unauthorized 
 publication of a private letter unguardedly written ; but that, whatever I 
 have written, guardedly or unguardedly, is the truth by which I am pre- 
 pared to stand. 
 
 Ever yours truly, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 Albany, London : January lo, 1846. 
 
 Dear Napier, — Thanks for all your kindness. I am sorry to be the 
 cause of so much trouble to my friends. I have received a penitent letter 
 from Macfarlan, offering to do anything in his power. 
 
 The business is very disagreeable, but might have been worse. To 
 say of a man that he has talents and virtue, but wants judgment and 
 temper, is no very deadly outrage. I declare that I should not have 
 scrupled to put this unlucky sentence,* with a little softening, into the 
 Edinburgh Review. For example : “We cannot but regret that a noble- 
 man, whose talents and virtue we fully acknowledge, should have formed 
 so high an estimate of his own pretensions, and should be so unwilling to 
 make any concession to the opinions of others, that it is not easy to act 
 in concert with him.” There is nothing here which I would not say in the 
 House of Commons. 
 
 I do not know whether it is worth while to mention the following 
 circumstance. Macfarlan, soon after he got this unlucky letter, wrote to 
 tell me that he thought the publication of it would be of use to me. I 
 instantly wrote to beg that he would not think of such a thing, and gave 
 as my reason the great esteem and admiration which, in spite of recent 
 events, I felt for Lord Grey. Whether any good use can be made of this 
 fact I do not know. I am very unwilling to be on bad terms with a man 
 whom I greatly respect and value. I rely implicitly on your discretion. 
 
 Ever yours truly, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 ♦ The sentence which referred to “personal pretensions” and “jealousies.” 
 
1844 - 47 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 II3 
 
 At this period of his life Macaulay was still a hard hitter ; but he 
 timed his blows with due regard for the public interests. In January, 
 1845, writes to Mr. Napier : “Many thanks for your kind expressions 
 about the last session. I have certainly been heard with great favor by 
 the House whenever I have spoken. As to the course which I have taken, 
 I feel no misgivings. Many honest men think that there ought to be no 
 retrospect in politics. I am firmly convinced that they are in error, and 
 that much better measures than any which we owe to Peel would be very 
 dearly purchased by the utter ruin of all public virtue which must be the 
 consequence of such immoral lenity.” 
 
 So much for Maynooth, and for the past. With regard to the future and 
 the Corn Laws, he says : “ As to any remarks which I may make on Peel’s 
 gross inconsistency, they must wait till his Bill is out of all danger. On 
 the Maynooth question he ran no risk of a defeat ; and therefore I had 
 no scruple about attacking him. But to hit him hard while he is fighting 
 the land-owners would be a very different thing. It will be all that he 
 can do to win the battle with the best help that we can give him. A time 
 will come for looking back. At present our business is to get the country 
 safe through a very serious and doubtful emergency.” 
 
 But no aid from his opponents, however loyally rendered, could keep 
 Sir Robert Peel in office when once that emergency was at an end. On 
 the 26th of June, 1846, the Corn Law Bill passed the Peers; and, before 
 the night was over, the Government had received its coup-de-grace in the 
 Commons. Lord John Russell was again commanded to form an Ad- 
 ministration. Macaulay obtained the post which he preferred, as the 
 least likely to interfere with his historical labors ; and, as Paymaster - 
 General of the Army, he went down to Scotland to ask for re-election. 
 On the 9th of July he wrote to Mrs. Trevelyan from the Royal Hotel : 
 “ I reached Edinburgh last night, and found the city in a storm. The 
 dissenters and Free Churchmen have got up an opposition on the old 
 ground of Maynooth, and have sent for Sir Culling Eardley Smith. He 
 is to be here this evening. Comically enough, we shall lie at the same 
 inn; but the landlord, waiters, chambermaid, and boots are all with me. 
 
 I have no doubt about the result. We had to-day a great meeting of 
 electors. The Lord Provost presided. Near three thousand well-dressed 
 people, chiefly voters, were present. I spoke for an hour, — as well, they 
 tell me, as I ever spoke in my life, and certainly with considerable effect. 
 There was immense cheering, mingled with a little hissing. A show of 
 hands was called for. I had a perfect forest, and the other side not fifty. 
 I am exceedingly well, and in high spirits. I had become somewhat 
 effeminate in literary repose and leisure. You would not know me again, 
 now that my blood is up. I am such as when, twelve years ago, I fought 
 the battle with Sadler at Leeds.” This ardor for the fray augured badly 
 VoL. II.— 8 
 
LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. X 
 
 II4 
 
 for Sir Culling Eardley. He proved no match for Macaulay, who out 
 talked him on the hustings ; beat him by two to one at the poll ; and 
 returned to the Albany in triumph, none the worse for his exhilarating, 
 though rather expensive, contest. 
 
 We are told by Gibbon, in the most delightful of autobiographies, 
 that he never found his mind more vigorous, nor his composition more 
 happy, than in “ the winter hurry of society and Parliament.” The his- 
 torian of the Roman Empire found a gentle stimulus and a salutary dis- 
 traction in the discharge of his functions as Commissioner of Trade and 
 Plantations, and in the debates on Burke’s measures of Economical 
 Reform. In like manner the routine of the Pay Office, and the obliga- 
 tions of the Treasury bench in the House of Commons, were of benefit to 
 Macaulay while he was engaged upon Mojimouth’s invasion, and the 
 Revolution of 1688. The new Paymaster-General discovered his duties 
 to be even less burdensome than he had been given to suppose. An 
 occasional Board day at Chelsea, passed in checking off lists of names 
 and signing grants of pension, made very moderate demands upon his 
 time and energy; and in Parliament his brother Members treated him 
 with a respectful indulgence on which he very seldom trespassed. He 
 only spoke five times in all, during the sessions of 1846 and 1847 ; but 
 whenever, and on whatever subject, he opened his lips, the columns of 
 Hansard are thickly studded with compliments paid to him either in 
 retrospect or by anticipation. His intention to take part in a discussion 
 was, as it were, advertized beforehand by the misgivings of the speakers 
 who differed from him. When the Ten Hours Bill was under considera- 
 tion, one of its most resolute opponents, fearing the effect which would 
 be produced upon the House by a dissertation from Macaulay in favor of 
 the principle of the Factory Acts, humorously deprecated the wrath of 
 ” his Right Honorable friend, under whose withering eloquence he would, 
 there was little doubt, be very speedily extinguished.” * On another 
 
 ♦ On the 8th October, 1853, Macaulay says, with the frankness of a man who is 
 speaking about his own performances without the fear of being overheard : “ I worked at 
 the Factory speech, but did little. I like the speech amazingly. I rather think that it is 
 my very best.” 
 
 At all events, it has proved a mine of wealth to those who, since Macaulay’s day, have 
 argued for extending the Factory Acts. He made an effective use of the analogy of the 
 Sunday in order to defend the principle of regulating the hours of labor by law. ” Man, 
 man is the great instrument that produces wealth. The natural difference between Cam- 
 pania and Spitzbergen is trifling when compared with the difference between a country 
 inhabited by men full of bodily and mental vigor, and a countiy inhabited by men sunk 
 in bodUy and mental decrepitude. Therefore, it is that we are not poorer but richer, 
 because we have, through many a^es, rested from our labor one day in seven. That day 
 is not lost. While industry is suspended, while the plough lies in the furrow, while the 
 Exchange is silent, while no smoke ascends from the factory, a process is going on quite 
 as important to the wealth of nations as any process which is performed on more busy 
 
1844 - 47 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 ”5 
 
 occasion he was unexpectedly called upon his feet to account for a letter, 
 in which he had expressed an opinion about the propriety of granting a 
 pardon to the leaders of the Welsh Chartists. When the House had 
 heard his explanation (into which he contrived to bring an allusion to 
 Judge Jeffreys and the Bloody Assize, — a reminiscence, in all probability, 
 of his morning’s study), Mr. Disraeli gracefully enough expressed the 
 general sentiment of the audience. “ It is always, to me at least, and I 
 believe to the House, so agreeable to listen to the Right Honorable gen- 
 tleman under any circumstances, that we must have been all gratified to- 
 night that he has found it necessary to vindicate his celebrated epistle.” 
 
 In October, 1846, Macaulay writes to one of his sisters : “ I have re- 
 ceived the most disgusting letter, by many degrees, that I ever read in my 
 life from old Mrs. . I can convey to you no idea of it but by tran- 
 
 scribing it, and it is too long to transcribe. However, I will give you the 
 opening. ‘ My dear friend, — Many years have passed away since my 
 revered husband and your excellent father walked together as Christian 
 friends, and since I derived the sweetest comfort and pleasure from a 
 close friendship with both your blessed parents.’ After a great deal more 
 about various revered and blessed people, she comes to the real object 
 of her epistle, which is to ask for three livings and a bishopric. I have 
 been accustomed to unreasonable and importunate suitors, but I protest 
 that this old hag’s impudence fairly took away my breath. In order to 
 recommend her brats still more, she assures me that one of them has been 
 curate to that blessed man, Mr. Close. She is so moderate as to say that 
 for her son James she will accept, nay, very thankfully accept, even a 
 living of five hundred a year. Another proof of her moderation is that, 
 before she asks for a bishopric, she has the grace to say, ‘ I am now 
 going to be very bold.’ Really the comedy of actual life is beyond all 
 comedy.” 
 
 The repugnance which this deluge of unctuous importunity aroused 
 in Macaulay’s breast was not aggravated by any prepossession in favor of 
 doctrines the opposite of Evangelical. This is clearly proved, if proof be 
 
 days. Man, the machine of machines, the machine compared with which all the con- 
 trivances of the W atts and the Arkwrights are worthless, is repairing and winding up, so 
 that he returns to his labors on the Monday with clearer intellect, with livelier spirits, 
 with renewed corporal vigor. Never will I believe that what makes a pK)pulation 
 stronger, and healthier, and wiser, and better, can ultimately make it poorer. You try to 
 frighten us by telling us that, in some German factories, the young work seventeen hours 
 in the twenty-four ; that they work so hard that among thousands there is not one who 
 grows to such a stature that he can be admitted into the army ; and you ask whether, if 
 we pass this bill, we can possibly hold our own against such competition as this. Sir, I 
 laugh at the thought of such competition. If ever we are forced to yield the foremost 
 place among commercial nations, we shall yield it, not to a race of degenerate dwarfs but 
 to some people pre-eminently vigorous in body and in mind.” 
 
LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. X. 
 
 1 16 
 
 wanting, by the last sentence of a letter bearing upon what was perhaps 
 the most important piece of business which it fell to him to transact as 
 Paymaster-General of the Army. 
 
 Dear Ellis, — I have at this moment the disposal of a tolerable piece 
 of patronage, the Chaplainship of Chelsea Hospital ; light duty, a nice 
 house, coal, candles, and three hundred pounds a year. It would be an 
 exceedingly pleasant situation for a literary man. But he must also be a 
 man of piety and feeling ; for, the Hospital being full of old, battered 
 soldiers, the duty, though by no means onerous, consists chiefly in attend- 
 ing sick beds, and I would not for any consideration assign such a duty, 
 to a person who would hurry through it in a perfunctory manner. Is 
 there any among the junior Fellows of Trinity who would suit ? I do not 
 want a politician ; and nothing shall induce me to take a Puseyite. 
 
 Y ours very truly, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 In Parliament, in society, and in literary and politcal circles through- 
 out the country, Macaulay already enjoyed that general respect and good- 
 will which attach themselves to a man who has done great things, and 
 from whom something still greater is expected. But there was one city 
 in the kingdom where he had ceased to be popular, and unfortunately 
 that city was Edinburgh. The causes of his unpopularity were, in part, 
 external and temporary, and in part can be detected only after an atten- 
 tive review of his personal character. 
 
 In the year 1847 the disruption of the Scotch Church was already an 
 accomplished and accepted fact; but that momentous crisis had left 
 bitter feelings behind it. Our leading public men had displayed an in- 
 difference to the tendencies of religious opinion in Scotland, and a scan- 
 dalous ignorance of her religious affairs, which had alienated from Whigs 
 and Englishmen the confidence and attachment of the population north 
 of Tweed. Macaulay, the most eminent Whig, and far the most eminent 
 Englishman, who then sat for a Scotch constituency, was made the scape- 
 goat for the sins of all his colleagues. He might have averted his fate by 
 subservience, or mitigated it by prudence ; but the necessity of taking a 
 side about Maynooth obliged him to announce his views on the question 
 of religious endowments, and his nature did not allow him to soften down 
 those views by the use of dainty and ambiguous phraseology. He wished 
 all the world to know that, however much the people whom he repre- 
 sented might regard ecclesiastical matters from the standpoint of the 
 Church, he regarded them, and would always continue to regard them 
 exclusively from the standpoint of the State. 
 
 Radicalism, again, then as always, was stronger in Scotland than in any 
 other portion of the United Kingdom, and stronger in Edinburgh than in 
 any other town of Scotland ; for in Edinburgh the internal differences of 
 
1844 - 47 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 II7 
 
 the Liberal party were intensified by local circumstances. “Twenty years 
 ago,” writes a former supporter of Macaulay, “ there was among us a 
 great deal of what in Oxford is called Town and Gown. The Parliament 
 House, Literature, and the University made the Gown. The tradesmen, 
 as a class, maintained that the high Whigs, though calling themselves the 
 friends of the people, were exclusive and overbearing ; and there was 
 some truth in this. The Whigs were always under terror of being coupled 
 with Cobbett, Hunt, and their kind.” Macaulay had his full share of this 
 feeling. In May, 1842, when the People’s Charter was presented to Parlia- 
 ment, he spoke, with an emphasis which nothing but sincere conviction 
 could supply, against Mr. Thomas Buncombe’s motion that the peti- 
 tioners should be heard at the Bar of the House. “ Sir,” he said, “ I can- 
 not conscientiously assent to the motion. And yet I must admit that the 
 Honorable Member for Finsbury has framed it with considerable skill. 
 He has done his best to obtain the support of all those timid and inter- 
 ested politicians who think much more about the security of their seats than 
 about the security of their country. It would be very convenient to me 
 to give a silent vote with him. I should then have it in my power to say to 
 the Chartists of Ednburgh, ‘ When your petition was before the House I 
 was on your side : I was for giving you a full hearing.’ I should at the 
 same time be able to assure my Conservative constituents that I never had 
 supported and never would support the Charter. But, Sir, though this 
 course would be very convenient, it is one which my sense of duty will not 
 suffer me to take.” In a letter to Mr. Napier, dated the loth of August, 
 1844, he writes : “ I must put off my journey northward for a week. One 
 of my reasons for this postponement (but let it rest between ourselves) is 
 that, on Wednesday the 21st, Hume is to lay the first stone of a monu- 
 ment to the Republicans who were transported by Pitt and Dundas. Now, 
 though I by no means approve of the severity with which those people 
 were treated, I do not admire their proceedings, nor should I choose to 
 attend the ceremony. But, if I arrived just before it, I should certainly be 
 expected by a portion of my constituents either to attend or explain the 
 reason of my absence, and thus we should have another disagreeable con- 
 troversy.” 
 
 But Macaulay might have been as much of a Whig and an Erastian as 
 he chose if he had had in his composition more of the man of the world 
 and less of the man of the study. There was a perceptible want of light- 
 ness of touch in his method of doing the ordinary business which falls to 
 the lot of a Member of Parliament. “ The truth is,” wrote Lord Cock- 
 burn in July, 1846, “that Macaulay, with all his admitted knowledge, 
 talent, eloquence, and worth, is not popular. He cares more for his His- 
 tory than for the jobs of his constituents, and answers letters irregularly, 
 and with a brevity deemed contemptuous ; and, above all other defects, 
 
1x8 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. X. 
 
 he suffers severely from the vice of over-talking, and consequently of 
 under-listening. A deputation goes to London to enlighten their repre- 
 sentative. They are full of their own matter, and their chairman has a 
 statement bottled and ripe, which he is anxious to draw and decant ; but, 
 instead of being listened to, they no sooner enter the audience chamber 
 than they find themselves all superseded by the restless ability of their 
 eloquent Member, who, besides mistaking speaking for hearing, has the 
 indelicate candor not even to profess being struck by the importance of 
 the affair.” 
 
 Macaulay had exalted, and, as some would hold, overstrained ideas of 
 the attitude which a representative should adopt in his pecuniary relations 
 with the electors who have sent him to Parliament. Although one of the 
 most generous of men, — who knew no delight like giving, and who in- 
 dulged himself in that respect with an indiscriminate and incautious 
 facility which was at times little short of blameworthy, — he was willing, 
 when Edinburgh was in question, to be called stingy if he could only 
 make it clear to his own conscience that he was not tampering with cor- 
 ruption. 
 
 London : July 14, 1841. 
 
 My dear Mr. Black, — I am much gratified by what you say about the 
 race-cup. I had already written to Craig to say that I should not 
 subscribe, and I am glad that my determination meets your approbation. 
 In the first place, I am not clear that the object is a good one. In the 
 next place I am clear that by giving money for such an object in 
 obedience to such a summons, I should completely change the whole 
 character of my connection with Edinburgh. It has been usual enough 
 for rich families to keep a hold on corrupt boroughs by defraying the 
 expense of public amusements. Sometimes it is a ball; sometimes a 
 regatta. The Derby family used to support the Preston races. The 
 Members for Beverley, I believe, find a bull for their constituents to bait. 
 But these were not the conditions on which I undertook to represent 
 Edinburgh. In return for your generous confidence, I offer Parliamentary 
 service, and nothing else. I am indeed most willing to contribute the 
 little that I can spare to your most useful public charities. But even this 
 I do not consider as matter of contract. Nor should I think it proper 
 that the Town Council should call on me to contribute even to an hospi- 
 tal or a school. But the call that is now made is one so objectionable 
 that, I must plainly say, I would rather take the Chiltern Hundreds than 
 comply with it. 
 
 I should feel this if I were a rich man. But I am not rich. I have the 
 means of living very comfortably, according to my notions, and I shall 
 still be able to spare something for the common objects of our party, and 
 something for the distressed. But I have nothing to waste on gayeties 
 
1844 - 47 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 . II9 
 
 which can at best only be considered harmless. If our friends want a 
 Member who will find them in public diversions, they can be at no loss, 
 I know twenty people who, if you will elect them to Parliament, will 
 gladly treat you to a race and a race-ball once a month. But I shall not 
 be very easily induced to believe that Edinburgh is disposed to select her 
 representatives on such a principle. 
 
 Ever yours truly, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 Macaulay was so free from some faults to which literary men are 
 proverbially inclined, that many of those who had claims upon his time 
 and services were too apt to forget that, after all, he possessed the literary 
 temperament. In the heyday of youth he relished the bustle of crowds, 
 and could find amusement in the company of strangers; but as years 
 went forward, — as his spirits lost their edge and his health its spring, — 
 he was ever more and more disposed to recoil from publicity. In- 
 satiable of labor, he regarded the near approach, and still more the dis- 
 tant prospect, of worry with an exaggerated disquietude which in his case 
 was a premonitory symptom of the disease that was to kill him. Per- 
 petually overworked by his History (and there is no overwork like that 
 of a task which has grown to be dearer to a man than life itself), he no 
 longer had the nerve required to face the social efforts, and to undergo 
 the minute and unceasing observation, to which he was, or fancied him- 
 self to be, exposed when on a visit to the city which he represented. “ If 
 the people of Edinburgh,” he wrote to Mr. Napier, “ were not my con- 
 stituents, there is no place in the island where I should like so much to 
 pass a^few weeks ; but our relation imposes both such constant exertion 
 and such constant reserve that a trip thither is neither pleasant nor 
 prudent.” And again : “ I hope to be at Edinburgh on August the 19th 
 or 20th. At so dead a time of the year I should think that it might be 
 possible for me to escape speeches and meetings, particularly as I mean 
 to go quietly, and without sending notice to any of our political managers. 
 It is really very hard that I cannot visit your city as any other gentleman 
 and man of letters can do My intention is to stay about a fortnight, and 
 I should like to go out to you from Edinburgh on Saturday the 20th, and 
 to return on the Monday.' I wish to avoid passing a Sunday in the good 
 town, for to whatever church I go, I shall give offence to somebody.” 
 
 Whatever may have been the origin and the extent of Macaulay’s 
 shortcomings as representative of Edinburgh, there were men at hand 
 who were anxious, and very well able, to turn them to their own account. 
 But the injuries which he forgave I am forbidden to resent. No drop of 
 ink from this pen shall resuscitate the memory of the intrigues that pre- 
 ceded and brought about the catastrophe of 1847 ; a catastrophe which 
 was the outcome of jealousies which have long been dead, and the step- 
 
120 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. X. 
 
 ping-stone of ambitions which have ere this been gratified. But justice 
 demands that on one point a protest should be made. There are some 
 still alive who have persuaded themselves into the belief that they op- 
 posed Macaulay because he was not sound on the Corn Laws ; — and this 
 in the teeth of the facts that from the year 1843 onward he was a con- 
 sistent and hearty supporter of the uncompromising Resolution annually 
 brought forward by Mr. Charles Villiers ; and that (as his letter to Mr. 
 Macfarlan made only too notorious), at the crowning moment of the Free 
 Trade controversy he statedly and resolutely refused to lend his assistance 
 in forming any Ministry which did not pledge itself to the total and im- 
 mediate removal of the duty upon corn.* If such an early and signal 
 repentance as this, — (and I will not enter into the question whether or 
 not his previous conduct had been such as called for repentance,) — was 
 ineffectual to clear him in the eyes of his constituents, then indeed the 
 authority of an elector over his representative would be a tyranny which 
 no man of right feeling would desire to exercise, and no man of honor 
 could be expected to endure. 
 
 When Parliament was dissolved in the summer of 1847, all the various 
 elements of discontent, political, ecclesiastical, and personal alike, mus- 
 tered round the standard that was raised by Sir Culling Eardley’s former 
 committee, “ which,” says Lord Cockburn, “ contained Established 
 Churchmen and wild Voluntaries, intense Tories and declamatory Radi- 
 cals, who agreed in nothing except in holding their peculiar religion as 
 the scriptural, and therefore the only safe, criterion of fitness for public 
 duty. These men would have preferred Blackadder to Marlborough for 
 the command of an army.” “ The struggle,” says Hugh Miller, “ is ex- 
 citing the deepest interest, and, as the beginning of a decided movement 
 on the part of Christians of various denominations to send men of avowed 
 Christian principle to Parliament, may lead to great results.” The com- 
 mon sense of the Scotch people brought this movement, such as it was, 
 to a speedy close ; and it led to no greater result than that of inflicting a 
 transient scandal upon the sacred name of religion, and giving Macaulay 
 the leisure which he required in order to put the finishing touch to the 
 first two volumes of his History. 
 
 The leaders of the agitation judged it necessary to select a stronger 
 candidate than Sir Culling Eardley, and their choice fell upon Mr. Charles 
 Cowan, a son of one of the most respected citizens of Edinburgh, and 
 himself a man of high private character, though not very conversant with 
 public affairs. The gentleman who introduced Mr. Cowan to the electors 
 at his first public meeting recommended him on the express ground that 
 “ Christian men ought to send Christian men to represent them.” But, 
 
 * See page iii of this volume. 
 
1844-47 • 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 12 
 
 when people inspired by these exemplary motives had once begun to 
 move, others whose views were of a more temporal and mundane com- 
 plexion were not behindhand in following their example. A deputation 
 of spirit-dealers waited upon Macaulay to urge the propriety of altering 
 the excise duties in the interest of their trade. They failed to convince 
 him ; and he told them plainly that he would do nothing for them, and 
 most probably should do something against them. The immediate con- 
 sequence of this unsatisfactory interview was the appearance of a fourth 
 candidate in the person of a Mr. Blackburn, who was described by his 
 own proposer as one who “ came forward for the excise trader, which 
 showed that his heart was with the people,” or at any rate with that sec- 
 tion of the people whose politics consisted in dislike to the whiskey-duty. 
 
 The contest was short, but sharp. For ten days the city was white 
 with broadsides, and the narrow courts off the High Street rang with the 
 dismal strains of innumerable ballad-singers. The opposition was nomi- 
 nally directed against both the sitting Members ; but from the first it was 
 evident that all the scurrility was meant exclusively for Macaulay. He 
 came scatheless even out of that ordeal. The vague charge of being too 
 much of an essayist and too little of a politician was the worst that either 
 saint or sinnner could find to say of him. The burden of half the elec- 
 tion-songs was to the effect that he had written poetry, and that one who 
 knew so much about Ancient Rome could not possibly be the man for 
 Modern Athens. The day of nomination was the 29th of July. The 
 space in front of the hustings had been packed by the advocates of cheap 
 whiskey. Professor Aytoun, who stooped to second Mr. Blackburn* was 
 applauded to his heart’s content, while Macaulay was treated with a 
 brutality the details of which are painful to read and would be worse than 
 useless to record. The polling took place on the morrow. A consider- 
 able number of the Tories, instead of plumping for Blackburn, or divid- 
 ing their favors with the sitting Members, (who were both of them mod- 
 erate Whigs and supporters of the Establishment,) thought fit to give 
 their second votes to Mr. Cowan, an avowed Voluntaryist in Church 
 matters, and the accepted champion of the Radical party. “ I waited 
 with Mr. Macaulay,” says Mr. Adam Black, “ in a room of the Merchants’ 
 Hall, to receive at every hour the numbers who had polled in all the 
 districts. At ten o’clock we were confounded to find that he was 150 
 below Cowan, but still had faint hopes that the next hour might turn the 
 scale. The next hour came, and a darker prospect. At twelve o’clock 
 he was 340 below Cowan. It was obvious now that the field was lost ; 
 but we were left from hour to hour under the torture of a sinking poll, till 
 at four o’clock it stood thus : Cowan, 2,063 J Craig, 1,854 ; Macaulay, 
 1,477 ; Blackburn, 980.” 
 
122 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. X. 
 
 Edinburgh : July 30, 1847. 
 
 Dearest Hannah, — I hope that you will not be much vexed ; for I am 
 not vexed, but as cheerful as ever I was in my life. I have been com- 
 pletely beaten. The poll has not closed ; but there is no chance that I 
 shall retrieve the lost ground. Radicals, Tories, Dissenters, Voluntaries, 
 Free Churchmen, spirit drinkers who are angry because I will not pledge 
 myself to repeal all taxes' on whiskey, and great numbers of persons who 
 are jealous of my chief supporters here, and think that the patronage of 
 Edinburgh has been too exclusively distributed among a clique, have 
 united to bear me down. I will make no hasty resolutions ; but every- 
 thing vseems to indicate that I ought to take this opportunity of retiring 
 from public life 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 Edinburgh : July 30, 1847. 
 
 Dear Ellis, — I am beaten, but not at all the less happy for being so. 
 I think that having once been manumitted, after the old fashion, by a 
 slap in the face, I shall not take to bondage again. But there is time to 
 consider that matter. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 That same night, while the town was still alive with jubilation over a 
 triumph that soon lost its gloss even in the eyes of those who won it, 
 Macaulay, in the grateful silence of his chamber, was weaving his per- 
 turbed thoughts into those exquisite lines which tell within the compass 
 of a €core of stanzas the essential secret of the life whose outward aspect 
 these volumes have endeavored to portray : — 
 
 The day of tumult, strife, defeat, was o’er. 
 
 Worn out with toil, and noise, and scorn, and spleen, 
 
 I slumbered, and in slumber saw once more 
 A room in an old mansion, long unseen. 
 
 That room, methought, was curtained from the light ; 
 
 Yet through the curtams shone the moon’s cold ray 
 Full on a cradle, where, in linen white. 
 
 Sleeping life’s first soft sleep, an infant lay. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 And lo ! the fairy queens who nile our birth 
 Drew nigh to speak the new-born baby’s doom : 
 
 With noiseless step, which left no trace on earth, 
 
 From gloom they came, and vanished into gloom. 
 
 Not deigning on the boy a glance to cast 
 
 Swept careless by the gorgeous Queen of Gain. 
 
 More scornful still, the Queen of Fashion passed, 
 
 With mincing gait and sneer of cold disdain. 
 
1844 - 47 - 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 123 
 
 The Queen of Power tossed high her jewelled head, 
 And o’er her shoulder threw a wrathful frown. 
 
 The Queen of Pleasure on the pillow shed 
 Scarce one stray rose-leaf from her fragrant crown. 
 
 Still fay in long procession followed fay ; 
 
 And still the little couch remained unblest : 
 
 But, when those wayward sprites had passed away, 
 Came One, the last, the mightiest, and the best. 
 
 Oh ! glorious lady, with the eyes of light, 
 
 And laurels clustering round thy lofty brow. 
 
 Who by the cradle’s side didst watch that night. 
 Warbling a sweet strange music, who wast thou ? 
 
 “ Yes, darling ; let them go,” so ran the strain : 
 
 “ Yes ; let them go, gain, fashion, pleasure, power, 
 And all the busy elves to whose domain 
 
 Belongs the nether sphere, the fleeting hour. 
 
 “ Without one envious sigh, one anxious scheme. 
 
 The nether sphere, the fleeting hour resign. 
 
 Mine is the world of thought, the world of dream. 
 
 Mine all the past, and all the future mine. 
 
 * * * 
 
 “Of the fair brotherhood who share my grace, 
 
 I, from thy natal day, pronounce thee free ; 
 
 And, if for some I keep a nobler place, 
 
 I keep for none a happier than for thee. 
 
 “ There are who, while to vulgar eyes they seem 
 Of all my bounties largely to partake, 
 
 Of me as of some rival’s handmaid deem. 
 
 And court me but for gain’s, power’s, fashion’s sake. 
 
 “ To such, though deep their lore, though wide their fame, 
 Shall my great mysteries be all unknown : 
 
 But thou, through good and evil, praise and blame. 
 
 Wilt not thou love me for myself alone ? 
 
 “ Yes ; thou wilt love me with exceeding love ; 
 
 And I will tenfold all that love repay : 
 
 Still smiling, though the tender may reprove ; 
 
 Still faithful, though the trusted may betray. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 “ In the dark hour of shame, I deigned to stand 
 Before the frowning peers at Bacon’s side ; 
 
 On a far shore I smoothed with tender hand, 
 
 Through months of pain, the sleepless bed of Hyde. 
 
24 ‘ 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. X. 
 
 “ I brought the wise and brave of ancient days 
 To cheer the cell where Raleigh pined alone. 
 
 I lighted Milton’s darkness with the blaze 
 
 Of the bright ranks that guard the eternal throne. 
 
 “ And even so, my child, it is my pleasure 
 
 That thou not then alone shouldst feel me nigh, 
 When in domestic bliss and studious leisure. 
 
 Thy weeks uncounted come, uncounted fly. 
 ***=»• 
 
 “No; when on restless night dawns cheerless morrow, 
 When weary soul and wasting body pine. 
 
 Thine am I still, in danger, sickness, sorrow, 
 
 In conflict, obloquy, want, exile, thine ; 
 
 “ Thine where on mountain waves the snowbirds scream. 
 Where more than Thule’s winter barbs the breeze, 
 Where scarce, through lowering clouds, one sickly gleam 
 Lights the drear May-day of Antarctic seas ; 
 
 “ Thine, when around thy litter’s track all day 
 
 White sandhills shall reflect the blinding glare ; 
 Thine, when, through forests breathing death, thy way 
 All night shall wind by many a tiger’s lair ; 
 
 “ Thine most, when friends turn pale, when traitors fly. 
 When, hard beset, thy spirit, justly proud. 
 
 For truth, peace, freedom, mercy, dares defy 
 A sullen priesthood and a raving crowd. 
 
 “ Amidst the din of all things fell and vile. 
 
 Hate’s yell, and envy’s hiss, and folly’s bray, 
 Remember me ; and with an unforced smile 
 See riches, baubles, flatterers, pass away. 
 
 “ Yes ; they will pass away ; nor deem it strange ; 
 
 They come and go, as comes and goes the sea ; 
 
 And let them come and go ; thou, through all change, 
 Fix thy firm gaze on virtue and on me.” 
 
1847 - 49 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY 
 
 *25 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 1847-1849. 
 
 Macaulay retires into private life — Extracts from Lord Carlisle’s journal — Macaulay’s 
 conversation — His memory — His distaste for general society — His ways with children — 
 Letters to his niece Margaret — The judicious poet — Valentines — Sight-seeing — 
 Eastern tours — Macaulay’s method of work — His diligence in collecting his materials 
 — Glencoe — Londonderry — Macaulay’s accuracy — Opinions of Mr. Bagehot and Mr. 
 Buckle — Macaulay’s industry at the desk — His love for his task — Extracts from his 
 diary — His attention to the details of the press — The History appears — Congratula- 
 tions — Lord Halifax ; Lord Jeffrey ; Lord Auckland ; Miss Edgeworth — The popu- 
 larity of the work — Extract from “ Punch ” — Macaulay’s attitude in relation to his 
 critics — The Quarterly Review — The sacrifices which Macaulay made to literature. 
 
 FTER a few nights of sound sleep, and a few days of quiet among his 
 
 books, Macaulay had recovered both from the fatigues of the contest 
 and the vexation of the defeat. On the 6th of August 1847, he writes to 
 his sister Fanny : “ I am here in solitude, reading and working with great 
 satisfaction to myself. My table is covered with letters of condolence, 
 and with invitations from half the places which have not yet choosen 
 members. I have been asked to stand for Ayr, for Wigton, and for Ox- 
 fordshire. At Wigton and in Oxfordshire I was actually put in nomina- 
 tion without my permission, and my supporters were with difficulty pre- 
 vented from going to the poll. From the Sheffield Iris, which was sent 
 me to-day, I see that a party wishes to put me up for the West Riding. 
 Craig tells me that there is a violent reaction at Edinburgh, and that those 
 who voted against me are very generally ashamed of themselves and wish 
 to have me back again. I dfd not know how great a politician I was till my 
 Edinburgh friends chose to dismiss me from politics., I never can leave 
 public life with more dignity and grace than at present.” 
 
 Such consolations as private life had to offer, Macaulay possessed in 
 abundance. He enjoyed the pleasures of society in their most delightful 
 shape ; for he was one of a circle of eminent and gifted men who were 
 the warm friends of himself and of each other. How brilliantly these 
 men talked is already a matter of tradition. No report of their conversa- 
 
126 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XL 
 
 tion has been published, and in all probability none exists. Scattered and 
 meagre notices in the leaves of private diaries form the sole surviving 
 record of many an Attic night and still more agreeable morning. Happily 
 Lord Carlisle’s journal has preserved for us, (as may be seen in the ex- 
 tracts which follow,) at least the names of those with whom Macaulay 
 lived, the houses which he frequented, and some few of the topics which 
 he discussed. That journal proves, by many an affectionate and admiring 
 expression, how highly my uncle was esteemed by one whose approba- 
 tion and regard were never lightly given.* 
 
 “ June 27, T843. — I breakfasted with Hallam, John Russell, Macaulay, Everett, 
 Van de Weyer, Mr. Hamilton, U.S., and Mahon. Never were such torrents of good 
 talk as burst and sputtered over from Macaulay and Hallam. A great deal about 
 Latin and Greek inscriptions . They think the first unrivalled for that purpose ; 
 so free from articles and particles. Hallam read some wondrous extracts from the 
 Lives of the Saints f now being edited by Newman. Macaulay repeated, after the 
 Yankees were gone, an egregious extract from a Natchez repudiation Paper, mak- 
 ing out our Saviour to be the first great repudiator, when he overthrew the seats of 
 the money-changers.” 
 
 “ March 4, 1848. — Macaulay says that they” (the Parisian republicans) “ are 
 refuting the doctrines of political economy in the way a man would refute the doc- 
 trine of gravitation by jumping off the Monument.” 
 
 '''• January 18 4Q. — Finished Macaulay’s two volumes. How admirable they 
 are, full of generous impulse, judicial impartiality, wide research, deep thought, pic- 
 turesque description, and sustained eloquence I Was history ever better written ? 
 
 * Macaulay’s acquaintance with the Howard family was of old standing, as may be 
 gathered from a passage in a letter of the year 1R33. This exceedingly droll production, 
 is too thickly strewn with personal allusions to admit of its being published except in a 
 fragmentary condition which would be unjust to the writer, and not very interesting to 
 the reader. 
 
 “ I dined at Holland House yesterday. 
 
 Dramatis Person/b. 
 
 A fine old gentleman, very gouty and good-natured. 
 
 Prime Minister ; a proud and majestic, yet polite 
 
 and affable, persort. 
 
 A holy and venerable ecclesiastic, director of the 
 
 consciences of the above-named lords. 
 
 * * * ^ # 
 
 Lady Dover A charming woman, like all the Howards of Car- 
 
 lisle.” 
 
 t About this period Macaulay writes to Mr. Napier : “ Newman announces an English 
 Hagiology in numbers, which is to contain tbe lives of such blessed saints as Thomas ^ 
 Becket and Dunstan. I should not dislike to be the Avvocato del Diavolo on such an oc- 
 casion.” And again : “ I hear much of the miracles of the third and fourth centuries by 
 Newman. I think that I could treat that subject without giving scandal to any rational 
 person, and I should like it much. The times require a Middleton.” 
 
 Lord Holland .. 
 
 Earl Grey 
 
 The Rev. Sydney Smith 
 
LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 1847-49. 
 
 127 
 
 Guizot * praises Macaulay. He says that he has truly hit the ruling passion of 
 William the Third: his hatred for Louis the Fourteenth. 
 
 February 12 . — Breakfasted with Macaulay. There were Van de Weyer, Hal- 
 1 am, Charles Austin, Panizzi, Colonel Mure, and Dicky Milnes, but he went to York- 
 shire after the first cup. The conversation ranged the world ; art, ancient and 
 modern ; the Greek tragedians ; characters of the orators, how Philip and Alexander 
 probably felt towards them as we do towards a scurrilous newspaper editor. It is 
 a refreshing break in common-place life. I stayed till past twelve. His rooms at 
 the top of the Albany are very liveable and studious-looking.” 
 
 May 23 . — Breakfasted with Rogers. It was a beautiful morning, and his 
 house, view, and garden looked lovely. It was extremely pleasant. Mahon tried 
 to defend Clarendon, but was put down by Hallam and Macaulay. Macaulay was 
 very severe on Cranmer. Then we all quoted a good deal ; Macaulay, (as I had 
 heard him before,) four very fine lines from the Tristia, as being so contrary to their 
 usual whining tone, and of even a Miltonic loftiness of sentiment. 
 
 En ego, quum patriS caream, vobisque, domoque ; 
 
 Raptaque sint, adimi quae potuere, mihi ; 
 
 Ingenio tamen ipse meo comitorque, fruorque. 
 
 Caesar in hoc potuit juris habere nihil. 
 
 I think we must have rather shot beyond Rogers sometimes.” 
 
 “ October //. — (Dinner at Lord Carlisle’s.) The evening went off very cosily 
 and pleasantly, as must almost always happen with Macaulay. He was rather para- 
 doxical, as is apt to be his manner, and almost his only social fault. The greatest 
 marvel about him is the quantity of trash he remembers. He went off at a score with 
 Lord Thurlow’s poetry.” 
 
 March 3, /830 . — Dined at the Club. Dr. Holland in the chair. Lord Lans- 
 downe. Bishop of London, Lord Mahon, Macaulay. Milman, Van de Weyer, I, 
 David Dundas, Lord Harry Vane, Stafford O’Brien. The Bishop talked of the wit 
 of Rowland Hill. One day his chapel, with a thinner attendance than usual, sud- 
 denly filled during a shower of rain. He said : ‘ I have often heard of religion being 
 used as a cloak, but never before as an umbrella.’ In his later life he used to come 
 to his chapel in a carriage. He got an anonymous letter rebuking him for this, be- 
 cause it was not the way his heavenly Master travelled. He read the letter from 
 the pulpit, said it was quite true, and that if the writer would come to the vestry 
 afterwards with a saddle and bridle he would ride him home. They talked a good 
 deal of French authors. The Tartuffe was thought Molifere’s best play ; then the 
 Misanthrope. Macaulay prefers L’Avare. We recited Johnson’s beautiful epitaphs, 
 on Philips and Levinge. Macaulay’s flow never ceased once during the four hours, 
 but it is never overbearing.” 
 
 * Guizot was then a refugee in England. Shortly before this date Macaulay writes to 
 his sister Selina : “ I left a card with Guizot, but did not ask to see him . I purposely 
 
 avoided meeting him on Friday at Lord Holland’s. The truth is that I like and esteem 
 the man : but I think the policy of the Minister both at home and abroad detestable. At 
 home it was all corruption, and abroad all treachery. I could not hold to him the language 
 of entire respect and complacency without a violation of truth ; and, in his present circum- 
 stances, I could not bear to show the least disapprobation.” 
 
128 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XI. 
 
 March 23. — Breakfast with Macaulay. On being challenged, he repeated the 
 names of the owners of the several carriages that went to Clarissa’s funeral. We 
 chiefly talked of Junius, and the irresistible proofs for Sir Philip Francis.” * 
 
 “ May 9. — Breakfast with Macaulay. We talked of Thiers and Lamartine as his* 
 torians ; Thiers not having any moral principle ; Lamartine a great artist, but with- 
 out the least care for truth . They were just passing to the Jesuits and Pascal when 
 I thought it right (and I must claim some merit in this) to go to the Ascension 
 morning service at St. James’s. After I went, the conversation got upon moral 
 obligations, and was so eagerly carried on by Hallam, Whewell, and Macaulay, 
 though without the slightest loss of temper, that not one sentence could any of them 
 finish.” 
 
 “ November //. — Breakfasted with Macaulay, Charles Greville, Hobhouse, Sir 
 R. Murchison, and Charles (Howard). The talk was even more than usually agree- 
 able and interesting, and it got on very high themes. Macaulay argued very forci- 
 bly against Hobhouse and Charles Greville for the difference between the evidence 
 of Christ’s miracles and of the truth of transubstantiation. To put them on a level, 
 Lazarus ought to have remained inanimate, colorless, and decomposing in the grave, 
 while we should be called upon to believe that he had at the word of Christ become 
 alive. He does not consider the doctrine of the Trinity opposed to reason. He 
 was rather less opposed to the No Popery cry, so rife at present, than I might have 
 expected. He f thinks the nonsense of people may be advantageously made use of 
 to set them against the real mischief of Popish interference.” 
 
 * Two days previously Macaulay and Carlyle had met at Lord Ashburton’s house. It 
 was perhaps on this occasion that Carlyle was woefully bored by the irresistible proofs for 
 Sir Philip Francis. “ As if it could matter the value of a brass farthing to any living hu- 
 man being who was the author of Junius! ” 
 
 t Four days after this breakfast Macaulay wrote to his sister Fanny: “ If I told you 
 all that I think about these disputes I should write a volume. The Pope hates the Eng- 
 lish nation and government. He meant, I am convinced, to insult and annoy the Queen 
 and her Ministers. His whole conduct in Ireland has evidently been directed to that end. 
 Nevertheless the reasons popularly urged against this Bull seem to me absurd. We 
 always knew that the Pope claimed spiritual jurisdiction, and I do not see that he now 
 claims temporal jurisdiction. I could wish that Lord John had written more guardedly ; 
 and that, I plainly see, is the wish of some of his colleagues, and probably by this time is 
 also his own. He has got much applause in England : but when he was writing, he should 
 have remembered that he had to govern several millions of Roman Catholics in Ireland ; 
 that to govern them at all is no easy task ; and that anything which looks like an affront to 
 their religion is certain to call forth very dangerous passions. In the meantime these things 
 keep London all alive. Yesterday the ballad-singers were entertaining great crowd under 
 my window with bawling : • 
 
 ‘ Now all the old women are crying for fear 
 The Pope is a-coming : oh dear ! oh dear ! ’ 
 
 The wall of Burlington Gardens is covered with ‘ No Popery,’ ‘ No Wafer Gods.’ I can- 
 not help enjoying the rage and terror of the Puseyites, who are utterly prostrated by this 
 outbreak of popular feeling.” 
 
 And again some days later, he says : “A deputation of my parish, St. James’s, came 
 to me yesterday to ask me to move a Resolution at a public meeting. I refused, took their 
 
1847 - 49 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 129 
 
 “ May 13 . — Dined at the club. Bishop of Oxford, Dean of St. Paul’s, Whe- 
 well, Macaulay, Lord Overstone, Dr. Holland, Sir J. Staunton, George Lewis. A 
 good company, and it was most agreeable. They were very droll about Sir John 
 Sinclair ; — his writing to Pitt that it was very desirable that the President of the 
 Scotch Agricultural Society” (which office he then held) “ should be a Peer.” Pitt 
 answered that he quite agreed with him ; accepted his resignation, and appointed 
 Lord Somerville. The Bishop said he remembered his complaining of it at his 
 father’s, at Kensington Gore; — it had been “such a wilful misunderstanding.” 
 Macaulay said that there are in his works two distinctions, the one the most com- 
 plete, the other the most incomplete, that he remembers. The first is : ‘ There are 
 two kinds of sleep: one with your night-cap, and the other without it.’ The 
 second : ‘ There are three kinds of bread : white bread, brown bread, and rolls.’ 
 At the end the Bishop and I fought a mesmeric and electro-biological battle against 
 the scornful opposition of all the rest.” * 
 
 “ May 13. — Breakfasted with the Bishop of Oxford. It was remarkably pleas- 
 ant ; a little on derivations, t As an instance of unlucky quotation I gave Lord 
 Fitzwilliam’s, when calling on the Dissenters to join the Established Clergy in sub- 
 scribing for the rebuilding of Y ork Minster, 
 
 Flectere si nequeo superos Acheronta movebo. 
 
 Van de Weyer remarked on the English horror of false quantities, which Macaulay 
 defended justly on the plea that no one is bound to quote. No one resents the Duke 
 of Wellington, in the theatre at Oxford, having called it Carolus, after being correct- 
 ed for saying Jacobus. It was the Duke’s advice to Sir George Murray, when he 
 said he never should be able to get on with speaking in the Commons, ‘ Say what 
 you have to say, don’t quote Latin, and sit down.’ ” 
 
 “ May 27. — Dined at the Club. The talk ran for some time on whether the 
 north or south of different countries had contributed most to their literature. I re- 
 mained on with Macaulay and Milman. The first gave a list of six poets, whom he 
 places above all others, in the order of his preference : Shakespeare, Homer, Dante, 
 iEschylus, Milton, Sophocles. Milman, on the whole, acquiesced. I fought some 
 battle for Virgil coming before Sophocles : but ‘ What,’ said Macaulay, ‘ did Virgil 
 ever write like the Philoctetes ? ’ He would place Lucretius and Ariosto before him. 
 He thinks the first part of Henry the Fourth, Shakespeare’s best comic play ; then 
 the second part ; then Twelfth Night : but Shakespeare’s plays are not to be classed 
 into Tragedy and Comedy. It was the object of the Elizabethan drama, the high- 
 est form of composition he can conceive, to represent life as it is.” 
 
 Resolutions in my hand, and criticized them in such a way as, for the time at least, con- 
 verted the delegates. They told me, at parting, that the whole should be recast ; that in- 
 tolerant sentiments should be expunged ; and that, instead of calling for laws to punish 
 avowed Roman Cathotics, the parish would express its dislike of the concealed Roman 
 Catholics who hold benefices in the Established Church.” 
 
 * Macaulay’s account of the evening is : “ Pleasant party at the Club : but we got a 
 little too disputatious at last about Mesmerism and Clairvoyance. It is difficult to discuss 
 such matters without using language which seems to reflect on the understanding of those 
 who believe what you think absurd. However, we kept within tolerable bounds.” 
 
 t Lord Carlisle elsewhere says : “ The conversation rather etymological, as perhaps 
 It is too apt to be in this society.” 
 
 VOL. II.— 9 
 
132 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XI. 
 
 ishment. I am opposed to the destruction of the National Church. In 
 short, I am in favor of war, hanging, and Church Establishments.” 
 
 He was always willing to accept a friendly challenge to a feat of memo- 
 ry. One day, in the Board-room of the British Museum, Sir David Dun- 
 das saw him hand to Lord Aberdeen a sheet of foolscap covered with 
 writing arranged in three parallel columns down each of the four pages. 
 This document of which the ink was still wet, proved to be a full list of 
 the Senior Wranglers at Cambridge with their dates and colleges, for the 
 hundred years during which the names of Senior Wranglers had been re- 
 corded in the University Calendar. On another occasion Sir David 
 asked : “ Macaulay, do you know your Popes ? ” “ No,” was the answer ; 
 “ I always get wrong among the Innocents.” “ But can you say your 
 Archbishops of Canterbury ? ” “ Any fool,” said Macaulay, “ could say 
 
 his Archbishops of Canterbury backwards : ” and he went off at score, 
 drawing breath only once in order to remark on the oddity of there having 
 been both an Archbishop Bancroft and an Archbishop Bancroft, until Sir 
 David stopped him at Cranmer.* 
 
 Macaulay could seldom be tempted to step outside his own immediate 
 circle of friends and relations. His distaste for the chance society of a 
 London drawing-room increased as years went on. Like Casaubon of old, 
 he was well aware that a man cannot live with the idlers, and with the 
 Muses too. “ He was peculiarly susceptible,” says Lady Trevelyan, “ of 
 the feeling of ennui when in company. He really hated staying out even 
 in the best and most agreeable houses. It was with an effort that he even 
 dined out, and few of those who met him, and enjoyed his animated con- 
 versation, could guess how much rather he would have remained at home, 
 and how much difficulty I had to force him to accept invitations and pre- 
 vent his growing a recluse. But, though he was very easily bored in gen- 
 eral society, I think he never felt ennui when he was alone, or when he 
 was with those he loved. Many people are very fond of children, but he 
 was the only person lever knew who never tired of being with them. 
 Often has he come to our house, at Clapham or in Westbourne Terrace 
 directly after breakfast and finding me out, has dawdled away the whole 
 morning with the children ; and then, after sitting with me at lunch, has 
 taken Margaret a long walk through the City which lasted the whole after- 
 noon. Such days are always noted in his journals as especially happy.” 
 
 It is impossible to exaggerate the pleasure which Macaulay took in 
 children, or the delight which he gave them. He was beyond all compar- 
 ison the best of playfellows ; unrivalled in the invention of games, and 
 * Macaulay was proud of his good memory, and had little sympathy with people who 
 affected to have a bad one. In a note on the margin of one of his books he reflects upon 
 this not uncommon form of self-depreciation : “ They appear to reason thus : The more 
 memory, the less invention.” 
 
1847 - 49 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 133 
 
 never wearied of repeating them. He had an an inexhaustible repertory 
 of small dramas for the benefit of his nieces, in which he sustained an end- 
 less variety of parts with a skill that at any rate was sufficient for his au- 
 dience. An old friend of the family writes to my sister, Lady Holland : 
 “ I well remember that there was one never-failing game of building up a 
 den with newspapers behind the sofa, and of enacting robbers and tigers ; 
 you shrieking with terror, but always fascinated and begging him to begin 
 again : and there was a daily recurring observation from him, that after 
 all, children were the only true poets.” 
 
 Whenever he was at a distance from his little companions he consoled 
 himself and them by the exchange of long and frequent letters. The ear- 
 liest in date of those which he wrote in prose begins as follows : 
 
 September 15, 1842. 
 
 My dear Baba,* — Thank you for your very pretty letter. I am always 
 glad to make my little girl happy, and nothing pleases me so much as to 
 see that she likes books. For when she is as old as I am she will find that 
 they are better than all the tart% and cakes, and toys, and plays, and 
 sights in the world. If anybody would make me the greatest king that 
 ever lived, with palaces, and gardens, and fine dinners, and wine, and 
 coaches, and beautiful clothes, and hundreds of servents, on condition that 
 I would not read books, I would not be a king. I would rather be a poor 
 man in a garret with plenty of books than a king who did not love read- 
 ing— 
 
 Five years later on he writes : — “ I must begin sooner or later to call 
 you ‘ Margaret ; ’ and I am always making good resolutions to do so, and 
 then breaking them. But I will procrastinate no longer. 
 
 Procrastination is the thief of time, 
 says Dr. Young. He also says. 
 
 Be wise to day. ’Tis madness to defer, 
 
 and. 
 
 Next day the fatal precedent will plead. 
 
 That is to say, if I do not take care, I shall go on calling my darling 
 ‘ Baba ’ till she is as old as her mamma, and has a dozen Babas of her own. 
 Therefore I will be wise to day and call her ‘ Margaret.’ I should very 
 much like to see you and Aunt Fanny at Broadstairs : but I fear, I fear, 
 that it cannot be. Your Aunt asks me to shirk the Chelsea Board, I am 
 staying in England chiefly in order to attend it. When Parliament is not 
 sitting, my duty there is all that I do for two thousand four hundred 
 pounds a year. We must have some conscience. 
 
 “ Michaelmas will, I hope, find us all at Clapham over a noble goose 
 Do you remember the beautiful Puseyite hymn on Michaelmas day ? It is 
 
 * Baba was a pet name for his niece Margaret, derived from the Indian nursery. 
 
134 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XI. 
 
 a great favorite with all the Tractarians. You and Alice should learn it. 
 It begins : 
 
 Though Quakers scowl, though Baptists howl, 
 
 Though Plymouth Brethren rage, 
 
 We Churchmen gay will wallow to-day 
 In apple sauce, onions, and sage. 
 
 Ply knife and fork, and draw the cork, 
 
 And have the bottle handy : 
 
 F or each slice of goose will introduce 
 A thimbleful of brandy. 
 
 Is it not good? I wonder who the author can be. Not Newman, I think. 
 It is above him. Perhaps it is Bishop Wilberforce.” 
 
 The following letter is in a graver tone, as befits the correspondent of 
 a young lady who has only two years of the schoolroom still before her. 
 
 October 14, 1851. 
 
 Dear Margaret, — Tell me how you like Schiller’s Mary Stuart. It is 
 not one of my favorite pieces. I should put it fourth among his plays. 
 I arrange them thus: Wallenstein, William Tell, Don Carlos, Mary 
 Stuart, the Maid of Orleans. At a great interval comes the Bride of 
 Messina; and then, at another great interval, Fieschi. Cabal and Love I 
 never could get through. The Robbers is a mere schoolboy rant below 
 serious criticism, but not without indications of mental vigor which re- 
 quired to be disciplined by much thought and study. But though I do 
 not put Mary Stuart very high among Schiller’s works, I think the Foth- 
 eringay scenes in the fifth act equal to anything that he ever wrote, — in- 
 deed equal to anything dramatic that has been produced in Europe since 
 Shakespeare. I hope that you will feel the wonderful truth and beauty 
 of that part of the play. 
 
 I cannot agree with you in admiring Sintram. There is an age at 
 which we are disposed to think that whatever is odd and extravagant is 
 great. At that age we are liable to be taken in by such orators as Irving, 
 such painters as Fuseli, such plays as the Robbers, such romances as 
 Sintram. A better time comes, when we would give all Fuseli’s hobgob- 
 lins for one of Reynolds’s little children, and all Sintram’s dialogues with 
 Death and the Devil for one speech of Mrs. Norris or Miss Bates. Tell 
 me however, as of course you will, quite truly, what you think of Sin- 
 tram. 
 
 I saw a description of myself yesterday in a New York paper. The 
 writer says that I am a stout man with hazel eyes ; that I always walk 
 with an umbrella ; that I sometimes bang the umbrella against the ground ; 
 that I often dine in the Coffee-room of the Trafalgar on fish; that once he 
 saw me break a decanter there, but that I did not appear to be at all 
 ashamed of my awkwardness, but called for my bill as coolly as if nothing 
 
1847 - 49 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 135 
 
 had happened. I have no recollection of such an occurrence ; but, if it 
 did take place, I do not think that it would have deprived me of my self- 
 possession. This is fame. This is the advantage of making a figure in 
 the world. 
 
 This has been the last week of the Great Exhibition. It makes me 
 quite sad to think of our many, many happy walks there. To-morrow I 
 shall go to the final ceremony, and try to hear the Bishop of London’s 
 thanksgiving, in which I shall very cordially join. This will long, be re- 
 membered as a singularly happy year, of peace, plenty, good feeling, in- 
 nocent pleasure, national glory of the best and purest sort. 
 
 I have bespoken a Schiller for you. It is in the binder’s hands, and 
 will be ready, I hope, before your return. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 His poetical, no less than his epistolary, style was carefully adapted to 
 the age and understanding of those whom he was addressing. Some of 
 his pieces of verse are almost perfect specimens of the nursery lyric. 
 From five to ten stanzas in length, and with each word carefully formed 
 in capitals, — most comforting to the eyes of a student who is not very 
 sure of his small letters, — they are real children’s poems, and they profess 
 to be nothing more. They contain none of those strokes of satire, and 
 allusions to the topics and personages of the day, by which the authors 
 of what is now called Juvenile Literature so often attempt to prove that 
 they are fit for something better than the task on which they are engaged. 
 But this very absence of pretension, which is the special merit of these 
 trifles, renders them unworthy of a place in a book intended for grown-up 
 readers. There are, however, few little people between three and five 
 years old who would not care to hear how 
 
 There once was a nice little girl, 
 
 With a nice little rosy face. 
 
 She always said “ Our Father,” 
 
 And she always said her grace t 
 
 and how as the reward of her good behavior 
 
 They brought the browned potatoes, 
 
 And minced veal, nice and hot, 
 
 And such a good bread-pudding 
 All smoking from the pot ! 
 
 And there are still fewer who would be indifferent to the fate which befell 
 the two boys who talked in church, when 
 
 The Beadle got a good big stick. 
 
 Thicker than uncle’s thumb. 
 
 Oh, what a fright those boys were in 
 To see the Beadle come ! 
 
136 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XI. 
 
 And they were turned out of the church 
 And they were soundly beat : 
 
 And both those wicked, naughty boys 
 Went bawling down the street. 
 
 All his rhymes, whether written or improvized, he put down to the 
 credit of the Judicious Poet. The gravity with which he maintained the 
 innocent delusion was too much for children, who more than half believed 
 in the existence of a writer for whose collected works they searched the 
 library in vain ; though their faith was from time to time shaken by the 
 almost miraculous applicability of a quotation to the most unexpected 
 circumstances of the moment. St. Valentine’s Day brought Macaulay’s 
 nieces a yearly offering of rhyme, until he thought them too old to care 
 for verses which he himself pronounced to be on a level with the bellman’s, 
 but which are certainly as good, and probably as sincere, as nine-tenths of 
 the pastoral poetry that has been written during the last two centuries. 
 In 1847 the annual effusion ran as follows : — 
 
 And canst thou spurn a kneeling bard, 
 
 Mine own, mine only Valentine? 
 
 The heart of beauty still is hard ; 
 
 But ne’er was heart so hard as thine. 
 
 Each year a shepherd sings thy praise. 
 
 And sings it in no vulgar strain. 
 
 Each year a shepherd ends his days, 
 
 A victim to thy cold disdain. 
 
 In forty-five, relentless maid. 
 
 For thee melodious Strephon died. 
 
 For thee was gentle Thyrsis laid. 
 
 In forty-six, by Strephon’s side. 
 
 The swain who to thy footstool bears 
 Next spring the tribute of his verses 
 
 Will tell thee that poor Damon shares 
 The grave of Strephon and of Thyrsis. 
 
 Then will the whole Arcadian quire 
 Their sweetest songster’s fate bemoan. 
 
 Hang o’er his tomb his crook and lyre. 
 
 And carve this ditty on the stone: 
 
 “ Stop, passenger. Pere Damon lies. 
 
 Beloved of all the tuneful nine ; 
 
 The third who perished by the eyes 
 Of one too charming Valentine.” 
 
 The Broken-hearted Damon. 
 
 The longest and the most elaborate of these little compositions was 
 addressed to the daughter of Earl Stanhope, now the Countess Beau- 
 champ. The allusion to the statue of Mr. Pitt in Hanover Square is 
 one of the happiest touches that can be found in Macaulay’s writings. 
 
: 34 /- 49 - 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 137 
 
 Good morrow, gentle Child, and then 
 Again good morrow, and again, 
 
 Good morrow following still good morrow, 
 
 Without one cloud of strife or sorrow. 
 
 And when the god to whom we pay 
 
 In jest our homages to-day 
 
 Shall come to claim, no more in jest. 
 
 His rightful empire o’er thy breast, 
 
 Benignant may his aspect be, 
 
 His yoke the truest liberty : 
 
 And if a tear his power confess, 
 
 Be it a tear of happiness ! 
 
 It shall be so. The Muse displays 
 The future to her votary’s gaze. 
 
 Prophetic rage my bosom swells. 
 
 I taste the cake ! I hear the bells ! 
 
 From Conduit Street the close array 
 Of chariots barricades the way 
 To where I see, with outstretched hand, 
 
 Majestic, thy great kinsman stand. 
 
 And half unbend his brow of pride. 
 
 As welcoming so fair a bride. 
 
 The feelings with which Macaulay regarded children were near akin 
 to those of the great writer to whom we owe the death of little Paul, and 
 the meeting between the schoolboy and his mother in the eighth chapter 
 of David Copperfield. “Have you seen the first number of Dombey ? ” 
 he writes. “ There is not much in it : but there is one passage which 
 made me cry as if my heart would break. It is the description of a little' 
 girl who has lost an affectionate mother, and is unkindly treated by every- 
 body. Images of that sort always overpower me, even when the artist is 
 less skilful than Dickens.” In truth, Macaulay’s extreme sensibility to all 
 which appealed to the sentiment of pity, whether in art or in nature, was 
 nothing short of a positive inconvenience to him.* He was so moved by 
 the visible representation of distressing scenes that he went most unwill- 
 ingly to the theatre, for which, during his Cambridge days, he had enter- 
 tained a passionate, though passing, fondness. f I remember well how, 
 during the performance of Masks and Faces, the sorrows of the broken- 
 down author and his starving family in their Grub Street garret entirely 
 destroyed the pleasure which he otherwise would have taken in Mrs. 
 
 * April 17, 1858. — In the Times of this morning there was an account of a suicide of 
 a poor girl which quite broke my heart. I cannot get it out of my thoughts, or help 
 crying when I think of it.” 
 
 t I recollect hearing Macaulay describe the wonder and delight with which, during a 
 long vacation spent at the University, he saw his first play acted by a strolling company 
 in the Barnwell Theatre. “ Did you, then, never go to the play as a boy?” asked some 
 one who was present. “ No,” said he ; “ after the straitest sect of our religion I was bred 
 a Pharisee.” 
 
138 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XL 
 
 Stirling’s admirable acting. And he was hardly less easily affected to 
 tears by that which was sublime and stirring in literature, than by that 
 which was melancholy and pathetic. In August, 1851, he writes from 
 Malvern to his niece Margaret: “I finished the Iliad to-day. I had not 
 read it through since the end of 1837, when I was at Calcutta, and when 
 you often called me away from my studies to show you pictures and to 
 feed the crows. I never admired the old fellow so much, or was so 
 strongly moved by him. What a privilege genius like his enjoys ! I 
 could not tear myself away. I read the last five books at a stretch during 
 my walk to-day, and was at last forced to turn into a by-path, lest the 
 parties of walkers should see me blubbering for imaginary beings, the 
 creations of a ballad-maker who has been dead two thousand seven hun- 
 dred years. What is the power and glory of Caesar and Alexander to 
 that.? Think what it would be to be assured that the inhabitants of 
 Monomotapa would weep over one’s writings Anno Domini 4551 ! ” 
 Macaulay was so devoid of egotism, and exacted so little deference and 
 attention from those with whom he lived, that the young people around 
 him were under an illusion which to this day it is pleasant to recall. It 
 was long, very long, before we guessed that the world thought much of 
 one who appeared to think so little of himself. I remember telling my 
 schoolfellows that I had an uncle who was about to publish a History of 
 England in two volums, each containing 650 pages ; but it never crossed 
 my mind that the work in question would have anything to distinguish it 
 except its length. As years went on, it seemed strange and unnatural to 
 hear him more and more frequently talked of as a great man ; and we 
 slowly, and almost reluctantly, awoke to the conviction that “ Uncle Tom ” 
 was cleverer, as well as more good-natured, than his neighbors. 
 
 Among other tastes which he had in common with children was an 
 avidity for sight-seeing. “ What say you,” he asks Mr. Ellis, “ to a visit 
 to the Chinese Museum .? It is the most interesting and curious sight that 
 I know. If you like the plan, I will call on you at four. Or will you call 
 on me .? For I am halfway between the Temple and the wonders of the 
 Celestial Empire.” And again : “ We treated the Clifton Zoo much too 
 contemptuously. I lounged thither, and found more than sixpennyworth 
 of amusement.” “ After breakfast I went to the Tower,” he writes in 
 his journal of 1839. “ I found great changes. The wild beasts were all 
 
 gone. The Zoological Gardens have driven paved courts and dark nar- 
 row cages quite out of fashion. I was glad for the sake of the tigers and 
 leopards.” 
 
 He was never so happy as when he could spend an afternoon in taking 
 his nieces and nephews a round of London sights, until, to use his favor- 
 ite expression, they “ could not drag one leg after the other.” If he had 
 been able to have his own way, the *reat would have recurred at least 
 
1 ' 547 - 49 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 139 
 
 twice a week. On these occasions we drove into London in time for a 
 sumptuous midday meal, at which everything that we liked best was ac- 
 companied by oysters, caviare, and olives, some of which delicacies he in- 
 variably provided with the sole object of seeing us reject them with con- 
 temptuous disgust Then off we set under his escort, in summer to the 
 bears and lions; in winter to the Panorama of Waterloo, to the Collosseum 
 in Regent’s Park, or to the enjoyment of the delicious terror inspired by 
 Madame Tussaud’s Chamber of Horrors. When the more attractive ex- 
 hibitions had been exhausted by too frequent visits, he would enliven 
 with his irrepressible fun the dreary propriety of the Polytechnic, or would 
 lead us through the lofty corridors of the British Museum, making the 
 statues live and the busts speak by the spirit and color of his innumera- 
 ble anecdotes paraphrased off-hand from the pages of Plutarch and Sue- 
 tonius. One of these expeditions is described in a letter to my mother 
 in January, 1845. “ Fanny brought George and Margaret, with Charley 
 
 Cropper, to the Albany at one, yesterday. I gave them some dinner ; 
 fowl, ham, marrow-bones, tart, ice, olives, and champagne. I found it dif- 
 ficult to think of any sight for the children : however, I took them to the 
 National Gallery, and was excessively amused with the airs of connois- 
 seurship which Charley and Margaret gave themselves, and with Georgy’s 
 honestly avowed weariness. ‘ Let us go. There is nothing here that I 
 care for at all.’ When I put him into the carriage, he said, half sulkily : 
 ‘ I do not call this seeing sights. I have seen no sight to-day.’ Many a 
 man who has laid out thirty thousand pounds on paintings would, if he 
 spoke the truth, own that he cared as little for the art as poor Georgy.” 
 Regularly every Easter, when the closing of the public offices drove 
 my father from the Treasury for a brief holiday, Macaulay took our fami- 
 ly on a tour among Cathedral-towns, varied by an occasional visit to the 
 Universities. We started on the Thursday; spent Good Friday in one 
 city and Easter Sunday in another, and went back to town on the Monday, 
 This year it was Worcester and Gloucester ; the next, York and Lincoln; 
 then Lichfield and Chester, Norwich and Peterborough, Ely and Cam- 
 bridge, Salisbury and Winchester. Now and then the routine was in- 
 terrupted by a trip to Paris, or to the great churches on the Loire ; but in 
 the course of twenty years we had inspected at least once all the Cathe- 
 drals of England, or indeed of England and Wales, for we carried our 
 researches after ecclesiastical architecture as far down in the list as Ban- 
 gor. “ Our party just filled a railway carriage,” says Lady Trevelyan. 
 “ and the journey found his flow of spirits unfailing. It was a return to 
 old times ; a running fire of jokes, rhymes, puns, never ceasing. It was a 
 peculiarity of his that he never got tired on a journey. As the day 
 wore on he did not feel the desire to lie back and be quiet, and he liked 
 to find his companions ready to be entertained to the last.” 
 
140 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XI. 
 
 Any one who reads the account of Norwich and Bristol in the third 
 chapter, or the account of Magdalen College in the eight chapter, of the 
 History, may form an idea of Macaulay’s merits as a Cicerone in an old 
 English provincial capital. To walk with him round the walls of York, 
 or through the Rows of Chester; to look up at the towers of Lichfield 
 from the spot where Lord Brook received his death-wound, or down upon 
 Durham from the brow of the hill behind Neville’s Cross ; to hear him 
 discourse on Monmouth and Bishop Ken beneath the roof of Longleat 
 Hall, or give the rein to all the fancies and reminiscences, political, per- 
 sonal, and historical, which were conjured up by a drive past Old Sarum 
 to Stonehenge, were privileges which a child could appreciate, but which 
 the most learned of scholars might have envied. 
 
 When we returned to our inn in the evening, it was only an exchange 
 of pleasures. Sometimes he would translate to us choice morsels from 
 Greek, Latin, Italian, or Spanish writers, with a vigor of language and 
 vivacity of manner which communicated to his impromptu version not a 
 little of the air and the charm of the original. Sometimes he would read 
 from the works of Sterne, or Smollet, or Fielding those scenes to which ladies 
 might listen, but which they could not well venture to pick out for them- 
 selves. And when we had heard enough of the siege of Carthagena in 
 Roderick Random, or of Lieutenant Le Fevre’s death in Tristram Shandy, 
 we would fall to capping verses, or stringing rhymes, or amusing ourselves 
 with some game devised for the occasion which often made a considerable 
 demand upon the memory or invention of the players. Of these games 
 only a single trace remains. One of his nieces, unable to forecast the 
 future of her sex, had expressed a regret that she could never hope to go in 
 for a college examination. Macaulay thereupon produced what he was 
 pleased to call a paper of questions in divinity, the contents of which 
 afford a curious proof how constantly the lighter aspects of English sec- 
 tarianism were present to his thoughts. The first three questions ran as 
 follows : 
 
 I. “ And this is law, I will maintain 
 Until my dying day, Sir, 
 
 That whatsoever king shall reign, 
 
 I’ll be the Vicar of Bray, Sir.” 
 
 “ Then read Paul’s epistles, 
 
 Y ou rotten Arminian. 
 
 You won’t find a passage 
 To support your opinion.” 
 
 “ When the lads of the village so merrily, ah I 
 Sound their tabors, I’ll hand thee along. 
 
 And verily, verily, verily, ah ! 
 
 Thou and I will be first in the throng.” 
 
1847 - 49 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 I4I 
 
 To what sects did the three persons belong who express their sentiments in the 
 three passages cited above ? Is there anything in the third passage at variance 
 with the usages of the sect to which it relates ? Which of those three sects do you 
 prefer ? Which of the three bears the closest resemblance to Popery ? Where is 
 Bray ? Through what reigns did the political life of the Vicar of Bray extend ? 
 
 2. Define “Jumper,” “Shaker,” “Ranter,” “ Dunker.” 
 
 3. Translate the following passage into the Quakeric dialect: “You and Sir • 
 Edward Ryan breakfasted with me on Friday, the eleventh of December.” 
 
 Like all other men who play with a will, and who work to a purpose, Ma- 
 caulay was very well aware of the distinction between work and play. lie 
 did not carry on the business of his life by desultory efforts, or in the hap- 
 py moments of an elegant inspiration. Men have disputed, and will long 
 continue to dispute, whether or not his fame was deserved ; but no one 
 who himself has written books will doubt that at any rate it was hardly 
 earned. “Take at hazard,” says Thackeray, “any three pages of the 
 Essays or History : and, glimmering below the stream of the narrative, 
 you, an average reader, see one, two, three, a half-score of allusions to 
 other historic facts, characters, literature, poetry, with which you are ac- 
 quainted. Your neighbor, who has his reading and his little stock of lit- 
 erature stowed away in his mind, shall detect more points, allusions, happy 
 touches, indicating, not only the prodigious memory and vast learning of 
 this master, but the wonderful industry, the honest, humble, previous toil 
 of this great scholar. He reads twenty books to write a sentence ; he 
 travels a hundred miles to make a line of description.” 
 
 That this praise, though high, was not excessive, is amply proved by 
 that portion of Macaulay’s papers which extends over the period when 
 his History was in course of preparation. Justice demands that, even at 
 the risk of being tedious, a specimen should be given of the scrupulous 
 care and the unflagging energy with which he conducted his investiga- 
 tions. 
 
 July 17, 1848. t 
 
 Dear Ellis, — Many thanks for your kindness. Pray let Dr. Hook know, when- ^ 
 ever you have an opportunity, how much I am obliged to him.* The information 
 which he has procured for me, I am sorry to say, is not such as I can use. But you 
 need not tell him so. I feel convinced that he has made some mistake : for he 
 sends me only a part of the Leeds burials in 1685 ; and yet the number is double 
 that of the Manchester burials in the same year. If the ordinary rules of calculation 
 are applied to these data, it will be found that Leeds must, in 1685, have contained 
 16,000 souls or thereabouts. Now at the beginning of the American war Leeds 
 contained only 16,000 souls appears from Dr. Hook’s own letter. Nobody can 
 suppese that there had been no increase between 1685 and 1775. Besides, neither 
 York nor Exeter contained 16,000 inhabitants in 1685, and nobody who knows the 
 state of things at that time can believe that Leeds was then a greater town than 
 
 . * Mr. Ellis was Recorder of Leeds, and Dr. Hook its Vicar. 
 
142 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XI. 
 
 York or Exeter. Either some error has been committed, or else there was an extra- 
 ordinary mortality at Leeds in 1685. In either case the numbers are useless for 
 my purpose. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 July 27, 1848. 
 
 Dear Ellis, — Many thanks. Wardell * is the man. He gives a much better 
 thing than a list of burials ; a list of the houses returned by the hearthmoney collect- 
 ors. It appears that Leeds contained, in 1663, just 1400 houses. And observe; 
 all the townships are included. The average number of people to a house in a 
 country town was, according to the best statistical writers of the seventeenth cen- 
 tury, 4'3« If that estimate be just, Leeds must, in 1663, have contained about 
 6000 souls. As it increased in trade and wealth during the reign of Charles II., 
 we may well suppose that in 1685 the population was near 8000 ; that is to say 
 about as much as the population of Manchester. I had expected this result from 
 observing that by the writers of that time Manchester and Leeds are always men- 
 tioned as of about the same size. But this evidence proves to demonstration 
 either that there was some mistake about the number of burials, or that the year 
 1685 was a singularly unhealthy year from which no inference can be drawn. One 
 person must have died in every third house within twelve months ; a rate of mor- 
 tality quite frightful. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 It must be remembered that these letters represent only a part of the 
 trouble which Macaulay underwent in order to ensure the correctness of 
 five and a half lines of print. He had a right to the feeling of self-satis- 
 faction which, a month later on, allowed him to say: “ I am working in- 
 tensely, and, I hope, not unsuccessfully. My third chapter, which is the 
 most difficult part of my task, is done, and, I think, not ill done.” Any 
 one who will turn to the description of the town of Leeds, and will read 
 the six paragraphs that precede it and the three that follow it, may form 
 a conception of the pains which those clear and flowing periods must 
 have cost an author who expended on the pointing of a phrase as much 
 conscientious research as would have provided some writers, who speak 
 of Macaulay as showy and shallow, with at least half a dozen pages of 
 ostentatious statistics. 
 
 On the 8th of February, 1849, ^-fter the publication of his first two vol- 
 umes, he writes in his journal : “ I have now made up my mind to change 
 my plan about my History. I will first set myself to know the whole sub- 
 ject; to get, by reading and travelling, a full acquaintance with William’s 
 reign. I reckon that it will take me eighteen months to do this. I must 
 visit Holland, Belgium, Scotland, Ireland, France. The Dutch archives 
 and French archives must be ransacked. I will see whether anything is 
 
 * The author of the Municipal History of the Borough of Leed^. 
 
1847 - 49 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 143 
 
 to be got from other diplomatic collections. I must see Londonderry, the 
 Boyne, Aghrim, Limerick, Kinsale, Namur again, Landen, Steinkirk. I 
 must turn over hundreds, thousands, of pamphlets. Lambeth, the Bod- 
 leian and the other Oxford Libraries, * the Devonshire Papers, the British 
 Museum, must be explored, and notes made : and then I shall go to work. 
 When the materials are ready, and the History mapped out in my mind, 
 I ought easily to write on an average two of my pages daily. In two 
 years from the time I begin writing I shall have more than finished my 
 second part. Then I reckon a year for polishing, retouching, and print- 
 ing. This brings me to the autumn of 1853. I like this scheme much. 
 I began to-day with Avaux’s despatches from Ireland, abstracted almost a 
 whole thick volume, and compared his narrative with James’s. There is 
 much to be said as to these events.” 
 
 This programme was faithfully carried out. He saw Glencoe in rain 
 and in sunshine ; “Yet even in sunshine what a place it is ! the very val- 
 ley of the shadow of death.” He paid a second visit to Killiecrankie for 
 the special purpose of walking up the old road which skirts the Garry, in 
 order to verify the received accounts of the time spent by the English army 
 in mounting the pass which they were to descend at a quicker rate. The 
 notes made during his fortnight’s tour through the scenes of the Irish war 
 are equal in bulk to a first-class article in the Edinburgh or Quarterly Re- 
 views. He gives four closely-written folio pages to the Boyne, and six to 
 Londonderry. It is interesting to compare the shape which each idea 
 took as it arose in his mind with the shape in which he eventually gave it 
 to the world. As he drove up the river from Drogheda he notices that 
 
 * “ October 2, 1854. — I called on the Warden of All Souls’, who was the only soul in 
 residence. He was most kind : got me the manuscript of Narcissus Luttrell’s Diary, 
 — seven thick volumes in cramped writing, — ^put me into a comfortable room ; and then 
 left me to myself. I worked till past five ; then walked for an hour or so. dined at my inn, 
 reading Cooper’s * Pathfinder.’ 
 
 “ October 3. — I went to All Souls’ at ten, and worked till five. Narcissus is dreadfully 
 illegible in 1696 ; but that matters the less, as by that time the newspapers had come in. 
 T found some curious things. The Jacobites had a way of drinking treasonable healths 
 Dy limping about the rooms with glasses at their lips. 
 
 To limp meant L. Lewis XIV. 
 
 I. James. 
 
 M. Mary of Modena. 
 
 P. Prince of Wales. 
 
 “ October 4. — I have done with All Souls’. At ten I went to the Bodleian. I got out 
 the Tanner MSS., and worked on them two or three hours. Then the Wharton MSS. 
 Then the far more remarkable Nairne MSS. At three they rang me out. I do think 
 that from ten to three is a very short time to keep so noble a library open. 
 
 “ October 5. — Pamphlets in abundance ; but pamphlets I can get elsewhere ; so I fell 
 on the Nairne MSS. again. I could amuse myself here ten years without a moment of 
 ennui.’’ 
 
144 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XI. 
 
 “ the country looked like a flourishing part of England. Cornfields, gar- 
 dens, woods, succeeded each other just as in Kent and Warwickshire.” 
 And again : “ Handsome seats, fields of wheat and clover, noble trees : — 
 it would be called a fine country even in Somersetshire.” In the sixteenth 
 chapter of the History these hasty jottings have been transmuted into the 
 sentences : “ Beneath lay a valley now so rich and so cheerful that an 
 Englishman who gazes on it may imagine himself to be in one of the most 
 highly favored parts of his own highly favored country. Fields of wheat, 
 woodlands, meadows bright with daises and clover, slope gently down to 
 the edge of the Boyne.” 
 
 Macaulay passed two days in Londonderry, and made the most of each 
 minute of daylight. He penetrated into every corner where there still 
 lurked a vestige of the past, and called upon every inhabitant who was 
 acquainted with any tradition worth the hearing. He drove through the 
 suburbs; he sketched a ground-plan of the streets ; alone or in company, 
 he walked four times around the walls of the city for which he was to do 
 what Thucydides had done for Platae. A few extracts from the volumin- 
 ous records of those two days will give some notion of what Macaulay 
 meant by saying that he had seen a town. 
 
 ** August 2^, 1849. — I left a card for Captain Leach of the Ordnance 
 Survey, and then wandered round the walls, and saw the cathedral. It 
 has been spoiled by architects who tried to imitate the Gothic style with- 
 out knowing what they were about.* The choir, however, is neat and in- 
 teresting. Leach came, a sensible, amiable young officer, as far as I could 
 judge. I went again round the walls with him. The circuit is a short 
 one. It may be performed, I should say, in twenty minutes. Then we 
 got into a car, crossed the wooden bridge, and took a view of the city from 
 the opposite bank of the river. Walker’s pillar t is well placed, and is 
 not contemptible. The honest divine, in his canonicals, haranguing with 
 vehemence, is at the top, and makes a tolerable figure at some distance. 
 Then we crossed again, and drove to Boom Hall, so called from the mem- 
 orable boom. The mistress of the house, a very civil, lady, came out 
 and acted as . Cicerone. We walked down to the very spot where the 
 boom was fastened. It was secured by a chain which passed through the 
 
 * “ On the highest ground stood the Cathedral, a church which, though erected when 
 the secret of Gothic architecture was lost, and though ill qualified to sustain a compariwin 
 with the awful temples of the middle ages, is not without grace and dignity.” — Macau- 
 lay’s History of England, Chapter XII. 
 
 t “ A lofty pillar, rising from a bastion which bore during many weeks the heaviest 
 fire of the enemy, is seen far up and far down the Foyle. On the summit is the statue of 
 Walker, such as when, in the last and most terrible emergency, his eloquence roused the 
 fainting courage of his brethren. In one hand he grasps a Bible. The other, pointing 
 down the river, seems to direct the eye's of his famished audience to the English top- 
 masts in the distant bay.” 
 
1847 - 49 ' 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 145 
 
 earth of the bank, and was attached to a huge stone. Our hospitable 
 guide would insist that an iron ring fixed in one of the rocks close by had 
 been part of the apparatus to secure the boom. I felt very sceptical and 
 my doubts were soon changed into certainties ; for I lifted up my eyes, 
 and, about fifty yards off, I saw just such another ring fastened to another 
 rock. I did not tell the good lady what I thought, but as soon as we had 
 taken our leave, I told Leach that these rings were evidently put there 
 for the same purpose, that of securing shipping. He quite agreed with 
 me and seemed to admire my sagacious incredulity a great deal more 
 than it at all deserved.” 
 
 ** Saturday f September i. — As soon as I had breakfasted. Sir R. Fergu- 
 son came, and walked round the walls with me. Then he took me to the 
 reading-room, where I met Captain Leach, and a Mr. Gilmour, a great 
 man here. They walked with me round the walls, which I have thus gone 
 over four times. The bastions are planted as gardens. The old pieces of 
 ordnance lie among the flowers and shrubs : strange antique guns of the 
 time of Elizabeth and Charles the first : Roaring Meg, a present of the 
 Fishmongers with the date 1642 ; another piece of the same date given by 
 the Vintners ; and another by the Merchant Tailors. The citizens are to 
 the last degree jealous of the integrity of these walls.* No improvement 
 which would deface them would be proposed without raising a storm : and 
 I do not blame them. Every stone has some fact, or at least some legend 
 connected with it. I found no difficulty, sometimes, in separating the 
 facts from the legends. The picture of the whole is in my mind, and I do 
 not know that there would be any advantge in putting the plan on paper.” 
 
 Put it on paper, however, he did ; and indeed, when employed upon 
 his History, he habitually preserved in writing such materials as were 
 gathered elsewhere than from the shelves of his own library, instead of 
 continuing the facile, though hazardous course, which he had pursued as a 
 Reviewer, and trusting to his memory alone. The fruits of many a long 
 hour passed among the Pepysian bookcases, the manuscripts at A 1 thorp, 
 or the archives of the French War Office, were garnered into a multitude 
 of pocketbooks of everv possible shape and color. Of these a dozen still 
 remain, ready to the hands of any among Macaulay’s remote heirs who 
 
 * “ The wall is carefully preserved : nor would any plea of health or convenience be 
 held by the inhabitants sufficient to justify the demolition of that sacred enclosure which, 
 in the evil time, ejave shelter to their race and their religion. * * * It is impossible not 
 to respect the sentiment which indicates itself by these tokens. It is a sentiment which 
 belongs to the higher and purer part of human nature, and which adds not a little to the 
 strength of States. A people which takes no pride in the noble achievments of remote an- 
 cestors will never achieve anything to be remembered with pride by remote descendants. 
 Yet it is impossible for the moralist or the statesman to look with unmixed complacency 
 on the solemnities with which Londonderry commemorates her deliverance, and on the 
 honors which she pays to those who saved her.” 
 
 VOL. II.— 10. 
 
f 
 
 146 LIFE AND LETTERS OF CH. XI. 
 
 may be tempted to commit the posthumous treachery of publishing the 
 commonplace book of a great writer. 
 
 Hio industry has had its reward. The extent and exactness of his 
 knowledge have won him the commendation of learned and candid writers 
 who have travelled over ground which he has trod before. Each, in his 
 own particular field, recognizes the high quality of Macaulay’s work ; and 
 there is no testimonial so valuable as the praise of an enlightened spe- 
 cialist. Such praise has been freely given by Mr. Bagehot, the Editor of 
 the Economist, in that delightful treatise which goes by the name of 
 “ Lombard Street.” He commences one important section of the book 
 with a sentence in which, except for its modesty, I am unwilling to find a 
 fault. “The origin of the Bank of England has been told by Macaulay, 
 and it is never wise for an ordinary writer to tell again what he has told 
 so much better.” And Mr. Buckle, who was well acquainted with the 
 social manners of our ancestors as is Mr. Bagehot with their finance, 
 appends the following note to what is perhaps the most interesting chapter 
 in his History of Civilization : “ Everything Mr. Macaulay has said on 
 the contempt into which the clergy fell in the reign of Charles the Second 
 is perfectly accurate ; * and, from evidence which I have collected. I 
 know that this very able writer, of whose immense research few people 
 are competent judges, has rather under-stated the case than over-stated it. 
 On several subjects I should venture to differ from Mr. Macaulay; but I 
 cannot refrain from expressing my admiration of his unwearied diligence, 
 of the consummate skill with which he has arranged his materials, and of 
 the noble love of liberty which animates his entire work. These' are 
 qualities which will long survive the aspersions of his puny detractors, — 
 men who, in point of knowledge and ability, are unworthy to loosen the 
 shoe-latchet of him they foolishly attack.” 
 
 The mail* secret of Macaulay’s success lay in this, that to extraordinary 
 fluency and facility he united patient, minute, and persistent diligence. 
 He well knew, as Chaucer knew before him, that 
 
 There is na workeman 
 That can bothe worken wel and hastille. 
 
 This must be done at leisure parfaitlie. 
 
 If his method of composition ever conies into fashion, books probably 
 will be better, and undoubtedly will be shorter. As soon as he had got 
 into his head all the information relating to any particular episode in his 
 History (such, for instance, as Argyll’s expedition to Scotland, or the 
 
 ♦ “ I shall soon have done this ecclesiastical part of my narrative. Some people may 
 imagine that I infer too much from slight indications ; but no one who has not soaked his 
 mind with the transitory literature of the day is really entitled to judge.” — Macaulay’s 
 Journal. 
 
1847 - 49 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 147 
 
 attainder of Sir John Fenwick, or the calling in of the clipped coinage), 
 he would sit down and write off the whole story at a headlong pace ; 
 sketching in the outlines under the genial and audacious impulse of a first 
 conception ; and securing in black and white each idea, and epithet, and 
 turn of phrase, as it flowed straight from his busy brain to his rapid 
 fingers. His manuscript, at this stage, to the eyes of any one but him- 
 self, appeared to consist of column after column of dashes and flourishes, 
 in which a straight line, with a half-formed letter at each end, and an- 
 other in the middle, did duty for a word. It was from amidst a chaos of 
 such hieroglyphics that Lady Trevelyan, after her brother’s death, deci- 
 phered that account of the last days of William which fitly closes the 
 History.* 
 
 As soon as Macaulay had finished his rough draft he began to fill it in 
 at the rate of six sides of foolscap every morning ; written in so large a 
 hand, and with such a multitude of erasures, t that the whole six pages 
 were, on an average, compressed into two pages of print. This portion 
 he called his “ task,” and he was never quite easy unless he completed it 
 daily. More he seldom sought to accomplish ; for he had learned by 
 long experience that this was as much as he could do at his best ; and 
 except when at his best, he never would work at all. “ I had no heart to 
 write,” he says in his journal of March 6, 1851. “I am too self-indulgent 
 in this matter, it may be : and yet I attribute much of the success which 
 I have had to my habit of writing only when I am in the humor, and of 
 stopping as soon as the thoughts and words cease to flow fast There are 
 therefore few lees in my wine. It is all the cream of the bottle.” f 
 
 * Lord Carlisle relates how Mr. Prescott, as a brother historian, was much interested 
 by the sight of these manuscript sheets, “ in which words are as much abbreviated as ‘ cle 
 for ‘castle.’” 
 
 t Mr. Woodrow, in the preface to his collection of the Indian Education minutes, 
 says : “ Scarcely five consecutive lines in any of Macaulay’s minutes will be found un- 
 marked by blots or corrections. He himself, in a minute dated November 3, 1835, says, 
 ‘ After blotting a great deal of paper I can recommend nothing but a reference to the Gov- 
 ernor-General in Council.’ My copyist was always able instantly to single out his writing 
 by the multiplicity of corrections and blots which mark the page. These corrections are 
 now exceedingly valuable. When the first master of the English language corrects his 
 own composition, which appeared faultless before, the correction must be based on the 
 highest rules of criticism.” 
 
 t In small things as well as in great, Macaulay held that what was worth doing at all 
 was worth doing well. He had promised to compose an epitaph for his uncle, Mr. Bab- 
 ington. In June, 1851, he writes : “ My delay has not arisen from any want of respect or 
 tenderness for my uncle’s memory. I loved and honored him most sincerely. But the 
 truth is, that I have not been able to satisfy myself. People who are not accustomed to 
 this sort of literary exercise often imagine that a man can do it as he can work a sum in 
 rule of three, or answer an invitation to dinner. But these short compositions, in which 
 every word ought to tell strongly, and in which there ought to be at once some point and 
 
148 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XI. 
 
 Macaulay never allowed a sentence to pass muster until it was as good 
 as he could make it. He thought little of recasting a chapter in order to 
 obtain a more lucid arrangement, and nothing whatever of reconstructing 
 a paragraph for the sake of one happy stroke or apt illustration. What- 
 ever the worth of his labor, at any rate it was a labor of love. 
 
 Antonio Stradivari has an eye 
 
 That winces at false work, and loves the true. 
 
 Leonardo da Vinci would walk the whole length of Milan that he might 
 alter a single tint in his picture of the Last Supper. Napoleon kept the 
 returns of his army under his pillow at night, to refer to in case he was 
 sleepless ; and would set himself problems at the Opera, while the Over- 
 ture was playing. “ I have ten thousand men at Strasburg ; fifteen thou- 
 sand at Magdeburg; twenty thousand at Wurtzburg. By what stages 
 must they march so as to arrive at Ratisbon on three successive days ? ” 
 What his violins were to Stradivarius, and his fresco to Leonardo, and his 
 campaigns to Napoleon, that was his History to Macaulay. How fully it 
 occupied his thoughts did not appear in his conversation ; for he steadily 
 and successfully resisted any inclination to that most subtle form of self- 
 ishness, which often renders the period of literary creation one long pen- 
 ance to all the members of an author’s family. But none the less his 
 book was always in his mind ; and seldom indeed did he pass a day or 
 turn over a volume without lighting upon a suggestion which could be 
 turned to useful purpose. In May, 1851, he writes : “ I went to the Exhi- 
 bition and lounged there during some hours. I never knew a sight which 
 extorted from all ages, classes, and nations, such unanimous and genuine 
 admiration. I felt a glow of eloquence, or something like it, come on 
 me from the mere effect of the place, and I thought of some touches 
 which will greatly improve my Steinkirk.” It is curious to trace whence 
 was derived the fire which sparkles through every line of terse and ani- 
 mated narrative, which has preserved from unmerited oblivion the story 
 of a defeat more glorious to the British arms than not a few of our vic- 
 tories. 
 
 Macaulay deserved the compliment which Cecil paid to Sir Walter 
 Raleigh as the supreme of commendations : “ I know that he can labor 
 terribly.” One example will serve for many in order to attest the pains 
 which were ungrudgingly bestowed upon every section of the History. 
 
 much feeling, are not to be produced by mere labor. There must be a concurrence of 
 luck with industry. It is natural that those who have not considered the matter should 
 think that a man, who has sometimes written ten or twelve effective pages in a day, must 
 certainly be able to write five lines in less than a year. But it is not so ; and if you think 
 over the really good epitaphs which you have read, and consider how small a proportion 
 they bear to the thousands that have been written by clever men, you will own I am 
 right.” 
 
1847-49- LORD MACAULAY. 1 49 
 
 “ March 21. — To-morrow I must begin upon a difficult and painful subject, 
 Glencoe.” 
 
 “ March 23. — I looked at some books about Glencoe. Then to the Athenaeum, 
 and examined the Scotch Acts of Parliament on the same subject. Walked a good 
 way, meditating. 1 see my line. Home, and wrote a little, but thought and pre- 
 pared more.” 
 
 March 23. — Wrote a little. Mr. Lovell Reeve, editor of the Literary Ga- 
 zette, called, and offered to defend me about Penn. I gave him some memoranda. 
 Then to Glencoe again, and worked all day with energy, pleasure, and, 1 think, suc- 
 cess.” 
 
 “ March 26. — Wrote much. I have seldom worked to better purpose than on 
 these three days.” 
 
 March 27. — After breakfast I wrote a little, and then walked through April 
 weather to Westbourne Terrace, and saw my dear little nieces.* Home and wrote 
 more. I am getting on fast with this most horrible story. It is even worse than 
 I thought. The Master of Stair is a perfect lago.” 
 
 “ March 28. — I went to the Museum, and made some extracts about Glen- 
 coe.” 
 
 On the 29th, 30th, and 31st of March, and the 1st and 2d of April, 
 there is nothing relating to the History except the daily entry, “ Wrote.” 
 
 “ A/>riI 3. — Wrote. This Glencoe business is infernal.” 
 
 “ April 4. — Wrote ; walked round by London Bridge, and wrote again. To-day 
 I finished the massacre. This episode will, I hope, be interesting.” 
 
 “ April b. — Wrote to good purpose.” 
 
 “ April 7. — Wrote and corrected. The account of the massacre is now, I think, 
 finished.” 
 
 April 8. — I went to the Museum, and turned over the Gazette de Paris, and the 
 Dutch despatches of 1692. I learned much from the errors of the French Ga- 
 zette, and from the profound silence of the Dutch ministers on the subject of Glen- 
 coe. Home, and wrote.” 
 
 “ April 9. — A rainy and disagreeable day. I read a Life of Romney, which I 
 picked up uncut in Chancery Lane yesterday : a quarto. That there should be two 
 showy quarto lives of a man who did not deserve a duodecimo ! Wrote hard, re- 
 writing Glencoe.” 
 
 “ April 10. — Finished Don Carlos. I have been long about it ; but twenty 
 pages a day in bed while I am waiting for the newspaper will serve to keep up my 
 German. A fine play, with all its faults. Schiller’s good and evil genius struggled 
 in it ; as Shakespeare’s good and evil genius, to compare greater things with small- 
 er, struggled in Romeo and Juliet. Carlos is half by the author of the Robbers, 
 and half by the author of Wallenstien ; as Romeo and Juliet is half by the author 
 of Love’s Labor Lost and half by the author of Othello. After Romeo and Juliet 
 Shakespeare never went back, nor Schiller after Carlos. Wrote all the morning, 
 and then to Westbourne Terrace. I chatted, played chess and dined there.” 
 
 * In the summer of 1849 my father changed house from Clapham Common to 20 West- 
 bourne Terrace. 
 
LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XL' 
 
 150 
 
 April ti . — Wrote all the morning. Ellis came to dinner. I read him Glen- 
 coe. He did not seem to like it much, which vexed me though I am not partial to 
 it. It is a good thing to find sincerity.” 
 
 That author must have had a strong head, and no very exaggerated 
 self-esteem, who while fresh from a literary success which had probably 
 never been equalled, and certainly never surpassed, at a time when the 
 book-sellers were waiting with almost feverish eagerness for anything that 
 he chose to give them, — spent nineteen working days over thirty octavo 
 pages, and ended by humbly acknowledging that the result was not to his 
 mind. 
 
 When at length, after repeated revisions, Macaulay had satisfied him- 
 self that his writing was as good as he could make it, he would submit it 
 to the severest of all tests, that of being read aloud to others. Though 
 he never ventured on this experiment in the presence of any except his 
 own family, and his friend Mr. Ellis, it may well be believed that even 
 within that restricted circle, he had no difficulty in finding hearers. “ I 
 read,” he says, in December, 1849, “ a portion of my History to Hannah 
 and Trevelyan with great effect. Hannah cried, and Trevelyan kept awake. 
 I think what I have done as good as any part of the former volumes : and 
 so thinks Ellis.” 
 
 Whenever one of his books was passing through the press, Macaulay 
 extended his indefatigable industry and his scrupulous precision to the 
 minutest mechanical drudgery of the literary calling. There was no end 
 to the trouble that he devoted to matters which most authors are only 
 too glad to leave to the care and experience of their publisher. He could 
 not rest until the lines were level to a hair’s breadth, and the punctuation 
 correct to a comma ; until every paragraph concluded with a telling 
 sentence, and every sentence flowed like running water.* I remember 
 the pleasure with which he showed us a communication from one of the 
 
 * Macaulay writes to Mr. Longman about the Edition of 1858 : “I have no more 
 corrections to make at present. I am inclined to hope that the book will be as nearly 
 faultless, as to typographical execution, as any work of equal extent that is to be found in 
 the world.” 
 
 On another occasion he says : “ I am very unwilling to seem captious about such a 
 
 work as an Index. By all means let Mr. go on. But offer him, with all delicacy 
 
 and courtesy, from me this suggestion. I would advise him to have very few heads, except 
 proper names. A few there must be, such as Convocation, Nonjurors, Bank of England, 
 National Debt. These are heads to which readers who wish for information on those 
 subjects will naturally turn. But I think that Mr. - — will, on consideration, perceive 
 that such heads as Priestcraft, Priesthood, Party Spirit, Insurrection, War, Bible, Crown, 
 Controversies, Dissent, are quite useless. Nobody will ever look at them ; and, if every 
 passage in which party-spirit, dissent, the art of war, and the power of the Crown are 
 mentioned is to be noticed in the Index, the size of the volumes will be doubled. The 
 best rule is to keep close to proper names, and never to deviate from that rule without 
 some special occasion. 
 
1847 - 49 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 151 
 
 readers in Mr. Spottiswoode’s office, who respectfully informed him that 
 there was one expression, and one only, throughout the two volumes of 
 which he did not catch the meaning at a glance. And it must be remem- 
 bered that Macaulay’s punctilious attention to details was prompted by an 
 honest wish to increase the enjoyment, and smooth the difficulties, of those 
 who did him the honor to buy his books. His was not the accuracy of those 
 who judge it necessary to keep up a distinction in small matters, between 
 the learned and the unlearned. As little of a purist as it is possible for a 
 scholar to be, his distaste for Mr. Grote’s exalted standard of orthography 
 interfered sadly with his admiration for the judgment, the power, and the 
 knowledge of that truly great historian. He never could reconcile himself 
 to seeing the friends of his boyhood figure as Kleon, and Alkibiades, and 
 Poseid6n, and Odysseus ; and I tremble to think of the outbursts of indig- 
 nation with which, if he had lived to open some of the more recent 
 editions of the Latin poets, he would have lighted upon the Dialogue with 
 Lydia, or the Ode to Lyce, printed with a small letter at the head of each 
 familiar line. 
 
 Macaulay’s correspondence in the summer and autumn of 184S is full 
 of allusions to his great work, the first volumes of which were then in the 
 hands of the publisher. On the 22d of June he writes to Mr. Longman : “ If 
 you wish to say, ‘ History of England from the Accession of James II.,’ 
 I have no objection ; but I cannot consent to put in anything about an 
 Introductory Essay. There is no Introductory Essay, unless you call the 
 first Book of Davila, and the first three chapters of Gibbon, Introductory 
 Essays.” In a letter to his sister Selina he says: “Longman seems 
 content with his bargain. Jeffrey, Ellis, and Hannah all agree in predict- 
 ing that the book will succeed. I ought to add Marian Ellis’s judgment ; 
 for her father tells me that he cannot get the proof-sheets out of her hand. 
 These things keep up my spirits : yet I see every day more and more 
 clearly how far my performance is below excellence.” On the 24th of 
 October, 1848, he writes to my mother : “ I do not know whether you have 
 heard how pleasant a day Margaret passed with me. We had a long 
 walk, a great deal of chat, a very nice dinner, and a quiet, happy evening. 
 That was my only holiday last week. I work with scarcely any intermis- 
 sion from seven in the morning to seven in the afternoon, and shall pro- 
 bably continue to do so during the next ten days. Then my labors will 
 become lighter, and, in about three weeks, will completely cease. There 
 will still be a fortnight before publication. I have armed myself with all 
 my philosophy for the event of a failure. Jeffrey, Ellis, Longman, and 
 Mrs. Longman seem to think that there is no chance of such a catastrophe. 
 I might add Macleod, who has read the third chapter, and professes to be 
 on the whole better pleased than with any other history that he has read. 
 The state of my own mind is this : when I compare my book with what I 
 
LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XI. 
 
 ^52 
 
 imagine history ought to be, I feel dejected and ashamed ; but when I 
 compare it with some histories which have a high repute, I feel reassured.” 
 
 He might have spared his fears. Within three days after its first 
 appearance the fortune of the book was already secure. It was greeted by 
 an ebullition of national pride and satisfaction which delighted Macaulay’s 
 friends, and reconciled to him most who remained of his old political 
 adversaries. Other hands than his have copied and preserved the letters 
 of congratulation and approval which for months together flowed in upon 
 him from every quarter of the compass ; but prudence forbids me to 
 admit into these pages more than a very few samples of a species of 
 correspondence which forms the most uninviting portion of only too 
 many literary biographies. It is, however, worth while to reproduce the 
 phrases in which Lord Halifax expressed the general feeling that the 
 History was singularly well timed. “I have finished,” he writes, “your 
 second volume, and I cannot tell you how grateful all lovers of truth, all 
 lovers of liberty, all lovers of order and of civilized freedom, ought to be 
 to you for having so set before them the History of our Revolution of 
 1688. It has come at a moment when the lessons it inculcates ought to 
 produce great practical effects on the conduct of the educated leaders of 
 what is now going on abroad ; but I fear that the long education in the 
 working of a constitution such as ours is not to be supplied by any reading 
 or meditation. Jameses we may find; but Europe shows no likeness of 
 William.” 
 
 “ My dear Macaulay,” says Lord Jeffrey, “the mother that bore you, 
 had she been yet alive, could scarcely have felt prouder or happier than I 
 do at this outburst of your graver fame. I have long had a sort of paren- 
 tal interest in your glory ; and it is now mingled with a feeling of defer- 
 ence to your intellectual superiority which can only consort, I take it, 
 with the character of a female parent.” 
 
 A still older friend even than Lord Jeffrey, — Lord Auckland, the 
 Bishop of Sodor and Man, — wrote of him in more racy, but not less 
 affectionate, language. “ Tom Macaulay should be embalmed and kept. 
 I delight in his book, though luckily I am not half through it, for I have 
 just had an ordination, and my house is pervaded by Butler’s Analogy 
 and young priests. Do you think that Tom is not a little hard on old 
 Cranmer ? He certainly brings him down a peg or two in my estimation. 
 I had also hated Cromwell more than I now do ; for I always agree with 
 Tom ; and it saves trouble to agree with him at once, because he is sure 
 to make you do so at last. Since I have had this book I have hated the 
 best Insular friend we have for coming in and breaking up the evening. 
 At any other crisis we should have embraced him on both sides of his 
 face.” 
 
 Among all the incidents connected with the publication of his History 
 
LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 153 
 
 1847-49. 
 
 nothing pleased Macaulay so much as the gratification that he contrived 
 to give to Maria Edgeworth, as a small return for the enjoyment which, 
 during more than forty years, he had derived from her charming writ- 
 ings.* That lady who was then in her eighty-third winter, and within a 
 few months of her death, says, in the course of a letter addressed to Dr. 
 Holland : “ And now, my good friend, I require you to believe that all 
 the admiration I have expressed of Macaulay’s work is quite uninfluenced 
 by the self-satisfaction, vanity, pride, surprise, I had in finding my own 
 name in a note III!! I had formed my opinion, and expressed it to my 
 friends who were reading the book to me, before I came to that note.f 
 Moreover, there was a mixture of shame, and a twinge of pain, with the 
 pleasure and the pride I felt in having a line in this immortal History 
 given to me, when there is no mention of Sir Walter Scott throughout the 
 work, even in places where it seems impossible that the historian could 
 resist paying the becoming tribute which genius owes, and loves to pay, 
 to genius. Perhaps he reserves himself for the ’45 ; and I hope in heaven 
 it is so. Meanwhile be so good as to make my grateful and deeply felt 
 thanks to the great author for the honor which he has done me.” 
 
 Macaulay’s journal will relate the phases and gradations which marked 
 the growing popularity of his book, in so far as that popularity could be 
 measured by the figures in a publisher’s ledger. But, over and above Mr. 
 Longman’s triumphant bulletins, every day brought to his ears a fresh 
 indication of the hold which the work had taken on the public mind. 
 Some of the instances which he has recorded are quaint enough. An 
 officer of good family had been committed for a fortnight to the House 
 of Correction for knocking down a policeman. The authorities inter- 
 cepted the prisoner’s French novels, but allowed him to have the Bible, 
 and Macaulay’s History. f At Dukinfield near Manchester, a gentleman 
 who thought that there would be a certain selfishness in keeping so great 
 a pleasure to himself, invited his poorer neighbors to attend every even- 
 ing after their work was finished, and read the History aloud to them 
 
 * Macaulay on one occasion pronounces that the scene in the Absentee, where Lord 
 Colambre discovers himself to his tenantry and to their oppressor, is the best thing of the 
 sort since the opening of the Twenty-second book of the Odyssey. 
 
 t This note is in the sixth chapter, at the bottom of a page describing the habits of the 
 old native Irish proprietors in the seventeenth century. “ Miss Edgeworth’s King Corny 
 belongs to a later and much more civilized generation ; but whoever has studied that 
 admirable portrait can form some notion of what King Corny’s great-grandfather must 
 have been.” 
 
 i London gossip went on to say that the gallant captain preferred picking oakum to 
 reading about the Revolution of 1688 : gossip which avenged Guicciardini for the anec- 
 dote told by Macaulay in the second paragraph of his Essay on Burleigh. 
 
 “ There was, it is said, a criminal in Italy, who was suffered to make his choice be- 
 tween Guicciardini and the galleys. He chose the history. But the war of Pisa was too 
 much for him. He changed his mind, and went to the oar.” 
 
154 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XL 
 
 from beginning to end. At the close of the last meeting, one of the 
 audience rose, and moved, in north-country fashion, a vote of thanks 
 to Mr. Macaulay, “for having written a history which working men can 
 understand.’’ * 
 
 The people of the United States were even more eager than the peo- 
 ple of the United Kingdom to jead about their common ancestors; with 
 the advantage that, from the absence of an international copyright, they 
 were able to read about them for next to nothing. On the 4th of April, 
 1849, Messrs. Harper of New York wrote to Macaulay : “ We beg you to 
 accept herewith a copy of our cheap edition of your work. There have 
 been three other editions published by different houses, and another is 
 now in preparation ; so there will be six different editions in the market. 
 We have already sold 40,000 copies, and we presume that over 60,000 
 copies have been disposed of. Probably, within three months of this 
 time, the sale will amount to two hundred thousand copies. No work, of 
 any kind, has ever so completely taken our whole country by storm.” An 
 indirect compliment to the celebrity of the book was afforded by a des- 
 perate, and almost internecine, controversy which raged throughout the 
 American newspapers as to whether the Messrs. Harper were justified in 
 having altered Macaulay’s spelling to suit the orthographical canons laid 
 down in Noah Webster’s dictionary. 
 
 Nor were the enterprizing publishers of Paris and Brussels behind- 
 hand in catering for readers whose appetite for cheap literature made 
 them less particular than they should have been as to the means by which 
 they gratified it. “ Punch” devoted half one of his columns to a serio- 
 comic review of Galignani’s edition of the History. 
 
 “ This is an extraordinary work. A miracle of cheapness. A handsomely 
 printed book, in royal octavo (if anything bs royal in republican France), and all at 
 the low charge of some ys. 6d. of English money. Many thousands of this impres- 
 sion of Mr. Macaulay’s works — it must delight his amour propre as an author to 
 know it — have been circulated in England, ‘ Sir,’ said a Boulogne bookseller, his 
 voice slightly trembling with emotion, ‘ Sir, it is impossible to supply travellers ; 
 but we expect a few thousand kilogrammes more of the work by to-morrow's train, 
 and then, for a week, we may rub on.’ It is cheering to find that French, Bel- 
 gian, and American booksellers are doing their best to scatter abroad, and at home 
 too, the seeds of English literature. ‘ Sir,’ said the French bookseller, holding up 
 the tome, ‘ you will smuggle it thus : Divide the book in two ; spread it over your 
 breast ; button your waistcoat close ; and, when you land, look the pitcure of inno- 
 cence in the face of the searchers. ’ ” 
 
 It i.s a characteristic trait in Macaulay that, as soon as his last proof- 
 sheet had been despatched to the printers, he at once fell to reading a 
 course of historians from Herodotus downwards. The sense of his own 
 
 Macaulay says in his journal ; “ I really prize this vote.” 
 
1847 - 49 - 
 
 lord MACAULAY. 
 
 155 
 
 inferiority to Thucydides did more to put him out of conceit with him- 
 self than all the unfavorable comments which were bestowed upon him 
 (sparingly enough, it must be allowed), by the newspapers and reviews of 
 the day. He was even less thin-skinned as a writer than as a poli- 
 tician. When he felt conscious that he had done his very best, — when all 
 that lay within his own power had been faithfully and diligently performed, 
 — it was not his way to chafe under hostile criticism, or to waste time and 
 temper by engaging in controversies on the subject of his own works. Like 
 Dr. Johnson, “he had learned, both from his own observation, and from 
 literary history, in which he was deeply read, that the place of books in 
 the public estimation is fixed, not by what is written about them, but by 
 what is written in them ; and that an author whose works are likely to 
 live is very unwise if he stoops to wrangle with detractors whose works are 
 certain to die.” “ I have never been able,” Macaulay says in a letter dat- 
 ed December, 1849, “ to discover that a man is at all the worse for being 
 attacked. One foolish line of his own does him more harm than the 
 ablest pamphlets written against him by other people. 
 
 It must be owned that, as far as his History was concerned, Macaulay 
 had not occasion to draw largely upon his stock of philosophy. Some few 
 notes of disapprobation and detraction might here and there be heard ; but 
 they were for the most part too faint to mar the effect produced by so full 
 a chorus of eulogy ; and the only loud one among them was harsh and 
 discordant to that degree that all the bystanders were fain to stop their 
 ears. It was generally believed that Mr. Croker had long been praying 
 that he might be spared to settle accounts with his old antagonist. His 
 opportunity had now arrived ; and people gave themselves up with a 
 safer conscience to the fascination of the historian’s narrative, because the 
 Quarterly Review would be certain to inform them of all that could be said 
 either against the book or against the author. But Macaulay’s good for- 
 tune attended him even here. He could not have fared better had he 
 been privileged to choose his own adversary, and to select the very wea- 
 pons with which the assault was to be conducted. After spending four most 
 unprofitable months in preparing his thunder, Mr. Croker discharged it 
 in an article so bitter, so foolish, and, above all, so tedious, that scarce- 
 ly anybody could get through it, and nobody was convinced by it. Many 
 readers, who looked to professional critics for an authoritative opinion on 
 the learning and accuracy of a contemporary writer, came to the not un- 
 reasonable conclusion that the case against Macaulay had irretrievably 
 broken down, when they saw how little had been made of it by so acrim- 
 onious and so long-winded an advocate. Nothing would have opened 
 the pages of the Quarterly Review to that farrago of angry trash except 
 the deference with which its proprietor thought himself bound to treat 
 one, who, forty years before, had assisted Canning to found the periodical. 
 
156 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XI. 
 
 The sole effect which the article produced upon the public was to set it 
 reading Macaulay’s review of Croker’s Boswell, in order to learn what 
 the injury might be which, after the lapse of eighteen years, had sting 
 enough left to provoke a veteran writer, politician, and man of the 
 world into such utter oblivion of common sense, common fairness, and 
 common courtesy. 
 
 I'he Whig press, headed by the Times and the .Scotsman, hastened 
 to defend the historian : and the Tory press was at least equally forward 
 to disown the critic. A subsequent page in this volume will show that 
 Croker’s arrow did not go very far home. Indeed, in the whole of 
 Macaulay’s journal for the year 1849 there can be detected but one single 
 indication of his having possessed even the germ of an author’s sensi- 
 bility. 
 
 ^'■February 17. — I went to the Athenaeum, and saw in a weakly liter- 
 ary journal a silly, spiteful attack on what I have said about Procopius 
 in the first pages of my first chapter. I was vexed for a moment, but only 
 for a moment. Both Austin and Mahon had looked into Procopius, and 
 were satisfied that I was right ; as I am. I shall take no notice.” A 
 year later he wrote to Mr. Longman : “ I have looked through the tenth 
 volume of Lingard’s History in the new edition. I am not aware that a 
 single error has been pointed out by Lingard in my narrative. His esti- 
 mate of men and of institutions naturally differs from mine. There is no 
 direct reference to me, but much pilfering from me, and a little carping at 
 me. I shall take no notice either of the pilfering or the carping.” After 
 once his judgment had become mature, Macaulay, at all times, and un- 
 der all temptations, acted in strict accordance with Bentley’s famous 
 maxim (which, in print and talk alike, he dearly loved to quote), that no 
 man was ever written down, except by himself.* 
 
 “ Lord Macaulay,” said an acute observer, who knew him well, “ is an 
 almost unique instance of a man of transcendant force of character, mighty 
 will, mighty energy, giving all that to literature instead of to practical 
 
 Bentley’s career was one long exemplification of his famous saying. In the year 
 1856 Macaulay writes, after what was perhaps his tenth reperusal of Bishop Monk’s life 
 of the great critic : “ Bentley seems to me an eminent instance of the extent to which in- 
 tellectual powers of a most rare and admirable kind maybe impaired by moral defects. It 
 vifasnoton account of any obscuration of his memory, or any of decay in his inventive facul- 
 ties, that he fell from the very first place among critics to the third or fourth rank. It 
 was his insolence, his arrogance, his boundless confidence in himself, and disdain of 
 everybody else, that lowered him. Instead of taking subjects which he thoroughly under- 
 stood, and which he would have treated better than all the other scholars in Europe to- 
 gether, he would take subjects which he had but superficially studied. He ceased to give 
 his whole mind to what he wrote. He scribbled a dozen sheets of Latin at a sitting, sent 
 them to the press without reading them over, and then, as was natural, had to bear the 
 baiting of word-catching pedants who were on the watch for all his blunders,” 
 
1847 - 49 - LORD MACAULAY. 1 57 
 
 work ; ” and it cannot be denied that, in his vocation of historian, he gave 
 proof of qualities which would have commanded success in almost any 
 field. To sacrifice the accessory to the principal ; to plan an extensive 
 and arduous task, and to pursue it without remission and without misgiv- 
 ing ; to withstand resolutely all counter-attractions, whether they come in 
 the shape of distracting pleasures or of competing duties ; — such are the 
 indispensable conditions for attaining to that high and sustained excellence 
 of artistic performance which, in the beautiful words of George Eliot, 
 “must be wooed with industrious thought and patient renunciation of 
 small desires.” At a period when the nftre rumor of his presence would 
 have made the fortune of an evening in any drawing-room in London, 
 Macaulay consented to see less and less, and at length almost nothing, 
 of general society, in order that he might devote all his energies to the 
 work which he had in hand. He relinquished that House of Commons 
 which the first sentence of his speeches hushed into silence, and the first 
 five minutes filled to overflowing. He watched, without a shade of regret, 
 or a twinge of envy, men, who would never have ventured to set their 
 claims against his, rise one after another to the summit of the State. “ I 
 am sincerely glad,” said Sir James Graham, “ that Macaulay has so 
 greatly succeeded. The sacrifices which he has made to literature, de- 
 serve no ordinary triumph ; and, when the statesmen of the present day 
 are forgotten, the historian of the Revolution will be remembered.” 
 Among men of letters there were some who maintained that the fame of 
 Macaulay’s volumes exceeded their deserts ; but his former rivals and 
 colleagues in Parliament, one and all, rejoiced in the prosperous issue of 
 an undertaking for the sake of which he had surrendered more than oth- 
 ers could ever hope to win. 
 
LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XII. 
 
 158 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 1848-1852 
 
 Extracts from Macaulay’s diary — Herodotus — Mr. Roebuck — Anticipations of failure and 
 success — Appearance of the History — Progress of the sale — The Duke of Wellington 
 — Lord Palmerston — Letters to Mr. Ellis — Lord Brougham on Euripides — Macau- 
 lay is elected Lord Rector of Glasgow University — His inaugural address — Good 
 resolutions — Croker — Dr. Parr — The Historical Professorship at Cambridge — Byron- 
 Tour in Ireland — Althorp — Lord Sidmouth — LordThurlow — Death of Jeffrey — Mr. 
 Richmond’s portrait of Macaulay — Dinner at the Palace — Robert Montgomery — 
 Death of Sir Robert Peel — The Prelude — Ventnor — Letters to Mr. Ellis — Plautus — 
 Fra Paolo — Gibbon — The Papal Bull — Death of Henry Hallam — Porson’s Letters 
 to Archdeacon Travis — Charles Mathews — Windsor Castle — Macaulay sets up his 
 carriage — Opening of the Great Exhibition of 1851 — Cobbett — Malvern — Letters to 
 Mr. Ellis — Wliheim Meister — The battle of Worcester — Palmerston leaves the 
 Foreign Office — Macaulay refuses an offer of the Cabinet — Windsor Castle — King 
 John — Scene of the Assassination Plot — Royal Academy dinner. 
 
 N ovember i8, 1848. Albany. — After the lapse of more than nine 
 years I begin my journal again.* What a change ! I have been, 
 since the last lines were written, a member of two Parliaments, and of 
 two Cabinets. I have published several volumes with success. I have 
 escaped from Parliament, and am living in the way best suited to my 
 temper. I lead a college life in London, with the comforts of domestic 
 life near me ; for Hannah and her children are very dear to me. I have 
 an easy fortune. I have finished the first two volumes of my History. 
 
 * It must be remembered that whatever was in Macaulay’s mind may be found in his 
 diary. That diary was written, throughout, with the unconscious candor of a man who 
 freely and frankly notes down remarks which he expects to be read by himself alone ; and 
 with the copiousness natural to one who, except where it was demanded for the purpose of 
 literary effect, did not willingly compress anything which he had to say. It may, therefore, 
 be hoped that the extracts presented in these volumes possess those qualities in which, as 
 he has himself pronounced, the special merit of a private journal lies. In a letter dated 
 August 4, 1853, he says : “ The article on the Life of Moore is spiteful. Moore, howevei, 
 afforded but too good an opportunity to a malevolent assailant. His diary, it is evident 
 to me, was written to be published, and this destroys the charm proper to diaries.” 
 
1848-52. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 159 
 
 Yesterday the last sheets went to America, and within a fortnight, I hope, 
 the publication will take place in London. I am pretty well satisfied. 
 As compared with excellence, the work is a failure : but as compared with 
 other similar books I cannot think it so. We shall soon know what the 
 world says. To-day I enjoyed my new liberty, after having been most 
 severely worked during three months in finishing my History and correct- 
 ing proofs. I rose at half after nine, read at breakfast Fearon’s Sketches 
 of America, and then finished Lucian’s critique on the bad historians Of 
 his time, and felt my own withers un wrung, Ellis came to dinner at 
 seven. I gave him a lobster curry, woodcock, and macaroni. I think 
 that I will note dinners as honest Pepys did.” 
 
 “ Monday, November 20. — Read Pepys at breakfast, and then sate down 
 to Herodotus, and finished Melpomene at a silting. I went out, looked 
 into the Athenaeum, and walked about the streets for some time ; came 
 home, and read Terpsichore, and began Erato. 1 never went through 
 Herodotus at such a pace before. He is an admirable artist in many 
 respects; but undoubtedly his arrangement is faulty.” 
 
 Noz'ember 23. — I received to-day a tran.slation of Kant from Ellis’s 
 friend at Liverpool. I tried to read it, but found it utterly unintelligible, 
 just as if it had been written in Sanscrit. Not one word of it gave me 
 anything like an idea except a Latin quotation from Persius. It seems to 
 me that it ought to be possible to explain a true theory of metaphysics in 
 words which I can understand. I can understand Locke, and Berkeley, 
 and Hume, and Reid, and Stewart. I can understand Cicero’s Academies, 
 and most of Plato : and it seems odd that in a book on the elements of 
 metaphysics by a Liverpool merchant I should not be able to comprehend 
 a word. I wrote my acknowledgments with a little touch of the Socratic 
 irony. 
 
 “ Roebuck called and talked to me about the West Riding. He asked 
 me to stand. I told him that it was quite out of the question ; that I had 
 made up my mind never again to make the smallest concession to fanatical 
 clamor on the subject of Papal endowment, I would not certainly 
 advise the Government to propose such endowment, but I would say 
 nothing tending to flatter the absurd prejudices which exist on that subject. 
 I thanked him for his goodwill, and asked him to breakfast on Monday. 
 I find that Macculloch and Hastie have a wager on the sale of my History. 
 Macculloch has betted that it will sell better than Lord Campbell’s book. 
 Hastie bets on Lord Campbell. Green of Longman’s house is to be 
 arbiter.” 
 
 November 25. — Read my book while dressing, and thought it better 
 than Campbell’s, with all deference to Mr. Hastie. But these things 
 are a strange lottery. After breakfast I went to the British Museum. I 
 was in the chair. It is a stupid, useless way of doing business. An 
 
i6o 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XII. 
 
 hour was lost in reading trashy minutes. All boards are bad, and this is 
 the worst of boards. If I live, I will see whether I cannot work a reform 
 here. Home, and read Thucydides. I admire him more than ever. He 
 is the great historian. The others, one may hope to match : him, never.” 
 
 November 2% 1848, Wednesday . — I was shocked to learn the death of 
 poor Charles Buller. It took me quite by surprise. I could almost cry 
 for him.* I found copies of my History on my table. The suspense 
 must now soon be over. I read my book, and Thucydides’s, which, I am 
 sorry to say, I found much better than mine. 
 
 November 30. — Tufnell t sent for me, and proposed Liskeard to me. 
 I hesitated ; and went home, leaving the matter doubtful. Roebuck 
 called at near seven to ask about my intentions, as he had also been 
 thought of. This at once decided me ; and I said that I would not stand, 
 and wrote to Tufnell telling him so. Roebuck has on more than one 
 occasion behaved to me with great kindness and generosity ; and I did not 
 choose to stand in his way.” 
 
 December 1848. Stayed at home all the day, making corrections 
 for the second edition. Shaw, the printer, came to tell me that they are 
 wanted with speed, and that the first edition of 3000 is nearly out Then 
 I read the eighth book of Thucydides. On the whole he is the first of 
 historians. What is good in him is better than anything that can be found 
 elsewhere. But his dry parts are dreadfully dry ; and his arrangement is 
 bad. Mere chronological order is not the order for a complicated narra- 
 tive. 
 
 “ I have felt to-day somewhat anxious about the fate of my book. The 
 sale has surpassed expectation: but that proves only that people have 
 formed a high idea of what they are to have. The disappointment, if 
 there is disappointment, will be great. All that I hear is laudatory. But 
 who can trust to praise which is poured into his own ear ? At all events, 
 I have aimed high ; I have tried to do something that maybe remembered; 
 I have had the year 2000, and even the year 3000, often in my mind ; I 
 have sacrificed nothing to temporary fashions of thought and style ; and, 
 if I fail, my failure will be more honorable than nine-tenths of the successes 
 that I have witnessed.” 
 
 December 12, 1848. — Longman called. A new edition of 3000 
 
 * “In Parliament I shall look in vain for virtues which I loved, and for abilities 
 which I admired. Often in debate, and never more than when we discussed those questions 
 of colonial policy which are every day acquiring a new importance, I shall remember with 
 regret how much eloquence and wit, how much acuteness and knowledge, how many 
 engaging qualities, how many fair hopes, are buried in the grave of poor Charles Buller.” 
 — Macaulay’s Speech at Edinburgh in 1852. 
 
 t Mr. Tufnell was then Patronage Secretary, or, in more familiar parlance. Treasury 
 Whip. 
 
1848-52. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 161 
 
 copies is preparing as fast as they can work. I have reason to be pleased. 
 Of the Lay of the Last Minstrel two thousand two hundred and fifty 
 copies were sold in the first year; of Marmion two thousand copies in the 
 first month ; of my book three thousand copies in ten days. Black says 
 that there has been no such sale since the days of Waverley. The success 
 is in every way complete beyond all hope, and is the more agreeable to me 
 because expectation had been wound up so high that disappointment was 
 almost inevitable. I think, though with some misgivings, that the book, 
 will live. I put two volumes of Foote into my pockets, and walked to 
 Clapham. They were reading my book again. How happy their praise 
 made me, and how little by comparison I care for any other praise ! A 
 quiet, happy, affectionate evening. Mr. Conybeare makes a criticism, in 
 which Hannah seems to agree, that I sometimes repeat myself. I suspect 
 there is truth in this. Yet it is very hard to know what to do. If an 
 important principle is laid down only once, it is unnoticed or forgotten by 
 dull readers, who are the majority. If it is inculcated in several places, 
 quick-witted persons think that the writer harps too much on one string. 
 Probably I have erred on the side of repetition. This is really the only 
 important criticism that I have yet heard. 
 
 “ I looked at the life of Campbell by a foolish Dr. Beattie ; a glorious 
 specimen of the book-making of this age. Campbell may have written 
 in all his life three hundred good lines, rather less than more. His let- 
 ters, his conversation, were mere trash.* A life such as Johnson has 
 written of Shenstone, or Akenside, would have been quite long enough for 
 the subject ; but here are three mortal volumes. I suppose that, if I die 
 to-morrow, I shall have three volumes. Really, I begin to understand 
 why Coleridge says that Life in Death is more horrible than Death. 
 
 “ I dined with Miss Berry. She and her guests made an idol of me : 
 but I know the value of London idolatry, and how soon these fashions 
 pass away.” t 
 
 * This was rather ungrateful to Campbell, who had provided Macaulay with an anec- 
 dote, which he told well and often, to illustrate the sentiment with which the authors of 
 old days regarded their publishers. At a literary dinner Campbell asked leave to propose 
 a toast, and gave the health of Napoleon Bonaparte. The war was at its height, and the 
 very mention of Napoleon’s name, except in conjunction with some uncomplimentary 
 epithet, was in most circles regarded as an outrage. A storm of groans broke out, and 
 Campbell with difficulty could get a few sentences heard. “ Gentlemen,” he said, “ you 
 must not mistake me. I admit that the French Emperor is a tyrant. I admit that he is a 
 monster. I admit that he is the sworn foe of our own nation, and, if you will, of the 
 whole human race. But, gentlemen, we must be just to our great enemy. We must not 
 forget that he once shot a book-seller.” The guests, of whom two out of every three lived 
 by their pens, burst into a roar of laughter, and Campbell sate down in triumph. 
 
 t “ There is nothing,” Macaulay says elsewhere, “ more pitiable than an ex-lion or 
 ex-lioness, London, I have often thought, is like the sorceress in the Arabian nights, 
 who, by some mysterious law, can love the same object only forty days. During forty 
 VOL. II.— II 
 
i 62 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XII. 
 
 yantiary ir, 1849. — ^ find how well my book continues to 
 
 sell. The second edition of three thousand was out of print almost as 
 soon as it appeared, and one thousand two hundred and fifty of the third 
 edition are already bespoken. I hope all this will not make me a cox- 
 comb. I feel no intoxicating effect ; but a man may be drunk without 
 knowing it. If my abilities do not fail me, I shall be a rich man ; as rich, 
 that is to say, as I wish to be. But that I am already if it were not for 
 my dear ones. I am content, and should have been so with less. On the 
 whole I remember no success so complete, and I remember all Byron’s 
 poems and all Scott’s novels.” 
 
 “ Saturday^ January 27. — Longman has written to say that only sixteen 
 hundred copies are left of the third edition of five thousand, and that two 
 thousand more copies must be immediately printed, still to be called the 
 third edition. I went into the city to discuss the matter, and found Wil- 
 liam Longman and Green. They convinced me that the proposed course 
 was right ; but I am half afraid of this strange prosperity. Thirteen 
 thousand copies, they seem quite confident, will have been taken off in 
 less than six months.* Of such a run I had never dreamed. But I had 
 thought that the book would have a permanent place in our literature ; 
 and I see no reason to alter that opinion. Yet I feel extremely anxious 
 about the second part. Can it possibly come up to the first ? Does the 
 subject admit of such vivid description and such exciting narrative ? Will 
 not the judgment of the public be unduly severe } All this disturbs me. 
 Yet the risk must be run ; and whatever art and labor can do shall be 
 done.” 
 
 February 2. — Mahon sent me a letter from Arbuthnot, saying that the 
 Duke of Wellington was enthusiastic in admiration of my book. Though 
 I am almost callous to praise now, this praise made me happy for two 
 minutes. A fine old fellow ! The Quakers have fixed Monday at eleven 
 for my opportunity.! Many a man, says Sancho, comes for wool, and goes 
 home shorn. To dinner at Lansdowne House. All were kind and cordial. 
 I thought myself agreeable, but perhaps I was mistaken. Lord Lans- 
 downe almost made up his mind to come to the interview with the Quak- 
 ers; but a sense of decorum withheld him. Lord Shelbourne begged so 
 
 days she is all fondness. As soon as they are over, she not only discards the poor favorite, 
 but turns him into some wretched shape, — a mangy dog or spavined horse. How many 
 hundreds of victims have undergone this fate since I was bom ! the strongest instances, 
 I think, have been Betty, who was called the young Roscius ; Edward Irving ; and Mrs. 
 Beecher Stowe.” 
 
 * Asa matter of fact they were taken off in less than four months. 
 
 + A deputation from the Society of Friends proposed to wait upon Macaulay to remon- 
 strate with him about his treatment of William Penn in the fifth and eighth chapters of 
 the History. 
 
1848-52. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 hard to be admitted that I could not refuse him, though I must provide 
 myself with a different kind of second in such a combat. Milman will 
 come if he can.” 
 
 “ Saturday, February 3. — Longman came. He brought two reviews of 
 my book, North British and British Quarterly. They are more than 
 sufficiently eulogistic. In both there are squeezes of acid. Part of the 
 censure I admit to be just, but not all. Much of the praise I know to be 
 undeserved. I began my second part, and wrote two foolscap sheets. I 
 am glad to see how well things are going in Parliament. Stanley is 
 surely very foolish and inconsiderate. What would he have done if he 
 had succeeded ? He is a great debater; but as to everything else he is 
 still what he was thirty years ago, a clever boy. All right in the Commons. 
 Excellent speech of Palmerston. What a knack he has for falling on his 
 feet ! I never will believe, after this, that there is any scrape out of which 
 his cleverness and his good fortune will not extricate him. And I rejoice 
 in his luck most sincerely ; for, though he now and then trips, he is an ex- 
 cellent Minister, and I cannot bear the thought of his being a sacrifice to 
 the spite of foreign powers.” 
 
 Of all English statesmen, Macaulay liked Lord Palmerston the best ; 
 and never was that liking stronger than during the crisis through which 
 the nations of the Continent were passing in 1848 and 1849. His heart 
 was entirely with the Minister who, whenever and wherever the interests 
 of liberty and humanity were at stake, was eager to prove that those to 
 whom the power of England was committed did not wield the pen, and on 
 occasion did not bear tlie sword in vain. But Palmerston’s foreign policy 
 was little to the taste of some among his political opponents. They had 
 not been able to digest his civility to Republican Governments ; nor could 
 they forgive him for having approved the conduct of the Admiral who an- 
 chored British men-of-war between the broadsides of the King of Naples’s 
 ships and the defenceless streets of Palermo. An amendment on the 
 address was moved in both Houses, humbly representing to her Majesty, 
 that her affairs were not in such a state as to justify Parliament in address- 
 ing her in the language of congratulation. The peers, dazzled by Lord 
 Stanley’s reckless eloquence, ran the Ministry within two votes of a defeat 
 which, in the then existing condition of affairs abroad, w'ould have been 
 nothing short of a European calamity. In the Commons Lord Palmer- 
 ston opposed the amendment in a speech of extraordinary spirit,* which 
 
 * “ If yoii say that you cannot congratulate us, I say ‘ Wait till you are asked.’ It 
 would be highly improper to ask the House to express on the present occasion any opinion 
 on the foreign relations of the country. • * * * The real fault found with her Majesty’s 
 Government is that we are not at war with some of our allies. Our great offence is that 
 we have remained on amicable terms with the Republican government of France. There 
 are those who think that the Government of a Republic is not sufficiently good company 
 
164 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XII. 
 
 at once decided the fortune of the debate ; a motion for adjournment 
 was thrown out by 221 votes to 80; and Mr. Disraeli, rightly interpret- 
 ing the general feeling of the House, took the judicious course of with- 
 drawing the hostile amendment. 
 
 ^'Sunday, February 4. — I walked out to Clapham yesterday afternoon ; 
 had a quiet, happy evening ; and went to church this morning. I love 
 the church for the sake of old times. I love even that absurd painted 
 window with the dove, the lamb, the urn, the two cornucopias, and the 
 profusion of sunflowers, passion-flowers, and peonies. Heard a Puseyite 
 sermon, very different from the oratory which I formerly used to hear from 
 the same pulpit.” 
 
 Febritary 5, 1849. — Lord Shelburne, Charles Austin, and Milman to 
 breakfast. A pleasant meal. Then the Quakers, five in number. Never 
 was there such a rout. They had absolutely nothing to say. Every 
 charge against Penn came out as clear as any case at the Old Bailey. 
 They had nothing to urge but what was true enough, that he looked 
 worse in my History than he would have looked on a general survey of 
 his whole life. But that is not my fault. I wrote the History of four 
 years during which he was exposed to great tempations ; during which he 
 w-as the favorite of a bad king, and an active solicitor in a most corrupt 
 court. His character was injured by his associations. Ten years before, 
 or ten years later, he would have made a much better figure.* But was 
 for the Government of a Monarchy. Now, I hold that the relations between Govern- 
 ments are, in fact, the relations between those nations to which the Governments belong. 
 What business is it of ours to ask whether the French nation thi nks proper to be gov- 
 erned by a king, an emperor, a president, or a consul ? Our object, and our duty, is to 
 cement the closest ties of friendship between ourselves and our nearest neighbor — that 
 neighbor who in ^var would be our most formidable enemy, and in peace our most useful 
 ally. * * * * This, then, is the state of the matter. We stand here charged with the 
 grave ofiEence of having preserved a good understanding with the Republic of France, and 
 of having thereby essentially contributed to the maintenance of peace in Europe. We are 
 charged with having put an end to hostilities in Schleswig-Holstein which might have led 
 to a European war. We are accused of having persuaded Austria and Sardinia to lay 
 down their arms, when their differences might have involved the other powers of Europe 
 in contention. We are reproached with having prevented great calamities in Sicily, and 
 with laboring to restore friendly relations between the King of Naples and his subjects. 
 These are the charges which the House is called upon to determine for, or against us. 
 We stand here as men who have labored assiduously to prevent war, and, where it had 
 broken out, to put an end to it as soon as was practicable. We stand here as the promoters 
 of peace under charges brought against us by the advocates of war. I leave it to the 
 House to decide between us and our accusers, and I look forward with confidence to the 
 verdict which the House will give.” 
 
 * If Macaulay’s History was not a Life of William Penn, this book is still less so. 
 Those who are honorably jealous for Penn’s reputation will forgive me if I do not express 
 an opinion of my own with regard to the controversy ; an opinion which, after all, would 
 be valueless. In my uncle’s papers there can be found no trace of his ever having chang- 
 ed his mind on the merits of the question. 
 
1848-52. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 165 
 
 I to begin my book ten years earlier or ten years later for William Penn’s 
 sake ? The Quakers were extremely civil. So was I. They compliment- 
 ed me on my courtesy and candor.” 
 
 This will, perhaps, be the most convenient place to insert some ex- 
 tracts from Macaulay’s letters to Mr. Ellis. 
 
 “Albany: January 10, 1849. 
 
 “ I have had a pastoral epistle in three sheets from St. Henry of Exon, and 
 have sent him three sheets in answer. We are the most courteous and affectionate of 
 adversaries. You cannot think how different an opinion I entertain of him since 
 he has taken to subscribing himself, ‘ with very high esteem, 
 
 ‘ My admiring reader.’ 
 
 How is it possible to hold out against a man whose censure is conveyed in the fol- 
 lowing sort of phrase ? ‘ Pardon me if I say that a different course would have 
 been more generous, more candid, more philosophical, all which I may sum up in 
 the words, more like yourself.’ This is the extreme point of his severity. And to 
 think how long I have denied to this man all share of Christian charity ! ” 
 
 “ March 6, 1849. 
 
 “ Pray tell Adolphus how much obliged I am to him for his criticisms. I see 
 that I now and then fell into error. I got into a passion with the Stuarts, and con- 
 sequently did less damage than I should have done if I had kept my temper. 
 
 “ I hear that Croker has written a furious article against me, and that Lockhart 
 wishes to suppress it, declaring that the current of public opinion runs strongly on 
 my side, and that a violent attack by a personal enemy will do no harm to me and 
 much harm to the Quarterly Review. How they settle the matter I care not, as the 
 
 Duke says, one twopenny damn.” f 
 
 , “ March 8, 1849. 
 
 “ I have at last attained true glory. As I walked through Fleet street the day 
 before yesterday, I saw a copy of Hume at a bookseller’s window with the follow- 
 ing label : ‘ Only 2/. zs. Hume’s History of England in eight volumes, highly val- 
 uable as an introduction to Macaulay.’ I laughed so convulsively that the other 
 people who were staring at the books took me for a poor demented gentleman. 
 Alas for poor David I As for me, only one height of renown yet remains to be at- 
 tained. I am not yet in Madame Tussaud’s waxwork. I live, however, in hope of 
 
 * Unfortunately these were only the preliminaries of the combat. When the Bishop 
 passed from compliments to arguments, he soon showed that he had not forgotten his 
 swashing blow. Macaulay writes with the air of a man whose sole object is to be out of a 
 controversy on the shortest and most civil terms. “ Before another edition of my book 
 appears, I shall have time to weigh your observations carefully, and to examine the works 
 to which you have called my attention. You have convinced me of the propriety of 
 making some alterations. But I hope that you will not accuse me of pertinacity if I add 
 that, as far as I can at present judge, the alterations will be slight, and that on the great 
 point at issue my opinion is unchanged.” To this the Bishop rejoins : “ Do not think me 
 very angry, when I say that a person willing to come to such a conclusion would make an 
 invaluable foreman of a jury to convict another Algernon Sidney. Sincerely, I never 
 met so monstrous an attempt to support a foregone conclusion.” 
 
 t It vvras the Duke of Wellington who invented this oath, so disproportioned to the 
 greatness of its author. 
 
i66 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XII. 
 
 seeing one day an advertisement of a new group of figures; Mr. Macaulay, in one 
 of his own coats, conversing with Mr. Silk Buckingham in Oriental costume, and 
 Mr. Robert Montgomery in full canonicals.” 
 
 “ March 9, 1850. 
 
 “ I hope that Roebuck will do well. If he fails it will not be from the strength of 
 his competitors. What a nerveless, milk-and-water set the young fellows of the 
 
 present day are ! declares that there is not in the whole House of 
 
 Commons any stuff, under five-and-thirty, of which a Junior Lord of the Treasury 
 can be made. It is the same in literature, and, I imagine, at the bar. It is odd 
 that the last twenty-five years, which have witnessed the greatest progress ever made 
 in physical science, — the greatest victories ever achieved by man over matter, — 
 should have produced hardly a volume that will be remembered in 1900, and should 
 have seen the breed of great advocates and Parliamentary orators become extinct 
 among us. 
 
 “ One good composition of its kind was produced yesterday ; * the judgment in 
 Gorham’s case. I hope you like it. I think it excellent, worthy of D’Aguesseau 
 or Mansfield. I meant to have heard it delivered : but, when I came to Whitehall, 
 I found the stairs, the passages, and the very street so full of parsons, Puseyite and 
 Simeonite, that there was no access even for Privy Councillors ; and, not caring to 
 elbow so many successors of the Apostles, I walked away. 
 
 “ I have seen the hippopotamus, both asleep and awake ; and I can assure you 
 that, awake or asleep, he is the ugliest of the works of God. But you must hear 
 of my triumphs. Thackeray swears that he was eye-witness and ear-witness of the 
 proudest event of my life. Two damsels were just about to pass that doorway 
 which we, on Monday, in vain attempted to enter, when 1 was pointed out to them. 
 ‘ Mr. Macaulay !’ cried the lovely pair. ‘Is that Mr. Macaulay.? Never mind the 
 hippopotamus.’ And, having paid a shilling to see Behemoth, they left him in the 
 very moment at which he was about to display himself to them, in order to see — but 
 spare my modesty. I can wish for nothing more on earth, now that Madame Tus- 
 saud, in whose Pantheon I once hoped for a place, is dead.” 
 
 February 12. — I bought a superb sheet of paper for a guinea, and 
 Krote on it a Valentine for Alice. I dined at Lady Charlotte Lindsay’s 
 with Hallam and Kinglake. I am afraid that I talked too much about 
 my book. Yet really the fault was not mine. People would introduce 
 the subject. I will be more guarded ; yet how difficult it is to hit the 
 right point! To turn the conversation might look ungracious and 
 affected.” 
 
 “ February 13, 1849. — ^ sent off Alice’s Valentine to Fanny to be for- 
 warded.t The sale keeps up ; eighty or more a day. It is strange. 
 
 * On March 8, 1850, Lord Langdale delivered the judgment of the Judicial Committee 
 of the Privy Council. 
 
 t The Miss Macaulays resided at Brighton. The many weeks which their brother 
 spent there in their company added much to his health and comfort. For the most part 
 he lived at the Norfolk Hotel ; but he sometimes took a lodging in the neighborhood of 
 their house. His article on Bunyan in the Encyclopaedia Britannica was written in one 
 of the houses in Regency Square. 
 
I84S-52. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 167 
 
 People tell me that Miss Aikin abuses my book like a fury, and cannot for- 
 give my treatment of her Life of Addison. Poor creature ! If she knew 
 how little 1 deserve her ill-will, and how little I care for it, she would 
 be quieter. If she would have let me save her from exposing herself, I 
 would have done so ; * and when she rudely rejected my help, and I could 
 not escape from the necessity of censuring her, I censured her more 
 leniently, I will venture to say, than so bad a book was ever censured by 
 any critic of the smallest discernment. From the first word to the last I 
 never forgot my respect for her petticoats. Even now, I do not reprint 
 one of my best reviews for fear of giving her pain. But there is no great 
 magnanimity in all this.” 
 
 February 14. — At three came Fanny and the children. Alice was in 
 perfect raptures over her Valentine. She begged quite pathetically to be 
 told the truth about it. When we were alone together she said, ‘ I am 
 going to be very serious.’ Down she fell before me on her knees, and 
 lifted up her hands : ‘ Dear uncle, do tell the truth to your little girl. Did 
 you send the Valentine.^’ I did not choose to tell a real lie to a child 
 even about such a trifle, and so I owned it.” 
 
 '‘^February 15. — To dinner with Baron Parke. Brougham was noisily 
 friendly. I know how mortally he hates and how bitterly he reviles me. 
 But it matters little. He has long outlived his power to injure. He has not 
 however, outlived his to amuse. He was very pleasant, but, as usual, exces- 
 sively absurd, and exposed himself quite ludicrously on one subject. He 
 maintained that it was doubtful whether tlie tragic poet was Euripides or 
 Euripides. It was Euripides in his Ainsworth. There was, he said, no 
 authority either way. I answered by quoting a couple of lines from 
 Aristophanes. I could have overwhelmed him with quotations. ‘ Oh ! ’ 
 said this great scholar, ‘ those are lambics. lambics are very capricious 
 and irregular : not like hexameters.’ I kept my countenance, and so did 
 Parke. Nobody else who heard the discussion understood the subject.” 
 
 In November, 1848, Macaulay had been elected Lord Rector of the 
 University of Glasgow. The time was now approaching for the ceremony 
 of his Installation : one of those occasions which are the special terror of 
 an orator, when much is expected, and everything has been well said 
 many times before. His year of offlce fortunately chanced to be the 
 fourth centenary of the body over which he had been chosen to preside ; 
 and he contrived to give point and novelty to his inaugural Address by 
 framing it into a retrospect of the history and condition of the University 
 at the commencement of each successive century of its existence, 
 
 March 12. — I called on the Lord Advocate, settled the date of my 
 journey to Glasgow, and consulted him about the plan of my speech. He 
 
 * See pp. 83, 84. 
 
LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XII. 
 
 1 68 
 
 thought the notion very good ; grand, indeed, he said ; and I think that it 
 is striking and original without being at all affected or eccentric. I was 
 vexed to hear that there is some thought of giving me the freedom of Glas- 
 gow in a gold box. This may make it necessary for me to make a speech 
 on which I had not reckoned. It is strange, even to myself, to find how 
 the horror of public exhibitions grows on me. Having made my way in 
 the world by haranguing, I am now as unwilling to make a speech as any 
 timid stammerer in Great Britain.” 
 
 The event proved that his apprehensions were superfluous. “ I took 
 the oath of office,” he writes in his journal of March 21, 1849; “signed 
 my name ; and delivered my Address. It was very successful ; for, though 
 of little intrinsic value, it was not unskilfully framed for its purpose, and 
 for the place and time. The acclamations were prodigious.” 
 
 March 22. — Another eventful and exciting day. I was much annoy- 
 ed and anxious, in consequence of hearing that there were great expecta- 
 tions of a fine oration from me at the Town Hall. I had broken rest 
 partly from the effect of the bustle which was over, and partly from the 
 apprehension of the bustle which was to come. I turned over a few sen- 
 tences in mv head, but was very ill satisfied with them. Well or ill satis- 
 fied, however, I was forced to be ready when the Lord Provost called for 
 me. I felt like a man going to be hanged ; and, as such a man generally 
 does, plucked up courage to behave with decency. We went to the City 
 Hall, which is a fine room, and was crowded as full as it could hold. 
 Nothing but huzzaing and clapping of hands. The Provost presented me 
 with a handsome box, silver gilt, containing the freedom of the City, and 
 made a very fair speech on the occasion; I returned thanks with sincere 
 emotion, and, I hope, with propriety. What I said was very well received 
 and I was vehemently applauded at the close. At half-past two I took 
 flight for Edinburgh, and, on arriving, drove straight from the station to 
 Craig Crook. I had a pleasant, painful, half hour with Jeffrey ; — perhaps 
 the last. He was in almost hysterical excitement. His kindness and praise 
 were quite overwhelming. The tears were in the eyes of both of us.” 
 
 “ Alarch 26. — Longman has written to say that the third edition is all 
 sold off to the last copy. I wrote up my journal for the past week : an 
 hour for fourteen pages, at about four minutes a page. Then came a long 
 call from Macleod, with whom I had much good talk, which occupied most 
 of the morning. I must not go on in this dawdling way. Soon the cor- 
 respondence to which my book has given occasion will be over ; the cor- 
 recting of proof-sheets for fresh editions will also be over ; the mornings 
 will be mild ; the sun will be up early, and I will try to be up early too. 
 I should like to get again into the habit of working three hours before 
 breakfast. Once I had it, and I may easily recover it. A man feels his 
 conscience so light during the day when he has done a good piece of work 
 
1848-52. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 169 
 
 with a clear head before leaving his bedroom. I think I will fix Easter 
 Tuesday for the beginning of this new system. It is hardly worth while 
 to make the change before we return from our tour.” * 
 
 April IT ,. — To the British Museum. I looked over the Travels of 
 the Duke of Tuscany, and found the passage the existence of which Cro- 
 ker denies. His blunders are really incredible. The article has been re- 
 ceived with general contempt. Really, Croker, has done me a great service. 
 I apprehended a strong reaction, the natural effect of such a success ; and, 
 if hatred had left him free to use his very slender faculties to the best ad- 
 vantage, he might have injured me much. He should have been large in 
 acknowledgement; should have taken a mild and expostulatory tone ; and 
 should have looked out for real blemishes, which, as I too well know, he 
 might easily have found. Instead of that, he has written with such ran- 
 cor as to make everybody sick. I could almost pity him. But he is a 
 bad, a very bad, man : a scandal to politics and to letters. 
 
 “ I corrected my article on Addison for insertion in the collected Es- 
 says. I shall leave out all the animadversions on Miss A) kin’s blunders. 
 She has used me ill, and this is the honorable and gentlemanlike re- 
 venge.” 
 
 “ Friday, May 5, 1849. — A. lucky day on which to begin a new volume 
 of my journal. Glorious weather. A letter from Lord John to say that 
 he has given my brother John the living of Aldingham, worth iioo/.-a 
 year, in a fine country, and amidst a fine population. Was there ever 
 such prosperity.? I wrote a few lines of warm thanks to Lord John. To 
 Longman’s. A thousand of the fifth edition bespoken. Longman has 
 sent me Southey’s Commonplace Book; trash, if ever there was trash in 
 a bookseller’s shop. 
 
 “ I read some of Dr. Parr’s correspondence while I dressed. I have 
 been dawdling, at odd moments, over his writings, and over the memoirs 
 of him, during the last week. He certainly was very far from being all 
 humbug. Yet the proportion of humbug was so great that one is tempted 
 to deny him the merit which he really possessed. The preface to the 
 Warburtonian Tracts is, I think, the best piece.” 
 
 “ June 28. — After breakfast to the Museum, and sate till three, reading 
 and making extracts. I turned over three volumes of newspapers and 
 tracts ; Flying Posts, Postboys, and Postmen. I found some curious things 
 which will be of direct service ; but the chief advantage of these re- 
 searches is that the mind is transported back a century and a half, and 
 gets familiar with the ways of thinking, and with the habits, of a past 
 generation. I feel that I am fast becoming master of my subject ; at least 
 more master of it than any writer who has yet handled it.” 
 
 ♦ At Easter, 1849, we went to Chester, Bangor, and Lichfield. 
 
170 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XII. 
 
 “ June 29. — To the British Museum, and read and extracted there till 
 near five. I find a growing pleasure in this employment. The reign of 
 William the Third, so mysterious to me a few weeks ago, is beginning to 
 take a clear form. I begin to see the men, and to understand all their 
 difficulties and jealousies.” 
 
 “ June 30. — To-day my yearly account with Longman is wound up. I 
 may now say that my book has run the gauntlet of criticism pretty thor- 
 oughly. I have every reason to be content. The most savage and dis- 
 honest assailant has not been able to deny me merit as a writer. All crit- 
 ics who have the least pretence to impartiality have given me praise 
 which I may be glad to think that I at all deserve. My present enterprise 
 is a more arduous one, and will probably be rewarded with less applause. 
 Yet I feel strong in hope. 
 
 “ I received a note from Prince Albert. He wants to see me at Buck- 
 ingham Palace at three to-morrow. I answered like a courtier ; yet what 
 am I to say to him ? For of course he wants to consult me about the 
 Cambridge Professorship.* How can I be just at once to Stephen and 
 to Kemble.” 
 
 Saturday, July i . — To the Palace. The Prince, to my extreme as- 
 tonishment, offered me the Professorship ; and very earnestly, and with 
 many flattering expressions, pressed me to accept it. I was resolute, and 
 gratefully and respectfully declined. I should have declined, indeed, if 
 only in order to give no ground to anybody to accuse me of foul play, 
 for I have had difficulty enough in steering my course so as to deal prop- 
 erly both by Stephen and by Kemble ; and if I had marched off with 
 the prize, I could not have been astonished if both had entertained a 
 very unjust suspicion of me. But, in truth, my temper is that of the wolf 
 in the fable. I cannot bear the collar, and I have got rid of much finer 
 and richer collars than this. It would be strange if, having sacrificed for 
 liberty a seat in the Cabinet and 2500/. a year, I should now sacrifice 
 liberty for a chair at Cambridge and 400/. a year. Besides, I never could 
 do two things at once. If I lectured well, my History must be given up ; 
 and to give up my History would be to give up much more than the 
 emoluments of the Professorship ; — if emolument were my chief object, 
 which it is not now, nor ever was. The Prince, when he found me deter- 
 mined, asked me about the other candidates.” 
 
 “ July 21. — I went to a shop near Westminster Bridge, where I yester- 
 day remarked some volumes of the Morning Chronicle, and bought some 
 of them to continue my set. I read the Morning Chronicle of 1811. 
 How scandalously the Whig Press treated the Duke of Wellington, till 
 
 * The Professorship of Modem History. The Chair was eventually filled by Sir 
 James Stephen. 
 
LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 1848-52. 
 
 171 
 
 his merit became too great to be disputed ! How extravagantly unjust 
 party spirit makes men ! 
 
 “ Some scribbler in the Morning Post has just now a spite to Trevel- 
 yan, and writes several absurd papers against him every week. He will 
 never hear of them probably, and will certainly not care fpr them. They 
 can do him no harm ; and yet I, who am never moved by such attacks on 
 myself, and who would not walk across the room to change all the abuse 
 that the Morning Post has ever put forth against me into panegyric, can- 
 not help being irritated by this low, dirty wickedness. To the Museum, 
 and passed two or three hours usefully and agreeably over maps and 
 tracts relating to Londonderry. I can make something of that matter, 
 unless I have lost my cunning.” 
 
 “ Augtist 3. — I am now near the end of Tom Moore’s life of Byron. 
 It is a sad book. Poor fellow ! Yet he was a bad fellow, and horribly 
 affected. But then what, that could spoil a character, was wanting.? 
 Had I at twenty-four had a peerage, and been the most popular poet and 
 the most successful Lovelace of the day, I should have been as great a 
 coxcomb, and possibly as bad a man. I passed some hours over Don 
 Juan, and saw no reason to change the opinion which I formed twenty- 
 five years ago. The first two cantos are Byron’s masterpiece. The next 
 two may pass as not below his average. Then begins the descent, and at 
 last he sinks to the level of his own imitators in the Magazines.” 
 
 Macaulay spent the last half of August in Ireland,* and, as his custom 
 was, employed himself during the days that preceded his tour in studying 
 the literature of the country. He turned over Swift’s Correspondence, 
 and at least a shelf-full of Irish novels; and read more carefully Moore’s 
 Life of Sheridan, and the Life of Flood, which did not at all meet his 
 fancy. “ A stupid, ill-spelt, ill-written book it is. He was a remarkable 
 man ; but one not much to be esteemed or loved. I looked through the 
 Memoirs of Wolfe Tone. In spite of the fellow’s savage, unreasonable 
 hatred of England, there is something about him which I cannot help 
 liking. Why is it that an Irishman’s, or Frenchman’s, hatred of England 
 does not excite in me an answering hatred .? I imagine that my national 
 pride prevents it. England is so great that an Englishman cares little 
 what others think of her, or how they talk of her.” 
 
 August 16, 1849. — The express train reached Holyhead about seven 
 in the evening. I read, between London and Bangor, the lives of the 
 Emperors, from Maximin to Carinus inclusive, in the Augustan History, 
 and was greatly amused and interested. It is a pity that Philip and De- 
 cius are wanting to the series. Philip’s strange leaning towards Christi- 
 anity, and the vigor and ability of Decius, and his inveterate hostility to 
 
 ♦ See pages i43-i4S- 
 
172 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XII. 
 
 the new religion, would be interesting even in the worst history ; and cer- 
 tainly worse historians than Trebellius Capitolinus and Vopiscus are not 
 easily to be found. Yet I like their silliest garrulity. It sometimes has a 
 Pepys-like effect. 
 
 “We sailed as soon as we got on board. The breeze was fresh and 
 adverse, and the sea rough. The sun set in glory; and then the starlight 
 was like the starlight of the Trades. I put on my great-coat, and sate on 
 deck during the whole voyage. As I could not read, I used an excellent 
 substitute for reading. I went through Paradise Lost in my head. I could 
 still repeat half of it, and that the best half. I really never enjoyed it so 
 much. In the dialogue at the end of the fourth book Satan and Gabriel 
 became to me quite like two of Shakespeare’s men. Old Sharp once told 
 me that Henderson the actor used to say to him that there was no better 
 acting scene in the English drama than this. I now felt the truth of the 
 criticism. How admirable is that hit in the manner of Euripides : 
 
 But wherefore thou alone ? Wherefore with thee 
 
 Came not all hell broke loose ? 
 
 I will try my hand on the passage in Greek lambics ; or set Ellis to do 
 it, who will do it better. 
 
 “ I had got to the end of the conversation between Raphael and 
 Adam, admiring more than ever the sublime courtesy of the Archangel, 
 when I saw the lights of Dublin Bay. I love entering a port at night. 
 The contrast between the wild, lonely sea, and the life and tumult of a 
 harbor when a ship is coming in, have always impressed me much.” 
 
 August 17. — Off to Dublin by railway. The public buildings, at this 
 first glance, struck me as very fine ; and would be considered fine even at 
 Paris. Yet the old Parliament House, from which I had expected most, 
 fell below my expectations. It is handsome, undoubtedly ; indeed, more 
 than handsome ; but it is too low. If it were twice as high as it is, it 
 would be one of the noblest edifices in Europe. It is remarkable that 
 architecture is the only art in which mere bulk is an element of sublimity. 
 There is more grandeur in a Greek gem of a quarter of an inch diameter, 
 than in the statue of Peter the Great at Petersburg. There is more 
 grandeur in Raphael’s Vision of Ezekiel than in all West’s and Barry’s 
 acres of spoiled canvas. But no building of very small dimensions can 
 be grand, and no building as lofty as the Pyramids or the Colosseum can 
 be mean. The Pyramids are a proof : for what on earth could be viler 
 than a pyramid thirty feet high ? 
 
 “ The rain was so heavy that I was forced to come back in a covered 
 car. While in this detestable vehicle I looked rapidly through the cor- 
 respondence between Pliny and Trajan and Trajan made a most credita- 
 ble figure. I saw the outside of Christ Church Cathedral, and felt very 
 
1843-52. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 173 
 
 little inclination to see the inside. Not so with St. Patrick’s. Ruinous, 
 and ruinous in the worst way, — undergoing repairs which there are not 
 funds to make, — it is still a striking church ; but the interest which be- 
 long to it is chiefly historical. In the choir I saw Schomberg’s grave, 
 and Swift’s furious libel* written above. Opposite hang the spurs of St. 
 Ruth, and the chain-ball which killed him ; not a very Christainlike orna- 
 ment for the neighborhood of an altar. In the nave Swift and Stella are 
 buried. Swift’s bust is much the best likeness of him that I 
 ever saw ; striking and full of character. Going away through 
 Kevin Street I saw the Deanery ; not Swift’s house, though on the same 
 site. Some of the hovels opposite must have been standing in his time ; 
 and the inmates were probably among the people who borrowed small 
 sums of him, or took off their hats to him in the street.” 
 
 August 2^. Killarney . — A busy day. I found that I must either 
 forego the finest part of the sight, or mount a pony. Ponies are not much 
 in my way. However, I was ashamed to flinch, and rode twelve miles, 
 with a guide, to the head of the Upper Lake, where we met the boat 
 which had been sent forward with four rowers. One of the boatmen 
 gloried in having rowed Sir Walter Scott and Miss Edgeworth, twenty- 
 four years ago. It was, he said, a compensation to him for having missed 
 a hanging which took place that very day. Nothing can exceed the 
 beauty of the Upper Lake.t I got home after a seven hours’ ramble, dur- 
 ing which I went twelve miles on horseback, and about twenty by boat. I 
 had not crossed a horse since, in June, 1834, I rode with Captain Smith 
 through the Mango Garden near Arcot. I was pleased to find that I had a 
 good seat ; and my guide, whom I had apprised of my unskilfulness, pro- 
 fessed himself quite an admirer of the way in which I trotted and canter- 
 ed. His flattery pleased me more than many fine compliments which have 
 been paid to my History.” f 
 
 ♦ The inscription on Schomberg’s tablet relates, in most outspoken phrases, how the 
 Dean and Chapter of St. Patrick’s in vain importuned the Duke’s heirs to erect him a 
 monument, and how at length they were reduced to erect one themselves. The last line 
 runs thus : “ Plus potuit fama virtutis apud alienos, quam sanguinis proximitas apud 
 suos.” 
 
 t “ Killarney is worth some trouble,” Macaulay writes to Mr. Ellis. “ I never in 
 my life saw anything more beautiful ; I might say, so beautiful. Imagine a fairer Win- 
 dermere in that part of Devonshire where the myrtle grows wild. The ash-berries are 
 redder, the heath richer, the very fern more delicately articulated than elsewhere. The 
 wood IS everywhere. The grass is greener than anything that I ever saw. There is a posi- 
 tive sensual pleasure in looking at it. No sheep is suffered to remain more than a few 
 months on any of the islands of the lakes. I asked why not. I was told that they would 
 die of fat ; and, indeed, those that I saw looked like Aldermen who had passed the Chair.” 
 
 t In a letter written from Dublin on his way home Macaulay says : “ I was agreeably 
 disappointed with what I saw of the condition of the people in Meath and Louth, when I 
 
174 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XII. 
 
 After his fortnight in Ireland, Macaulay took another fortnight in 
 France, and then applied himself sedulously and continuously to 
 the completion of his twelfth chapter. For weeks together the 
 account of each day ends or begins with the words; “My task;” 
 “ Did my task ; ” “ My task, and something over.” 
 
 September 22. — Wrote my regular quantity — six foolscap pages of 
 my scrawl, which will be about two pages in print. I hope to hold on at 
 this pace through the greater part of the year. If I do this, I shall, by 
 next September, have rough-hewn my third volume. Of course the pol- 
 ishing and re-touching will be an immense labor.” 
 
 “ October 2. — Wrote fast, and long. I do not know that I ever com- 
 posed with more ease and pleasure than of late. I have got far beyond 
 my task. I will only mention days when I fall short of it; and I hope 
 that it will be long before I have occasion to make such an entry.” 
 
 “ October 9. — Sate down again to write, but not in the vein. I hope 
 that I shall not break my wholesome practice to-day, for the first time 
 since I came back from France. A Frenchman called on me, a sort of 
 man of letters, who has translated some bits of my History. When he 
 went, I sate down doggedly, as Johnson used to say, and did my task, but 
 somewhat against my will.” 
 
 “ October 25, 1849. — birthday. Forty-nine years old. I have no 
 cause of complaint. Tolerable health; competence ; liberty ; leisure ; very 
 dear relations and friends ; a great, I may say a very great, literary repu- 
 tation. 
 
 Nil amplius oro, 
 
 Maia nate, nisi ut propria haec mihi munera faxis.* 
 
 But how will that be } My fortune is tolerably secure against anything 
 but a great public calamity. My liberty depends on myself, and I shall 
 not easily part with it. As to fame, it may fade and die ; but I hope that 
 mine has deeper roots. This I cannot but perceive,that even the hasty and 
 imperfect articles which I wrote for the Edinburgh Review are valued by 
 a generation which has sprung up since they were first published. While 
 
 went to the Boyne, and not much shocked by anything that I fell in with in going by rail- 
 way from Dublin to Limerick. But from Limerick to Killamey and from Killamey to 
 Cork, I hardly knew whether to laugh or cry. Hundreds of dwellings in ruins, abandoned 
 by the late inmates who have fled to America ; the laboring people dressed literally, not 
 rhetorically, worse than the scarecrows of England ; the children of whole villages turning 
 out to beg of every coach and car that goes by. But I will have done. I cannot mend 
 this state of things, and there is no use in breaking my heart about it. I am comforted 
 thinking that between the poorest English peasant and the Irish peasant there is ample room 
 for ten or twelve well-marked degrees of poverity. As to political agitation, it is dead and 
 buried. Never did I see a society apparently so well satisfied with its rulers. The Queen 
 made a conquest of all hearts." 
 
 * “ My only prayer is, O son of Maia, that thou wilt make these blessings my own." 
 
LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 175 
 
 1848-5.-:. 
 
 two editions of Jeffrey’s papers, and four of Sydney’s have sold, mine are 
 reprinting for the seventh time. Then, as to my History, there is nc 
 change yet in the public feeling of England. I find that the Unitec 
 States, France, and Germany confirm the judgment of my own country. 3 
 have seen not less than six German reviews, all in the highest degree 
 laudatory. This is a sufficient answer to those detractors who attribute 
 the success of my book here to the skill with which I have addressed my- 
 self to mere local and temporary feelings. I am conscious that I did not 
 mean to address myself to such feelings, and that I wrote with a remote 
 past and a remote future, constantly in my mind. The applause of people a 
 Charleston, people at Heidelberg, and people at Paris has reached me this 
 very week ; and this consent of men so differently situated leads me to hope 
 that I had really achieved the high adventure which I undertook, and pro- 
 duced something which will live. What a long rigmarole ! But on a 
 birthday a man may be excused for looking backwards and forward. 
 
 “Not quite my whole task ; but I have a grand purple patch to sew 
 on,* and I must take time. I have been delighted to hear of Milman’s 
 appointment to St. Paul’s : — honestly delighted, as much as if a good lega- 
 cy had been left me.” 
 
 “ December 5. — In the afternoon to Westboume Terrace. I read my 
 Irish narrative to Hannah. Trevelyan came in the middle. After dinner 
 I read again. They seemed much, very much, interested. Hannah cried. 
 I could not at all command my voice. I think that, if I ever wrote well, 
 I have done so here. But this is but a small part of my task. However, 
 I was pleased at the effect which I produced ; and the more so as I am 
 sensible that I do not read my own compositions well.” 
 
 December 7. — I bought Thiers’s new volume, and read it in the 
 street. He is fair enough about Vimiera and Corunna, and just to the 
 English officers, but hardly so to the private soldiers. After dinner I 
 read Thiers again, and finished him. I am afraid of saying to other peo- 
 ple how much I miss in historians who pass for good. The truth is 
 that I admire no historians much, except Herodotus, Thucydides, and 
 Tacitus. Perhaps, in his way, a very peculiar way, I might add Fra 
 Paolo. The modern writers who have most of the great qualities of the 
 ancient masters of history are some memoir writers ; St. Simon for exam- 
 ple. There is merit, no doubt, in Hume, Robertson, Voltaire, and Gib- 
 bon. Yet it is not the thing. I have a conception of history more just, 
 I am confident, than theirs. The execution is another matter. But I 
 hope to improve.” 
 
 In a letter of December 19, 1849, Macaulay writes ; “Lord Spencer 
 has invited me to rummage his family papers ; a great proof of liberality 
 
 * The Relief of Londonderry. 
 
176 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XI. 
 
 when it is considered that he is the lineal descendant of Sunderland and 
 Marlborough. In general, it is ludicrous to notice how sore people are 
 at the truth being told about their ancestors. I am curious to see that 
 noble library ; the finest private library, I believe, in England.” 
 
 December 20. Allhorp . — This is a very early house. We had break- 
 fast at nine, preceded by prayers in the chapel. I was just in time for 
 them. After breakfast I went to the Library. The first glance showed 
 what a vast collection it was. Mr. Appleyard was Cicerone. Though 
 not much given to admire the merely curious parts ^ libraries, I was 
 greatly pleased with the old block-printing ; the very early specimens of 
 the art at Mentz ; the Caxtons ; the Florence Homer ; the Alduses ; the 
 famous Boccacio. I looked with particular interest into the two editions 
 of Chaucer by Caxton, and at the preface of the latter. Lord Spencer 
 expressed his regret that his sea education had kept him ignorant of 
 much that was known to scholars, and said that his chief pleasure in his 
 library was derived from the pleasure of his friends. This he said so 
 frankly and kindly that it was impossible not to be humbled by his 
 superiority in a thing more important even than learning. He reminded 
 me of his brother, my old friend and leader.” 
 
 ^''December 21. — After breakfast to-day I sate down to work. Apple- 
 yard showed me the pamphlet corner, and I fell to vigorously. There is 
 here a large collection of pamphlets formerly the property of General 
 Conway. The volumes relating to William’s reign cannot have been 
 fewer than fourteen or fifteen ; the pamphlets, I should think, at least a 
 dozen to a volume. Many I have, and many are to my knowledge at the 
 British Museum. But there were many which I had never seen; and I 
 found abundant, and useful, and pleasing occupation for five or six hours. 
 I filled several sheets of paper with notes. Though I do not love coun- 
 try-house society, I got pleasantly through the evening. In truth, when 
 people are so kind and so honest, it would be brutal not to be pleased. 
 
 To-day I sent 10/. to poor ’s family. I do not complain of such 
 
 calls; but I must save in other things in order to meet them.” 
 
 “ December 26. — I bought Thackeray’s Rebecca and Rowena, — a very 
 pretty, clever piece of fooling : but I doubt whether everbody will taste 
 the humor as I do. I wish him success heartily. I finished the Life of Lord 
 Sidmouth. Addington seems to me to have had more pluck than I had 
 given him credit for. As to the rest, he was narrow-minded and imbecile, 
 beyond any person who has filled such posts since the Revolution. Lord 
 Sidmouth might have made a highly creditable figure, if he had continued 
 to be Speaker as he well might have done, twenty years longer. He 
 would then have left as considerable a name as Onslow’s. He was well 
 qualified for that sort of work. But his sudden elevation to the highest 
 place in the State not only exposed his incapacity, but turned his head. 
 
1848-52. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 177 
 
 He began to think highly of himself exactly at the moment when every- 
 body else began to think meanly of him. There is a punctiliousness, a 
 sense of personal dignity, an expectation of being consulted, a deposition 
 to resent slights, to the end of his life. These were the effects, I ap- 
 prehend, of his having been put above his station. He had a dream like 
 Abou Hassan’s, and was the worse for it all his days. I do not won- 
 der at the contempt which Pitt felt for him : but it was below Pitt to be 
 angry.” 
 
 “ December 27. — Disagreeable weather, and disagreeable news. 
 
 is in difficulty again. I sent 50/., and I shall send the same to , 
 
 who does not ask it. But I cannot help being vexed. All the fruits of 
 my book have for this year been swallowed up. It will be all that I can 
 do to make both ends meet without breaking in upon capital. In the 
 meantime, people who know my incomings, and do not know the drains, 
 have no scruple about boring me for subscriptions and assistance. 
 
 “ I read Romilly’s Memoirs. A fine fellow ; but too stoical for my 
 taste. I love a little of the Epicurean element in virtue.” 
 
 ^^yanuary 12, 1850. — To the Board at the Museum, and shook hands 
 with Peel. We did business, — board-fashion. Would it were otherwise I 
 I went home, worked some hours, and got on tolerably. No doubt what 
 I am writing will require much correction ; but in the main, I think, it 
 will do. How little the all-important art of making meaning pellucid is 
 studied now ! Hardly any popular writer, except myself, thinks of it. 
 Many seem to aim at being obscure. Indeed, they may be right enough 
 in one sense ; for many readers give credit for profundity to whatever 
 is obscure, and call all that is perspicuous shallow. But coraggio! 
 and think of A.D. 2850. Where will your Emersons be then ? But Her- 
 odotus will still be read with delight. We must do our best to be read 
 too. 
 
 “ A letter from Campbell with news that I am a bencher of Lincoln’s 
 Inn. I am pleased, and amused.* I read some of Campbell’s Lives. 
 To Thurlow’s abilities he is surely unjust. It is idle to question powers 
 of mind which a generation of able men admitted. Thurlow was in the 
 House of Commons when Fox and Burke were against him, and made 
 a great figure there. He dominated over the I>ords, in spite of Cam- 
 den, Mansfield, and Loughborough. His talents were acknowledged by 
 the writers of the Rolliad, and even by Peter Pindar. It is too late to 
 dispute them now.” 
 
 * A Benchership of Lincoln’s Inn has rarely fallen to a stuff gown ; — and to a stuff 
 gown whose wearer had, in the course of his life, earned but one solitary guinea. The 
 notion of conferring this high honor upon Macaulay was mooted by Lord Justice Knight 
 Bruce, who had been one of his most determined adversaries in the House of Commons 
 during the heat of the great controversies of 1832. 
 
 VOL. II— 12 
 
178 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XI. 
 
 January 28. — Jeffrey is gone. Dear fellow! I loved him as much as 
 it is easy to love a man who belongs to an older generation. And how 
 good, and kind, and generous he was to me ! His goodness, too, was the 
 more precious because his perspicacity was so great. He saw through and 
 through you. He marked every fault of taste, every weakness, every 
 ridicule ; and yet he loved you as if he had been the dullest fellow in 
 England. He had a much better heart than Sydney Smith. I do not 
 mean that Sydney was in that respect below par. In ability I should say 
 that Jeffrey was higher, but Sydney rarer. I would rather have been 
 Jeffrey; but there will be several Jeffreys, before there is a Sydney. 
 After all, dear Jeffrey’s death is hardly matter for mourning. God grant 
 that I may die so! Full of years; full of honors; faculties bright, and 
 affections warm, to the last ; lamented by the public, and by many valu- 
 able private friends. This is the euthanasia. 
 
 “ I dined at home, and read in the evening Rousseau’s Letter to the 
 Archbishop of Paris, and Letter to D’Alembert. In spite of my hatred of 
 the fellow I cannot deny that he had great eloquence, and vigor of mind. 
 At the same time, he does not amuse me, and to me a book which is not 
 amusing wants the highest of all recommendations.” 
 
 February 19. — Went with Hannah to Richmond’s studio, to see my 
 picture. He seemed anxious and excited ; but at last, when he produced 
 his work, she pronounced it excellent. I am no judge of the likeness ; 
 but the face is characteristic. It is the face of a man of considerable 
 mental powers, great boldness and frankness, and a quick relish for plea- 
 sure. It is not unlike Mr. Fox’s face in general expression. I am quite 
 content to have such a physiognomy. Home, and counted my books. 
 Those which are in front are, in round numbers, 6100. There are sev- 
 eral hundreds behind, chiefly novels. I may call the whole collection at 
 least 7000. It will probably amount to 10,000 by the time that my lease 
 of these chambers expires ; unless, indeed, I expire first, which I think 
 very probable. It is odd how indifferent I have become to the fear of 
 death ; and yet I enjoy life greatly. I looked at some Spanish ballads, 
 and was^fruck by the superiority of Lockhart’s versions to the originals. 
 “ To dinner at the Club, and very pleasant it was.” * 
 
 ‘‘March 2 . — I was pained by hearing at Westbourne Terrace that 
 
 is deeply hurt by the failure of his portrait of me.f I am very sorry for 
 
 * Lord Carlisle says, in his diary of February 19, 1850: “ Dined at the Club. Hal- 
 1 am in the Chair. It was remarkably pleasant, except once when we got on Scotch entails, 
 saw Pemberton Leigh look amused when Macaulay turned on him : ‘ Don’t you remem- 
 ber’ — ^as he always begins — then something in Don Gusman d’Alfarache. He said Dry- 
 den had three great dialogues in his plays : Sebastian and Dorax ; Antony and Ventidius ; 
 (I forget the third ;) but he considers all immeasurably below the Brutus and Cassius.” 
 t This does not refer to Mr. Richmond’s picture. 
 
1848-52. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 179 
 
 it. He seemed a good fellow, and a pleasing painter ; and I have a great 
 tenderness for the sensibility of artists whose bread depends on their suc- 
 cess. I have had as few checks to my vanity in my own line as most men ; 
 but I have felt enough to teach me sympathy. I have been reading a 
 book called Les Gentilshommes Chasseurs. The old regime would have 
 been a fine thing if the world had been made only for gentlemen, and if 
 gentlemen had been made only for hunting.” 
 
 March 9, 1850. — To dinner at the Palace. The Queen was most 
 gracious to me. She talked much about my book, and owned that she 
 had nothing to say for her poor ancestor James the Second. ‘Not your 
 Majesty’s ancestor,’ said I ; ‘ your Majesty’s predecessor.’ I hope this 
 was not an uncourtly correction. I meant it as a compliment, and she 
 seemed to take it so.” 
 
 In the year 1839 Macaulay dined at the palace for the first time, and 
 described his entertainment in a letter to one of his sisters. “We all 
 spoke in whispers ; and, when dinner was over, almost everybody went to 
 cards or chess. I was presented ; knelt down ; kissed her Majesty’s 
 hand ; had the honor of a conversation with her of about two minutes, 
 and assured her that India was hot, and that I kept my health there.” 
 It may well be believed that Macaulay did not relish a society where he 
 fancied himself bound to condense his remarks into the space of two min- 
 utes, and to speak in the nearest approach to a whisper which he had at 
 his command. But, in truth, the restraint under which he found himself 
 was mainly due to his own inexperience of court life ; and, as time went on, 
 he began to perceive that he could not make himself more acceptable than 
 by talking as he talked elsewhere. Before long, a lady who met him fre- 
 quently at the Palace, whether in the character of a Cabinet Minister or of 
 a private guest, writes : “ Mr. Macaulay was very interesting to listen to ; 
 quite immeasurably abundant in anecdote and knowledge.” 
 
 “ March 1 1. — I wrote the arrival of the news of the Boyne at Whitehall. 
 I go on slowly, but, I think, pretty well. There are not many weeks in 
 which I do not write enough to fill seven or eight printed pages. The rule 
 of never going on when the vein does not flow readily would not\io for all 
 men, or for all kinds of work. But I, who am not tied to time, who do not 
 write for money, and who aim at interesting and pleasing readers whom 
 ordinary histories repel, can hardly do better. How can a man expect that 
 others will be amused by reading what he finds it dull to compose ? 
 
 “ Still North-east wind. Alas for the days when N.E. and S. W. were 
 all one to me ! Yet I have compensations, and ought to be contented; 
 and so I am, though now and then I wince for a moment.” 
 
 March 21. — I have been plagued to know what to do about a letter 
 from that poor creature, Robert Montgomery. He has written to me beg- 
 ging, in fact, that I will let him out of the pillory. I wrote and re-wrote 
 
i8o 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XII. 
 
 my answer. It was very difficult to hit the exact point: — to refuse all 
 concession without offering any new offence, and, without any fresh asperi- 
 ty, to defend the asperity of my article.” 
 
 April 15. — After breakfast I fell to work on the conspiracy of the 
 Jacobites in 1690. This is a tough chapter. To make the narrative flow 
 along as it ought, every part naturally springing from that which precedes ; 
 to carry the reader backward and forward across St. George’s Channel 
 without distracting his attention, is not easy. Yet it may be done. I 
 believe that this art of transition is as important, or nearly so, to history, 
 as the art of narration. I read the last volume of Clarissa, which I have 
 not opened since my voyage from India in the Lord Hungerford. I nearly 
 cried my eyes out.” 
 
 April 27. — To Westbourne Terrace, and passed an hour in playing 
 with Alice. A very intelligent and engaging playfellow I found her. I 
 was Dando at a pastry-cook’s, and then at an oyster-shop.* Afterwards I 
 was a dog-stealer, who had carried away her little spaniel, Diamond, 
 while she was playing in Kensington Gardens, and who came to get the 
 reward advertized in the Times. Dear little creature ! How such things 
 twine themselves about our hearts ! 
 
 “To dinner with Inglis. Hardinge told some good campaigning 
 stories ; and, among others, the cold language which the Duke used about 
 a brave officer on the staff, who was killed by exposing himself injudi- 
 ciously. ‘ What business had he larking there 1 I shall not mention his 
 name. I shall teach officers that, dead or alive, they shall not be praised 
 if they throw their lives away.’ William the Third all over, f 
 
 “ Longman gives a capital account of the sale of my works. The 
 sixth edition of the History is gone. That makes 22,000 copies.” 
 
 ^'May 9. — To the British Museum. We put Peel into the Chair. 
 Very handy he is, to use the vulgar phrase. A capital man of business. 
 We got on fast.” 
 
 May 14. — To the Museum. Peel brought his project of a report. I 
 admire the neatness and readiness with which he does such things. It is 
 of a piece with his Parliamentary performances. He and I get on won- 
 derfully well together.” 
 
 * A generation has arisen of whom not one in fifty knows Dando ; the “bouncing, 
 seedy, swell ; ” hero of a hundred ballads ; who was at least twice in every month brought 
 before the magistrates for having refused to settle his bill after over-eating himself in an 
 oyster shop. 
 
 t “Walker was treated less respectfully. William thought him a busy-body who had 
 been properly punished for running into danger without any call of duty, and expressed 
 that feeling with characteristic bluntness, on the field of battle. ‘ Sir,’ said an attendant, 
 ‘ the Bishop of Derry has been killed by a shot at the ford.’ ‘ What took him there ? ’ 
 growled the king.” See likewise, in the twenty-first chapter of the History the whole 
 paragraph containing the account of the death of Mr. Godfrey at the siege of Namur. 
 
1848-52. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 181 
 
 “ June I. — Dined with Peel. How odd ! ” * ** 
 
 Three weeks afterwards, Macaulay started for his tour to Glencoe and 
 Killiecrankie. 
 
 “ July 3. — As we drove into Glasgow, I saw ‘ Death of Sir Robert Peel ’ 
 placarded at a newsman’s. I was extremely shocked. Thank God, I had 
 shaken hands cordially with the poor fellow, after all our blows given and 
 received.” t 
 
 “ July 4. — Poor Peel’s death in the Times. I have been more affected 
 by it than I could have believed. It was in the dining-room that he died. 
 I dined with him there for the first, and the last time, about a month ago. 
 If he is buried publicly, I will certainly follow his coffin. Once I little 
 thought that I should have cried for his death.” 
 
 “ July 28. — My account of the Highlands is getting into tolerable shape. 
 To-morrow I shall begin to transcribe again, and to polish. What trouble 
 these few pages will have cost me ! The great object is that, after all this 
 trouble, they may read as if they had been spoken off, and may seem to 
 flow as easily as table talk. We shall see. 
 
 “ I brought home, and read, the Prelude. It is a poorer Excursion ; 
 the same sort of faults and beauties ; but the faults greater, and the beau- 
 ties fainter, both in themselves, and because faults are always made more 
 offensive, and beauties less pleasing, by repetition. The story is the old 
 story. There are the old raptures about mountains and cataracts ; the 
 old flimsy philosophy about the effect of scenery on the mind ; the old 
 crazy mystical metaphysics ; the endless wilderness of dull, flat, prosaic, 
 twaddle ; and here and there fine descriptions and energetic declamations 
 interspersed. The story of the French Revolution, and of its influence on 
 the character of a young enthusiast, is told again at greater length, and 
 with less force and pathos, than in the Excursion. The poem is to the last 
 degree Jacobinical, indeed Socialist. I understand perfectly why Words- 
 worth did not choose to publish it in his lifetime. 
 
 * The strangeness consisted in Macaulay’s dining under Sir Robert Peel’s roof. He 
 had, at least once before this, met his old antagonist at the house of a common friend, 
 
 ** April 2 (1839). — I dined at Inglis’s, and met Peel. He was pleasant enough ; not a 
 brilliant talker, but conversible and easy, with a little turn in private, as in public, to 
 egotism. We got on very well. I recollect only his account of Sir William Scott’s ex- 
 cessive timidity about speaking in Parliament. “ My dear young friend, how does the 
 House seem ? Is Brougham there ? Does he look very savage ? ” 
 
 t “ I shall hardly know the House of Commons without Sir Robert Peel.* * * His 
 figure is now before me : all the tones of his voice are in my ears ; and the pain with which 
 I think that I shall never hear them again would be embittered by the recollection of some 
 sharp encounters which took place between us, were it not that at last there was an entire 
 and cordial reconciliation, and that, only a very few days before his death, I had the 
 pleasure of receiving from him marks of kindness and esteem of which I shall always 
 cherish the recollection.” — Macaulay’s Speech at Edinburgh in 1852. 
 
i 82 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XII. 
 
 “ I looked over Coleridge’s Remains. What stuff some of his criti- 
 cisms on style are I Think of his saying that scarcely any English writer 
 before the Revolution used the Saxon genitive, except with a name in- 
 dicating a living being, or where a personification was intended ! About 
 twenty lines of Shakespeare occurred to me in five minutes. In King 
 John: 
 
 In dreadful trial of our kingdom’s king : 
 
 “ Again : 
 
 Nor let my kingdom’s rivers take their course. 
 
 “ In Hamlet : 
 
 The law’s delay. 
 
 “ In Romeo and Juliet : 
 
 My bosom’s lord sits lightly on his throne. 
 
 “ In Richard the Third, strongest of all : 
 
 Why then All Souls’ day is my body’s doomsday.” 
 
 Macauly spent the September of 1850 in a pleasant villa on the south 
 coast of the Isle of Wight. The letters in which he urges Mr. Ellis to 
 share his retreat may lack the poetical beauty of Horace’s invitation to 
 Maecenas and Tennyson’s invitation to Mr. Maurice ; but it is probable 
 that the entertainment, both material and intellectual, which awaited her 
 guest at Madeira Hall, did not yield in quality to that provided either 
 at Tiber or at Freshwater. 
 
 Madeira Hall, Ventnor : September 3, 1850. 
 
 Dear Ellis, — Here I am, lodged most delightfully. I look out on one side to the 
 crags and myrtles of the undercliff, against which my house is built. On the other 
 side I have a view of the sea, which is at this moment as blue as the sky, and as 
 calm as the Serpentine, My little garden is charming. I wish that I may not, 
 like Will Honeycomb, forget the sin and sea-coal of London for innocence and 
 haycocks. To be sure, innocence and haycocks do not always go together. 
 
 When will you come Take your own time : but I am rather anxious that you 
 should not lose this delicious weather, and defer your trip till the equinoctial storms 
 are setting in. I can promise you plenty of water and of towels ; good wine ; good tea ; 
 good cheese from town ; good eggs, butter, and milk from the farm at my door, a 
 beautiful prospect from your bed-room window ; and (if the weather keeps us 
 within doors) Plautus’s Comedies, Plutarch’s Lives, twenty or thirty Comedies of 
 Calderon, Fra Paolo’s History, and a little librfry of novels, — to say nothing of my 
 own compositions, which, like Ligurinus, I will read to you stanti, sedenti, &c., &c. 
 
 I am just returned from a walk of near seven hours, and of full fifteen miles ; 
 part of it as steep as the Monument. Indeed I was so knocked up with climbing 
 Black Gang Chine that I lay on the turf at the top for a quarter of an hour. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay, 
 
1848-52- 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 ^83 
 
 Ventnor : September 8, 1850. 
 
 Dear Ellis, — I shall be at Ryde to meet you next Saturday. I only hope that 
 the weather may continue to be just what it is. The evenings are a little chilly out 
 of doors ; but the days are glorious. I rise before seven ; breakfast at nine ; write 
 a page ; ramble five or six hours over rocks, and through copse-wood, with Plutarch 
 in my hand ; come home ; write another page ; take Fra Paolo, and sit in the gar- 
 den reading till the sun sinks behind the Undercliff. Then it begins to be cold ; so 
 I cafry my Fra Paolo into the house and read on till dinner. While I am at dinner 
 the Times comes in, and is a good accompaniment to a delicious dessert of peaches, 
 which are abundant here. I have also a novel of Theodore Hook by my side, to 
 relish my wine. 1 then take a short stroll by starlight, and go to bed at ten. I am 
 perfectly solitary; almost as much so as Robinson Crusoe before he caught Friday. 
 I have not opened my lips, that I remember, these six weeks, except to say 
 “ Bread, if you please,” or “ Bring a bottle of soda-water ; ” yet I have not had a 
 moment of ennui. Nevertheless I am heartily glad that you can give me nine days. 
 I wish it were eighteen. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 '^September 9. — Up soon after six, and read Cobbett with admiration, 
 pleasure, and abhorrence.* After breakfast I gave orders about culinary 
 preparations for Ellis, who is more of an Apicius than I am. Then, after 
 writing a little, I put a volume of Plautus in my pocket, and wandered 
 through the thickets under Bonchurch. I sate down here and there, and 
 read the Pcenulus. It is amusing ; but there is a heavy, lumbering way 
 about honest Plautus which makes him as bad a substitute for the Attic 
 masters of the later Comedy as the ass was for the spaniel in the fable. 
 You see every now and then that what he does coarsely and blunderingly 
 was done in the original with exquisite delicacy. The name of Hanno in 
 the play reminded me of Hanno in my lay of Virginia,! and I went 
 through it all during the rest of my ramble, and was pretty well pleased 
 with it. Those poems have now been eight years published. They still 
 sell, and seem still to give pleasure. I do not rate them high ; but I do 
 not remember that any better poetry has been published since. 
 
 * “ I read Cobbett,” Macaulay writes. “ Interesting ; but the impression of a pro- 
 longed perusal of such venomous invective, and gross sophistry, becomes painful. After 
 he came into Parliament he was nothing. He spoke freely there when I heard him, 
 which was often. He made, I believe, one successful speech — mere banter on Plunkett — 
 when I was absent. He proved that he was quite incapable of doing anything great in 
 debate ; and his Parliamentary attendance prevented him from doing anything great with 
 his pen. His Register became as stupid as the Morning Herald. In truth, his faculties 
 were impaired by age ; and the late hours of the House probably assisted to enfeeble his 
 body, and consequently his mind. His egotism, and his suspicion that everybody was in 
 a plot against him, increased, and at last attained such a height that he was really as mad 
 as Rousseau. I could write a very curious article on him, if I chose.” 
 t The money-changer Crispus. with his long silver hairs, 
 
 And Hanuo from the stately booth glittering with Punic ware? 
 
184 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XII. 
 
 “On my return home I took Fra Paolo into the garden. Admirable 
 writer! How I enjoy my solitude ; the sunshine, the fresh air, the scenery 
 and quiet study! I do not know why I have suffered myself to get into 
 the habit of thinking that I could not live out of London. After dinner 
 I walked again, looking at the stars, and thinking how I used to watch 
 them on board the Asia. Those were unhappy times compared with 
 these. I find no disposition in myself to regret the past by comparison 
 with the present.” 
 
 September 16. — T walked again in the beautiful thicket under Bon- 
 church, and turned the dialogue in the Rudens between Gripus and Dae- 
 mones, ‘ O, Gripe, Gripe,’ back again into Greek : — nineteen lines, which I 
 should not be ashamed to send in for a University Scholarship, or a 
 medal. They were made under every disadvantage, for there is no Greek 
 book within my reach except a Plutarch and a New Testament, neither of 
 which is of much use here.” * 
 
 Macaulay was of opinion that men, the business of whose lives lies 
 elsewhere than among the classics, may easily amuse themselves to more 
 purpose than by turning good English poetry into Greek and Latin verses 
 which may have merit, but cannot possibly have any value. It has been 
 well said that “ Greek lambics, of which Euripides wrote ten at a sitting, 
 — Latin Hexameters, of which Virgil wrote five in a day, — are not things 
 to be thrown off by dozens ” in the course of an afternoon’s walk by an 
 English lawyer or statesman who is out for a holiday. Indeed, Macaulay 
 went farther still, and held that the incongruities between modern and 
 ancient modes of feeling and expression are such as to defy the skill of 
 the most practiced and industrious translator, — working, as he must work, 
 in a language which is not his own. It was in accordance with this notion 
 that the only experiment in Greek composition, which he made since the 
 day that he left college, took the shape of an attempt to reproduce a lost 
 antique original. 
 
 ^'‘September 28. — I read part of the Life of Fra Paolo prefixed to his 
 history. A wonderful man ; but the biographer would have done better 
 to have softened down the almost incredible things which he relates. 
 According to him Fra Paolo was Galileo’s predecessor in mathematics, 
 Locke’s in metaphysics, — this last, I think, is true, — and the real discov- 
 erer of the Circulation of the Blood. This is a little too much. To 
 have written the History of the Council of Trent, and the tracts on the 
 Venetian Dispute with Rome, is enough for one man’s fame. As to the 
 attempt to make out that he was a real Roman Catholic, even according 
 to the lowest Galilean notions, the thing is impossible. Bossuet, whom 
 
 * These lines may be found at the end of the Miscellaneous Writings. A Greek 
 drama, which is no longer extant, by the poet Diphilus, is supposed to have been the 
 original of the Rudens. 
 
LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 1848-52. 
 
 185 
 
 the Ultramontane divines regard as little better than a heretic, was him- 
 self a bigoted Ultramontane when compared with Fra Paolo.”* 
 
 “ October 9. — I picked up Whitaker’s criticism on Gibbon. Pointless 
 spite, with here and there a just remark. It would be strange if in so 
 large a work as Gibbon’s there were nothing open to just remark. How 
 utterly all the attacks on his History are forgotten 1 1 this of Whitaker ; 
 Randolph’s; Chelsum’s ; Davies’s; that stupid beast Joseph Milner’s ; t 
 even Watson’s. And still the book, with all its great faults of substance 
 and style, retains, and will retain, its place in our literature ; and this 
 though it is offensive to the religious feeling of the country, and really 
 most unfair where religion is concerned. But Whitaker was as dirty a 
 cur as I remember.” 
 
 “ October 14. — In the morning called. He seems to be getting 
 
 on well. He is almost the only person to whom I ever gave liberal assist- 
 ance without having reason to regret it. Of course I do not speak of my 
 own family ; but I am confident that, within the last ten years, I have laid 
 out several hundreds of pounds in trying to benefit people whose own 
 vices and follies have frustrated every attempt to serve them. I have 
 
 had a letter from a Miss , asking me to lend, that is to give her, a 
 
 hundred pounds. I never saw her ; I know nothing of her ; her only 
 claim on me is that I once gave her money. She will, of course, hate me 
 
 * Macaulay says in a letter dated September, 1850 : “ Fra Paolo is my favorite modem 
 historian. His subject did not admit of vivid painting ; but, what he did, he did better 
 than anybody. I wish that he had not kept his friar’s gown ; for he was undoubtedly at 
 heart as much a Protestant as Latimer.” 
 
 t “A victory,” says Gibbon, “over such antagonists was a sufficient humiliation. 
 They were, however, rewarded in this world. Poor Chelsum is indeed neglected ; and I 
 dare not boast the making Dr. Watson a bishop. He is a prelate of a large mind and 
 liberal spirit. But I enjoyed the pleasure of giving a royal pension to Dr. Davies, and of 
 collating Dr. Aptliorpe to an archlepiscopal living.” 
 
 t Macaulay’s view of Milner is pretty strongly expressed on the margin of his copy of 
 the History of the Church. “ My quarrel with you,” he says in one place, “ is that you 
 are ridiculously credulous ; that you wrest everything to your own purpose in defiance of 
 all the rules of sound construction ; that you are profoundly ignorant of your subject ; 
 that your information is second-hand, and that your style is nauseous.” On the margin 
 of the passage where Basil says of Gregory Thaumaturgus (in whose miraculous powers 
 Milner devoutly believed), “ He never allowed himself to call his Brother fool,” Mac- 
 aulay writes : “ He never knew such a fool as Milner then.” 
 
 Dean Milman, writing for the public eye, indicates the same opinion in terms more 
 befitting the pen of a clergyman : “ Milner’s History of the Church enjoys an extensive 
 popularity with a considerable class of readers, who are content to accept fervent piety 
 and an accordance with their own religious views, instead of the profound original re- 
 search, the various erudition, and dispassionate judgment which more rational Christians 
 consider indispensable to an historian. In his answer to Gibbon, Milner unfortunately 
 betrays the incapacity of his mind for historical criticism. When he enters into detail, it 
 is in general on indefensible points, long abandoned by sound scholars.” 
 
i86 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XII 
 
 and abuse me for not complying with this modest request. Except in the 
 
 single case of , I never, as far as I know, reaped anything in return 
 
 for charities, which have often been large for my means, except positive 
 ill-will. My facility has tempted those whom I have relieved to make one 
 unreasonable request after another. At last I have been forced to stop, 
 and then they thought themselves wronged. 
 
 “ I picked up a tract on the Blockade of Norway, by Sir Philip 
 Francis: — Junius all over, but Junius grown old. Among other things 
 I read Newman’s Lectures, which have just been published. They are 
 ingenious enough, and, I dare say, cogent to those people who call them- 
 selves Anglo-Catholics ; but to me they are futile as any Rabbinical 
 tradition. One lecture is evidently directed against me, though not by 
 name : and I am quite willing that the public should judge between us. 
 
 “I walked to Westbourne Terrace, and talked with Hannah about 
 setting up a brougham. I really shall do it. The cost will be small, and 
 the comfort great. It is but fair, too, that I should have some of the 
 advantage of my own labor.” 
 
 October 2^, 1850* — My birthday. I am fifty. Well, I have had a 
 happy life. I do not know that anybody, whom I have seen close, has 
 had a happier. Some things I regret : but, on the whole, who is better 
 off } I have not children of my own, it is true ; but I have children whom 
 I love as if they were my own, and who, I believe, love me. I wish that 
 the next ten years may be as happy as the last ten. But I rather wish it 
 than hope it.” 
 
 “ Ncrvember i. — I was shocked to find a letter from Dr. Holland, to 
 the effect that poor Harry Hallam is dying at Sienna. What a trial for 
 my dear old friend ! I feel for the lad himself, too. Much distressed. I 
 dined, however. We dine, unless the blow comes very, very, near the 
 heart indeed. 
 
 “ Holland is angry and alarmed about the Papal Bull, and the Arch- 
 bishop of Westminister. I am not ; but, I am not sorry that other people 
 take fright, for such fright is an additional security to us against that 
 execrable superstition. I begin to feel the same disgust at the Anglo- 
 Catholic, and Roman Catholic, cant which people after the Restoration 
 felt for the Puritan cant. Their Saints’ Days affect me as the Puritan 
 Sabbath affected drunken Barnaby. Their dates of letters, — the Eve of 
 St. Bridget, — the Octave of St. Swithin, — provoke me as I used to be 
 provoked by the First Month and First Day of the Quakers. I shall not 
 at all wonder if this feeling should become general, and these follies 
 should sink amidst a storm of laughter. Oh, for a Butler I ” * 
 
 * It is, perhaps, needless to say that this prayer refers to the author of Hudibras, and 
 not to the author of the Analogy. 
 
1848-52. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 187 
 
 “ November 2. — At breakfast I was comforted by a line from Holland 
 saying that young Hallam is better, and likely to do well. God send it ! 
 To Brooks’s, and talked on the Wiseman question. I made my hearers 
 very merry.” 
 
 “ November 4. — I am deeply concerned to hear that poor Harry Hal- 
 lam is gone. Alas ! alas ! He died on my birthday. There must have 
 been near a quarter of a century between us. I could find it in my heart 
 j cry. Poor Hallam ! what will he do ? He is more stoical than I am, 
 to be sure. I walked, reading Epictetus in the streets. Anointing for 
 broken bones ! Let him try how Hallam will be consoled by being told 
 that the lives of children are ovk jy/ziv.” * 
 
 November 5. — I went to poor Hallam’s. The servants had heard from 
 him to-day. He was at Florence, hastening home, perhaps with the body. 
 He brought home his son Arthur.f Alas ! Looked at the Life of Hugh 
 Blair ; — a stupid book, by a stupid man, about a stupid man. Surely it is 
 strange that so poor a creature as Blair should ever have had any literary 
 reputation at all. The Life is in that very vile fashion which Dugald 
 Stewart set ; — not a life, but a series of disquisitions on all sorts of sub- 
 jects.” 
 
 December 2. — To poor Hallam’s. He was much as before. At first 
 he wept, and was a good deal affected. .Then he brightened up, and we 
 talked, as in old times, for the best part of an hour.” 
 
 “ December 10. — I wrote, or rather transcribed and corrected, much. 
 The declamatory disquisition which I have substituted for the orations of 
 the ancient historians, seems to me likely to answer, f It is a sort of 
 composition which suits my style, and will probably take with the public. 
 I met Sir Bulwer Lytton, or Lytton Bulwer. He is anxious about some 
 scheme for some association of literary men. I detest all such associations. 
 I hate the notion of gregarious authors. The less we have to do with each 
 other the better.” 
 
 “ December 25. — In bed, and at breakfast, I read Person’s Letters to 
 Archdeacon Travis, and compared the collected letters with the Gentle- 
 man’s Magazine, in which they originally appeared. The book has a 
 little suffered from the awkwardness of turning what were letters to Syl- 
 
 * “ Matters beyond our control.” 
 
 “ Fair ship that, from the Italian, shore, 
 
 Sailest the placid ocean’s plains 
 With my lost Arthur’s loved remains. 
 
 Spread thy full wings, and waft him o’er.” — In Memoriam. 
 t Macaulay was then employed upon the controversy about the lawfulness of swearing 
 allegiance to William and Mary, which split the High Church divines of 1689 into two 
 parties. See Chapter XIV. of the History. 
 
i88 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XII. 
 
 vanus Urban* into letters to Archdeacon Travis ; but it is a masterly 
 work. A comparison between it and the Phalaris would be a comparison 
 between Porson’s mind and Bentley’s mind ; Porson’s more sure-footed, 
 more exact, more neat ; Bentley’s far more comprehensive and inventive. 
 While walking, I read Bishop Burgess’s trash in answer to Porson. 
 Home, and read Turton’s defence of Porson against Burgess; an impene- 
 trable dunce, to reason with whom is like kicking a woolpack. Was 
 there ever such an instance of the blinding power of bigotry as the fact 
 that some men, who were not absolute fools, continued, after reading 
 Porson and Turton, to believe in the authenticity of the text of the Three 
 Witnesses ? ” 
 
 '•^January lo, 1851. — Rain. Rain. Wrote a little, but am out of 
 heart. The events take new shapes. I find that what I have done must 
 be done over again. Yet so much the better. This is the old story. How 
 many times it was so with the first two volumes, and how well it ended at 
 last ! I took heart again, and worked. 
 
 “ I finished the Life of Mathews. It is a strange book ; too much of it, 
 but highly interesting. A singular man ; certainly the greatest actor that I 
 ever saw; far greater than Munden, Dowton, Liston, or Fawcett; far 
 greater than Kean, though there it is not so easy to make a comparison. I 
 can hardly believe Garrick to have had more of the genuine mimetic gen- 
 ius than Mathews. I often regret that I did not see him more frequently. 
 Why did I not ? I cannot tell ; for I admired him, and laughed my sides 
 sore whenever I saw him.” 
 
 '■^January 13. — At breakfast came a summons to Windsor Castle for 
 to-morrow. I feel a twinge at the name. Was ever man so persecuted 
 for such a trifle as I was about that business And, if the truth were 
 known, without the shadow of a reason. Yet my life must be allowed to 
 have been a very happy one, seeing that such a persecution was among my 
 greatest misfortunes.” 
 
 “ January 14. — To Windsor, and walked up to the Castle. I found 
 my room very comfortable, and read a volume of Jacobite pamphlets, by a 
 blazing fire. At eight, I went into the Corridor and was struck by its im- 
 mense length, and the number and beauty of the objects which it contains. 
 It is nearly twelve years since I was here. How changed is everything, 
 and mvself among other things ! I had a few words with the Prince about 
 the Regus Professorship of Medicine at Cambridge, now vacant by Havi- 
 land’s death. I remarked that it was impossible to make either Oxford or 
 Cambridge a great medical school. He said, truly enough, that O.xford 
 
 * Sylvanus Urban was the nom de plume adopted by the editor of the Gentleman’s 
 Magazine. In another part of his diary Macaulay says : “ Read Porson’s letters to 
 Travis. I am never weary of them.” 
 
1848-52. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 189 
 
 and Cambridge are larger towns than Heidelberg, and yet that Heidelberg 
 is eminent as a place of medical education. He added, however, some- 
 thing which explained why this was. There was hardly, he said, a physi- 
 cian in Germany, even at Berlin, even at Vienna, who made 1,000/. a year 
 by his profession. In that case, a professorship at Heidelberg may well 
 be worth as much as the best practice in the great cities. Here, where 
 Brodie and Bright make more than 10,000/. a year, and where, if settled 
 at Cambridge or Oxford, they probably could not make 1,500/., there is 
 no chance that the Academic chairs will be filled by the heads of the pro- 
 fession. 
 
 “ At table I was between the Duchess of Norfolk and a foreign woman 
 who could hardly speak English intelligibly. I got on as well as I could. 
 The band covered the talk with a succession^ of sonorous tunes. ‘ The 
 Campbells are coming ’ was one.* When we went into the drawing-room, 
 the Queen came to me with great animation, and insisted on my telling her 
 some of my stories, which she had heard at second-hand from George Grey. 
 I certainly made her laugh heartily. She talked on for some time, most 
 courteously and pleasantly. Nothing could be more sensible than her re- 
 marks on German affairs. She asked me about Merle d’Aubigne’s book ; 
 and I answered that it was not to be implicitly trusted ; that the writer 
 was a strong partisan, and too much of a colorist ; but that his work well 
 deserved a perusal, and would greatly interest and amuse her. Then came 
 cards, during which I sate and chatted with two maids of honor. The dinner 
 was late, and consequently, the evening short. At eleven precisely the 
 Queen withdrew.” 
 
 “ January 16. — To the station. Lord Aberdeen and George Grey went 
 with me. Throughout this visit we have been inseparable, and have 
 agreed perfectly. We talked much together till another party got into the 
 carriage ; a canting fellow, and a canting woman. Their cant was not re- 
 ligious, but philanthropical and phrenological. I never heard such stuff. 
 It -was all that we could do to avoid laughing out loud. The lady pro- 
 nounced that the Exhibition of 1851 would enlarge her ideality, and exer- 
 cise her locality. Lord Aderdeen had a little before told us some droll 
 stories of the old Scotch Judges. Lord Braxfield, at whist, exclaimed to 
 a lady with whom he was playing : ‘ What are ye doing, ye damned auld 
 
 ?’ and then, recollecting himself: ‘Your pardon’s begged, madam. 
 
 I took ye for my ain wife.’ 
 
 “ At half-past seven the brougham came, and I went to dine at Lord 
 John Russell’s, pleased and proud, and thinking how unjustly poor Pepys 
 was abused for noting in his diary the satisfaction it gave him to ride in 
 
 * This is the only authentic instance on record of Macaulay’s having known one tune 
 from another. 
 
190 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XII. 
 
 his own coach. This is the first time I ever had a carriage of rfiy own 
 except when in office.” 
 
 “ Fehrimry 5. — At breakfast I read the correspondence between Vol- 
 taire and Frederic ; a precious pair ! I looked over my paper on Freder- 
 ic. It contains much that is just, and much that is lively and spirited ; 
 but, on the whole, I think I judged rightly in not reprinting it* I bought 
 a superb Valentine in the Colonnade, and wrote my lines to Miss Stan- 
 hope. Pretty lines they are. Then to Westbourne Terrace, and picked 
 up by the way a well remembered volume, which I had not seen for many 
 years ; a translation of some Spanish Comedies, one of the few bright 
 specks in our very sullen library at Clapham. Hannah was in delight at 
 seeing it again. 
 
 “ I read a good deal of what I have written, and was not ill pleased, 
 especially with the account of the Treason Trials Bill in the eighteenth 
 chapter. These abstracts of Parliamentary debate will be a new, and, I 
 hope, a striking feature in the book.” 
 
 “ Thursday, May i, 1851. — A fine day for the opening of the Exhibi- 
 tion. A little cloudy in the morning, but generally sunny and pleasant, 
 was struck by the number of foreigners in the streets. All, however, 
 were respectable and decent people. I saw none of the men of action 
 with whom the Socialists were threatening us. I went to the Park, 
 and along the Serpentine. There were immense crowds on both sides of 
 the water. I should think that there must have been near three hundred 
 thousand people in Hyde Park at once. The sight among the green 
 boughs was delightful. The boats, and little frigates, darting across the 
 lake ; the flags ; the music ; the guns ; — eveything was exhilarating, and 
 the temper of the multitude the best possible. I fell in with Punch Gre- 
 ville, and walked with him for an hour. He, like me, thought the outside 
 spectacle better worth seeing than the pageant under cover. He showed 
 me a letter from Madame de Lieven, foolish, with an affectation of clever- 
 ness and profundity, just like herself. She calls this Exhibition a bold, a 
 rash, experiment. She apprehends a horrible explosion. ‘You may get 
 through it safe ; and, if you do, you will give yourselves more airs than 
 ever.’ And this woman is thought a political oracle in some circles. 
 There is just as much chance of a revolution in England as of the falling 
 of the moon. 
 
 “ I made my way into the building ; a most gorgeous sight ; vast ; 
 graceful ; beyond the dreams of the Arabian romances.! I cannot think 
 
 ♦ Macaulay changed his mind before long, and the essay on Frederic took its place in 
 the Collected Edition. 
 
 t In October Macaulay writes : “ As the Exhibition is drawing towards its close the 
 crowd becomes greater and greater. Yesterday I let my servants go for the last time. I 
 shall go no more. Alas ! alas ! It was a glorious sight ; and it is associated in my mind with 
 
1848-52. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 191 
 
 that the Caesars ever exhibited a more splendid spectacle. I was quite 
 dazzled, and I felt as I did on entering St. Peter’s. I wandered about, 
 and elbowed my way through the crowd which filled the nave, admiring 
 the general effect, but not attending much to details. 
 
 “ Home, and finished Persuasion. I have now read over again all 
 Miss Austen’s novels. Charming they are ; but I found a little more to 
 criticise than formerly. Yet there are in the world no compositions which 
 approach nearer to perfection.” 
 
 “ May 26. — To-day the Exhibition opens at a shilling. It seems to be 
 the fate of this extraordinary show to confound all predictions, favorable 
 and unfavorable. Fewer people went on the shilling day than on the 
 
 five-shilling day. I got a letter from , who is in great distress about 
 
 his son’s debts. I am vexed and sorry ; but I wrote, insisting on being 
 allowed to settle the matter ; and I was pleased that (though there have 
 been, and will be, other calls on me) I made this offer from the heart and 
 with the wish to have it accepted. 
 
 “ I finished Joan of Arc. The last act is absurd beyond description. 
 The monstrous violation of history which everybody knows is not to be 
 defended. Schiller might just as well have made Wallenstein dethrone 
 the Emperor, and reign himself over Germany, — or Mary become Queen 
 of England, and cut off Elizabeth’s head, — as make Joan fall in the mo- 
 ment of victory.” 
 
 June \2. — After breakfast called. I must make one more 
 
 effort to save him, and it shall be the last.* Margaret came, to take me 
 to Thackeray’s lecture. He is full of humor and imagination, and I only 
 wish that these lectures may answer both in the way of fame and money. 
 He told me, as I was going out, that the scheme had done wonders for 
 him ; and I told him, and from my heart, that I wished he had made ten 
 times as much. Dear Lord Lansdowne was there, looking much better ; 
 much. I dined at Baron Parke’s. It was pleasant, and I thought that I 
 pleased ; but perhaps was mistaken. Then to Lady Granville’s rout, 
 where I found many friends, and all kind. I seldom appear, and therefore 
 am the better received. This racketing does not suit me ; but civility 
 requires me to go once for ten times that I am asked to parties.” 
 
 “ June 9. — I picked up the volumes of 1832 and 1833 of Cobbett’s 
 Register. His style had then gone off, and the circumstance that he was 
 in Parliament was against him. His mind was drawn away from that which 
 he did well to that which he did very poorly. My own name often appears 
 in these volumes. Many people thought that he had a peculiar animosity to 
 
 all whom I love most. I am glad that the building is to be removed. I have no wish to 
 see the corpse when the life has departed.’ ’ 
 
 * It was not the last, by a good many. The person of whom Macaulay writes thus 
 had no claim whatever upon him except their common humanity. 
 
92 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH, XII, 
 
 me ; but I doubt it. He abuses me ; but less than he abused almost every 
 other public man whom he mentioned. 
 
 “ An American has written to me from Arkansas, and sent me a copy 
 of Bancroft’s History. Very civil and kind ; but by some odd mistake he 
 directs to me at Abbotsford. Does he think that all Britishers who write 
 books live there together ? ” 
 
 Macaulay spent August and September at Malvern, in a pleasant villa 
 embowered in “ a wood full of blackbirds.” Mr. Ellis gave him ten days 
 of his company : timing his visit so as to attend the Musical Festival at 
 Worcester. 
 
 Malvern: August 21, 1851. 
 
 Dear Ellis, — I shall expect you on Wednesday next. I have got the tickets 
 for the Messiah. There may be some difficulty about conveyances during the festi- 
 val. But the supply here is immense. On every road round Malvern coaches and 
 flys pass you every ten minutes, to say nothing of irregular vehicles. For example, 
 the other day I was overtaken by a hearse as I was strolling along, and reading the 
 night expedition of Diomede and Ulysses. “ Would you like a ride, Sir ? ” said 
 the driver. “ Plenty of room.” I could not help laughing. “ I dare say I shall 
 want such a carriage some day or other. But I am not ready yet.” The fellow, 
 with the most consummate professional gravity, answered, “ I meant. Sir, that there 
 was plenty of room on the box.” 
 
 I do not think that I ever, at Cambridge or in India, did a better day’s work in 
 Greek than to-day. I have read at one stretch fourteen books of the Odyssey, from 
 the Sixth to the Nineteenth inclusive.* I did it while walking to Worcester and 
 back. I have a great deal to say about the old fellow. I admire him more than 
 ever ; but I am now quite sure that the Iliad is a piece of mosaic, made very skil- 
 fully long after his time out of several of his lays, with bits here and there of the 
 compositions of inferior minstrels. 
 
 I am planning various excursions. We can easily see Hereford between break- 
 fast and dinner one day, and Gloucester on another. Cheltenham, and Tewkes- 
 bury, with its fine church, are still more accessible. The rain is over ; the afternoon 
 has been brilliant, and I hope that we have another glorious month before us. You 
 shall have water in plenty. I have a well-polished aadfuvOog f for you, into which 
 going you may wash, and out of which you may come, looking like a god. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 * In his journal of August 16 Macaulay writes : “ I walked far into Herefordshire, and 
 read while walking, the last five books of the Iliad, with deep interest and many tears. I 
 was afraid to be seen crying by the parties of walkers that met me as I came back ; crying 
 for Achilles cutting off his hair ; crying for Priam rolling on the ground in the courtyard, 
 of his house ; mere imaginary beings, creatures of an old ballad-maker who died near three 
 thousand years ago.” 
 
 t The Homeric word for a bath. The sentence is, of course, a ludicrously literal trans- 
 lation from the Greek. 
 
1848-52. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 193 
 
 Malvern : September 12, 1851. 
 
 Dear Ellis, — I have sent William to look after your business. In the mean time 
 I must own that your ill-luck rather titillates the malicious parts of my nature. 
 The taking of a place by a railway train, which the vulgar, myself included, per- 
 form in thirty seconds, is with you an operation requiring as much thought and 
 time as the purchase of an estate. On two successive days did I kick my heels in 
 the street, first before the Railway Office, and then before the Bellevue Hotel, 
 while you were examining and cross-examining the book-keepers, and arranging 
 and rearranging your plans. I must say that your letter is well calculated to make 
 me uneasy as to my own return to London. For if all your forethought and anxi- 
 ety, your acute inquiries and ingenious combinations, have ended thus, how can 
 such a careless fellow as I am hope to reach town without immeasurable disappoint- 
 ment and losses ? 
 
 Here is William at last with a letter, from the coach-office, but no money. 
 As to the three shillings, ovttote ri^ovai irpor ae- ovttote y^ovatv. * I 
 send the book-keeper’s explanation. You took your place in one coach: you 
 rode to Worcester in another : you have paid the full fare to both : and you will ’not 
 recover a halfpenny from either. Your case, if that is any comfort, is not a rare 
 one. Indeed it seems to be the common practice at Malvern to travel in this way. 
 And here we have an explanation of the extraordinary number of coaches at this 
 place. There is room for a great many rival establishments, when passengers pay 
 both for the conveyance by which they go and for that by which they do not go. 
 
 Good-bye ; I miss you much, and console myself as well as I can with Demo.s- 
 thenes, Goethe, Lord Campbell, and Miss Ferrier. 
 
 Ever yours 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 ** September IE). — I put Wilhelm Meister into mv pocket; walked to 
 the Cleaveland Ferry; crossed the Severn, and rambled along the eastern 
 bank to Upton. The confessions of the pious Stiftsdame interested me, 
 as they have always done, more than I can well explain. I felt this when 
 I read them first on the Indian Ocean, and I felt it again when I read 
 them at the inn at Hereford in 1844. I think that the cause of the interest 
 which I feel in them is that Goethe was here exerting himself to do, as an 
 artist, what, as far as I know, no other mere artist has ever tried to do. 
 From Augustin downward, people strongly under religious impressions 
 have written their confessions, or, in the cant phrase, their experience ; and 
 very curious many of their narratives are. John Newton’s; Bunyan’s ; 
 Will Huntington’s ; Cowper’s; Wesley’s; Whitefield’s ; Scott’s ; there is 
 no end of them. When worldly men have imitated these narratives it 
 has almost always been in a satirical and. hostile spirit. Goethe is the 
 single instance of an unbeliever who hasfajteinpted to put himself into the 
 person of one of these pious autobiographe^sl* He has tried to imitate 
 them, just as he tried to imitate the Greece dramatists in his Iphigenia> and 
 
 * “ You will never get them back : never.” 
 
 VOL. II.— 13 * 
 
194 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIL 
 
 the Roman poets in his elegies. A vulgar artist would have multiplied 
 texts and savory phrases. He has done nothing of the kind ; but has 
 tried to exhibit the spirit of piety in the highest exaltation ; and a very 
 singular performance he has produced.* 
 
 “What odd things happen 1 Two gentlemen, or at least two men in 
 good coats and hats, overtook me as I was strolling through one of the 
 meadows close to the river. One of them stared at me, touched his hat, 
 and said, ‘ Mr. Macaulay, I believe.’ I admitted the truth of the imputa- 
 tion. So the fellow went on. ‘ I suppose, Sir, you are come here to study 
 the localities of the battle of Worcester. We shall expect a very fine 
 account of the battle of Worcester.’ I hinted with all delicacy that I had 
 no more to do with the battle of Worcester than with the battle of Mara- 
 thon. ‘Of course not. Sir, of course not. The battle of Worcester 
 certainly does not enter into your plan.’ So we bowed and parted. I 
 thought of the proverb,! and I thought, too, that on this occasion the 
 name of Tom Fool might be properly applied to more than one of the 
 parties concerned.” 
 
 “ September 21. — I saw in the hedge the largest snake that I remember 
 to have seen in wild natural liberty. I remembered the agonies of terror 
 into which the sight of a snake, creeping among the shrubs at Barley 
 Wood, threw me when I was a boy of six. It was a deep, and really 
 terrible, impression. My mother feared that it would make me ill. It 
 was to no purpose that they told me, and that I told myself, that there 
 was no danger. A serpent was to me like a giant or a ghost, — a horrible 
 thing which was mentioned in story books, but which had no existence in 
 England ; and the actual sight affected me as if a hobgoblin had really 
 appeared. I followed the snake of to-day for some distance. He seemed 
 as much afraid of me as I was of his kinsman forty-four years ago. 
 During this long walk I read Wilhelm Meister occasionally. I never liked 
 it so little. Even the account of Aurelia’s and Marianne’s deaths, which 
 used to break my heart, moved me as little as it moved those brutes 
 Lothario and Wilhelm.” 
 
 At the close of 1851 Palmerston was ejected from the Foreign Office. 
 The Government needed no small accession of prestige in order to balance 
 so heavy a loss, and overtures were made, without much hope of success, 
 to induce Macaulay to accept a seat in the Cabinet. 
 
 Decetnber z\. — Palmerston is out. It was high time; but I cannot 
 help being sorry. A daring, indefatigable, high-spirited man ; but too 
 
 * When Macaulay was at Frankfort he went to Goethe’s house, and “ found it with 
 some difficulty. I was greatly interested ; not that he is one of my first favorites ; but 
 the earlier books of his life of himself have a great charm for me ; and the old house plays 
 a great part in the narrative. The house of Wilhelm Meister’s father, too, is evidently 
 this house at Frankfort.” 
 
 t “ More people know Tom Fool than Tom Fool knows.” 
 
1848-52. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 195 
 
 fond of conflict, and too ready to sacrifice everything to victory when once 
 he was in the ring. Lord Granville, I suppose, will succeed. I wish him 
 well. 1851 has done a great deal for him.” 
 
 “ December 25. — I met Lord Granville at Brooks’s. I congratulated 
 him, and gave him good wishes warmly, and sincerely ; but I spoke kindly, 
 and with regret, as I felt, about Palmerston. From Granville’s answer, 
 guarded as it very properly was, I judge that we have not yet seen the 
 true explanation. He told me that anxiety had kept him awake two 
 nights.” 
 
 December — I met Peacock; a clever fellow, and a good scholar.* 
 
 I am glad to have an opportunity of being better acquainted with him. 
 We had out Aristophanes, ^Fschylus, Sophocles, and several other old 
 fellows, and tried each other’s quality pretty well. We are both strong 
 enough in these matters for gentlemen. But he is editing the Supplices. 
 iFschylus is not to be edited by a man whose Greek is only a secondary 
 pursuit.” 
 
 “ January 18, 1852. — At dinner I received a note from Lord John, ask- 
 ing to see me to-morrow at eleven.” 
 
 “ January 19. — I was anxious ; but determined, if I found myself hard 
 pressed, to beg a day for consideration, and then to send a refusal in 
 writing. I find it difficult to refuse people face to face. I went to Ches- 
 ham Place. He at once asked me to join the Cabinet. I refused, and 
 gave about a quarter of my reasons, though half a quarter would have 
 been sufficient. I told him that I should be of no use ; that I was not a 
 debater ; that it was too late for me to become one ; that I might once 
 have turned out effective in that way, but that now my literary habits, and 
 my literary reputation, had made it impossible. I pleaded health, temper, 
 and tastes. He did not urge me much, and I think has been rather 
 induced by others, than by his own judgment, to make the proposition. 
 I added that I would not sit for any nomination borough, and that my turn 
 of mind disqualified me for canvassing great constituent bodies. I might 
 have added that I did not wish to be forced to take part against Palmerston 
 in a personal dispute-; that I much doubt whether I should like the new 
 Reform Bill ; and that I had no reason to believe that all that I think 
 rigut will be done as respects national defence. I did speak very strongly 
 on this point, as I feel.” 
 
 January — I see that Lord Broughton retires, and that Maule 
 goes to the India Board. I might have had that place, I believe ; the 
 pleasantest in the Government, and the best suited to me ; but I judged 
 far better for my reputation and peace of mind.” 
 
 In February Macaulay paid another visit to Windsor Castle. 
 
 * This passage refers to the author of Headlong Hall, and not to the Dean of Elyj as 
 some readers might possibly suppose. 
 
LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XII. 
 
 196 
 
 “ Fchmary 6. — We breakfasted at nine. I strolled up and down the fine 
 gallery for an hour ; then with Mahon to the Library ; and then to the 
 top of the Round Tower, and enjoyed a noble view. In the Library, 
 taking up by the merest chance a finely bound book, it proved to be 
 Ticknor’s ; — a presentation copy, with a letter from the author to the 
 Queen, saying that he had sent his volumes because he had been told by 
 the American Minister that an eminent literary man had recommended 
 them to her Majesty. I was the eminent literary man ; and I dare say 
 that I could find the day in my journal. It is an odd coincidence that I 
 should light on his letter. Dinner was at a quarter to seven on account 
 of the play which was to follow. The theatre was handsome, the scenery 
 good, and tl\e play King John. There were faults in the acting, as there 
 are great faults in the play, considered as an acting play ; but there was 
 great effect likewise. Constance made me cry. The scence between 
 King John and Hubert, and that between Hubert and Arthur, were very 
 telling. Faulconbridge swaggered well. The allusions to a French in- 
 vasion, and to the Popish encroachments, would have been furiously 
 applauded at Drury Lane or Covent Garden. Here we applauded with 
 some reserve. The little girl who acted Arthur did wonders.* Lord 
 Salisbury seemed not to like the part which his namesake performed in 
 the play.” t 
 
 February 16. — I finished St. Simon’s Memoirs, and am more struck 
 with the goodness of the good parts than ever. To be sure the road from 
 fountain to fountain lies through a very dry desert.” 
 
 May — A cold first of May. After breakfast I went to Turnham 
 Green, to look at the place. I found it after some search ; the very spot 
 beyond all doubt, and admirably suited for an assassination.}: 
 
 “ On my return I looked into Shakespeare, and could not get away 
 
 * It is almost worth while to be past middle life in order to have seen Miss Kate 
 Terry in Arthur. 
 
 t Sal. Standby, or I shall gall you, Faulconbridge. 
 
 Bast. Thou wert better gall the devil, Salisbury. 
 
 If thou but frown on me, or stir thy foot. 
 
 Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame. 
 
 I’ll strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betime ; 
 
 Or I’ll so maul you and your toasting-iron 
 That you shall think the devil is come f lom hell.” 
 t See the account of the Assassination Plot in Chapter XXL of the History. “ The 
 place and time were fixed. The place was to be a narrow and winding lane leading from 
 the landing-place on the north of the river to Turnham Green. The spot may still 
 easily be found. The ground has since been drained by trenches. But in the seven- 
 teenth century it was a quagmire, through which the royal coach was with difficulty 
 tugged at a foot’s pace. The time was to be the afternoon of Saturday, the fifteenth of 
 February.” 
 
1848-52. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 197 
 
 from him. I passed the whole day, till it was time to dress, in turning 
 him aver. Then to dine with the Royal Academy.* A great number of 
 my friends, and immense smiling and shaking of hands. I got a seat in a 
 pleasant situation near Thesiger, Hallam, and Inglis. The scene was 
 lively, and many of the pictures good. I was charmed by Stanfield’s 
 Rochelle, and Roberts’s three paintings. It is the old Duke’s birthday ; 
 he is eighty-three to-day. I never see him now without a painful interest. 
 I look at him every time with the thought that this may be the last. We 
 drank his health with immense shouting and table-banging. He returned 
 thanks, and spoke of the loss of the Birkenhead. I remarked (and Law- 
 rence, the American Minister, said that he had remarked the same thing) 
 that, in his eulogy of the poor fellows who were lost, the Duke never 
 spoke of their courage, but always of their discipline and subordination. 
 He repeated it several times over. The courage, I suppose, he treated 
 as a thing of course. Lord Derby spoke with spirit, but with more hesi- 
 tation than on any occasion on which I have heard him. Disraeli’s speech 
 was clever. In defiance of all rule he gave Lord John Russe’”'' health. 
 Lord John answered good humoredly and well. I was glad of it. Al- 
 though a speech at the Royal Academy is not much, it is important that, 
 whatever he does now, should be well done.” 
 
 * Macaulay attended the dinner in his character of Professor of Ancient Literature to 
 the Royal Academy. 
 
198 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIIL 
 
 . CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 1852-1856. 
 
 The magnetoscope, and table-turning — Macaulay’s re-election for Edinburgh, and the 
 general satisfaction which it occasioned — He has a serious attack of illness — Clifton — 
 Extraccs from Macaulay’s journal — His strong feelings for old associations — Barley 
 Wood — Letters to Mr. Ellis — Great change in Macaulay’s health and habits — His 
 speech at Edinburgh— The House of Commons — Mr. Disraeli’s Budget— Formation 
 of Lord Aberdeen’s Ministry — The Judges’ Exclusion Bill — The India Bill — The 
 Annuity Tax — Macaulay ceases to take an active part in politics — Letters to Mr. 
 Ellis — Mrs. Beecher Stowe — Tunbridge Wells — Plato — Mr. Vizetelly — Macaulay’s 
 patriotism — The Crimean War — Open competition — The History — Thames Ditton — 
 Publication of Macaulay’s Third and Fourth Volumes — Statistics of the sale of the 
 History — Honors conferred on Macaulay — The British Museum. 
 
 T he year 1852 opened very pleasantly for Macaulay. From January to 
 July his diary presents a record of hopeful and uninterrupted literary 
 labor, and of cheerful dinners and breakfasts at the houses which he 
 cared to frequent. About this period the friends among whom he lived 
 were much given to inquiries into fields of speculation that may not un- 
 fairly be classed under the head of the Occult Sciences ; allusions to 
 which more than once occur both in Lord Carlisle’s and in Macaulay’s 
 journals. Lord Carlisle writes : 
 
 “ A/ajv rg, i8j2 . — Breakfasted with the Mahons. We talked a good deal of the 
 magnetoscope, which has received a staggerer from Dufferin, who went rather dis- 
 guised a second time, and got quite a different character. The man told Macaulay 
 that he was an historical painter, which the Bishop of Oxford thinks a very just 
 character. Macaulay, I hear, denounces the wretched quack without measure. At 
 twelve there was a large assemblage at the Bishop’s to see a clairvoyante, brought 
 by Sir David Brewster very much for the purpose of encountering Whewell, who is 
 an arch-skeptic. About twelve of us in turns put our hands upon her eyes, and in 
 every instance she read without mistake one, two, or three lines from books taken at 
 random. We believed, except Whewell ; who has very resilient eyes himself, 
 ’which he thinks can see through everything.” 
 
1852-56. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 199 
 
 Macaulay held the same opinion about his own eyes, at any rate so far 
 as concerned the magnetoscope, as the following extract from his diary 
 will show : 
 
 “ May 18, 1852. — Mahon came, and we went to a house in Street, 
 
 where a Dr. performs his feats of phrenology and mesmerism. I was 
 
 half ashamed of going ; but Mahon made a point of it. The Bishop of 
 Oxford, and his brother Robert, came soon after us. Never was there 
 such paltry quackery. The fraud was absolutely transparent. I cannot 
 conceive how it should impose upon a child. The man knew nothing 
 about me, and therefore his trickery completely failed him. He made 
 me out to be a painter, — a landscape painter or a historical painter. He 
 had made out Hallam to be a musician. I could hardly restrain myself 
 from expressing my contempt and disgust while he was pawing my head, 
 and poring over the rotations and oscillations of his pendulum, and the 
 deviations to different points of the compass. Dined at the Club. We 
 have taught Lord Aberdeen to talk. He is really quite gay.” 
 
 May 19. — To dine with the Bishop of London. The party should 
 have been pleasant ; the Bishop of Oxford, Milman, Hallam, and Rajah 
 Brooke. But unluckily we got into a somewhat keen argument about 
 clarvoyance. The two Bishops lost their temper. Indeed, we were all 
 too disputatious, though I hope I was not offensively so. The ladies, who 
 wanted to be off to the Queen’s Ball, wished us, I dare say, at Jericho.” 
 
 Macaulay writes on a subsequent occasion : “ A breakfast-party at my i 
 chambers. There was talk about electricity, and the rotatory motion of 
 tables under electrical influence. I was very incredulous. We tried the 
 experiment on my table ; and there certainly was a rotatorjwnotion, but 
 probably impressed by the Bishop of Oxford, though he declared that he ' 
 was not quite certain whether he had pushed or not. We tried again ; 
 and then, after we had given it up, he certainly pushed, and caused a 
 rotatory motion exactly similar to what we had seen before. The experi- 
 ment therefore failed. At the same time I would not confidently say in 
 this case, as I say in cases of clairvoyance, that there must be deception. 
 
 I know too little of electricity to judge.” * 
 
 * Macaulay did not love charlatans ; and he included in that category some who pretty 
 confidently arrogated to themselves the title of philosophers. “ There came,” he once 
 writes to Lady Trevelyan, “ a knock at my door, and in walked that miserable old impos- 
 tor, , who, I hoped, had been hanged or guillotined years ago. You must have heard 
 
 of him. He is a votary of Spurzheim ; a compound of all the quackeries, physiological 
 and theological, of half a century. I always detested the fellow ; but I could not turn him 
 out of the room ; for he came up with, ‘ Do you not remember ? You are so like the dear 
 man, Zachary. It was just so that he used to look on me.’ (I looked, by-the-by, as 
 sulky as a bear.) ‘ I felt your dear skull when you was a child, and I prophesied that 
 you should be a Minister of State. Palf ! That is a demonstration. I keep my eye on 
 you ever since. Paff ! It come true ! ’ So I desired the man to sit down, and 
 
200 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIII. 
 
 Equable and tranquil as was the course of Macaulay’s life during the 
 earlier months of 1852, that year had still both good and evil in store for 
 him. The Parliamentary Session had been fruitful in events. “I met 
 Greville in the street,” Macaulay writes. “ He is going to Broadlands, 
 and seems persuaded that Palmerston has nothing but revenge on Lord 
 John in his head and heart, and that he will soon be leader of the House 
 of Commons under Lord Derby. I doubt.” He might well doubt. The 
 late Foreign Secretary was not the man to sit down under a grievance ; 
 but he knew how to pay off old scores in accordance with the rules of 
 political decency. By his powerful aid, the Conservatives succeeded in de- 
 feating the Ministry on a detail of the Militia Bill; and Lord Derby came 
 in with a minority, and scrambled through the Session as best he might. 
 While the summer was yet young. Parliament was dissolved, and the 
 General Election took place in July, with no very great issue definitely at 
 stake. The Ministerial programme was not of a nature to arouse enthu- 
 siasm. Lord Derby confined himself to vague hints,'which might be con- 
 strued to mean either that Protection was capable of being revived, or 
 that he personally had not ceased to be a mourner for its death ; but he 
 made up for his reticence on the question of the day by entreating the 
 country to believe that his Government had every intention of upholding 
 the Established Church. The country, which was very well aware that 
 the Church could keep on its feet without the assistance of a Tory Admin- 
 istration, but which was sincerely anxious to be reassured that the Cabinet 
 had no wish to tamper with Free Trade, did not respond to the appeal, 
 and the electioneerers of the Carlton failed to make any marked impression 
 upon the borough constituencies. 
 
 Edinburgh was one of the places where the Conservatives resolved 
 to try an almost desperate chance. The Liberals of that city were at odds 
 among themselves ; and the occurrences of 1847 had not been such as to 
 attract any candidate who enjoyed the position and reputation which 
 would have enabled him to unite a divided party. Honorably ambitious 
 to obtain a worthy representative for the capital of Scotland, and sincerely 
 desirous to make amends for their harsh usage of a great man who had 
 done his best to serve them, the electors turned their eyes towards Macau- 
 lay. A resolution in favor of taking the necessary measures of furthering 
 his return was carried in a crowded public meeting by unanimous acclama- 
 tion. The speeches in support of that resolution did honor to those who 
 made them. “ No man,” said Mr. Adam Black, “ has given stronger pledges 
 than Mr. Macaulay that he will defend the rights of the people against 
 the encroachments of despotism, and the licentiousness of democracy. 
 
 was as civil as I could be to one whom I know to be a mere Dousterswivel.” Macaulay, 
 very characteristically, ended his letter by regretting that his vistor did not ask for pecun- 
 iary assistance, in order that he might have given him a ten-pound note. 
 
1852-56. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 201 
 
 His pledges hav^ not been given upon the hustings, during the excitement 
 of an election ; but they have been published to the world in the calm 
 deliberation of the closet ; and he stand and falls by them. If Mr. 
 Macaulay has a fault, it is that he is too straightforward ; too open ; that 
 he uses no ambiguities to disarm opposition. By many his early, his elo- 
 quent, his constant, his consistent advocacy of civil liberty is forgotten, 
 while a few unconsidered words are harped upon. Will you lose the most 
 powerful defender for a piece of etiquette ? Will you rob the British 
 Senate of one of its brightest ornaments ? Will you deprive Edinburgh of 
 the hour of association with one of the most illustrious men of the day ? 
 Will you silence that voice whose tofnes would sustain the sinking spirits of 
 the friends of constiutional liberty in Europe ? No. I know the inhabitants of 
 Edinburgh are not so unwise. It is in their power to secure the most able ad- 
 vocate of their own cause,and of the cause of truth and liberty in the world ; 
 and they will secure him.” The resolution, proposed in these words by the 
 chief of the Edinburgh Whigs, was seconded by a Radical ; a fine fellow, 
 whose remarks were very brief,as is almost universally the case,in Scotland 
 and in the North of England, with local leaders who have any real influ- 
 ence over the political conduct of their fellow-citizens. “The vexatious 
 question,” he said, “ being long ago settled upon which alone I, along 
 with several hundred other electors, felt reluctantly constrained to with- 
 hold our support from Mr. Macaulay at the last election, I have great 
 pleasure in having this opportunity afforded me of returning to my first 
 loVe by seconding the nomination of that illustrious historian and states- 
 man.” 
 
 To Miss Macaulay. 
 
 Albany: June 19, 1852. 
 
 Dear Fanny, — I have not made, and do not mean to make, the smallest 
 move towards the people of Edinburgh. But they, to my great surprise, 
 have found out that they treated me ill five years ago, and that they are 
 now paying the penalty. They can get nobody to stand who is likely to 
 do them credit ; and it seemed as if they were in danger of having Mem- 
 bers who would have made them regret not only me, but Cowan. Then, 
 without any communication with me, it was suggested by some of the most 
 respectable citizens that the town might solve its difficulties by electing 
 me without asking me to go down, or to give any pledges, or even any 
 opinion, on political matters. The hint was eagerly taken up ; and I am 
 assured that the feeling in my favor is strong, and that I shall probably be 
 at the head of the poll. All that I have been asked to do is to say that, if 
 I am chosen on those terms, I will sit. On full consideration, I did not 
 think that I could, consistently with my duty, decline the invitation. 
 
 To me, personally, the sacrifice is great. Though I shall not make a 
 drudge of myself, and though I certainly shall never, in any event, accept 
 
202 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIII. 
 
 office, the appearance of my next volumes maybe postponed a yenr, or 
 even two. But it seems to me to be of the highest importance that great 
 constituent bodies should learn to respect the conscience, and the honor, 
 of their representatives ; should not expect slavish obedience from men 
 of spirit and ability ; and should, instead of catechising such men, and 
 cavilling at them, repose in them a large confidence. The way in which 
 such bodies have of late behaved has driven many excellent persons from 
 public life, and will, unless a remedy is found, drive away many more. 
 The conduct of Edinburgh towards me was not worse than that of several 
 other places to their Members ; but it attracted more notice, and has been 
 often mentioned in Parliament and out of Parliament, as a flagrant instance 
 of the caprice and perverseness of even the most intelligent bodies of 
 electors. It is, therefore, not an unimportant nor an undesirable thing 
 that Edinburgh should, quite spontaneously, make a very signal, I may 
 say, an unprecedented, reparation. 
 
 Do not talk about this more than you find absolutely necessary ; but 
 treat it lightly, as I do in all companies where I hear it mentioned. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 Macaulay’s diary amply proves that in this letter to his sister he had 
 written about the Edinburgh election exactly as he had felt ; If, indeed, 
 he had been capable of writing otherwise to any person, or on any sub- 
 ject. 
 
 '■'‘May 15. — I met Dundas in Bond Street, and went with him to 
 Brooks’s. Craig showed me a letter from Adam Black, by which it ap- 
 pears that some of the people at Edinburgh think of putting me up with- 
 out applying to me. I said a little to discourage the notion, but thought 
 it best not to appear to treat it seriously. I dined with Lord Broughton. 
 Lord John and I sate together, and got on very well. I cannot help lov- 
 ing him ; and I regret the diminution of his weight and popularity both 
 for his own sake, and for that of the country.” 
 
 "May 2 -], — Breakfast with Mahon. Very pleasant it w'as. I had a 
 letter from Hannah, enclosing one from Craig about Edinburgh. She has 
 acquitted herself with true feminine skill and tact. I feel quite indiffer- 
 ent about the matter. I should like the amende. I should dislike the 
 trouble. The two feelings balance each other ; so I have only to follow a 
 perfectly straightforward course, which indeed is always best.” 
 
 “ June 9. — I received a letter from James Simpson about the election, 
 and answered him as I resolved. I am fully, determined that no trace of 
 vacillation or inconsistency shall be discerned in what I write and say. I 
 shall stick to one plain story.” 
 
 Little as he wished it, Macaulay soon had to tell that story to the pub- 
 
1852-56. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 203 
 
 lie at large. The Committee of the Scottish Reformation Society, insist- 
 ing on their privilege as electors, wrote to him in respectful terms to in- 
 quire whether, in the event of his being returned to Parliament, he was 
 prepared to vote against the grant to Maynooth. He replied as follows : 
 
 To the Secretary of the Scottish Reformation Society. 
 
 June 23, 1852. 
 
 Sir, — I must beg to be excused from answering the questions which you 
 put to me. I have great respect for the gentlemen in whose name you 
 write, but I have nothing to ask of them ; I am not a candidate for their 
 suffrages ; I have no desire to sit again in Parliament, and I certainly shall 
 never again sit there, except in an event which I did not till very lately 
 contemplate as possible, and which even now seems to me highly im- 
 probable. If, indeed, the electors of such a city as Edinburgh should, 
 without requiring from me any explanation or any guarantee, think fit to 
 confide their interests to my care, I should not feel myself justified in re- 
 fusing to accept a public trust offered me in a manner so honorable and so 
 peculiar. I have not, I am sensible, the smallest right to expect that I 
 shall on such terms be chosen to represent a great constituent body but 
 I have a right to say that on no other terms can I be induced to leave that 
 quiet and happy retirement in which I have passed the last four years. 
 
 I have the honor to be 
 
 Yours, &c., 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 The dignified minuteness with which Macaulay defined his position did 
 not altogether meet the views of his supporters ; and yet it is not easy to 
 see how, under circumstances of such extreme delicacy, the letter could 
 have been better written. 
 
 “ June 30. — I heard from Adam Black, who is alarmed about the effect 
 which my answer to the Reformation Society may have upon the election. 
 It is very odd that, careless as I am about the result of the hole business, 
 a certain disagreeable physical excitement was produced by Black’s letter. 
 All day I have felt unstrung ; a weight at my heart ; and an indescribable 
 sense of anxiety. These are the penalties of advancing life. My reason 
 is as clear as ever, and tells me that I have not the slightest cause for 
 uneasiness. I answered Adam, using language much gentler than I should 
 have used except out of consideration for him.” 
 
 “ S- — I see in the Scotsman my answer to Adam, or most of it. 
 
 I hardly like this ; but no doubt it was done for the best. I cannot bear 
 anything that looks like stooping.” 
 
 It is difficult to imagine how even Macaulay could discern any trace of 
 obsequiousness in the language of his letter to Mr. Black. “ I despair,” 
 he writes, “ of being able to use words which will not be distorted. How 
 
204 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIII. 
 
 stands the case ? I say that such a distinction is so rare that I lately 
 thought it unattainable, and that even now I hardly venture to ex- 
 pect that I shall attain it ; and I am told that I hold it cheap, I say that 
 to be elected Member for Edinburgh, without appearing as a candidate, 
 would be a high and peculiar honor, — an honor which would induce me 
 to make a sacrifice such as I would in no other case, — and I am told that 
 this is to treat the electors contemptuously. My language, naturally con- 
 strued, was respectful, — nay, humble. If any person finds an insult in it, 
 the reason must be that he is determined to find an insult in everything I 
 write.” 
 
 “ 7 ^ly 7- — Broken sleep at night anc/then an eventful day. The Times 
 is full of election oratory. All is right on the whole. The City is well ; 
 the Tower Hamlets well ; at Greenwich a check, but very slight ; gains at 
 Reading, Aylesbury, Horsham, and Hertford ; — but for the gain at Hert- 
 ford I am sorry, from personal regard for Mahon, I am glad that Strutt 
 heads the poll at Nottingham.” 
 
 “ July 8. — Another day of excitement, following another bad night. 
 Immediately after breakfast I went to Golden Square, and polled for 
 Shelley and Evans. All the day was taken up with questioning, and 
 answering questions ; waiting for news ; and devouring it. Brooks’s was 
 quite like a beehive. We were anxious to the last about Westminster. 
 I have had news from Black and Craig, — welcome, and unwelcome. My 
 success, if it is to be so called, seems certain. I shall not go down to the 
 Declaration of the poll. I cannot travel all night in my present state of 
 health ; and, as to starting on Tuesday morning, and going as far as Ber- 
 wick with the chance of having to turn back in case of a reverse, the 
 thing is not to be thought of. I have held my head pretty high ; and this 
 would be a humiliation aggravated tenfold by the reserve, approaching to 
 haughtiness, which I have hitherto maintained.” 
 
 In spite of Mr Black’s friendly apprehensions, Macaulay’s high and 
 rigid bearing had not been distasteful to the Edinburgh electors. They 
 justly considered that the self-respect of a Member of Parliament reflects 
 itself upon his constituents ; and they were rather proud, than not, of vot- 
 ing for a candidate who was probably the worst electioneer since Coriolanus. 
 The enthusiasm in his favor was not confined to his own party. Professor 
 Wilson, the most distinguished survivor from the old school of Scotch 
 Toryism, as Toryism was understood by Lord Melville and Sir Walter 
 Scott, performed the last public act of his bustling and jovial existence by 
 going to the poll for Macaulay. At the close of the day the numbers 
 stood ; 
 
 Macaulay 1,846 
 
 Cowan 1,753 
 
1852-56. LORD MACAULAY. 205 
 
 M’Laren 
 
 . 
 
 , 
 
 . 
 
 . 
 
 1,561 
 
 Bruce . 
 
 . 
 
 . . 
 
 . 
 
 . 
 
 1,068 
 
 Campbell . 
 
 . 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 625 
 
 It is no exaggeration to say that from one end of the island to the other 
 the tidings were received with' keen, and all but universal, satisfaction.* 
 Amidst the passions, and ambitions, and jealousies of a General Election 
 that was to decide the fate of a Ministry, the combatants on both sides 
 found time to rejoice over an event which was regarded, not as a party 
 victory, but as the triumph of intellectual eminence and political integrity. 
 I well remember blushing and trembling with a boy’s delight when Albert 
 Smith, in two or three dashing couplets inserted off-hand into the best of 
 his admirable songs, announced that Edinburgh had at last put itself right 
 with Mr. Macaulay ; and I still seem to hear the prolonged and repeated 
 cheering that broke forth from every corner of an audience which, unless 
 it differed from every other London audience of its class, must have been 
 at least three-fourths Tory. 
 
 But the very same week which honored Macaulay with so marked a 
 proof of the esteem and admiration of his countrymen, brought with it 
 likewise sad and sure indications that the great labors to which his fame 
 was due had not been undertaken with impunity. “ In the midst of my 
 triumphs,” he w'rites, “ I am but poorly ; ” and he was one who never 
 complained lightly. For some months past such ominous passages as 
 these had been frequent in his journal : “ I turned over the new volumes of 
 Thiers’ book ; the Austrian campaign of 1809. It is heavy. I hope that 
 my volumes will be more attractive reading. I am out of sorts, however 
 at present ; cannot write. Why ? I cannot tell. I will wait a day or two 
 and then try anew.” And again : “ I wrote some of my History ; not 
 amiss ; but I am not in the stream yet. I feel quite oppressed by the 
 weight of the task. How odd a thing the human mind is ! Mine at least. 
 I could write a queer Montaignish essay on my morbidities. I sometimes 
 lose months, I do not know how ; accusing myself daily, and yet really 
 incapable of vigorous exertion. I seem under a spell of laziness. Then 
 I warm and can go on working twelve hours at a stretch. How I worked 
 a year ago ! And why cannot I work so now ? ” 
 
 He was soon to know. On the 15th of July, two days after the 
 election was decided, he describes himself as extremely languid and op- 
 pressed ; hardly able to walk or breathe. A week later he says : “ I was 
 not well to-day ; something the matter with the heart. I feel a load on my 
 
 * “ All over the country the news of his election was received with a burst of joy. 
 Men congratulated each other as if some dear friend or relation of their own had re- 
 ceived so signal an honor. People who had never seen his face shook hands with one 
 another in an unreasoning way on the receipt of such glorious news.” — The Public Life 
 of Lord Macaulay. By the Rev. Frederick Arnold, B. A. 
 
2o6 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIII. 
 
 breast. I was much unstrung, and could hardly help shedding tears of 
 mere weakness : but I did help it. I shrink from the journey to 
 Edinburgh, and the public appearance. I am sure that, in the state in 
 which I am, I shall be forced to sit down in five minutes ; if, indeed, I do 
 not faint, which I have repeatedly expected to do of late.” 
 
 'Fhe day on which he was to address his constituents was close at hand 
 a..d there was no time to be lost. “ I sent for Bright. He came with a 
 stethoscope ; pronounced that the action of the heart was much deranged, 
 and positively forbade me to think of going to Edinburgh. I went out, but 
 could hardly get along with the help of my stick ; so I took a cab to 
 Westbourne Terrace, and returned in the same way. Their society and 
 kindness keep up my spirits, which are but low. I am vexed with myself 
 for having suffered myself to be enticed back to public life. My book 
 seems to me certain to be a failure. Yet when I look up any part, and 
 read it, I cannot but see that it is better than the other works on the same 
 subject. That, to be sure, is not saying much ; for Ralph, Smollet, Ken- 
 neth, Somerville, Belsham, Lord Dungannon, are all of them wretched 
 writers of history ; and Burnet, who down to the Revolution is most valu- 
 able and amusing, becomes dull as soon as he reaches the reign of Wil- 
 liam. I should be sorry to leave that reign unfinished. 
 
 For some weeks to come Macaulay was very ill indeed ; and he never 
 recovered the secure and superabundant health which he had hitherto en- 
 joyed. It is needless to say that the affection,which he had passed his life in 
 deserving, did not fail him now. Lady Trevelyan saw Dr. Bright, and learn- 
 ed that the case was more serious than she believed her brother himself to 
 be aware of ; a belief which was quite erroneous, as his journal proves ; but 
 under which he very willingly allowed her to lie. She took upon herself 
 the arrangements necessary for the postponement of the Edinburgh meet- 
 ing, and then accompanied Macaulay down to Clifton ; where she saw him 
 comfortably settled, and stayed with him until he began to mend. 
 
 “ Clifton, August 8, 1852. — I went out, reading Julius Caesar in Sueto- 
 nius, and was overtaken by heavy rain and thunder. I could not get under 
 a tree for fear of lightning, and could not run home for fear of bringing on 
 the palpitation ; so I walked through the rain as slowly and gravely as if I 
 had been a mourner in a funeral. The slightest excitement or anxiety 
 affects the play of my heart. In spite of myself my spirits are low ; but 
 my reason tells me that hardly any man living has so much to be thankful 
 for. And I will be thankful, and firm, as far as I am master of myself. Han- 
 nah and I did not venture out after dinner, but chatted over old times, affec- 
 tionately and very pleasantly.” 
 
 ^‘'Sunday, August — To Christ church. I got a place among the 
 
 free seats, and heard not a bad sermon on the word ‘ Therefore.’ The 
 preacher disclaimed all intention of startling us by oddity, after the fash- 
 
. 1852-56. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 207 
 
 ion of the seventeenth century ; but I doubt whether he did not find in 
 St. Paul’s ‘ therefore,’ much more than St. Paul thought of. There was a 
 collection for church-building, and I slipped my sovereign into the plate 
 the more willingly because the preacher asked for our money on sensible 
 grounds, and in a manly manner.” 
 
 “ Au^st 16, — The Times brought the news of Sir James Parker’s 
 death. He died of heart-complaint. Poor fellow ! I feel for him. The 
 attack came on just as he was made Vice Chancellor. Mine came on 
 just as I was elected for Edinburgh. Mine may, very likely, end as his 
 has ended ; and it may be for the best that it should do so. My eyes fill 
 with tears when I think of those whom I must leave ; but there is no mix- 
 ture of pusillanimity in my tenderness. I long to see Hannah and Mar- 
 garet. I wish that they were back again from the Continent ; but I do not 
 think that the end is so near. To-day I wrote a pretty fair quantity of His- 
 tory. I should be glad to finish William before I go. But this is like the 
 old excuses that were made to Charon.” 
 
 Some fastidious critics think it proper to deny Macaulay the title of a 
 poet ; and it was a title which he did not claim. No one was more ready 
 than himself to allow that the bay-tree does not grow kindly in the regions 
 among which his lot had been cast. He had lived in the world, and had 
 held his own there ; and a man who would hold his own in the world must 
 learn betimes to think, as well as write, in prose. Downing Street and Cal- 
 cutta, the Edinburgh Review and the House of Commons, had exercised his 
 judgment and curbed his fancy ; but those who knew his inner mind never 
 doubted that, however much it had been overlaid by the habits and the 
 acquirements of an active and varied career, the poetic nature was there. 
 If any one will read the story of the copying-clerk who found himself unex- 
 pectedly transformed into a poet, as told in Hans Andersen’s exquisite little 
 fairy tale, he will get an exact picture of the manner in which Macaulay’s 
 memory and imagination worked during the greater part of his idler hours. 
 He positively lived upon the associations of his own past. A sixpenny print 
 which had hung in a Clapham nursery or schoolroom gave him more real de- 
 light than any masterpiece of Reynolds. The day on which he detected, in the 
 darkest recesses of a Holborn bookstall, some trumpery romance that 
 had been in the Cambridge circulating libraries of the year 1820, was a 
 date marked with a white stone in his calendar. He exults in his diary 
 over the discovery of a wretched novel called Conscience, which he him- 
 self confesses to be “ execrable trash,” as triumphantly as if it had been a 
 first folio edition of Shakespeare, with an inch and a half of margin. But 
 nothing caused him so much pleasure (a pleasure which frequent repeti- 
 tion did not perceptibly diminish), as a visit to any scene that he had 
 known in earlier years. It mattered not with what period of his existence 
 that scene was connected, or whether the reminiscences which it conjured 
 
2o8 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIII. 
 
 up were gay or gloomy, utterly trivial or profoundly interesting The inn 
 at Durham, where he had dined badly when on circuit; the court-house 
 at Lancaster, where as a briefless barrister he had listened to Brougham 
 exchanging retorts with Pollock; the dining-room in Great George Street, 
 in a corner of which he had written his articles on Lord Holland and 
 Warren Hastings; the church at Cheddar, where as a child he had sate 
 of a Sunday afternoon, longing to get at the great black-letter volume of 
 the Book of Martyrs which was chained to the neighboring reading-desk, 
 while the vicar, whom Mrs. Hannah More had pronounced to be a “ poor 
 preacher and not at all a Gospel minister,” was droning unheeded over- 
 head ; — these, and others such as these, were localities possessing, in his 
 eyes, a charm far surpassing that which the most stately and famous 
 cities derive from historic tradition or architectural splendor. Never had 
 he a better opportunity of indulging himself in his favorite amusement of 
 hunting up old recollections, than when he was living at Clifton, within a 
 short drive of the cottage which had once been Mrs. Hannah More’s, 
 and under the strictest orders from his physicians to do nothing but 
 amuse himself. 
 
 ^'‘August 21. — A fine day. At eleven, the Harfords of Blaise Castle 
 called in their barouche to take Margaret and me to Barley Wood. The 
 Valley of Wrington was as rich and lovely as ever. The Mendip ridge, 
 the church tower, the islands in the distance w'ere what they were forty 
 years ago, and more. But Barley Wood itself is greatly changed. There 
 has been no want of care, or taste, or respect for old recollections ; but 
 the trees would grow, and the summer-houses would decay. The cottage 
 itself, once visible from a considerable distance, is now so completely 
 surrounded with wood that you do not see it until you actually drive up 
 to the door. The shrubs, which were not as high as I was at eleven 
 years old, have become great masses of verdure ; and at many points 
 from which there once was an extensive prospect nothing can now be 
 seen. The house, and the esplanade of turf just before it, are the least 
 changed. The dining-room and drawing-room are what they were, the 
 old engravings excepted, the place of almost every one of which I well 
 remembered. The old roses run up the old trellis-work, or up trellis- 
 work very like the old. But the Temple of the Winds is in ruins; and 
 the root-house, which was called the ‘ Tecta pauperis Evandri,’ has quite 
 disappeared. That was my favorite haunt. The urn of Locke has been 
 moved. The urn of Porteus stands where it did. The place is improved ; 
 but it is not the place where I passed so many happy days in my child- 
 hood.” 
 
 “ September 14. — A beautiful day. After breakfast Ellis and I drove 
 to Wrington in an open carriage and pair. We first paid a visi% to the 
 
1852-56. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 209 
 
 church. I recognized the old pew, and one of the epitaphs ; but I missed 
 the pulpit cloth of scarlet velvet, with an inscription in remarkably long 
 gold letters. The sexton recollected it. There were the books chained 
 to the desks ; and, to my surprise, the Book of Martyrs was among them. 
 
 I did not remember that there was one here, though I perfectly remember 
 that at Cheddar. I saw my dear old friend’s grave, with a foolish cant- 
 ing inscription. We then walked to Barley Wood. They very kindly 
 asked me to go upstairs. We saw Mrs. Hannah More’s room. The bed 
 IS where her sofa and desk used to stand. The old bookcases, some of 
 them at least, remain. I could point out the very place where the Don 
 Quixote, in four volumes, stood, and the very place from which I took 
 down, at ten years old, the Lyrical Ballads. With what delight and 
 horror I read the Ancient Mariner ! Home, much pleased with this 
 second visit.” 
 
 September 16. — A knock, and a carriage. Who should it be but my 
 old Trinity Tutor, Monk, the Bishop of the Diocese? I was really glad 
 to see him, and to shake hands with him ; for he was kind to me when I 
 was young, and I was ungrateful and impertinent to him. 
 
 “ October 4. — I finished Uncle Tom’s Cabin; a powerful and disagree- ! 
 able book ; too dark and Spagnoletto-like for my taste, when considered 1 
 as a work of art. But, on the whole, it is the most valuable addition that 1 
 America has made to English Literature.” ' 
 
 While in the West of England Macaulay read as much as ever, but he 
 wrote little except his weekly letter to Mr. Ellis. 
 
 16 Caledonia Place, Clifton. 
 
 Here I am ; not the worse, on the whole, for the journey. I already feel the 
 influence of this balmy air. Remember that you are booked for the loth of Septem- 
 ber. You will find a good bedroom ; a great tub ; a tolerably furnished bookcase ; 
 lovely walks ; fine churches ; a dozen of special sherry ; half-a-dozen of special 
 hock ; and a tureen of turtle soup. I read this last paragraph to Hannah, who is 
 writing at the table beside me. She exclaimed against the turtle : “ Such gluttons 
 men are ! ” “ For shame ! ” I said ; “ when a friend comes to us, we ought to kill 
 the fatted calf.” “ Yes,” says she ; “ but from the fatted calf you will get only 
 mock turtle.” 
 
 Rely on it that I shall never be in office again. Every motive is against it ; 
 avarice and ambition, as well us the love of ease and the love of liberty. I have 
 been twice a Cabinet Minister, and never made a farthing by being so. I have now 
 been four years out of office ; and I have added ten thousand pounds to my capital. 
 
 So much for avarice. Then, as for ambition, I should be a far greater man as M. 
 
 P. for Edinburgh, supporting a Liberal Government cordially, but not servilely, 
 than as Chancellor of the Duchy or Paymaster of the Forces.' I receive congratula- 
 tions from all quarters. The most fervent, perhaps, are from Graham. My own 
 feelings are mixed. If I analyze them strictly,! find that I am glad and sorry ; glad 
 • to have been elected, sorry to have to sit. The election was a great honor. The 
 sitting will be a great bore. 
 
 VoL. II.— 14 
 
210 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIII 
 
 August 12, 1852. 
 
 I am better than when I left town, but still far from well. The weather lias 
 been against me as yet. During the last forty-eight hours I have been close prison- 
 er to the house. The Deluge, which Lord Maidstone told us was to come after 
 Lord Derby, has come already ; so that we are cujsed with Derby and the Deluge 
 too. I have very little to complain of. I suffer no pain. My head is unclouded. 
 My temper is not soured. I sleep sound. I eat and drink heartily. Nothing that 
 care or tenderness can do for me is wanting. Indeed, it would l^e unjust and in me 
 selfish to accept all the sacrifices which those whom I love are eager to make. 
 
 September 25, 1852. 
 
 On Thursday I walked to Leigh Court, on the other side of the Ferry, to see 
 the famous collection of pictures, and found that report had not done them justice. 
 Nothing stnick me so much as Rubens’s Woman taken in Adultery. The figures 
 have a look of life which I do not know that I ever saw elsewhere on canvas. On 
 the road between Leigh Court and the Ferry, however, I saw a more delightful 
 picture than any in the collection. In a deep shady lane was a donkey-cart driven 
 by a lad ; and in it were four very pretty girls from eleven to six, evidently sisters. 
 They were quite mad with spirits at having so rare a treat as a ride ; and they were 
 laughing, and singing in a way that almost made me cry with mere sense of the 
 beautiful. They saw that I was pleased, and answered me very prettily when I 
 made some inquiry about my route. I begged them to go on singing ; and they all 
 four began carolling, in perfect concert, and in tones as joyous as a lark’s. I gave 
 them the silver that I had about me to buy dolls. I should like to have a picture 
 of the cart and the cargo. Gainsborough would have been the man. But I should 
 not like to have an execrably bad poem on the subject, such as Wordsworth would 
 have written. 1 am really quite well ; though my Clifton doctor adjures me not to 
 take liberties, and Bright writes, advising me to ask for the Chiltem Hundreds. 
 
 Dr. Bright had good reason for the advice which he gave. So far 
 from being quite well, it may be said that Macaulay never was well again. 
 “ Last July was a crisis in my life,” he writes in March, 1853. “ I be- 
 
 came twqnty years older in a week. A mile is more to me now than ten 
 miles a year ago.” In the winter that followed his re-election at Edin- 
 burgh he had a severe attack of bronchitis ; and during all his remaining 
 years he suffered from confirmed asthma, and was tormented by frequent 
 and distressing fits of violent coughing. One after another, in quick 
 succession, his favorite habits were abandoned, without any prospect of 
 being resumed. His day-long rambles, in company with Homer or Goethe 
 along river banks, and over ridge and common ; his afternoons spent in 
 leisurely explorations of all the bookstalls and printshops between Charing 
 Cross and Bethnal Green ; his Sunday walks from the Albany to Clapham, 
 and from Clapham to Richmond or Blackwall, were now, during long 
 periods together, exchanged for a crawl along the sunny side of the street 
 in the middle hours of any day which happened to be fine. Instead of 
 writing, as on a pinch he loved to write, straight on from his late and 
 somewhat lazy breakfast until the moment of dinner found him hungry 
 
LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 2II 
 
 1852-56. 
 
 and complacent, with a heavy task successfully performed, he was con- 
 demned, for the first time in his life, to the detested necessity of breaking 
 the labors of the day by luncheon. He was forced, sorely against his will, 
 to give up reading aloud, which, ever since he was four years old, he had 
 enjoyed even more than reading to himself. He was almost totally de- 
 barred from general society ; for his doctor rarely permitted him to go 
 out of an evening, and often forbade him to go out at all. In February, 
 1855, writes to Mr. Ellis : “ I am still a prisoner ; I have now had nearly 
 three months of it, with rather less range than Sir Francis Burdett had in 
 the Tower, or Leigh Hunt at Newgate.” In May, 1854, Lord Carlisle 
 writes : “ I met Macaulay at a few breakfasts, and was sorry to think his 
 health less good.” And again: “It was tolerably pleasant; — always 
 when Macaulay talked. The ‘ flashes of silence ’ come much more fre- 
 quently now.” * 
 
 The change for the worse in Macaulay’s health was apparent even to 
 those who watched him less closely and less anxiously than did Lord 
 Carlisle; but, though that change might be read on his countenance, it 
 was seldom, indeed, that any allusion to it passed his lips. Sufficient for 
 himself, he made no demands upon the compassion of others. His 
 equanimity had never been found wanting amidst the difficulties and 
 reverses of a not unchequered public career ; and it now stood the severer 
 test of a life, which, for long periods together, was the life of an invalid 
 who had to depend largely upon his own fortitude for support, and upon 
 his own mental resources for occupation and amusement. It might have 
 been expected that he would have made his private journal the safety- 
 valve for that querulousness w’hich an egotist vents upon his relatives, 
 and a self-conscious author upon his readers. But, as each birthday and 
 each New Year recurs, instead of peevishly mourning over the blessings 
 which had departed from him, he records in manly terms his gratitude for 
 those that had been left to him. 
 
 December 31, 1853. — Another day of work and solitude. I enjoy 
 this invalid life extremely. In spite of my gradually sinking health, this 
 has been a happy year. My strength is failing. My life will not, I think, 
 be long. But I have clear faculties, warm affections, abundant sources of 
 pleasure.” 
 
 At very distant intervals, he gives expression, in two or three pathetic 
 sentences, to the dejection which is the inevitable attendant upon the 
 most depressing of all ailments. “ I am not w'hat I was, and every month 
 my heart tells it me more and more clearly. I am a little low ; not from ap- 
 
 * “ Yes,” said Sydney Smith, “ he is certainly more agreeable since his return from 
 India. His enemies might perhaps have said before, though I never did so, that he talked 
 rather too much ; but now he has occasional flashes of silence, thatmake his conversation 
 perfectly delightful.” 
 
212 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIII. 
 
 prehension ; for I look forward to the inevitable close with perfect serenity; 
 but from regret for what I love. I sometimes hardly command my tears 
 when I think how soon I may leave them. I feel that the fund of life is 
 nearly spent.” But, throughout the volumes of his journals, Macaulay 
 never for a single instant assumes the air of an unfortunate or an ill-used 
 man. One or two of his contemporaries, who grudged him his pros- 
 perity, have said that discontent was a sin to which he had small tempta- 
 tion. At any rate, it was a sin of which he never was guilty. Instead of 
 murmuring and repining, we find him exhorting himself to work while it 
 was day, and to increase his exertions as the sand sank ever lower in the 
 glass ; rescuing some from the poverty from which he long ago had set 
 himself free, and consoling others for the pangs of disappointed ambition 
 from which he had never suffered ; providing the young people around 
 him only too lavishly with the pleasures that he could no longer enjoy, 
 and striving by every possible method to make their lives all the brighter, 
 as the shadows deepened down upon his own. To admit the world unre- 
 servedly behind the scenes of Macaulay’s life would be an act which the 
 world itself would blame ; but those who have special reason to cherish 
 his memory may be allowed to say, that proud as they are of his brilliant 
 and elaborate compositions, which in half a score of languages have been 
 the delight of a million readers, they set a still higher value upon the 
 careless pages of that diary which testifies how, through seven years of 
 trying and constant illness, he maintained his industry, his courage, his 
 patience, and his benevolence, unimpaired and unbroken to the last. 
 
 By the end of October, 1852, Macaulay had recovered his health suffi- 
 ciently to fulfil his engagements with the people of Edinburgh. After 
 spending some days there in the society of his friends, both old and new, 
 he delivered an Address in the Music Hall on the 2nd of November. He 
 began, as became an historian, by reviewing the events of the past five 
 years, both foreign and domestic, in a strain of lofty impartiality, to which 
 his audience listened with respectful and not dissatisfied attention ; and 
 then, of a sudden, he changed his tone, and did his best to satisfy the 
 expectations of his constituents by giving them forty minutes of as rattling 
 a party speech as ever was delivered from the Westminster Hustings, or 
 the platform of the Free Trade Hall at Manchester. And yet, party 
 speech as it was, it occasioned very little offence in any quarter ; for its 
 easy flow of raillery was marked by an absence of asperity which betok- 
 ened to experienced eyes that Macaulay, as far as modern politics were 
 concerned, had ceased to be at heart a party man. As an author, he had 
 met with -so much indulgence from his Conservative fellow-countrymen 
 that he was thenceforward most unwilling, as a statesman, to say any- 
 thing which could hurt their feelings, or shock their sincere convictions. 
 The most determined Tory found little to quarrel with in the spirit of the 
 
1852-56. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 213 
 
 speech, and thought himself justified in laughing, as heartily as if he had 
 been a Whig, over the jokes about Lord Maidstone’s Hexameters, and 
 the enfranchising clause which Lord Derby’s Cabinet had proposed to 
 tack on to the Militia Bill.* 
 
 '■^Sunday, October Edinburgh. — This is a Sunday, — a Presbyterian 
 
 Sacrament Sunday. The town is as still as if it were midnight. Who- 
 ever opposes himself to the prevailing humor would run a great risk of 
 being affronted. There was one person, whom Christians generally men- 
 tion with respect, who, I am sure, could not have walked Prince’s Street 
 in safety, and who would have addressed some very cutting rebukes to 
 my grave constituents. t 
 
 “ I have just been to Guthrie’s Church. I had once before seen the 
 Presbyterian administration of the Eucharist, in July, 1817. There was 
 much appearance of devotion, and even of religious excitement, among 
 the communicants ; and the rite was decently performed ; but, though 
 Guthrie is a man of considerable powers, his prayers were at a prodigious 
 distance from those of our liturgy. There was nothing which, even for a 
 moment, rose to the level of ‘Therefore with angels and archangels.’ 
 There were some fine passages, in the midst of much that was bad, in his 
 sermon. The man is a noble, honest, courageous specimen of humanity.^ 
 
 * This clause gave a vote to every man who had served for two years in the Militia. 
 “ And what,” said Macaulay, “ is the qualification? Why, the first qualification is youth. 
 These electors are not to be above a certain age ; but the nearer you can get them to 
 eighteen, the better. The second qualification is poverty. The elector is to be a person, 
 to whom a shilling a day is an object. The third qualification is ignorance ; for I venture 
 to say that, if you take the trouble to observe the appearance of those young fellows who 
 follow the recruiting sergeant in the streets, you will at once say that, among your laboring 
 classes, they are not the most educated, they are not the most intelligent. And then a young 
 man who goes from the ploughtail into the army is generally rather thoughtless, and 
 disposed to idleness. Oh ! but there is another qualification which I had forgotten : the 
 voter must be five feet two. There is a qualification for you ! Only think of measuring 
 a man for the franchise ! And this is the work of a Conservative Government, this plan 
 which would swamp all the counties in England with electors who possess the qualifica- 
 - tions of youth, poverty, ignorance, a roving disposition, and five feet two. Why, what 
 right have people who have proposed such a change as this to talk about — I do not say 
 Lord John Russell’s imprudence — but the imprudence of Ernest Jones, or of any other 
 Chartist? The Chartists, to do them justice, would give the franchise to wealth as well 
 as to poverty, to knowledge as well as to ignorance, to mature age as well as to youth. 
 But to make a qualification compounded of disqualifications is a feat of which the whole 
 glory belongs to our Conservative rulers.” 
 
 t “ Your old parson is a dunce,” Macaulay writes to one of his sisters. “ There is 
 nothing in Homer, or in Hesiod either, about the observation of every seventh day. He- 
 siod, to be sure, says that the seventh day of every month (a very different thing) is a holi- 
 day ; and the reason which he gives is, that on the seventh day of the month, Latona 
 brought Apollo into the world. A pretty reason for Christians ! ” 
 
 t Some years before this, Macaulay had found himself in Scotland on a Fast-day, 
 without the luck of being in the same town with Guthrie. “ A Kirk-fast. The place 
 
214 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIII. 
 
 I Stayed at home all the afternoon ; dined alone ; and stole out in the 
 dark for a walk. The view of the Old Town at night from my windows 
 is the finest thing in the world. They have taken to lighting their houses 
 with gas, and the effect is wonderful.” 
 
 “ Tuesday, N<ruc 7 nber 2 . — A great day. Very fine; a splendid specimen 
 of St. Martin’s little summer. I was pretty well prepared for the exhibi- 
 tion, and doubted only about my bodily strength. People were too con- 
 siderate to call this morning. At half past twelve came my escort, and 
 brought me to the Hall, which was as full as it could hold. Multitudes 
 had gone away, unable to find room. At one we went in. A vast gather- 
 ing. They received me with a prodigious uproar of kindness. Black took 
 the chair, on Craig’s motion, and said a very few words. Then I rose, 
 and spoke more than an hour ; always with the sympathy and applause of 
 the whole audience. I found that I could not go on longer ; so I contrived 
 to leave off at a good moment, and to escape from some dangerous topics. 
 Nothing could be more successful. There was immense acclamation, in 
 the midst of which I retired, exhausted, but relieved from a weight which 
 has been pressing on my heart during four months. I dined at Moncreiff’s 
 with a large party. Lord Ivory talked loud, with Cowan at his elbow, 
 about the disgrace of 1847, l^^e recovered character of the city. I felt 
 for Cowan, who has been very civil to me, and to whom I have not, and 
 never have had, any unkind feeling. As I was undressing, came the proofs 
 of the Scotsman’s report of my speech. I was too much exhausted to 
 correct them, and sent them back with a civil line to the editor, who is 
 both a good and a clever fellow.” 
 
 The new Parliament assembled early in November, and on the 3rd of 
 December Mr. Disraeli opened his Budget. “ It was well done,” writes 
 Macaulay, “both as to manner and language. The statement was lucid, 
 though much too long. I could have said the whole as clearlv, or more 
 clearly, in two hours ; and Disraeli was up five. The plan was nothing 
 but taking money out of the pockets of people in towns, and putting it in- 
 to the pockets of growers of malt. I greatly doubt whether he will be 
 :able to carry it ; but he has raised his reputation for practical ability.” 
 
 During the first six weeks of his renewed experience of the House of 
 Commons, Macaulay, as befitted a re-enlisted veteran, thought that the 
 standard of speaking was lower than of old. But he soon had reason to 
 
 had all the aspect of a Puritan Sunday. Every shop was shut, and every church open. I 
 heard the worst and longest sermon that I ever remember. Every sentence was repeated 
 three or four times over, and nothing in any sentence deserved to be said once. I with- 
 drew my attention, and read the Epistle to the Romans. I was much struck by the 
 eloquence and force of some passages, and made out the connection and argument of 
 some others which had formerly seemed to me unmeaning ; but there were others, again, 
 which I was still quiet unable to comprehend, I know few things finer than the end of 
 the First Chapter, and the ‘ Who shall separate us from the love of Christ ? ’ ” 
 
1852-56. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 215 
 
 change his mind. 1832 itself could boast few more animated and exciting 
 scenes than that which was enacted during the first three hours in the 
 morning of the 17th of December, 1852; when the Tory leader, more for- 
 midable than ever in the audacity of despair, turned to bay in defence of 
 his doomed Budget ; and when, at the moment that friends and foes alike 
 thought that the last word had been spoken on either side, Mr. Gladstone 
 bounded on to the floor amidst a storm of cheering and counter-cheering 
 such as the walls of Parliament have never re-echoed since, and plunged 
 straight into the heart of an oration which, in a single day, doubled his 
 influence in Parliament and his popularity in the country. “ At half past 
 ten,” says Macaulay, “ I went to the House, and stayed till near four ; 
 generally in the library, or the division lobby, reading. I heard a little of 
 Disraeli, who was clever, but inconclusive ; and most unhandsome. A 
 little of Gladstone, gravely and severely bitter. At last came the division. 
 There was an immense crowd ; a deafening cheer, when Hayter took the 
 right hand of the row of tellers ; and a still louder cheer when the num- 
 bers were read ; — 305 to 286. In the midst of the shouting I stole away, 
 got to my carriage, and reached home just at four, much exhausted.” 
 
 Then came the change of Government, with all that accompanies the 
 process of forming a Cabinet. The stir ; the gossip; the political clubs, 
 swarming with groups of talkers, who exchange morsels of news and of 
 criticism in eager whispers ; the Hansom cabs dashing about Belgravia 
 and Mayfair, or waiting for hours together at the door of the in-coming 
 Premier; the ever increasing discomfort of eminent statesmen who sit in 
 their studies, waiting for the possible arrival of a Treasury messenger; 
 the cosy dinners at the houses of the new Ministers, growing larger and 
 merrier daily, as another, and yet another. Right Honorable gentleman is 
 added to the number of the elect. “I doubt,” says Macaulay, “ whether 
 so many members of the two Houses have been in town on Christmas 
 day since 1783, sixty-nine years ago. Then, as now, there was a change 
 of Ministry in Christmas week. Indeed, there was a great debate in a 
 full House of Commons on the 22nd of December, and Lord North 
 made, on that occasion, a very celebrated speech. 
 
 “ December 20. — An eventful day. After breakfast, at the Athenaeum, 
 I met Senior, who told me that he had been at my chambers to beg me 
 to go to Lansdowne House ; — that Lord Lansdowne wished to see me 
 before half past twelve. I went. I found him and Lord John closeted 
 together. Lord John read us a letter which he had received from the 
 Queen ; very good, like all her letters that I have seen. She told him 
 that she saw hope of making a strong and durable Government, at once 
 conservative and reforming ; that she had asked Lord Aberdeen to form 
 such a Government ; that great exertions and sacrifices would be neces- 
 sary, and that she relied on the patriotism of Lord John not to refuse his 
 
2i6 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIII. 
 
 valuable aid. They asked me what I thought. I said that I could im- 
 prove the Queen’s letter neither in substance nor in language, and that 
 she had expressed my sentiments to a tittle. Then Lord John said that 
 of course he should try to help Lord Aberdeen ; — but how ? There were 
 two ways. He might take the lead of the Commons with the Foreign 
 Office, or he might refuse office, and give his support from the back 
 benches. I adjured him not to think of this last course, and I argued it 
 with him during a quarter of an hour with, I thought, a great flow of 
 thoughts and words. I was encouraged by Lord Lansdowne, who nodded, 
 smiled, and rubbed his hands at everything that I said. I reminded him 
 that the Duke of Wellington had taken the Foreign Office, after having 
 been at the Treasury, and I quoted his own pretty speech on the Duke. 
 ‘You said. Lord John, that we could not all win battles of Waterloo; 
 but that we might all imitate the old man’s patriotism, sense of duty, and 
 indifference to selfish interests and vanities when the public welfare was 
 concerned; and now is the time for you to make a sacrifice. Your past 
 services, and your name, give us a right to expect it.’ He went away 
 evidently much impressed by what had been said, and promising to con- 
 sult others. When he was gone. Lord Lansdowne told me that I had 
 come just as opportunely as Blucher did at Waterloo. He told me also 
 what affected me and struck me exceedingly, that, in the last resort, he 
 would himself, in spite of the danger to his health and the destruction of 
 his comfort, take the Treasury, if in no other way Lord John could be 
 induced to lead the Commons. But this he keeps wisely secret for the 
 present.” 
 
 When the question of the leadership in the Commons had once been 
 settled, Macaulay’s interest in the personal arrangements of Lord Aber- 
 deen’s Ministry did not go further than the sympathy, not unmixed with 
 amusement, with which he listened to the confidences of his old Whig col- 
 leagues. “I went to Brooks’s,” he says, “and heard not a little grumbling 
 about the large share of the spoil which has been allotted to the Peelites. 
 I myself think that we ought to have had either the Lord Lieutenant, or the 
 Secretary for Ireland. How glad I am that I so positively announced at 
 Edinburgh my resolution never again to hold office ! Otherwise people 
 might fancy that I was disappointed. I went home, but wrote nothing. 
 I never can work in these times of crisis.” 
 
 Macaulay did well to stand aside from official life. He never opened 
 his lips in Parliament without receiving a fresh proof that his authority 
 there could gain nothing, even from a seat in the Cabinet. Lord Hotham, 
 a much respected member of the Conservative party, had introduced 
 a measure whose chief object was to exclude the Master of the rolls from the 
 House of Commons. He had brought it unopposed through all its stages 
 but the last; and when, on the ist of June, 1853, he rose to move the Third 
 
1852-56. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 217 
 
 Reading, he was fully justified in regarding his success as a foregone conclu- 
 sion. But the ultimate fate of the bill was curiously at variance with the 
 anticipations which were entertained by its promoter, and, indeed, by all 
 other Members of Parliament who knew that such a bill was in existence. 
 The story was told at the time in the Leader newspaper, with a minute- 
 ness of circumstance which calls for some degree of abridgment. 
 
 “ It was pleasanter talking on Wednesday, when the position of Mr. Macaulay 
 in Great Britain was measured in a great way. On a Wednesday the House, and 
 the Committees, are sitting at once. The talk was not interesting ; — on a Wednes- 
 day it seldom is ; — and you were loitering along the Committee lobby up stairs, 
 wondering which of the rooms you should take next, when, as you paused uncer- 
 tain, you were bumped against by somebody. He begged your pardon, and rushed 
 on ; a Member ; a stout Member ; a man you couldn’t conceive in a run, and yet 
 he’s running like mad. You are still staring at him, when two more men trot past 
 you, one on each side, and they are Members too. The door close to you, marked 
 ‘ Members’ Entrance,’ is flung open, and five Members dash from it, and plunge 
 furiously down the lobby. More doors open ; more Members rush out ; Members 
 are tearing past you, from all points, but in one direction. Then wigs and gowns 
 appear. Their owners tell you, with happy faces, that their committees have ad- 
 journed ; and then come a third class, the gentlemen of the Press, hilarious. Why, 
 what’s the matter? Matter ? Macaulay is up. It was an announcement that one 
 had not heard for years ; and the passing of the word had emptied the committee 
 rooms, as, of old, it emptied clubs. 
 
 “ Y ou join the runners in a moment, and are in the gallery in time to see the 
 senators, who had start of you, perspiring into their places. It was true. He was 
 up, and in for a long speech. He was in a new place ; standing in the second row 
 above the Treasury Bench ; and looking and sounding all the better for the eleva- 
 tion, and the clearer atmosphere for an orator. The old voice, the old manner and the 
 old style ; — glorious speaking ! Well prepared, carefully elaborated, confessedly essay- 
 ish ; but spoken with perfect art, and consummate management ; — the grand conversa- 
 tion of a man of the world, confiding his learning, his recollections, and his logic, to 
 a party of gentlemen, and just raising his voice enough to be heard through the 
 room. Such it was while he was only opening his subject, and waiting for his au- 
 dience but, as the House filled, which it did with marvellous celerity, he got prouder 
 and more oratorical ; and then he poured out his speech, with rapidity increasing after 
 every sentence, till it became a torrent of the richest words, carrying his hearers 
 with him into enthusiasm, and yet not leaving them time to cheer. A torrent of 
 words ; — that is the only description of Macaulay’s style,when he was warmed into 
 speed. And such words ! Why, it wasn’t four in the afternoon ; lunch hardly 
 digested ; and the quiet, reserved English gentlemen were as wild with delight as 
 an Opera House, after Grisi, at ten. You doubt it? See the division ; and yet, 
 before Mr. Macaulay had spoken, you might have safely bet fifty to one that Lord 
 Hotham would have carried his bill. After that speech the bill was not thrown 
 out, but pitched out. One began to have a higher opinion of the House of Com- 
 mons, seeing, as one did, that, if the Macaulay class of minds would bid for leader- 
 
LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIII. 
 
 2 l8 
 
 ship, they would get it. But it was not all congratulation. Mr. Macaulay had 
 rushed through his oration of forty minutes with masterly vigor ; but the doubts 
 about his health, which arise when you met him in the street, — when you take ad- 
 vantage of his sphinx-like reverie. 
 
 Staring right on with calm, eternal eyes, 
 
 to study the sickly face, — would be confirmed by a close inspection on Wednesday. 
 
 The great orator was trembling when he sat down ; the excitement of a triumph 
 overcame him ; and he had scarcely the self-possession to acknowledge the eager 
 praises which were offered by the Ministers and others in the neighborhood.” 
 
 Lord Hotham, with the courage of a man who had been wounded at Sala- 
 manca, did his best, in his reply, to stem the cataract of arguments and 
 illustrations with which his unfortunate measure had been overwhelmed. 
 But all was in vain. There were at least two hundred men in the House 
 who had been brought there to hear Macaulay, and who knew nothing 
 about the question except what he had thought fit to tell them. The bill 
 was thrown out by 224 votes to 123. After the lapse of twenty years, the 
 Act which created the Supreme Court of Judicature at length gave effect 
 to Lord Hotham’s policy. That portion of the Act, which provided for 
 the exclusion of the Master of the Rolls from the House of Commons, was 
 carried through the Parliament of 1873 without discussion. “ Clauses 9 
 to II, inclusive, agreed to,” is the sole notice which Hansard takes of the 
 proceedings which reversed the decision of 1853. The enthusiastic adhe- 
 sion to Macaulay’s views of a House of Commons which had heard those 
 views stated by himself, as compared with the silent unanimity, in the op- 
 posite direction, of a House of Commons which he was not there to per- 
 suade, together constitute as high, and, at the same time, as unintentional 
 a compliment as ever was paid to the character and the genious of an orator. 
 
 Macaulay’s own account of the affair proves how short a time he gave 
 to the preparation of a speech, conspicuous, even among his speeches, for 
 wealth of material and perfection of finish. He spent exactly two morn- 
 ings’ work over the arrangement of what he intended to say on an occa- 
 sion which he regarded as critical, for personal, as well as for public, 
 reasons. On the evening preceding the debate, he writes : “ I thought of 
 Lord Hotham’s bill. Craig called, and sate for two hours. His account of 
 the state of things at Edinburgh is as good as possible. In the evening 
 I again thought of the bill. I was anxious, and apprehensive of complete 
 failure; and yet I must stand the hazard.” 
 
 “ Wednesday^ June i. — A day of painful anxiety, and great success. I 
 thought that I should fail, and though no failure can now destroy my rep- 
 utation, which rests on other than Parliamentary successes, it would have 
 mortified me deeply. I was vexed to find how much expectation had been 
 excited. I was sure that I should not speak well enough to satisfy that 
 expectation. However, down I went. First we were three hours on an 
 
1852-56. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 219 
 
 Irish criminal law bill, and then the Judges Exclusion Bill came on. 
 Drummond moved to put off the third reading for six months, and spoke 
 tersely and keenly, but did not anticipate anything at all important that 
 had occured to me. When he sate down, nobody rose. There was a cry 
 of ‘ Divide ! ’ Then I stood up. The House filled, and was as still as 
 death; — a severe trial to the nerves of a man returning, after an absence 
 of SIX years, to an arena where he had once made a great figure. I should 
 have been more discomposed if I had known that my dear Hannah and 
 Margaret were in the gallery. They had got tickets, but kept their inten- 
 tion strictly secret from me meaning, if I failed, not to let me know that 
 they had witnessed my failure. I spoke with great ease to myself ; great 
 applause; and, better than aplause, complete success. We beat Lord 
 Hotham by more than a hundred votes, and everybody ascribes the vic- 
 tory to me. I was warmly congratulated by all my friends and acquaint- 
 ances. In the midst of the first tumult of applause, a note was handed 
 to me from Margaret, to say that she and her mamma were above. I went 
 up to them, and they were very kind, and very happy. To have given 
 them pleasure is to me the best part of this triumph. To be sure, I am 
 glad to have stopped a most mischievous course of legislation, and to find 
 that, even for public conflict, my faculties are in full vigor and alertness. 
 Craig I hear, was in the gallery ; and his kind heart will be pleased with 
 my success. But I was knocked up.” 
 
 Just twenty years had passed since Macaulay won his spurs as a 
 Minister by the workmanlike style in which he conducted through Parlia- 
 ment the India Bill of 1833. ^^6 again come round for 
 
 the periodical revision of our relations with our Eastern dependency ; and 
 Sir Charles W'ood, as President of the Board of Control, introduced a 
 bill which met with Macaulay’s warmest approbation. He recognized 
 the courage and public spirit which prompted the Minister to call upon 
 Parliament to enact that a nomination for the Civil S'ervice of India 
 should thenceforward become the reward of industry and ability, instead 
 of being the price of political support, or the appanage of private interest 
 and family connection. He had himself imported into the Act of 1833 
 clauses which rearranged the system of appointment to the Civil Service 
 on a basis of Competition.* But the Directors of the East India Com- 
 
 * The passage in which Macaulay explained and defended these clauses is still worth 
 reading : “ It is said, I know, that examinations in Latin, in Greek, and in mathematics 
 are no tests of what men will prove to be in life. I am perfectly aware that they are not 
 infallible tests ; but that they are tests I confidently maintain. Look at every walk of 
 life, at this House, at the other House, at the Bar, at the Bench, at the Church, and see 
 whether it be not true that those who attain high distinction in the world were generally 
 men who were distinguished in their academic career. Indeed, Sir, this objection would 
 prove far too much even for those who use it. It would prove that there is no use at all 
 in Education. Education would be a mere useless torture, if at two or three-and-twenty, 
 
220 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIII. 
 
 pany had then been too strong for him. They were not going to resign 
 without a struggle the most valuable patronage which had existed in the 
 world since the days when the Roman senate sent proconsuls and proprae- 
 tors to Syria, Sicily, and Egypt. Backstairs influence in Leadenhall 
 Street contrived that the clauses embodying Macaulay’s plan lay dormant 
 in a pigeon hole at the Board of Control, until Backstairs influence in 
 Parliament at length found an opportunity to procure their repeal. 
 
 Jnfortunately, the India Bill of 1853 fell short of Mr. Bright’s expec- 
 tations. That statesman, in his generous enthusiasm for the welfare of 
 the Indian people, pronounced that the Ministerial scheme did little or 
 nothing to promote those salutary reforms which, in his opinion, our duty 
 as a nation imperatively demanded of us to effect without delay. The 
 discussion in the House of Commons on the First Reading damaged the 
 prospects of Sir Charles Wood’s measure. The effect of cold water, 
 when thrown by Mr. Bright, is never very bracing; and Macaulay was 
 seriously alarmed for the future of a bill, the positive advantages of 
 which, in his opinion, outweighed all defects and shortcomings whatso- 
 ever. “I read Wood’s speech,” he writes on the 6th of June; “and 
 thought the plan a great improvement on the present system. Some of 
 Bright’s objections are groundless, and others exaggerated ; but the vigor 
 of his speech will do harm. On the Second Reading I will try whether 
 I cannot deal with the Manchester champion.” 
 
 The Second Reading of the India Bill was moved on the 23rd of June. 
 Sir Charles Wood urged Macaulay to speak as early in the debate as 
 possible; but his health was already in a state which required that special 
 
 a man who had neglected his studies were exactly on a par with a man who had applied 
 himself to them, — exactly as likely to perform all the offices of public life with credit to 
 himself and with advantage to society. Whether the English system of Education be 
 good or bad is not now the question. Perhaps I may think that too much time is given 
 to the ancient languages and to the abstract sciences. But what then ? Whatever be the 
 languages, whatever be the sciences, which it is, in any age or country, the fashion to 
 teach, the persons who become the greatest proficients in those languages and those 
 sciences will generally be the flower of the youth ; the most acute, the most industrious, 
 the most ambitious of honorable distinctions. If the Ptolemaic system were taught at 
 Cambridge instead of the Newtonian, the senior wrangler would, nevertheless, be in 
 general a superior man to the wooden spoon. If, instead of learning Greek, we learned 
 Cherokee, the man who understood the Cherokee best, who made the most correct and 
 melodious Cherokee verses, who comprehended most accurately the effect of the Chero- 
 kee particles would generally be a superior man to him who was destitute of those accom- 
 plishments. If astrology were taught at our universities, the young man who cast nativities 
 best would generally turn out a superior man. If alchyiny were taught, the young man 
 who showed most activity in the pursuit of the philosopher’s stone would generally turn 
 out a superior man.” 
 
 When Macaulay was correcting this speech for the Press, in 1853, he says with par- 
 donable complacency : “ Every subject has a striking and interesting side to it, if people 
 could find it out.” 
 
1852-56. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 221 
 
 arrangements should be made in order to enable him to speak at all. The 
 oppression on his chest would not allow him to exert his voice for some 
 hours after eating ; and, on the other hand, with his tendency to faint- 
 ness, he could not go far into the evening without the support of food. 
 There was a general wish that he should take the first place on the 
 afternoon of the 24th ; but the Ministers were not sufficiently on the 
 alert; and, late at night on the 23rd, Mr. Joseph Hume moved the ad- 
 journment, and secured the precedence for himself. 
 
 When the morrow came, the House was crammed. Every one who 
 could venture to remonstrate with the Member for Montrose on so 
 delicate a subject entreated him not to stand between Macaulay and his 
 audience ; but Mr. Hume replied that his own chest was weak ; that his 
 health was as important as that of any other person ; that he knew just as 
 much about India as Mr. Macaulay ; and, in short, that speak he would. In 
 spite of his assurances that he would detain Honorable Gentlemen for no 
 “ great length of time,” the House, which had very little compassion for 
 an invalid who had been on his legs six times within the last ten days, 
 received him with signs of impatience so marked that Hansard has 
 thought it incumbent upon him to record them with greater minuteness 
 than he has bestowed upon the speech itself. Hume, and his heavers, 
 had different notions as to length of time ; and the clock was well on 
 towards eight before Macaulay rose. “It was the deadest time of the 
 evening,” he writes ; “ but the House was very well filled. I spoke for 
 an hour and a half, pretty well, — others say very well. I did not satisfy 
 myself ; but, on the whole, I succeeded better than I expected. I was 
 much exhausted, though I had by>no means exhausted my subject.” 
 
 As a consequence of his having been forced to bring his speech to an 
 abrupt and premature conclusion, Macaulay did not judge it worthy of a 
 place in the Collected Edition. He was too much an artist to consent to 
 rest his reputation upon unfinished work, and too much a man of the 
 world to print what he had never spoken. But it would have been well 
 if he had done some violence to his literary tastes, by publishing, as a 
 fragment, the most masterly vindication of the principle of Appointment 
 by Competition that ever was left unanswered. He began by a few 
 remarks about the relations between the Board of Control and the Court 
 of Directors, and then glided off, by a happy transition, from that portion 
 of the bill which related to the men who were to rule India from home, 
 to that portion which related to the men who were to rule it on the spot. 
 “The test,” he said, “by which I am inclined to judge of the present bill, 
 is the probable effect it will have upon the Civil Service in India. Is it 
 likely to raise, or is it likely to lower, the character and spirit of that dis- 
 tinguished body which furnishes India with its Judges and Collectors 
 The question for the House was to consider the process by which these 
 
222 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIII. 
 
 functional ies were henceforward to be selected. There had been talk of 
 giving the Governor-General an unlimited power of appointing whom he 
 chose. 
 
 “ There is something plausible in the proposition that you should allow him to 
 take able men wherever he finds them. But my firm opinion is, that the day on 
 which the Civil Service of India ceases to be a dose service will be the beginning of 
 an age of jobbing, — the most monstrous, the most extensive, and the most perilous 
 system of abuse in the distribution of patronage that we have ever witnessed. 
 Every Governor-General would take out with him, or would soon be followed by, a 
 crowd of nephews, first and second cousins, friends, sons of friends, and political 
 hangers on ; while every steamer arriving from the Red Sea would carry to India 
 some adventurer bearing with him testimonials from people of influence in England. 
 The Governor-General would have it in his power to distribute Residencies, Seats at 
 the Council Board, Seats at the Revenue Board, places of from 4,000/. to 6,000/. a 
 5'ear, upon men without the least acquaintance with the character or habits of the 
 natives, and with only such knowledge of the language as would enable them to call 
 for another bottle of pale ale, or desire their attendant to pull the punkah faster. In 
 what way could you put a check on such proceedings.? Would you, the House of 
 Commons, control them ? Have you been so successful in extirpating nepotism at 
 your own door, and in excluding all abuses from Whitehall and Somerset House 
 that you should fancy that you could establish purity in countries the situation of 
 which you do not know, and the names of which you cannot pronounce ? I believe 
 most fully that, instead of purity resulting from that arrangement to India, England 
 itself would soon be tainted ; and that before long, when a son or brother of some 
 active member of this House went out to Calcutta, carrying with him a letter of 
 recommendation from the Prime Minister to the Governor-General, that letter would 
 be really a Bill of Exchange, drawn on the revenues of India for value received in 
 Parliamentary support in this House. 
 
 “ We are not without experience on this point. We have only to look back to 
 those shameful and lamentable years which followed the first establishment of oui 
 power in Bengal. If you turn to any poet, satirist, or essayist of those times, you 
 may see in what manner that system of appointment operated. There was a tra- 
 dition in Calcutta that, during Lord Clive’s second administration, a man came out 
 with a strong letter of recommendation from one of the Ministers. Lord Clive said 
 in his peculiar way, ‘ Well, chap, how much do you want .? ’ Not being accustomed 
 to be spoken to so plainly, the man replied that he only hoped for some situation in 
 which his services might be useful. ‘ That is no answer, chap,’ said Lord Clive. 
 * How much do you want ? will a hundred thousand pounds do .? ’ * The person 
 replied, that he should be delighted if, by laborious service, he could obtain that 
 competence. Lord Clive at once wrote out an order for the sum, and told the appli- 
 cant to leave India by the ship he came in, and, once back in England to remain 
 
 * I have kept the amount of money as it stands in Hansard ; but it is more than proba- 
 ble that Macaulay said “ a hundred thousand rupees,” in accordance with the version which 
 in his day was current at Calcutta. A hundred thousand rupees was a favorite sum with 
 Lord Chve. When he was called upon for a sentiment after dinner, he used to give “ Alas 
 and a-lackaday ! ” (a lass, and a lac a day.) 
 
1852-56. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 223 
 
 there. I think that the story is very probable, and I also think that India ought to 
 be grateful for the course which Lord Clive pursued ; for though he pillaged the 
 people of Bengal to enrich this lucky adventurer, yet, if the man had received an 
 appointment, they would have been pillaged, and misgovprened as well. Against 
 evils like these there is one security, and, I believe, but one ; and that is, that the 
 Civil service should be kept close.” 
 
 Macaulay then referred to Sir Charles Wood’s proposal, that admis- 
 sions to the Civil Service of India should be distributed according to the 
 result of an open Competitive Examination. He expressed his satisfaction 
 at the support which that proposal had received from the present Earl of 
 Derby, and the surprise and disappointment which had been aroused in 
 his mind by the nature of Lord Ellenborough’s opposition to it. 
 
 “ If I understand the opinions imputed to that noble Lord, he thinks that the 
 proficiency of a young man in those pursuits which constitute a liberal education is 
 not only no indication that he is likely to make a figure in after life, but that it posi- 
 tively raises a presumption that he will be passed by those whom he overcame in 
 these early contests. I understand that the noble Lord holds that young men who 
 gain distinction in such pursuits are likely to turn out dullards, utterly unfit for an 
 active career ; and I am not sure that the noble Lord did not say that it would be 
 wiser to make boxing or cricket a test of fitness than a liberal education. It seems 
 to me that there never was a fact proved by a larger mass of evidence, or a more un- 
 varied experience than this ; — that men, who distinguish themselves in their youth 
 above their contemporaries, almost always, keep to the end of their lives the start 
 which they have gained. This experience is so vast that I should as soon expect to 
 hear any one question it, as to hear it denied that arsenic is poison, or that brandy is 
 intoxicating. Take down in any library the Cambridge Calender. There you have 
 the list of honors for a hundred years. Look at the list of wranglers and of junior 
 optimes ; and I will venture to say that, for one man who has in after life distin- 
 guished himself among the junior optimes, you will find twenty among the wrang- 
 lers. Take the Oxford Calendar, and compare the list of first-class men with an 
 equal number of men in the third class. Is not our history full of instances which 
 prove this fact ? Look at the Church, or the Bar. Look at Parliament, from the 
 time that Parliamentary government began in this country ; — from the days of Mon- 
 tague and St. John to those of Canning and Peel. Look to India. The ablest man 
 who ever governed India was Warren Hastings, and was he not in the first rank at 
 Westminster? The ablest civil servant I ever knew in India was Sir Charles Met- 
 calfe, and was he not of the first standing at Eton ? The most eminent member of 
 the aristocracy who ever governed India was Lord Wellesley. What was his Eton 
 reputation ? What was his Oxford reputation ? I must also mention, — I cannot 
 refrain from mentioning, — another noble and distinguished Governor-General. A 
 few days ago, while the memory of the speech to which I have alluded was still fresh 
 in my mind, I read in the Muscb Cantabrigienses a very eloquent and classical ode 
 by a young poet of seventeen, which the University of Cambridge rewarded with a 
 gold medal ; and with pleasure not altogether' unmingled with pain, I read at the 
 bottom of that composition the name of the Honorable Edward Law, of St. John’s 
 
224 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIII, 
 
 College. I saw with pleasure that the name of Lord Ellenborough may be added to 
 the long list of men who, in early youth, have, by success in academical studies, given 
 the augury of the part which they were afterwards to play in public life ; and, at the 
 same time, could not but feel some concern and surprise that a nobleman, so honor- 
 ably distinguished in his youth by attention to those studies, should, in his maturer 
 years, have descended to use language respecting them which would have better be- 
 come the lips of Ensign Northerton,* or the captain in Swift’s poem, who says; 
 
 A scholard when first from his college broke loose 
 Can hardly tell how to cry boh ! to a goose. 
 
 Your Noveds, and Bluturchs, and Omurs, and stuff, 
 
 By George, they don’t signify this pinch of snuff. 
 
 To give a young gentleman right education 
 The army’s the only good school in the nation. 
 
 My schoolmaster called me a dunce and a fool ; 
 
 . But at cuffs I was always the cock of the school. 
 
 If a recollection of his own early triumphs did not restrain the noble Earl from 
 using this language, 1 should thought that his filial piety would have had that effect 
 I should have thought that he would have remembered how splendid was the aca- 
 demical career of that great and strong-minded magistrate, the late Lord Ellen- 
 borough. * * * * It is no answer to say that you can point, — as it is desirable that 
 you should be able to point, — to two or three men of great powers who, having idled 
 when they were young, stung with remorse and generous shame have afterwards ex- 
 erted themselves to retrieve lost time. Such exceptions should be noted ; for they 
 seem intended to encourage those who, after having thrown away their youth from 
 levity or love of pleasure, may be inclined to throw their manhood after it from de- 
 spair ; but the general rule is, beyond all doubt, that the men who were first in the 
 competition of the schools have been first in the competition of the world.” 
 
 Macaulay clearly explained to the House how a system of Competitive 
 Examination, by an infallible and self-acting process, maintains, and even 
 raises, the standard' of excellence, and how a system of pass examination 
 tends surely and constantly to lower it. He supported his view by a 
 chain of reasoning which has often been employed since, but to which no 
 advocate of the old mode of appointment by private interest has even so 
 much as attempted to reply. f He said something against the superstition 
 
 * It was Ensign Northerton who, on a certain famous occasion, commented over the 
 mess-table upon Homer and Corderius in language far too strong for quotation, and with 
 an audacious misapplication of epithets as ludicrous as anything in Fielding. It cannot be 
 said that the young officer’s impertinence was unprovoked. Tom Jones’s observations 
 about the Greeks and Trojans would have been voted a gratuitous piece of pedantry even 
 in a college common-room. 
 
 t His argument ran thus : Under a system of Competition every man struggles to do 
 his best ! and the consequence is that, without any effort on the part of the examiner, the 
 standard keeps itself up. But the moment that you say to the examiner, not, “ Shall A 
 or B go to India ? ” but “ Here is A. Is he fit to go to India ? ” the question becomes 
 altogether a different one. The examiner’s compassion, his good nature, his unwilling- 
 ness to blast the prospects of a youne man. lead him to strain a point in order to let the 
 
1852-56. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 225 
 
 that proficiency in learning implies a want of energy and force of charac- 
 ter ; which, like all other superstitions, is cherished only by those who are 
 unwilling to observe facts, or unable to draw deductions. A man who 
 has forced his way to the front of English politics has afforded at least a 
 strong presumption that he can hold his own in practical affairs ; and 
 there has been a Cabinet, in which six out of the seven Ministers in the 
 House of Commons, who had been educated at the English Universities, 
 were either first class, or double first class, men. 
 
 Macaulay did not vouchsafe more than a passing allusion to the theory 
 that success in study is generally attended by physical weakness, and 
 dearth of courage and animal spirits. As if a good place in an examina- 
 tion list was any worse test of a sound constitution than the possession of 
 family or political interest! As if a young fellow, who can get the heart 
 out of a book, and concentrate his faculties over a paper of questions, must 
 needs be less able to sit a horse, or handle a bat, and, if need be, to lead 
 a forlorn hope or take charge of a famine-stricken district, than the son of 
 a person of fashion who has the ear of a Minister, or the nephew of an 
 influential constituent who owns twenty public-houses in a parliamentary 
 borough ! The Royal Engineers, the select of the select,— every one of 
 whom, before he obtains his commission, has run the gauntlet of an almost 
 endless series of intellectual contests, — for years together could turn out 
 the best football eleven in the kingdom, and within the last twelvemonth 
 gained a success at cricket absolutely unprecedented in the annals of the 
 game.* But special examples are not needed in order to confute the pre- 
 position that vigor of mind necessarily, or even frequently, goes with 
 feebleness of body. It is not in deference to such sophistry as this that 
 the fathers of Great Britain will ever surrender Vhat is now the acknowl- 
 edged birthright of their sons, — the privilege of doing their country’s 
 w'ork, and eating their country’s bread, if only, in a fair and open trial, 
 they can win for themselves the right to be placed on the roll of their 
 country’s servants. 
 
 Before he sate down, Macaulay had shown how little faith his oppo- 
 
 candidate in if he possibly can. That would be the case even if we suppose the dispensers 
 of patronage left merely to the operation of their own minds ; but you would have them 
 subjected to solicitations of a sort which it would be impossible to resist. The father 
 conics with tears in his eyes ; the mother writes the most pathetic and heart-breaking 
 letters. Very firm minds have often been shaken by appeals of that sort. But the system 
 of Competition allows nothing of the kind. The parent cannot come to the examiner 
 and say : “ 1 know very well that the other boy beat my son ; but please be good enough 
 to say that my son beat the other boy.” 
 
 ♦The match in question was played on the 20th and 21st of August, 1875, against an 
 eleven of i Zingari. Eight wickets of the Royal Engineers fell for an average of more 
 than ninety runs a wicket ; and this stupendous score was made against good bowling 
 and excellent fielding 
 
 VoL. II.— 15 
 
226 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIII. 
 
 nents themselves had in their own arguments. “ The noble Lord,” he 
 said, “ is of opinion that by encouraging natives to study the arts and 
 learning of Europe, we are preparing the way for the destruction of our 
 power in India. I am utterly at a loss to understand how, while contemn- 
 ing education when it is given to Europeans, he should regard it with 
 dread when it is given to natives. This training, we are told, makes a 
 European into a bookworm, a twaddler, a man unfit for the active duties 
 of life; but give the same education to the Hindoo, and it arms him with 
 such an accession of intellectual strength, that an established Govern- 
 ment, with an army of 250,000 men, backed by the whole military and 
 naval force of England, are to go down inevitably before its irresistible 
 power.” 
 
 Macaulay had done his duty by India; and it now remained for him 
 to show his gratitude to his constituents. The Established Church 
 in Edinburgh was mainly supported by the proceeds of a local impost 
 which went by the name of the Annuity Tax. This tax was paid as reluc- 
 tantly as Church rates were paid in England during the ten years that pre- 
 ceeded their abolition ; and, indeed, even more reluctantly ; for it was levied 
 on an inequitable and oppressive system. In the Session of 1853 a bill was 
 before Parliament which embodied a scheme for providing the stipends 
 of the Edinburgh clergy by a less unjust, or, at any rate, a less invidious 
 method. The bill was supported on grounds of expediency by the Lord 
 Provost and the majority of the Town Council ; but it was vigorously op- 
 posed by that party which objected on principle to making grants of pub- 
 lic money for religious purposes, of any amount, and under any disguise, 
 whatsoever. Macaulay, who, as might be expected, took the Whig view 
 of the matter, was very glad to have an opportunity of obliging his sup- 
 porters, and not sorry to say his say on the general question of Church 
 and State. On the i8th of July (during which month he was rusticating at 
 Tunbridge Wells), he records his intention of trying “to make a Lysias- 
 like speech on it.” It is not easy for a Scotch member who knows by 
 experience what an Annuity Tax debate is, to picture for himself the figure 
 which an old Greek orator would make in so grim an argument. There 
 is, indeed, very little in common between the controversies which engage 
 the British Parliament on a Wednesday afternoon, and the glowing topics 
 of war, and diplomacy, and high imperial state-craft, that were discussed 
 on a spring or autumn morning beneath the shadow of the Parthenon, and 
 in full view of Pentelicus and Hymettus.* 
 
 * It is probably that, by the epithet “Lysias-like,” Macaulay meant nothing more 
 than a short unpretentious speech, on which he sliould bestow less pains than usual. He 
 only began to think the subject over on the day preceding the debate; and on that day 
 he likewise wrote out a good part of his speech of the 28th of February, 1832, on the Rep- 
 resentation of the Tower Hamlets ; finished the Nigrinus of Lucian ; and began to read 
 
1852-56. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 227 
 
 “ July 19. — I was early at the railway station. On reaching town, I 
 drove instantly to the House of Commons, and found the Lord Provost, 
 Baillie Morrison, and Maitland, in the lobby, and had a short talk with 
 them. There is a ridiculous mistake in the votes. Some fool has given 
 an absurd notic^e about yachting, and my name has been put to it. At 
 twelve business began. The Lord Advocate opened the matter ; and then 
 Smith, the member for Stockport, made a strong speech against the 
 Edinburgh clergy, and proposed to read the bill again on that day three 
 months. Hadfield seconded him ; and I followed Hadfield, speaking 
 without any preparation as to language, but with perfect fluency, and with 
 considerable effect. I was heartily glad to have got it over. I have now 
 done the handsome thing by my constituents. The bitterness of the vol- 
 untaries surprised me. I have no particular love for establishments, or 
 for priests ; but I was irritated, and even disgusted by the violence with 
 which the bill was assailed.” 
 
 It was the old Maynooth difficulty under a new aspect. “ There is a 
 rumor,” said Mr. Hadfield, “that the Right Honorable and eloquent 
 Gentleman, the Member for Edinburgh, intends to give his support to the 
 bill ; and curious shall I be to hear a defence of it from such eloquent 
 lips. No man has more to lose in character, either in this House or the 
 country, than the Right Honorable Gentleman.” “ The Honorable 
 Member for Sheffield,” replied Macaulay, “ must expect to hear nothing 
 that deserves the name of eloquence from me.” In truth his speech was 
 framed with the view of convincing, rather than of dazzling, his audience ; 
 and the peroration (if so it might be called) contained nothing which could 
 arouse the disapprobation of even the most resolute voluntary. “ The 
 unpopularity of an Established Church is a very different thing from the 
 unpopularity of the preventive service, of the army, of the police. The 
 police, the army, and the coastguard may be unpopular from the nature 
 of the work which they have to do; but of the Church it may be said that 
 it is worse than useless if it is unpopular ; for it exists only to inspire 
 affection and respect ; and, if it inspires feelings of a character opposite 
 to respect and affection, it had better not exist at all. Most earnestly, 
 therefore, I implore the House not to support an institution, which is use- 
 less unless it is beloved, by means which can only cause it to be hated.” 
 
 These were the last words which Macaulay spoke in the House of 
 Commons. It would have been well for his comfort if, to use a favorite 
 quotation of his own, he had never again quitted for politics “ la maison 
 d’Aristippe, le jardin d’Epicure.” The first two debates in which he took 
 part after his return to Parliament proved to him by infallible indications 
 
 Plato’s Gorgias, which he pronounced to be “ my favorite dialogue, or nearly so, since 
 my college days.” 
 
228 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. xiir. 
 
 that he must renounce the career of an orator, unless he was prepared to 
 incur a risk which no man has a right to run. The biographer of another 
 famous student* has told us that “ when the brain is preoccupied, and the 
 energy is drawn off into books, calls for efforts of external attention 
 alarm and distress ; ” and to distress of that nature the state of his heart 
 rendered Macaulay peculiarly susceptible. He had at every period of his 
 career his full share in those tremors of anticipation from which no good 
 speaker is free, — the nature of which it is hard to analyze, and harder still 
 to reconcile with reason and experience ; and during his later years his 
 strength was quite unequal to the exertion and excitement of the speech 
 itself.t When he re-entered the House of Commons in 1852 he had no 
 intention of again aspiring to be a leader ; and he very soon was taught 
 that he must not even hope to count as an effective among the rank and 
 file of politicians. He was slow to learn so painful a lesson. As regard- 
 ed his attendance at Westminster, the indulgence of his constituents knew 
 no bounds ; but he himself had very little inclination to presume upon 
 that indulgence. In the matter of party division, Macaulay’s conscience 
 was still that of a Whig who had served through the Committee of the 
 great Reform Bill, and who had sat in the Parliament of Lord Melbourne, 
 when a vote was a vote, and the fate of the Ministry trembled daily in the 
 balance. But the very first late night in the winter session of 1852 show- 
 ed him that he was no longer the man of 1832 and 1841. On the 26th of 
 November he writes : “ We divided twice, and a very wearisome business 
 it was. I walked slowly home at two in the morning, and got to bed 
 much exhausted. A few such nights will make it necessary for me to go 
 to Clifton again.” After the defeat of Mr. Disraeli’s Budget, he says ; 
 “ I did not seem to be much the worse for yesterday’s exertion until I 
 went out; and then I found myself very weak, and felt as I used to do at 
 Clifton.” On an evening in January he writes : “ I was in pain and very 
 poorly. I went down to the House, and paired. On my return, just as I 
 was getting into bed, I received a note from Hayter to say that he had 
 paired me. I was very unwilling to go out at that hour, and afraid of the 
 night air; but I have a horror of the least suspicion of foul play; so I 
 dressed, and went again to the House ; settled the matter about the pairs ; 
 and came back at near twelve o’clock.” t 
 
 If it had been a question of duty, Macaulay would have cared little 
 
 * Isaac Casaubon. 
 
 t “ This speech,” he writes when the Indian debate of June, 1853, was in prospect, 
 “ which I must make, and which for many reasons cannot be good, troubles me.” And 
 again : “ I thought all day over my speech. I was painfully anxious ; although, as usual, 
 I recovered courage as the time drew near.” 
 
 t It would of course be highly irregular for one member to be paired against two of 
 his opponents. 
 
1852-56. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 229 
 
 whether or not his constitution could stand the strain of the House of 
 Commons. He was no niggard of health and ease. To lavish on his 
 work all that he had to give ; to toil on, against the advice of physicians, 
 and the still surer and more urgent warning of his own bodily sensations ; 
 to shorten, if need be, his life by a year, in order that his History might 
 be longer by a volume, — were sacrifices which he was ready to make, like 
 all men who value their time on earth for the sake of what they accom- 
 plish, and not of what they enjoy. But he could not conceal from himself, 
 and his friends would not suffer him to do so, that it was grievous waste, 
 while the reign of Anne still remained unwritten, for him to consume his 
 scanty stock of vigor in the tedious but exhausting routine of a political 
 existence ; waiting whole evenings for the vote, and the walking half a 
 mile at a foot’s pace round and round the crowded lobbies ; dining amidst 
 clamor and confusion, with a division of twenty minutes long between 
 two of the mouthfuls ; trudging home at three in the morning through the 
 slush of a February thaw and sitting behind Ministers in the centre of a 
 closely packed bench during the hottest weeks of a London summer. 
 
 It was, therefore, with good reason that Macaulay spared himself as a 
 Member of Parliament. He did not economize his energies in order to 
 squander them in any other quarter. The altered character of his private 
 correspondence henceforward indicates how carefully he husbanded his 
 powers, with the view of employing them exclusively upon his books. 
 When writing to publishers or editors, he never again allowed his pen to 
 revel in that picturesque amplitude of literary detail which rendered 
 many of his business letters to Mr. Napier as readable as so many pas- 
 sages from Saint Beuve. When writing to his relations, he never again 
 treated them to those spirited imitations of Richardson, in which he 
 described to his delighted sisters the routs, the dinner-parties, and the 
 debates of the London season of 1831. With Mr. Ellis he continued to 
 correspond as frequently as ever. His letters sometimes consisted in 
 little more than an invitation to dinner, embedded in a couple of racy 
 sentences; but for the most part they were not deficient in length. Flow- 
 ing, or rather meandering on, in the easy and almost desultory style of an 
 unrestrained familiarity, — like the talk of a bachelor, in dressing gown 
 and slippers, over his morning coffee, — they contain occasional passages 
 which may be read with pleasure by those who care to know Macaulay as 
 he showed himself to his chosen friend. 
 
 “ “Albany : Decembers, 1852. 
 
 “ Dear Empson — I meant dear Ellis ; but my mind is full of poor Empson. He 
 is dying. I expect every hour to hear that all is over. Poor fellow ! He was a 
 most kind, generous friend to me, and as unselfish and unenvious as yourself. 
 Longman has just been here ; sorry for Empson, and anxious about the Review.* I 
 
 * Mr. Empson had succeeded Mr. Napier as editor of the Edinburgh Review. 
 
230 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIII. 
 
 recommended Cornewall Lewis ; and I have little doubt that the offer will be made 
 to him,” 
 
 “ December 13, 1852. 
 
 “ Poor Empson died with admirable fortitude and cheerfulness, I find that his 
 wife was lately brought to bed. He spoke to her, to his friends, and to his other 
 children, with kindness, but with perfect firmness ; but, when the baby was put on 
 his bed, he burst into tears. Poor fellow ! For my part, I feel that I should die 
 best in the situation of Charles the First, or Lewis the Sixteenth, or Montrose ; — 
 I mean quite alone ; surrounded by enemies, and nobody that I cared for near me. 
 The parting is the dreadful thing. I do not wonder at Russell’s saying ‘ The bit- 
 terness of death is past.’ ” * 
 
 “ December 30, 1852. 
 
 “ I am glad that you like Beaumarchais. The result was that the Goezmans 
 were utterly ruined ; the husband forced to quit his office ; the wife driven to a 
 convent. Beaumarchais was blame by the Court. The effect of that blame was 
 very serious. It made a man legally infamous, I believe, and deprived him of many 
 civil rights. But the public feeling was so strongly with Beaumarchais that he pa- 
 raded his stigma as if it had been a mark of honor. He gave himself such airs 
 that somebody said to him, ‘ Monsieur, ce n’est pas assez que d’etre blame : il faut 
 etre modeste.’ Do you see the whole finesse of this untranslatable mot ^ What a 
 quantity of French words I have used I I suppose that the subject Frenchifies my 
 style. t 
 
 “ I am disengaged all next week. Fix some day for dining with me in honor 
 of 1853. I hope that it will be as happy a year as, in spite of some bodily suffering, 
 1852 has been to me. It is odd that, though time is stealing from me perceptibly 
 my vigor and my pleasures, I am growing happier and happier. As Milnes says, 
 It is shocking, it is scandalous, to enjoy life as I do.” 
 
 “Albany : July ix, 1853. 
 
 “ Read Haydon’s memoirs. Haydon was exactly the vulgar idea of a man of 
 genius. He had all the morbid peculiarities which are supposed by fools to belong 
 to intellectual superiority, — eccentricity, jealousy, caprice, infinite disdain for other 
 men ; and yet he was as poor, commonplace, a creature as any in the world. He 
 ]3ainted signs, and gave himself more airs than if he had painted the Cartoons, 
 % % % % Whether you struck him or stroked him, starved him or fed him, 
 
 * The famous scene between Lord Russell and his wife is described, briefly enough, by 
 Hume. “ With a tender and decent composure they took leave of each other on the, day 
 of his execution. ‘ The bitterness of death is now past,’ said he, when he turned from 
 her.” 
 
 t Mr. Goezman was the judge who threw Beaumarchais over after Madame Goezman 
 had accepted a present from him. The unsuccessful suitor got his present back, “and 
 those who had disappointed him probably thought that he would not, for the mere 
 gratification of his malevolence, make public a transaction which was discreditable to him- 
 self as well as to them. They knew little of him. He soon taught them to curse the day 
 in which they had dared to trifle with a man of so revengeful and turbulent a spirit, of 
 such dauntless effrontery, and of such eminent talents for controversy and satire.” 
 Macaulay’s account of the Goezman scandal, iii his essay on Bacon, makes it evident that 
 to write about Beaumarchais did not necessarily Frenchify his style. 
 
1852-56. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 231 
 
 he snapped at your hand in just the same way. He would beg you in piteous ac- 
 cents to buy an acre and a half of canvas that he had spoiled. Some good-natured 
 Lord asks the price. Haydon demands a hundred guineas. His Lordship gives 
 the money out of mere charity, and is rewarded by some such entry as this in 
 Haydon’s journal : ‘ A hundred guineas, and for such a work ! I expected that, 
 for very shame, he would have made it a thousand. But he is a mean, sordid 
 wretch.’ In the mean time the purchaser is looking out for the most retired spot 
 in his house to hide the huge daub which he has bought, for ten times its value, 
 out of mere compassion.” 
 
 “Tunbridge Wells: July 28, 1853. 
 
 “I hope that you are looking forward to our tour. On Tuesday the 23rd I 
 shall be at the Albany, and shall proceed to hire a courier, and to get passports. 
 My present notions of a route is Dover ; Ostend ; Cologne ; the Rhine to Stras- 
 burg ; the railway to Basle ; voiture or diligence to Berne, and from Berne to Lau- 
 sanne ; steamboat on the Lake of Geneva ; post to Lyons ; up the Sadne by steam 
 to Chalons ; railway to Paris ; three or four days at Paris, and back to London in 
 one day. But I shall readily agree to any modification which you may propose. 
 We could easily, I think, do all this, and be in town on the 1 8th of September with 
 a great stock of pleasant recollections, and images of fine objects, natural and arti- 
 ficial. I dare say you will despise me for saying that, on the whole, I expect more 
 pleasure from the Cathedrals of Cologne and Strasburg, than from the Bernese 
 Alps or the Lake of Geneva.” * 
 
 “Tunbridge Wells: August 16, 1853. 
 
 “ I am glad to find that we shall have a clear three weeks for our expedition. 
 I hope to secure Wolmar. At all events I shall have a good courier. I can afford 
 to indulge myself ; for Longman informs me that he shall have more than thirteen 
 hundred pounds to pay me on the ist of December, besides five hundred pounds in 
 the first week of January ; so that my whole income this year will be about three 
 thousand six hundred pounds, clear of property tax. Like Dogberry, I shall have 
 two gowns, and everything handsome about me. But alas ! like Dogberry I have 
 had losses. The East India Company is going to pay me off some thousands ; and 
 I must take four per cent, instead of five, and be thankful even to get four. How 
 justly has an ancient poet observed that 
 
 Crescentem sequitur cura pecuniam 1 
 
 * Like many other people, Macaulay was disappointed with the Cathedral of Cologne. 
 “My expectations,” he says in his journal, “had been raised too high, and perhaps 
 nothing could quite have satisfied me. It will never be equal to St. Ouen, and, I think, 
 hardly to York Minster.” Of the tower at Strasburg he writes : “ I thought it the most 
 exquisite morsel of Gothic architecture that I ever saw. The interior is grand, but has 
 faults. The side aisles are too broad for their height. Even the central aisle would be 
 better if it were narrower. The end of the vista is wretched. Nevertheless, it is a 
 Church of the first rank.” He thoroughly enjoyed his tour. “ So ends this journal of 
 my travels. Very pleasant travels they were. I had good health, generally good weather, 
 a good friend, and a good servant.” 
 
232 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIII. 
 
 However, as my Lord Smart says, ‘ Hang saving ! We’ll have a penn’orth of cheese.** 
 I say, ‘ Hang saving 1 We’ll have a jolly three weeks on the Continent,’ 
 
 “ I send you a treasure. I do believe that it is the autograph of the great Rob- 
 ert Montgomery. Pray let me have it again. I would not lose such a jewel on 
 any account. I have read it, as Mr. Montgomery desires, in the presence of God ; 
 and in the presence of God I pronounce it to be incomparable.! 
 
 “ Glorious news ! Robert Montgomery writes to Longman that there is a point at 
 which human patience must give way. Since the resignation and Christian 
 fortitude of a quarter of a century have made no impression on the hard heart and 
 darkened conscience of Mr. Macaulay, an injured poet must appeal to the laws of 
 his country, which will doubtless give him a redress the more signal because he has 
 been so slow to ask for it. I retain you. Consider yourself as fee’d. You shall 
 choose your own junior. I shall put nobody over your head in this cause. Will 
 he apply for a criminal information? Imagine Jack! J ‘I have thee graitest 
 respect for the very eminent poet who makes this application, and for the very 
 eminent critic against whom it is made. It must be very satisfactory to Mr. Mont- 
 gomery to have had an opportunity of denying on oath the charge that he writes 
 nonsense. But it is not the practice of this Court to grant criminal informations 
 against libels which have been a quarter of a century before the world. ’ I send 
 you some exquisite lines which I saw placarded on a wall the other day. The 
 versification and diction seem to me perfect. Byrom’s ‘ My time, oh ye Muses,’ is 
 not so complete in its kind,” § 
 
 Although it is wrong, I must frankly confess. 
 
 To judge of the merits of folks by their dress, 
 
 I cannot but think that an ill-looking hat 
 Is a very bad sign of a man, for all that ; 
 
 Especially now, when James Johnson is willing 
 To touch up our old ones in style for a shilling, 
 
 And gives them a gloss of so silky a hue 
 
 As makes them look newer than when they were new.” 
 
 • Lord Smart is one of the characters In Swift’s Polite Conversations ; a book 
 strangely neglected by a generation which ransacks the world from California to Calcutta 
 for something to laugh at. 
 
 t “ Robert Montgomery,” Macaulay says in his journal, “ has written to ask that he 
 may be taken out of the pillory. Never, with my consent. He is the silliest scribbler of 
 my time ; and that his book sells among a certain class is a reason for keeping my protest 
 on record. Besides, he has calumniated me in print ; and I will not seem to be bullied 
 into a concession,” 
 
 t It is to be feared that this imceremonious reference is to no less a personage than 
 Lord Campbell. 
 
 § Byrom’s lines, 
 
 “ My time, oh ye Muses, was happily spent 
 When Phoebe went with me wherever I went.’’ 
 were addressed to Joanna Bentley, the daughter of the great critic, and constitute the 
 603rd paper of the Spectator. The effect which this little poem produces upon the reader 
 may best be described by one of its prettiest couplets ; for it resembles 
 ” The fountain that wont to run sweetly along, 
 
 And dance to soft murmurs the pebbles among.” 
 
1852-56. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 233 
 
 In the spring of 1853 the expectation of Mrs. Beecher Stowe’s visit to 
 England created some apprehension in the minds of those eminent men 
 who were pretty sure to come within the circuit of her observation, and 
 quite sure to find themselves in her book of travels. 
 
 March 16, 1853. — To dinner, after a long interval, at Westbourne 
 Terrace. Gladstone, Lord Glenelg, and Goulburn. There was much 
 laughing about Mrs. Beecher Stowe, and what we were to give her. I 
 referred the ladies to Goldsmith’s poems for what I should give. Nobody 
 but Hannah understood me ; but some of them have since been thumbing 
 Goldsmith to make out the riddle.” * 
 
 A year later, Macaulay writes : A mighty foolish, impertinent book 
 this of Mrs. Stowe. She puts into my mouth a great deal of stuff that I 
 never uttered, particularly about Cathedrals. What blunders she makes ! 
 Robert Walpole for Horace Walpole. Shaftesbury, the author of the 
 Habeas Corpus Act, she confounds with Shaftesbury, the author of the 
 Characteristics. She cannot even see. Palmerston, whose eyes are sky 
 blue, she calls dark-eyed. I am glad that I met her so seldom, and sorry 
 that I met her at all.” The passage in Mrs. Stowe’s book, to which 
 Macaulay took exception, runs as follows : 
 
 “ Macaulay made some suggestive remarks on cathedrals generally. I said that 
 I thought that we so seldom know who were the architects that designed these great 
 buildings ; that they appeared to me the most sublime efforts of human genius. 
 
 “ He said that all the cathedrals of Europe were undoubtedly the result of one 
 or two minds ; that they rose into existence very nearly contemporaneously, and 
 were built by travelling companies of masons, under the direction of some syste- 
 matic organization. Perhaps you knew all this before, but I did not ; and so it 
 struck me as a glorious idea. And, if it is not the true account of the origin of cathe- 
 drals it certainly ought to be ; and, as our old grandmother used to say, ‘ Pm going 
 to believe it ! ’ ” t 
 
 Macaulay spent part of the summer of 1853 at Tunbridge Wells. On 
 the nth of July he writes to Mr. Ellis that he has taken a house “in a 
 delightful situation. The drawing-room is excellent ; the dining-room so 
 much overshadowed by trees and a veranda that it is dark even in the 
 brightest noon. The country looks lovely. The heath is close to the 
 door. I have a very pleasant room for you ; a large tub ; half a dozen of 
 the best sherry, and a dozen of good champagne ; and Plato and Lucian.” 
 Macaulay had known Tunbridge Wells in his boyhood ; and he now 
 
 * The riddle is not difificult ; and its solution is well worth the pleasing trouble of 
 turning over the few dozen pages of Goldsmith’s poems. 
 
 t Sunny Memories in Foreign Lands, Letter xix. It certainly would be difficult even 
 to manufacture a less adequate representation than this of Macaulay’s talk, either as re- 
 garded manner or matter. But Mrs. Beecher Stowe has unfortunately shown herself only 
 too ready to rush into print when she has lighted upon what she conceives to be curious 
 information about the private life of a great English author. 
 
234 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIII. 
 
 found a plentiful source of enjoyment in reviving his recollections of the 
 past. He was pleased at feeling once more beneath his feet the red 
 brick pavement of the Tantiles ; an ancient centre of social resort which, 
 with a strange disregard for literary and historical associations whereof 
 any town might well be proud, the inhabitants have lately re-christened 
 by the title of “ the Parade,” As if a name that satisfied Johnson and 
 Garrick, Richardson and Cibber, the Earl of Chatham and Mr. Speaker 
 Onslow, was not good enough to serve for us ! On Sundays Macaulay 
 went to church “ in the well remembered old building ; the same that 
 was erected in Charles the Second’s days, and which the Tantivies wished 
 to dedicate to St. Charles the Martyr.”* And on more than one week- 
 day he sate “ in Nash’s reading room, in the old corner looking out up in 
 the heath,” and was “ amused by finding among the books the Self-Tor- 
 mentor published in 1789, and Sally More’s novel, unseen since i8i6.” 
 But, during his stay at Tunbridge Wells, he was better engaged than 
 in renewing his acquaintance with the dogs-eared romances of a former 
 day which still lingered on the back shelves of the circulating library. “ I 
 have determined,” he writes to Mr. Ellis, “ to read through Plato again. 
 I began with the Phaedrus yesterday ; one of the most eloquent, ingen- 
 ious, fantastic, and delicately ironical of the dialogues. I doubt whether 
 there be any of Plato’s works which has left so miny traces in the litera- 
 ture and philosophy of Europe. And this is the more remarkable, be- 
 cause no ancient work is so thoroughly tainted with what, in modern times, 
 is regarded as the most odious of all kinds of immorality.”! Some days 
 later he says : “ T have read a good deal of Plato ; and the more I read, 
 the more I admire his style, and the less I admire his reasonings.” 
 
 Macaulay’s diary for the month of July, 1853, is full of Plato. “ I read 
 the Protagoras at dinner. The childish quibbling of Socrates provokes 
 me. It is odd that such trumpery fallacies should have imposed on such 
 
 * “ In 1665 a subscription had just been raised among those who frequented the wells 
 for building a church, which the Tories, who then domineered everywhere, insisted on 
 dedicating to St Charles the Martyr.” The Third Chapter of the History contains, 
 within the compass of a page, a pleasant little picture of the Tunbridge Wells of the 
 Restoration, as brightly colored as one of Tamer’s vignettes. 
 
 t “ I read Plato’s Phaedrus,” he says in his journal. “ Wonderful irony, eloquence, 
 ingenuity, fancy. But what a state of morals ! Wn it a distortion of the imagination ! ” 
 Macaulay felt a hearty detestation for the perverted sentiment (to use the mildest 
 phrase) which disfigures some of the most beautiful works of antiquity. Below the 12th 
 Idyl of Theocritus he writes, “ A fine poem on an odious subject ; ” and at the end of the 
 3rd Idyl, “A pretty little poem ; but it is inferior to Virgil’s 2nd Eclogue, in spite of the great 
 inferiority of Virgil’s subject.” When Demosthenes rebuked his brother ambassadors 
 by the words “ oii/c eIttov (1)(J mAog er yvvfj yap tcjv bvruv Eari KaTiXicfrov^’’ 
 Macaulay expresses in the margin his delight at meeting with a Greek who had the feel* 
 ings of a man, and who was not ashamed to avow them. “ I am glad,” he writes, “ tha‘ 
 Demosthenes had so good a taste.” 
 
1852-56. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 23s 
 
 powerful minds. Surely Protagoras reasoned in a better and more manly 
 strain. I am more and more convinced that the merit of Plato lies in his 
 talent for narrative and description, in his rhetoric, in his humor, and in 
 his exquisite Greek. The introductions to the Phaedrus, the Lysis, and 
 the Protagoras are all three first-rate ; the Protagoras best.”* And again ; 
 “ I came home, and finished the Apology, and looked through the Crito. 
 Fine they are ; but the stories of the Oracle, the divine monitor, and the 
 dream are absurd. I imagine that, with all his skill in Logomachy, Socrates 
 was a strange, fanciful, superstitious old fellow. Extreme credulity has often 
 gone with extreme logical subtlety. Witness some of the schoolmen. 
 Witness John Wesley. I do not much wonder at the violence of the 
 
 * For the sake of readers who do not know Greek, I venture to give a very Inadequate 
 translation, or rather paraphrase, of some portion of what Macaulay calls the “ Introduc- 
 tion ” to the Protagoras. Socrates, and his friend Hippocrates, had gone to call at the 
 house of Calllas, an Athenian person of quality, much given to letters. The purpose of 
 their visit was to have a look at three famous sophists from foreign parts, Protagoras of 
 Abdera, HIppIas of Ells, and Prodicus of Ceos. “ When we had arrived within the porch,’' 
 says Socrates, “ we stopped there to finish a discussion which had been started in the 
 course of our walk. And I suppose that the porter heard us talking away outside the 
 threshold ; which was unfortunate ; as he was already in a bad temper on account of the 
 number of sophists who were about the premises. So when we knocked, he opened the 
 door, and directly he saw us he cried, ‘More sophists! eh! Master’s not at home,’ and 
 slammed the door to. We, however, persevered, and beat the panels vigorously with both 
 hands : upon which he bawled through the keyhole, ‘ I tell you, master’s not at home.’ 
 
 ‘ But my good fellow,’ said I, ‘ we don’t want your master, and we do not happen to be 
 sophists. We have come to see Protagoras ; so just send in our names ! ’ And then he 
 grumbled a good deal, and let us in. 
 
 “ And, when we were inside, we found Calllas and his friends walking about in the 
 corridor, seven a-breast, with Protagoras in the middle. And behind them came a crowd 
 of his disciples, chiefly foreigners, whom the great man drags about in his train from city 
 to city, listening with all their ears to whatever was said. And what amused me most 
 was to observe how carefully these people avoided getting in the way of their master ; for, 
 whenever he and the rest of the vanguard came to the end and turned round, his followers 
 parted to right and left, let him pass through, and then wheeled about, and fell into the 
 rear with admirable regularity and discretion. 
 
 “ ‘ And after him I was aware,’ as Homer says, of Hippias sitting on a chair in the 
 opposite corridor ; and around him were seated on footstools Eryximachus, and Phaedrus, 
 and a group of citizens and strangers. And they appeared to be putting questions to Hip- 
 pias concerning natural science, and the celestial bodies ; and he, sitting on his chair, 
 answered them in return, and cleared up their several difficulties. And Prodicus was 
 occupying a closet, which Callias ordinarily uses as a still-room ; but, on this occasion, 
 what with his sophists and their disciples, he was so hard put to it for space, that he had 
 turned out all his stores, and made it into a bedchamber. So Prodicus was lying there, 
 rolled up in an immense number of bla.ikets and counterpanes ; while his hearers had 
 planted themselves on the neighboring beds. But, without going in, I could not catch 
 the subject of their conversation, though I was anxious to hear what was said (for I con- 
 sider Prodicus a wonderfully wise personage), because his voice was so deep that the closet 
 s«emed full of a sort of humming noise which rendered his words indistinguishable.” 
 
236 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIII. 
 
 hatred which Socrates had provoked. He had, evidently, a thorough 
 love for making men look small. There was a meek maliciousness about 
 him which gave wounds such as must have smarted long, and his com- 
 mand of temper was more provoking than noisy triumph and insolence 
 would have been.” Macaulay, who loved Plato for the sake of what he 
 called the “ setting of his dialogues, ranked them according to their liter- 
 ary beauty rather than their philosophical excellence. By the time that he 
 had got through the Hippias Major and the best part of the Republic, 
 and had nothing before him more entertaining than the Laws, the Ephe- 
 bus, and the Sophistes, he allowed his attention once more to be diverted 
 by modern books. “ I walked on the heath,” he says, “ in glorious 
 weather, and read the Mysteres de Paris. Sue has quite put poor Plato’s 
 nose out of joint.” 
 
 The month that Macaulay passed at Tunbridge Wells was not all play- 
 time. An event had occurred which gave him great and just annoyance, 
 and imposed upon him a considable amount of unexpected, though well in- 
 vested, labor. “ I have,” he writes, “ some work to do at Tunbridge Wells 
 not reckoned upon. A bookseller named Vizetelly, a sort of Curll,* 
 has advertised an edition of my speeches by Special License, and had 
 the brazen impudence to write to Lord Lansdowne, and to ask his Lordship 
 to accept the dedication.” In order to checkmate this proceeding Mr. 
 Longman advised Macaulay to prepare forthwith for publication a selection 
 of his best speeches ; and, under the stress of circumstances, he had no 
 choice but to give an instant, though reluctant, assent. “ I found,” he 
 says, “that people really wished to have the speeches. I therefore, much 
 against my will, determined to give a revised and corrected edition. The 
 preparing of this edition will occupy me two or three hours a day during 
 my holiday. Many of the speeches must be rewritten from memory, and 
 from the hints given by the reports. I think of adding two or three State 
 Papers, — my minute on the education of the natives of India, and my 
 minute on the Black Act.” t “ It will take some time,” he writes in *his 
 diary ; “ but I do not know that I should have given that time to my 
 History. I can retouch a speech as well in the country as in town. The 
 History is quite a different matter.” The day after his arrival at Tunbridge 
 
 * Macaulay, who took a warm interest in the great historical scandals and mysteries of 
 literature, had at his fingers’ ends all that was known in his o\vn day concerning the rela- 
 tions between Pope and the notorious publisher whom he accused of having printed his 
 correspondence ; — relations w'hich were of a far more dubious character than his own 
 with Mr. Vizetelly. He had a strong relish for Pope’s celebrated pasquinade ; which, 
 in its own rather questionable class, he held to be inferior only to Voltaire’s Diatribe of 
 Doctor Akakia. 
 
 t In January, 1853, he notes in his journal : “ I got from Westboume Terrace a copy 
 of my Education Minute of 1835, and was pleased to see it again after eighteen years. 
 It made a great revolution.” 
 
852-56. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 237 
 
 Wells he fell to work, transcribing every speech from beginning to end at 
 the rate of from nine to fifteen printed pages a day. On July the 14th he 
 says : “ Heaps of letters. I sent eight or nine answers, and then employed 
 myself upon the Rjform speech of July the 5th, 1831. I wrote vigorously 
 during several hours. I could not go out ; for the rain was falling by pail- 
 fuls, and the wind blowing a hurricane. I wrote with spirit, as it seemed 
 to me, and made a speech very like the real one in language, and in sub- 
 stance exactly the real one. I had half performed my task at five.” And 
 again on the 4th of August: “ I went on with the Somnauth speech, which 
 is among my very best. I cannot help expecting that the volume will 
 have some success. At all events it will, I really think, deserve success.” 
 It was not until Mr. Vizetelly’s publication appeared that his victim 
 knew the full extent of the injury which had so gratuitously been inflicted 
 upon him. How serious that injury was, and how peculiarly it was adapt- 
 ed to mortify and provoke Macaulay, may be seen in the preface to Mr. 
 Longman’s edition of the Speeches. Readers, who have a taste for 
 strong food, will find that the time which they may spend over that preface 
 will not be thrown away. “ The substance of what I said,” writes Mac- 
 aulay, “is perpetually misrepresented. The connection of the arguments 
 is altogether lost. Extravagant blunders are put into my mouth in almost 
 every page. An editor who was not grossly ignorant would have perceived 
 that no person to whom the House of Commons would listen could possi- 
 bly have been guilty of such blunders. An editor who had the smallest 
 regard for truth, or for the fame of the person whose speeches he had 
 undertaken to publish, would have had recourse to the various sources of 
 information which were readily accessible, and, by collating them, would 
 have produced a book which would at least have contained no absolute 
 nonsense. But I have unfortunately had an editor whose only object was 
 to make a few pounds, and who was willing to sacrifice to that object my 
 reputation and his own.” 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 “ I could fill a volume with instances of the injustice with which I have 
 been treated. But I will confine myself to a single speech, the speech 
 on the Dissenters’ Chapels Bill. I have selected that speefch, not because 
 Mr. Vizetelly’s version of that speech is worse than his version of thirty 
 or forty other .speeches, but because I have before me a report of that 
 speech which an honest and diligent editor would have thought it his first 
 duty to consult. The report of which I speak was published by the Uni- 
 tarian Dissenters, who were naturally desirous that there should be an 
 accurate record of what had passed in a debate deeply interesting to them,” 
 Macaulay, infusing into his style a certain grim humor which was not 
 usual with him, then proceeds to give a detailed list of absurdities which 
 had been deliberately presented to the world as having been spoken by 
 
238 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. xiir. 
 
 himself. “ These samples,” he goes on to say, “ will probably be found 
 sufficient. They all lie within the compass of seven or eight pages. It 
 will be observed that all the faults which I have pointed out are grave 
 faults of substance. Slighter faults of substance are numerous. As to 
 faults of syntax and of style, hardly one sentence in a hundred is free from 
 them.” 
 
 “ I cannot permit myself to be exhibited, in this ridiculous and de- 
 grading manner, for the profit of an unprincipled man. I therefore 
 unwillingly, and in mere self-defence, give this volume to the public. * * * 
 I have only, in conclusion, to beg that the readers of this preface will par- 
 don an egotism which a great wrong has made necessary, and which is 
 quite as disagreeable to myself as it can be to them.” 
 
 By the time that Macaulay’s speeches were in print he had already 
 ceased to be a politician. Absorbed in his History, he paid little attention 
 to what was passing at Westminster. Mr. Gladstone’s plan for the con- 
 solidation of the national debt was far less to him than Montague’s 
 scheme for restoring the standard of the coinage by calling in the clipped 
 silver ; and the abortive Triennial Bill of 1692 was far more to him than 
 the abortive Reform Bill of 1854. “ To-day,” he writes on the 13th of 
 
 February, -‘I^ord John is to bring in his new Reform Bill. I had meant 
 to go down, but did not venture. This east wind keeps me a prisoner. 
 How different a world from that which was convulsed by the first Reform 
 Bill ! How different a day this from the ist of March, 1831, an epoch in 
 my life as well as in that of the nation ! ” He now was so seldom at the 
 House of Commons that his presence there was something of an event. 
 Old members recollect how, if ever he was seen standing behind the 
 Speaker’s Chair, some friend or acquaintance would undertake the easy 
 task of drawing him into conversation; and very soon the space around 
 him was as crowded as during the five minutes which precede a stand- 
 and-fall division. He was very unwilling to continue to call himself a 
 Member of Parliament. “ The feeling that I ought not to be in the House 
 of Commons,” (so he wrote to Mr. Black,) “ preys upon my mind. I think 
 that I an. acting ungenerously and ungratefully to a constituent body which 
 has been most indulgent to me.” But the people of Edinburgh thought 
 otherwise ; and the earnest and repeated solicitations of his leading sup- 
 porters prevailed upon him to retain for a while the title of Represent- 
 ative of their city. 
 
 Although, as a statesman, his day was past and gone, Macaulay watch- 
 ed with profound emotion the course of his country’s fortunes during the 
 momentous years, 1854 and 1855. He was a patriot, if ever there was one.* 
 
 * August 7.%, 1859. — M. de C has thrown some scurrilous reflections on the nation- 
 
 al character of the English into one of his pamphlets. He ought not to have sent such a 
 work to me, I was a good deal perplexed, being unwilling to act incourteously to a per- 
 
181:2-56. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 239 
 
 It would be difficult to find anybody, whether great or small, who more 
 heartily and more permanently enjoyed the consciousness of being an 
 Englishman. “ When I am travelling on the continent,” he used to say, 
 “ I like to think that I am a citizen of no mean city.” He hailed every 
 sign which told that the fighting strength of the nation was undecayed, and 
 its spirit as high as ever. Long before affairs in the east of Europe had 
 assumed a threatening aspect, he had been unfeignedly anxious about the 
 condition of our armaments. In November, 1852, he writes : “Joe Hume 
 talked to me very earnestly about the necessity of an union of Liberals. 
 He said much about Ballot and the Franchise. I told him that I could 
 easily come to some compromise with him and his friends on these mat- 
 ters, but that there were other questions about which I feared that there 
 was an irreconcileable difference, particularly the vital question of na- 
 tional defence. He seemed quite confounded, and had absolutely nothing 
 to say. I am fully determined to make them eat their words on that 
 point, or to have no political connection with them.” 
 
 Macaulay followed the progress of the Russian war through all its 
 stages with intense but discriminating interest. He freely expressed his 
 disdain of the gossip which accused Prince Albert of having played an 
 under hand part in the negotiations that preceded the outbreak of hos- 
 tilities. In a letter dated the 17th January, 1854, he says; “ The yelping 
 against Prince Albert is a mere way of filling up the time till Parliament 
 meets. If he has the sense and fortitude to despise it, the whole will 
 blow over and be forgotten. I do not believe that he has done anything 
 unconstitutional ; and I am sure that those who are loudest in bawling 
 know neither what he has done nor what is unconstitutional.” And, on 
 the day that the Queen opened Parliament, he writes in his diary; “ I was 
 pleased to find that the Prince was not ill received. The late attacks on 
 him have been infamous and absurd to the last degree. Nothing so 
 shameful since the Warming Pan story. I am ashamed for my country. 
 However, the reaction has begun. ” 
 
 The Baltic fleet sailed early in March, under the command of Sir 
 Charley Napier, who, a few days before his departure, had been entertained 
 at a public banquet, which was attended by some leading members of the 
 Government. The speeches which were made upon this occasion cannot 
 even now be read without a sensation of shame. Their tone and substance 
 are best described by the epithet un-English. It has never been the habit 
 of British statesmen to declaim boastfully and passionately against a 
 foreign power with whom war has not been declared, and still less has it 
 
 son who to me personally has shown the most marked civility ; and, being, on the other 
 hand, unwilling to put up with affronts to my country in consideration of compliments 
 to myself. I wrote him a letter which, I am sure, ought not to offend him, but which, I 
 really think, must make him a little ashanied of himself. 
 
240 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIII. 
 
 been the way with British sailors to exult beforehand over a victory which 
 is yet to be won. Mr. Bright referred in the House of Commons to the 
 fact that Cabinet Ministers had been present at this unlucky festival. 
 “ I have read,” he said, “ the proceedings of that banquet with pain and 
 humiliation. The reckless levity displayed is, in my own opinion, discredit- 
 able to the grave and responsible statesmen of a civilized and Christian 
 nation.” There was very little trace either of statesmanship or Christianity 
 in Lord Palmerston’s reply. He began by alluding to Mr. Bright as “ the 
 honorable and reverend gentleman.” He was called to order for this 
 gross violation of the ordinary courtesies of debate ; but, instead of taking 
 advantage of the interruption to recover his temper and self-respect, he 
 continued his remarks in a strain which, though it did not justify the 
 interference of the Speaker, was most repugnant to the taste and feeling 
 of his brother Members. For the first and last time in his life Macaulay 
 had nothing to say in defence of his hero. “ I went to the House on 
 Monday,” he writes ; “ but, for any pleasure I got, I might as well have 
 stayed away. I heard Bright say everything that I thought ; and I heard 
 Palmerston and Graham expose themselves lamentably. Palmerston’s 
 want of temper, judgment, and good breeding was almost incredible. He 
 did himself more harm in three minutes than all his enemies and detract- 
 ors throughout the world have been able to do him in twenty years. I 
 came home quite dispirited.” 
 
 Though Macaulay was not inclined by premature jubilation to discount 
 triumphs which were still in the future, no one was more ready to feel an 
 Englishman’s pride as soon as our army should give him something to be 
 proud of. He had not long to wait. “ Glorious news ! ” he says, on the 
 4th of October, 1854. “ Too glorious, I am afraid, to be all true. How- 
 
 ever, there is room for a large abatement. One effect, and a most impor- 
 tant one, of these successes, is that the war, which has not yet been 
 national in France, will become so; and that, consequently, neither the 
 death of the Emperor, nor any revolution which may follow, will easily 
 dissolve the present alliance.” Throughout the winter months his journal 
 show's how constantly the dangers and sufferings of our soldiers were 
 present to his mind, and with what heartfelt admiration he regarded each 
 successive proof of the discipline, the endurance, and the intrepidity 
 which those dangers and sufferings so cruelly but so effectually tested. 
 “I am anxious,” he writes on the 13th of November, “about our brave 
 fellows in the Crimea, but proud for the country, and glad to think that 
 the national spirit is so high and unconquerable. Invasion is a bugbear 
 indeed while we retain our pluck.” Macaulay viewed with great and 
 increasing satisfaction the eagerness of his fellow-countrymen to make all 
 the sacrifices which the war demanded. He was fond of reminding him- 
 self and others that the prosperity and the independence of England had 
 
1852-56. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 241 
 
 not been bought for nothing, and could be retained only so long as we 
 were willing to pay the price. A full and clear expression of this senti- 
 ment was evoked from him by the tidings of the great battle that tried, 
 more severely than it had been tried since Albuera, that British courage, 
 which, to use his own words, “ is never so sedate and stubborn as towards 
 the close of a doubtful and murderous day.'’ These were the terms, in 
 which he wrote, with the gazette containing the account of Inkerman on 
 the table before him : “The interest excited by the war is as great as that 
 which in my boyish days used to be excited by the Duke of Wellington’s 
 operations. I am well pleased on the whole. It is impossible not to 
 regret so many brave men, and to feel for the distress of so many families. 
 But it is a great thing that, after the longest peace ever known, our army 
 should be in a higher state of efficiency than at the end of the last war. 
 The spirit of the soldiers, and of the whole country, is a complete guarantee 
 against those dangers with which we were threatened two or three years 
 ago. Nobody will be in a hurry to invade England for a long time to 
 come.” * 
 
 The occasion had now arrived for carrying into effect that part of the 
 India Act of 1853 which related to the appointment of Civil Servants by 
 open competition. Sir Charles Wood entrusted the duty of making the 
 necessary arrangements to a Committee of distinguished men with Macau- 
 lay as Chairman.t “ I am to draw the Report,” he writes on the ist 
 July, 1854. “ I must and will finish it in a week.” He completed his 
 
 rough draft on the 7th of July ; wrote it out fair on Saturday the 8th; and 
 read it to his brother-in-law on the Sunday. “Trevelyan,” he says, 
 
 * Macaulay says, In a letter dated August, 1857 : “ Lord Panmure has asked me to 
 write an inscription for a column which is building at Scutari, in honor of our soldiers 
 and sailors who died in the East during the last war. It is no easy task, as you may guess 
 Give me your opinion of what I have written. It is, as you will see, concise and austerely 
 simple. There is not a single adjective. So far I believe that I am right. But whether 
 the execution be in other respects good is a matter about which I feel great misgivings. 
 
 TO THE MEMORY 
 
 OF THE BRITISH SOLDIERS AND SAILORS 
 WHO, 
 
 DURING THE YEARS 1854 AND 1855, 
 
 DIED FAR FROM THEIR COUNTRY 
 IN DEFENCE OF THE LIBERTIES OF EUROPE, 
 
 THIS MONUMENT IS ERECTED 
 BY THE GRATITUDE 
 OF QUEEN VICTORIA AND HER PEOPLE. 
 
 1857.” 
 
 t Macaulay’s colleagues were Lord Ashburton ; Dr. Melvill, the Principal of Hailey- 
 bury College ; Dr. Jowett ; and Sir John Shaw Lefevre. 
 
 VoL. II.— 16 
 
242 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIII, 
 
 “was much pleased;” and no wonder ; for Macaulay had so framed his 
 plan as to bring out all the strong points of the competitive system, and 
 avoid its perils. He provided a simple but effective machinery for 
 admitting into the service men of energy and ability, whose faculties were 
 keen and whose acquirements were solid, and for excluding those who 
 rested their hopes of success upon masses of half-digested heterogeneous 
 learning. 
 
 “ Nothing,”he wrote, “can be further from our wish than to hold out premiums 
 for knowledge of wide surface and of small depth. We are of opinion that a candi- 
 date ought to be allowed no credit at all for taking up a subject in which he is a mere 
 smatterer. Profound and accurate acquaintance with a single language ought to tell 
 more than bad translations and themes in six languages. A single paper which 
 shows that the writer thoroughly understands the principles of the differential cal- 
 culus ought to tell more than twenty superficial and incorrect answers to ques- 
 tions about chemistry, botany, mineralogy, metaphysics, logic, and English his- 
 tory* ^ ^ ^ 
 
 “ The marks ought, we conceive, to be distributed among the subjects of exami- 
 nation in such a manner that no part of the kingdom, and no class of schools, shall 
 exclusively furnish servants to the East India Company. It would be grossly unjust, 
 for example, to the great academical institutions of England, not to allow skill in 
 Greek and Latin versification to have a considerable share in determining the issue 
 of the competition. Skill in Greek and Latin versification has indeed no direct ten- 
 dency to form a judge, a financier, or a diplomatist. But the youth who does best 
 what all the ablest and most ambitious youths about him are trying to do well will 
 generally prove a superior man ; nor can we doubt that an accomplishment by which 
 Fox and Canning, Grenville and Wellesley, Mansfield and Tenterden first distin- 
 guished themselves above their fellows, indicates powers of mind, which, properly 
 trained and directed, may do great service to the State. On the other hand, we must 
 remember that in the north of this island the art of metrical composition in the ancient 
 languages is very little cultivated, and that men so eminent as Dugald Stewart 
 Homer, Jeffrey, and Mackintosh would probably have been quite unable to write a 
 good copy of Latin alcaies, or to translate ten lines of Shakespeare into Greek Iam- 
 bics. We wish to see such a system of examination established as shall not exclude 
 from the service of the East India Company either a Mackintosh or a Tcjnterden, 
 either a Canning or a Homer. We have, with an anxious desire to deal fairly by 
 all -parts of the United Kingdom, and by all places of liberal education, framed the 
 following scale, which we venture to submit to your consideration.” 
 
 There follows hereupon a complete list of subjects of examination, 
 with the proportion of marks that was to be allotted to each. The Indian 
 Government adopted this list in its integrity ; and the same very practical 
 compliment was paid to all the recommendations of the Committee, 
 whether they related to the age of the candidates, the abolition of the 
 Company’s college at Haileybury, or to the training of the probationers 
 dujring the two years which were to intervene between their first selection 
 
1852-56. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 243 
 
 and their final departure for India. One other passage in the Report 
 deserves quotation, as testifying to the confidence with which Macaulay 
 anticipated that in nicety of honor and uprightness of character the young 
 Civilians of the future would be inferior to no class of public servants in 
 the world. 
 
 “We hope and believe, also, that it will very rarely be necessary to expel any 
 probationer from the service on account of grossly profligate habits, or of any action 
 unbecoming a man of honor. The probationers will be young men superior to their 
 fellows in science and literature ; and it is not among young men superior to their 
 fellows in science and literature that scandalous immorality is generally found to 
 prevail. It is notoriously not once in twenty years that a student who has attained 
 high academical distinction is expelled from Oxford or Cambridge. Indeed, early 
 superiority in science and literature generally indicates the existence of some quali- 
 ties which are securities against vice, — ^industry, self-denial, a taste for pleasures not 
 sensual, a laudable desire of honorable distinction, a still more laudable desire to 
 obtain the approbation of friends and relations. We therefore believe that the 
 intellectual test which is about to be established will be found in practice to be also 
 the best moral test that can be desired.” 
 
 Macaulay had hopes, but not very strong hopes, that the example of 
 the Indian Government would be followed in the offices at Whitehall. 
 “There is good public news,” he w’rites in January, 1854. “The plan 
 for appointing public servants by competition is to be adopted on a large 
 scale, and mentioned in the Queen’s Speech.” “ I had a long talk,” he 
 says again, “ about the projected examination with Trevelyan. I am 
 afraid that he will pay the examiners too high, and turn the whole thing 
 into a job.* I am anxious on this head. If the thing succeeds it will be 
 of immense benefit to the country.” Civil Service reform had Mr. Glad- 
 stone for a champion in the Cabinet ; and the introduction of open com- 
 petition had been earnestly recommended in a Report drawn up by Sir 
 Charles Trevelyan and Sir Stafford Northcote, who had been associated 
 together in a comprehensive and searching revision of our public depart- 
 ments. But it soon became evident that very few of our leading politi- 
 cians had their hearts in the matter. It was one thing for them to deprive 
 the East India Directors of their patronage, and quite another to surrender 
 their own. The outcry of the dispensers and expectants of public employ- 
 ment was loud and fierce, and the advocates of the new system were forced 
 to admit that its hour had not come. “ I went to Brooks’s,” says Macau- 
 lay, on the 4th of March, “ and found everybody open-mouthed, I am 
 
 ♦ Any such danger was eventually obviated by the appointment of Sir Edward Ryan 
 to the post of Chief Civil Service Commissioner. That truly eminent man, who to the 
 authority and experience of age united the vigor and enthusiasm which too seldom sur- 
 vive the prime of life, nursed the infant system through its troubled childhood, until from 
 a project and an experiment it had grown into an institution. 
 
244 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIII. 
 
 sorry to say, against Trevelyan’s plans about the Civil Service. He has 
 been too sanguine. The pear is not ripe. I always thought so. The 
 time will come, but it is not come yet. I am afraid that he will be much 
 mortified.” 
 
 He was mortified, and had good cause to be alarmed, for his career 
 was seriously threatened by the hostility of some of the most powerful 
 men of the day. But he did not lose his courage or composure. Accus- 
 tomed, according to the frequent fate of permanent officials, to be pushed 
 to the front in the moment of jeopardy, and thrust into the rear in the 
 moment of triumph, he had weathered more formidable storms than that 
 which was now growling and blustering through all the clubs and board 
 rooms between Piccadilly and Parliament Street. Macaulay, who lived 
 sufficiently behind the scenes to discern the full gravity of the situation, 
 was extremely uneasy on his brother-in-law’s account. “ The news is 
 worse,” he writes, “ about Trevelyan. There is a set made at him by men 
 who will not scruple to do their utmost. But he will get through his 
 difficulties, which he feels less than I should in his place ; less, indeed, 
 than I feel them for him. I was nervous about him, and out of spirits 
 the whole evening.” During the next few weeks Macaulay was never so 
 depressed as when he had been spending part of his afternoon at Brooks’s. 
 Such were the views which then prevailed at the head-quarters of tl)e great 
 party that has long ere this identified itself with the maintenance of a sys- 
 tem, to which, more than to any other cause, we owe it that our political 
 morality grows purer as our political institutions become more popular ; 
 — a system which the most far-seeing of American statesmen already re- 
 gard with a generous envy, knowing, as they have only too good reason to 
 know, that it is the one and only specific against the jobbery and corruption 
 which are fast undermining the efficiency of their administration, and de- 
 basing their standard of national virtue.* 
 
 When Macaulay had finished the business of preparing his Speeches 
 for the press, he returned to his History, and continued to work upon it 
 almost without intermission for two years, from November, 1853, onward. 
 His labors, during this period of his life, were always too severe for his 
 strength, and sometimes even for his happiness. His felt the strain 
 most painfully during the early months of 1854. 
 
 * The whole question of patronage as bearing upon the ofScial system of the United 
 States, is most ably and frankly discussed in the North American Review of January, 
 1871. The author of the article, speaking of the proposal to introduce Competition into 
 his own country, says distinctly : “ There should be no attempt to disguise the fact that it 
 is the purpose of this theory of administration to prevent the public service from being 
 used in any manner or to any extent as a means of party success.” It is to be hoped that 
 this is a case in which, instead of Americanizing our own institutions, we shall induce our 
 transatlantic cousins to Anglicize theirs. 
 
1852-56. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 245 
 
 ** Sunday y January i, 1854. — This will, I hope, be a year of industry. 
 I began pretty well. Chapter XIV. will require a good deal of work. I 
 toiled on it some hours, and now and then felt dispirited. But we must 
 be resolute, and work doggedly, as Johnson said. I read some of his 
 Life with great delight, and then meditated a new arrangement of my 
 History. Arrangement and transition are arts which I value much, but 
 which I do not flatter myself that I have attained. I amused myself with 
 making out a Laponian New Testament by the help of a Norwegian 
 Dictionary. With time I could learn a good deal of the two languages in 
 this way.” 
 
 “ February 6. — I worked hard at altering the arrangement of the first 
 three chapters of the third volume. What labor it is to make a tolerable 
 book, and how little readers know how much trouble the ordering of the 
 parts has cost the writer ! I have now finished reading again most of 
 Burke’s works. Admirable ! The greatest man since Milton.” 
 
 “ Thursday, February 16. — I stayed at home and did nothing. An un- 
 profitable day. I tried to write, but had a feeling of impotence and des- 
 pondency to which I am subject, but which I have not had now for some 
 
 time. I sent 20/. to , and I thought that these higli prices 
 
 might pinch them. Then I sat down doggedly to work and gof on very 
 tolerably ; — the state of England at the time of William’s return from the 
 Continent in 1692. I read Monk Lewis’s life. A very odd fellow ! One 
 of the best of men, if he had not had a trick of writing profane and inde- 
 cent books. Excellent son ; e.xcellent master ; and in the most trying cir- 
 cumstances ; for he was the son of a vile brace of parents, and the master 
 of a stupid, ungrateful gang of negroes.” 
 
 “ March 3. — I stayed at home all day. In the morning there was a fog 
 which affected my breath, and made me cough much. I was sad and des- 
 ponding all day. I thought that my book would be a failure ; that I had 
 written myself out ; that my reputation would go down in my lifetime ; and 
 that I should be left, like Hayley and other such men, among people who 
 would wonder why I had ever been thought much of. These clouds will 
 pass away, no doubt.” 
 
 They passed away when the warm weather came, and did not return 
 with the returning winter. Macaulay’s health was confirmed by a fine 
 summer, spent under circumstances which exactly suited his notions of en- 
 joyment; and, fora good while to come, he was a stronger man than he 
 had been since his first great illness. His brother-in-law had taken a 
 house in the village of Esher ; and Macaulay accordingly settled himself, 
 with infinite content, exactly in the middle of the only ugly square mile of 
 country which can be found in that delightful neighborhood. “I am 
 pretty well pleased,” he says, “ with my house. The cabin, for a cabin it is, 
 is convenient.” “ Here I am,” he writes to Mr. Ellis, “ in a pleasant small 
 
246 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIII. 
 
 dwelling, surrounded by geraniums and roses ; the house is so clean that 
 you might eat off the floor. The only complaint I have to make is that 
 the view from my front windows is blocked by a railway embankment. 
 The Trevelyans have a very pleasant place only a mile and a half off.” 
 Macaulay’s cottage, which stood in Ditton Marsh, by the side of the high 
 road from Kingston to Esher, was called Greenwood Lodge. An occa- 
 sional extract from his journal will show how smoothly ran the current of 
 his days. 
 
 July 23, 1854 — Tremendous heat. I put the first volume of Wilber- 
 force’s Life into my pocket, went by ferry across the Thames to Hampton 
 Court, and lounged under the shade of the palace gardens and of Bushey 
 Park during some hours. A hot walk back. I don’t know that I ever 
 felt it hotter.” 
 
 “ August 12 . — I wrote to Longman. I think that I must take till October 
 next.* By that time the book may not be what I wish, but as good as I 
 can hope to make it. I read Dickens’ Hard Times. One excessively touch- 
 ing, heart-breaking passage and the rest sullen socialism. The evils 
 which he attacks he caricatures grossly, and with little humor. Anoth- 
 er book of Pliny’s letters. Read Northanger Abbey ; worth all Dickens 
 and Pliny together. Yet it was the work of a girl. She was certainly not 
 more than twenty-six. Wonderful creature ! Finished Pliny. Capital 
 fellow, Trajan, and deserving of a better Panegyric.” 
 
 “ September 22. — I am glad that our troops have landed in the Cherso- 
 nese. As I walked back from Esher a shower came on. Afraid for my 
 chest, which, at best, is in no very good state, I turned into a small ale- 
 house, and called for a glass of ginger-beer. I found there a party of 
 hop-pickers, come back from the neighborhood of Farnham. They had 
 had but a bad season, and were returning, nearly walked off their legs. I 
 liked their looks, and thought their English remarkably good for their 
 rank of life. It was in truth the Surrey English, the English of the sub- 
 urbs of London, which is to the Somersetshire and Yorkshire what Cas- 
 tilian is to Andalusian, or Tuscan to Neapolitan. The poor people had a 
 foaming pot before them ; but as soon as they heard the price, they rose 
 and were going to leave it untasted. They could not, they said, afford so 
 much. It was but fourpence-halfpenny. I laid the money down ; and 
 their delight and gratitude quite affected me. Two more of the party soon 
 arrived. I ordered another pot, and when the rain was over left them, 
 followed by more blessings than, I believe, were ever purchased for nine- 
 pence. To be sure the boon, though very small, was seasonable ; and I 
 did my best to play the courteous host.” 
 
 During his residence in Surrey Macaulay kept Mr. Ellis regularly in- 
 
 * He underrated by full three-quarters of a year the duration of the work which was 
 still before him. 
 
LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 1852-56. 
 
 247 
 
 informed of all that a friend would wish to know ; but his letters contain 
 little of general interest. On the nth of July he writes : 
 
 “ I have been working four or five days at my Report on the Indian Civil Service, 
 and have at last finished it. It is much longer than I anticipated that it would be, 
 and has given me great trouble. To-morrow I go vigorously to work on my History. 
 I have been so busy here with my Report that I have read nothing but Comedies of 
 Goldoni and novels of Eugene Sue. 
 
 “ I walked yesterday to Hampton Court along the Middlesex bank of the Thames, 
 and lounged among the avenues and flower-beds about an hour. I wonder that no 
 poet has thought of writing a descriptive poem on the Thames. Particular spots 
 have been celebrated ; but surely there is no finer subject of the sort than the whole 
 course of the river from Oxford downward ; — the noble University ; Clifden ; Wind- 
 sor; Chertsey, the retreat of Cowley; St. Anne’s Hill, the retreat of Fox; Hamp- 
 ton Court with all the recollections of Wolsey, Cromwell, William and Mary, Belin- 
 da’s hair, the Cartoons, the Beauties; then Strawberry Hill; then Twickenham and 
 Pope’s grotto ; then Richmond ; and so on to the great City, the forest of masts, 
 the Tower, Greenwich Hospital, Tilbury Fort, and the Armada. Is there any river 
 in the world which, in so short a space, affords such subjects for poetry? Not the 
 Tiber, I am sure, nor the Seine.” 
 
 From the summer of 1854, until his third and fourth volumes were 
 published, the composition of his History was to Macaulay a source of 
 almost unmingled interest and delight ; — “ a work which never presses, 
 and never ceases,” as he called it in a letter to his sister ; “ a work which 
 is the business and the pleasure of my life,” as he described it in the 
 preface to his Speeches. By September, 1854, he was so far forward that 
 he thought himself justified in saying, after a visit to the Windsor collec- 
 tion : “ I was told that there was scarcely anything of earlier date than 
 George I. A good hearing. I have now got to a point at which there is 
 no more gratifying discovery than that nothing is to be discovered.” As 
 the months went on he worked harder, and ever harder. His labor, 
 though a labor of love, was immense. He almost gave up letter-writing ; 
 he quite gave up society; and at last he had not leisure even for his 
 diary. 
 
 '■^January i, 1855. — A new year. May it be as happy as the last ! To 
 me it will probably be more eventful, as it will see, if I live and am well, 
 the publication of the second part of my History.” 
 
 “ January 10. — I find that I am getting out of the habit of keeping my 
 journal. I have, indeed, so much to do with my History that I have 
 little inclination for any other writing. My life, too, is very uneventful. 
 I am a prisoner to my room, or nearly so. I do nothing but write or read. 
 I will, however, minute down interesting things from time to time. Some 
 day the taste for journalising may return.” 
 
 “ January 29, 1855. — ^ this book again after an interval of near 
 
248 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIII. 
 
 three weeks ; three weeks passed by the fireside. Once I dined out ; on 
 Tuesday the i6th at Westbourne Terrace to meet Gladstone. Nothing 
 could be more lamentable than his account of affairs in the Crimea. 
 
 “ To-night there will, I suppose, be a vote against the Government, 
 and to-morrow a change of Administration.* I am content that it should 
 be so, and well pleased that my illness dispenses me from voting. I have 
 made great progress with my book of late, and see no reason to doubt 
 that I shall go to press in the summer. I am now deep in Chapter XIX. 
 Odd that here, within a few yards of all the bustle of politics, I should be 
 as quiet as a hermit ; as quiet as Cowper was at Olney ; much more quiet, 
 thank God, than my old friend Hannah More at Barley Wood; buried in 
 old pamphlets and broadsides ; turning away from the miseries of Balak- 
 lava to the battle of Steinkirk, on which I was busied to-day. The fates 
 have spun me not the coarsest thread, as old Ben says. Hannah, Mar- 
 garet, Alice, Trevelyan, and George are as kind as possible. I want no 
 more ; but I have other very kind visitors. I cannot think that this can 
 go on long. But I hope that I shall bring out my two volumes. I am 
 conscious of no intellectual decay. My memory I often try, and find it as 
 good as ever ; and memory is the faculty which it is most easy to bring to 
 decisive tests, and also the faculty which gives way first.” 
 
 Ncrvember 6 , 1855. — After an interval of eight months I begin my 
 journal again. My book is almost printed. It will appear before the 
 middle of December, I hope. It will certainly make me rich, as I account 
 riches. As to success I am less certain ; but I have a good hope. I 
 mean to keep my journal as regularly as I did seven years ago when the 
 first part came out. To-day I went to call on poor Hallam. How much 
 changed 1 In the evening a proof of Chapter XX. came from Spottis- 
 woode’s.” 
 
 During the ensuing fortnight the entries in Macaulay’s diary relate 
 almost exclusively to the proof sheets, which generally occupied him both 
 morning and afternoon, and to the books which he turned over for his 
 amusement after the appearance of the lamp had given him the signal to 
 leave his desk, and draw his easy chair to the hearth-rug. On the 13th of 
 November, to take an instance, he read “ Welsted’s Life and Remains; 
 mostly trash. At dinner the Love Match. In the evening Jesse’s Selwyn 
 Correspondence, Skelton’s Deism Revealed, and a great deal of Boling- 
 broke’s stupid infidelity.” 
 
 At length, on the 21st of November, he writes ; “I looked over and 
 sent off the last twenty pages. My work is done, thank God ; and now 
 
 * On the 29th of January Mr. Roebuck carried his motion for a Committee of Inquiry 
 into the condition of our army before Sebastopol, by 305 votes to 148. Lord Aberdeen at 
 once resigned. 
 
1852-56. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 249 
 
 for the result. On the whole, I think that it cannot be very unfavorable. 
 At dinner I finished Melpomene.” The first effect upon Macaulay of 
 having completed an instalment of his own History was now, as in 1848, 
 to set him reading Herodotus. 
 
 “ November 23. — Longman came. All the twenty-five thousand copies 
 are ordered. Monday, the 27th of December, is to be the day; but on 
 the evening of the preceding Saturday those booksellers who take mt)re 
 than a thousand are to have their books. The stock lying at the book- 
 binders' is insured for ten thousand pounds. The whole weight is fifty- 
 six tons. It seems that no such edition was ever published of any work 
 of the same bulk. I earnestly hope that neither age nor riches will nar- 
 row my heart.” 
 
 November 27. — I finished Prescott’s Philip the Second. What strikes 
 me most about him is that, though he has had neyv materials, and tells 
 his story well, he does not put anything in a light very different from that 
 in which I had before seen it ; and I have never studied that part of 
 history deeply. To-day I received from Longman the first copy of my 
 book in the brown livery. I sent him yesterday the list of presentation 
 copies.” 
 
 ^‘'November 28. — I dawdled over my book most of the day, sometimes 
 in good, sometimes in bad spirits about it. On the whole, I think that it 
 must do. The only competition which, as far as I perceive, it has to 
 dread, is that of the two former volumes. Certainly no other history of 
 William’s reign is either so trustworthy or so readable.” 
 
 “ November 29. — I was again confined to my room all day, and again 
 dawdled over my book. I wish that the next month were over. I am 
 more anxious than I was about the first part, for then I had no highly 
 raised expectations to satisfy, and now people expect so much that the 
 Seventh Book of Thucydides would hardly content them. On the other 
 hand, the general sterility, the miserably enervated state of literature, is 
 all in my favor. We shall see. It is odd that I should care so very little 
 about the money, though it is full as much as I made by banishing myself 
 for four and a half of the best years of my life to India.” 
 
 ^''December 4. — Another bleak day passed in my chambers. I am 
 never tired of reading. Read some of Swift’s Polite Conversations, and 
 Arbuthnot’s John Bull. One never wearies of these excellent pieces.” * 
 December 6. — Fine, but cold. I stayed at home all day, read ten 
 Cantos of the Morgante Maggiore, and was languidly amused. A Yankee 
 
 * In Chapter XXIV. of his History, Macaulay calls the History of John Bull “the 
 most ingenious and humorous political satire in our language.” His own imitation of it 
 well deserves a reading. It appeared first in Knight’s Quarterly Magazine, in April, 
 1824, under the title : “ Some Account of the great Lawsuit between the parishes of St. 
 Dennis and St. George in the Water,” and may now be found in his Miscellaneous Writings. 
 
25 '- 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. xiri. 
 
 publisher sends me very coolly an enormous folio in two closely printed 
 columns, a Dictionary of Authors, and asks me to give my opinion of it ; 
 — that opinion of course to be printed as a puff. He has already used 
 the opinions of Everett, Washington Irving, and others, in that way. I 
 sent it back with a note saying that I could not form an opinion of such a 
 work at a glance, and that I had not time for a full examination. I hate 
 such tricks. A propos of puffing, I see that Robert Montgomery is 
 gathered to Bavius and Blackmore. How he pestered me with his alter- 
 nate cries for mercy and threats of vengeance ! ” 
 
 '•'■December 9. — Colder and more gloomy than ever. I stayed at home 
 and enjoyed my liberty, though a prisoner to my room. I feel much easier 
 about my book ; very much. I read a great deal of Photius with much 
 zest.* His account of Isocrates induces me to take down Isocrates again. 
 I have not read him since I was in India. I looked at several speeches. 
 He was never a favorite of mine, and I see no reason to change my opinion. 
 I have found one serious mistake in my History. I wonder whether any- 
 body else will find it out.” 
 
 The presentation copies were delivered on the 15th of December. On 
 Sunday the i6th, which Macaulay, as usual, spent within doors, “ Sir 
 Henry Holland called ; very kind. He had read the first chapter, and 
 came to pay compliments, which were the more welcome because my chief 
 misgivings are about that chapter.” 
 
 "■ Monday, December 17. — An article on my book in the Times ; in tone 
 what I wished, that is to say, laudatory without any appearance of puffing. 
 I had letters from Stephen and Adolphus ; kind ; but neither of them can 
 as yet have read enough to judge. Longman called to-day and told me 
 that they must print more copies. He was for five thousand. I insisted 
 that there should be only two thousand.” 
 
 “ December i8. — There came one of Longman’s clerks, with news that 
 the first two volumes of the History must be reprinted at once, as the sale 
 
 of them has during the last few days been very great.t I wrote to 
 
 and about money matters. I am glad that I am now able to make 
 
 them quite comfortable.” 
 
 * Macaulay first attacked Photius during his country rambles round Thames Ditton, 
 without the aid of notes or of a Latin version. “ I do not get on with Photius,” he says. 
 “ I read chiefly while walking, and my copy is not one which I can conveniently carry in 
 my hand.” The rumor that he read Photius for pleasure was current in the Athenjeum 
 Club, and was never mentioned without awe. The very name of the Patriarch’s great 
 work, the Myriobiblon, or Bibliotheca, is enough for most scholars of our degenerate 
 day. 
 
 t The sale of the first two volumes rose, from eleven hundred and seventy-two copies 
 in 1854-5, to four thousand nine hundred and one copies in 1855-6 ; and this, be it ob- 
 served, in the large library edition. 
 
1852-56. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 251 
 
 “ Sunday, December 23. — More of Photius. He sent me to Lysias ; 
 and I read with the greatest delight some of those incomparable speeches ; 
 — incomparable, I mean, in their kind, which is not the highest kind. 
 They are wonderful, — Scarlett speaking in the style of Addison.” 
 
 “ Wednesday, December 26. — Read Cicero de Divinatione. The second 
 book is excellent. What a man he was! To think that the Divinatione, 
 the De Fato, and the De Officiis, should all have been the fruits of his 
 leisure during the few months that he outlived the death of Caesar. Dur- 
 ing those months Cicero was leader of the Senate, and as busy a man as 
 any in the republic. The finest of his Senatorial speeches, spoken or not, 
 belongs to that time. He seems to have been at the head of the minds of 
 the second order.” * 
 
 “ Tuesday, January i, 1856.— A new year. I am happy in fame, for- 
 tune, family affection, — most eminently so. Under these heads I have 
 nothing to ask more ; but my health is very indifferent. Yet I have no 
 pain. My faculties are unimpaired. My spirits are very seldom de- 
 pressed ; and I am not without hopes of being set up again. I read mis- 
 cellaneous trifles from the back rows of my books ; Nathan’s Reminis- 
 cences of Byron ; Colman’s Broad Grins ; Strange’s Letter to Lord Bute ; 
 Gibbon’s Vindication, and his answer to Warburton about the 6th ^neid. 
 Letters and criticisms still pour in. Praise greatly preponderates, but 
 there is a strong admixture of censure. I can, however, see no sign that 
 these volumes excite less interest than their predecessors. Fanny tells 
 me that a sermon was preached at Brighton to my praise and glory last 
 Sunday, and the Londonderry people seem in great glee.” 
 
 Friday, January At. — To-day I gave a breakfast tojowett; — Ellis; 
 Hannah ; Margaret ; and Montagu Butler and Vaughan Hawkins, young 
 Fellows of Trinity. A pleasant party ; at least I thought so. After long 
 silence and solitude I poured myself out very freely and generally. They 
 stayed till past one ; a pretty good proof that they were entertained. I 
 have a letter from Guizot, full of kind compliments. He asks a question 
 about the place where the Lords received Charles the Second on May 29, 
 1660. It is odd that a foreigner should trouble himself about so minute 
 a matter. I went to the Royal Institution, got down the Journals, and 
 soon found that the Lords were in the drawing-room at Whitehall. The 
 Commons were in the Banqueting House.” 
 
 '•^Monday, January-]. — Yesterday and to-day I have been reading 
 over my old journals of 1852 and 1853. What a strange interest they 
 have I No kind of reading is so delightful, so fascinating, as this minute 
 history of a man’s self. I received another heap of criticisms, — ^praise 
 
 * Macaulay had of late been reading Cicero De Finibus. “ I always liked it,” he 
 says, “ the best of his philosophical works ; and I am still of the same mind.” 
 
252 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIII. 
 
 and blame. But it matters little. The victory is won. The book has 
 not disappointed the very highly-raised expectations of the public. The 
 first fortnight was the time of peril. Now all is safe.” 
 
 The event more than justified Macaulay’s confidence. The ground 
 which his book then gained has never been lost since. “ I shall not be 
 satisfied,” he wrote, in 1841, “unless I produce something which shall for 
 a few days supersede the last fashionable novel on the tables of young 
 ladies.” It may be said, for the credit of his countrymen no less than for 
 his own, that the annual sale of his History has frequently since 1857 sur- 
 passed the sale of the fashionable novel of the current year. How firm 
 a hqld that History has obtained on the estimation of the reading world 
 is well known to all whose business makes them acquainted with the in- 
 tellectual side of common English life ; but the figures which testify to 
 Macaulay’s stable and increasing popularity may well surprise even the 
 guardian of a Free Library or the secretary of a Mechanics’ Institute. 
 Those figures shall be given in the simplest and the most precise shape. 
 “Round numbers are always false,” said Dr. Johnson; and a man need 
 not be as conversant as Dr. Johnson with the trade secrets of literature in 
 order to be aware that what are called “ new Editions ” are sometimes 
 even more misleading than round numbers. Messrs. Longman’s books 
 show that, in an ordinary year, when nothing is done to stimulate the 
 public appetite by novelty of form or reduction of price, their stock of 
 the History goes out of their hands at the rate of seventy complete copies 
 a week. But a computation founded on this basis would give a very in- 
 adequate notion of the extent to which Macaulay’s most important work 
 is bought and read ; for no account would have been taken of the years 
 in which large masses of new and cheap editions were sold off in the 
 course of a few months. 12,024 copies of a single volume of the History 
 were put into circulation in 1858, and 22,925 copies of a single volume in 
 1864. During the nine years ending with the 25th of June, 1857, Messrs. 
 Longman disposed of 30,478 copies of the first volume of the History ; 
 50,783 copies during the nine years ending with June, 1866: and 52,392 
 copies during the nine years ending with June, 1875. Within a generation 
 of its first appearance, upwards of a hundred and forty thousand copies 
 of the History will have been printed and sold in the United Kingdom 
 alone. 
 
 But the influence of the work, and the fame of its author, were not 
 confined to the United Kingdom. “I have,” writes Macaulay, “a most 
 intoxicating letter from Everett. He says that no book has ever had such 
 a sale in the United States, except (note the exception) the Bible and 
 one or two .sciool books of universal use. This, he says, he has been 
 assured by booksellers of the best authority.”* On the continent of 
 
 With reference to the first two volumes of the History Macaulay wrote to Mr. Everett; 
 
1852-56. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY, 
 
 253 
 
 Europe, within six months after the third and fourth volumes appeared, 
 Baron Tauchnitz had sold near ten thousand copies; “ which proves,” 
 writes Macaulay, “that the number of persons who read English in France 
 and Germany is very great.” “ The incomparable man ” (says of him 
 Professor Von Ranke), “whose works have a European, or rather a 
 world-wide circulation, to a degree unequalled by any of his contempora- 
 ries.” Six rival translators were engaged at one and the same time on 
 the work of turning the History into German. It has been published in 
 the Polish, the Danish, the Swedish, the Italian, the French, the Dutch, 
 the Spanish, the Hungarian, the Russian, the Bohemian languages ; and 
 is at this moment in course of translation ’into Persian. 
 
 Macaulay received frequent and flattering marks of the respect and 
 admiration with which he was regarded by the foreigner. He was made 
 a member of the Academies of Utrecht, Munich, and Turin. The King 
 of Prussia named him a Knight of the Order of Merit, on the presenta- 
 tion of the Royal Academy of Sciences at Berlin ; and his nomination 
 was communicated to him in a letter from the Baron Von Humboldt, the 
 Chancellor of the Order.* Guizot wrote to inform him that he had him- 
 self proposed him for the Institute of France. On one and the same 
 day of February, 1853, the official announcement of his election came from 
 Paris, and his badge of the Order of Merit from Berlin. 
 
 “ It would be mere affectation in me not to own that I am greatly pleased by the success of 
 my History in America. But I am almost as much puzzled as pleased ; for the book is quite 
 insular in spirit. There is nothing cosmopolitan about it. I can well understand that it 
 might have an interest for a few highly educated men in your country ; but I do not at all 
 understand how it should be acceptable to the body of a people who have no Kings, no 
 Lords, no established Church, no Tories, nay (I might say), no Whigs in the English 
 sense of the word. The Dispensing power, the Ecclesiastical supremacy, the doctrines of 
 Divine right and passive obedience, must all, I should have thought, seemed strange, un- 
 meaning things to the vast majority of the inhabitants of Boston and Philadelphia. In- 
 deed, so very English is my book, that some Scotch critics, who have praised me far be- 
 yond my deserts, have yet complained that I have said so much of the crotchets of the 
 Anglican High-Churchmen,— crotchets which scarcely any Scotchman seems able to com- 
 prehend.” 
 
 * The Prussian Order of Merit is, to other honors, what its founder, Frederic the 
 Great, was to other kings. The following paragraph appeared lately in the “ Academy : ” 
 
 “It has excited some surprise that Mr. Carlyle should have declined the Grand Cross 
 of the Bath, after having accepted the Ordre pour le Mirite. There is, however, a great 
 difference between the two. The Ordre pour le Mirite is not given by the Sovereign or 
 the Minister, but by the Knights themselves. The King only confirms their choice. The 
 number of the Knights of the Ordre pour le Mirite is strictly limited, — (there are no more 
 than thirty German and thirty foreign Knights,) — so that every knight knows who will be 
 his peers. In Germany, not even Bismarck is a Knight of the Ordre pour le Mirite* 
 Moltke was elected simply as the best representative of military science, nor does he rank 
 higher as a Knight of that Order than Bunsen, the representative of physical science, or 
 Ranke the historian.” 
 
254 
 
 LIFE AND LETI ERS OF 
 
 CH. XIIL 
 
 In the following June, Macaulay was presented to the deg’ ee of Doctor 
 of Civil Law at Oxford ; where he was welcomed enthusiastically by the 
 crowd in the body of the theatre, and not unkindly even by the under- 
 graduates, who almost forgot to enter a protest against the compliment 
 that their University had thought fit to bestow on the great Whig writer.* 
 In 1854 he was chosen President of the Philosophical Institution of Edin- 
 burgh, to the duties of which post he could give little of his time, though 
 the Institution owes to his judgment and liberality some important addi- 
 tions to its stock of curious and valuable books. He showed himself, 
 however, most assiduous in his attendance at the British Museum, both as 
 a Trustee and as a student. His habit was to work in the King’s Library; 
 partly for quiet, and partly in order to have George the Third’s wonderful 
 collection of pamphlets within an easy walk of his chair. He did his 
 writing at one of the oak tables which stand in the centre of the room, 
 sitting away from the outer wall, for the sake of the light. He availed 
 himself of his official authority to search the shelves at pleasure without 
 the intervention of a librarian; and (says the attendant) “when he had 
 taken down a volume, he generally looked as if he had found something 
 in it.” A manuscript page of his History, thickly scored with dashes and 
 erasures, — it is the passage in the twenty-fifth Chapter where Sir Hans 
 Sloane is mentioned as “ the founder of the magnificent museum which is 
 one of the glories of our country,” — is preserved at that museum in a 
 cabinet, which may truly be called the place of honor ; within whose 
 narrow limits are gathered together a rare collection of objects such as 
 Englishmen of all classes and parties regard with a common reverence 
 and pride. There may be seen Nelson’s hasty sketch of the line of battle 
 at the Nile; and the sheet of paper on which Wellington computed the 
 strength of the cavalry regiments that were to fight at Waterloo; and 
 the note-book of Locke; and the autographs of Samuel Jonson’s Irene, 
 and Ben Jonson’s Masque of Queens; and the rough copy of the transla- 
 tion of the Iliad, written, as Pope loved to write, on the margin of frayed 
 letters and the backs of tattered envelopes. It is pleasant to think what 
 Macaulay’s feelings would have been, if, when he was rhyming and castle- 
 building among the summer-houses at Barley Wood, or the laurel-walks 
 at Aspenden, or under the limes and horse-chesnuts in the Cambridge 
 Gardens, he could have been assured that the day would come when he 
 should be invited to take his place in such a noble company. 
 
 * The batch of new Doctors included Mr. Grote, Mr. Disraeli, Sir Edward Bulwer 
 Lytton, and the present Lord Derby. “ I congratulated Grote with special warmth.” 
 says Macaulay, “ for, with all his faults of style, he has really done wonders. * * * I was 
 pleased with Lord Derby’s reception of his son. ‘ Fili mi dilectissime,’ he called him. 
 When I entered somebody called out ‘ History of England ! ’ Then came a great tumult 
 of applause and hissing ; but the applause greatly predominated.” 
 
18^6-58. 
 
 I.ORD MACAULAY. 
 
 25 «; 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 1856-1858. 
 
 Macaulay resigns his seat for Edinburgh — He settles himself at Holly Lodge— His house 
 and garden — His notions of hospitality — L’Almanach des Gourmands — Country visits 
 — Continental tours — Chateaubriand— Macaulay as a man of business — His generosity 
 in money matters — His kindness to his relations, and towards children — Picture 
 galleries — Macaulay as an instructor — He pays a compliment to Lord Palmerston — 
 Macaulay is made a Peer — His attachment to his old University — He is elected Lord 
 High Steward of the Borough of Cambridge — Macaulay in the House of Lords — 
 French Politics — The Indian Mutiny — ^The National Fast-day — The capture of Delhi 
 and relief of Lucknow — Professor Owen and the British Museum — Literary ease — The 
 Fifth Volume of the History — Macaulay’s contributions to the Encylopsedia Bri- 
 tannica — His habit of learning by heart — Foreign languages — Macaulay’s modes of 
 amusing himself — The consequences of celebrity — Extracts from Macaulay’s journal— 
 His literary Conservatism — His love for Theology and Church History — His devo- 
 tion to literature. 
 
 M ACAULAY’S first care in the year 1856 was to make his arrange- 
 ments for retiring from Parliament. He bade farewell to the 
 electors of Edinburgh in a letter which, as we are told by his successor in 
 the representation of the city, was received by them with “ unfeigned sor- 
 row.” “ The experience,” he writes, “ of the last two years has convinced 
 me that I cannot reasonably expect to be ever again capable of performing, 
 even in an imperfect manner, those duties which the public has a right to 
 expect from every Member of the House of 'Commons. You meanwhile 
 have borne with me in a manner which entitles you to my warmest grati- 
 tude. Had even a small number of my constituents hinted to me a wish 
 that I would vacate my seat, I should have thought it my duty to comply 
 with that wish. But from not one single elector have I ever received a 
 line of reproach or complaint.” This letter was despatched on the 19th of 
 January ; on the 21st he applied for the Chiltern Hundreds ; and on the 
 
LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIV 
 
 250 
 
 2nd of February he notes in his journal : “ I received a letter from the 
 Lord Provost of Edinburgh, enclosing an Address from the electors unan- 
 imously voted in a great meeting. I was really touched.” 
 
 And now Macaulay, yielding a tardy obedience to the advice of every 
 one who had an interest in his welfare, began to enjoy the ease which he 
 had so laboriously earned. He had more than once talked of shifting 
 his quarters to some residence less unsuited to his state of health than a 
 set of chambers on a second floor between Vigo Street and Piccadilly. At one 
 time he amused himself with the idea of renting one of the new villas on 
 Weybridge Common; and at another he was sorely tempted to become 
 the purchaser of a large mansion and grounds at “ dear old Clapham.” 
 But in January, 1856, Dean Milman wrote to inform him that the lease of 
 a very agreeable house and garden at Kensington was in the market. The 
 immediate effect of this letter was to suggest to Macaulay the propriety 
 of giving his old friend’s book another reading. “ I began,” he says, 
 “Milman’s Latin Christianity, and was more impressed than ever by the 
 contrast between the substance and the style. The substance is excellent. 
 The style very much otherwise.”* On the morrow he heard from the 
 Duchess of Argyll, who, knowing the place in question as only a next- 
 door neighbor could, urged him not to miss what was indeed an excellent 
 opportunity. Accordingly, on the 23rd of January, he says : “ I went with 
 Hannah and Margaret to see the house about which the Duchess and the 
 Dean had written to me. It is in many respects the very thing ; but I 
 must know more, and think more, before I decide.” He soon made up 
 his mind that he had lighted on the home which he wanted. Without 
 more ado, he bought the lease, and with great deliberation, and after 
 many a pleasant family discussion he re-furnished his new abode in con- 
 formity with his sister’s taste and his own notions of comfort. 
 
 ‘‘Afar I, 1856. — The change draws very near. After fifteen happy 
 years passed in the Albany I am going to leave it, thrice as rich a man as 
 when I entered it, and far more famous ; with health impaired, but with 
 affections as warm and faculties as vigorous as ever. I have lost nothing 
 that was very near my heart while I was here. Kind friends have died, 
 but they were not part of my daily circle. I do not at all expect to live 
 fifteen years more. If I do, I cannot hope that they will be so happy as 
 the last fifteen. The removal makes me sad, and would make me sadder 
 but for the extreme discomfort in which I have been living during the last 
 week. The books are gone, and the shelves look like a skeleton. To- 
 morrow I take final leave of this room where I have spent most of the 
 waking hours of so many years. Already its aspect is changed. It is the 
 corpse of what it was on Sunday. I hate partings. To-day, even while 
 
 * A few months after this Macaulay writes : “ I w-as glad to hear that a new edition of 
 Milman’s History is called for. It is creditable to the age- I began to read it again.” 
 
1856-58. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 257 
 
 I climbed the endless steps, panting and weary, I thought that it was for 
 the last time, and the tears would come into my eyes. I have been happy 
 at the top of this toilsome stair. Ellis came to dinner ; — the last of prob- 
 ably four hundred dinners, or more, that we have had in these chambers. 
 Then to bed. Everything that I do is colored by the thought that it 
 is for the last time. One day there will come a last in good earnest.” 
 
 I well remember that, about this period, my uncle used to speak of 
 the affinity which existed between our feeling for houses and our feeling 
 for people. “ Nothing,” he said, “ would at one time have reconciled 
 me to the thought of leaving the Albany ; but, when I go home, and see 
 the rooms dismantled, and the bookcases empty, and the whole place the 
 ghost of its former self, I acknowledge that the end cannot come too 
 soon.” And then he spoke of those sad changes, the work of age and 
 illness, which prepare us gradually, and even mercifully, for the loss of 
 those from whom it once seemed as if we could never have borne to part. 
 He was thinking of a very dear friend who was just then passing quietly, 
 and very slowly, through the ante-chamber of death. On the 13th of Febru- 
 ary in this year he says : “ I went to call on poor Hallam. I found him 
 quite prisoner to his sofa, unable to walk. To write legibly he has long 
 been unable. But in the conversation between us, not to be sure a trying 
 conversation, he showed no defect of memory or apprehension. Poor dear 
 fellow I I put a cheerful face on the matter ; but I was sad at heart. 
 
 Let me not live 
 
 After my flame lacks oil, to be the scoff 
 Of meaner spirits. 
 
 Mean they must be indeed who scoff in such a case.” * 
 
 Macaulay was now lodged as his friends wished to see him. He could 
 not well have bettered his choice. Holly Lodge, now called Airlie Lodge, 
 occupies the most secluded corner of the little labyrinth of bye-roads, 
 which, bounded to the east by Palace Gardens and to the west by Holland 
 House, constitutes the district known by the name of Campden Hill. 
 The villa, fqr a villa it is, stands in a long and winding lane, which, with 
 its high black paling concealing from the passer-by everything except a 
 mass of dense and varied foliage, presents an appearance as rural as 
 Roehampton and East Sheen presents still, and as Wandsworth and 
 Streatham presented twenty years ago. The only entrance for carriages 
 was at the end of the lane, furthest from Holly Lodge ; and Macaulay had 
 
 ♦ Mr. Hallam lived into 1859. In the January of that year Macaulay wrote : “ Poor 
 Hallam ! To be sure, to me he died some years ago. I then missed him much and often. 
 Now the loss is hardly felt. I am inclined to think that there is scarcely any separation, 
 even of those separations which break hearts and cause suicides, which might not be made 
 endurable by gradual weaning. In the course of that weaning there will be much suffer- 
 ing ; but it will at no moment be very acute.” 
 
 VOL. II.— 17 
 
258 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIV. 
 
 no one living beyond him except the Duke of Argyll, who loved quiet as 
 much as himself, and for the same reasons. 
 
 The rooms in f lolly Lodge were for the most part small. The dining- 
 room was that of a bachelor who was likewise something of an invalid; 
 and the drawing-room, which, from old habit, my uncle could seldom 
 bring himself to use, was little more than a vestibule to the dining-room. 
 But the house afforded in perfection the two requisites for an author’s ideal 
 of happiness, a library and a garden. The library was a spacious and commo- 
 diously shaped room, enlarged, after the old fashion, by a pillared recess. It 
 was a warm and airy retreat in winter ; and in summer it afforded a student 
 only too irresistible an inducement to step from among his book-shelves 
 on to a lawn whose unbroken slope of verdure w'as worthy of the country 
 house of a Lord Lieutenant. Nothing in the garden exceeded thirty feet 
 in height ; but there was in abundance all that hollies, and laurels, and 
 hawthorns, and groves of standard roses, and bowers of lilacs and labur- 
 nums could give of shade, and scent, and color. The charms of the spot 
 were not thrown away upon its owner. “How I love,” he says, “my 
 
 little paradise of shrubs and turf ! ” “I remember no such May,” he 
 
 writes in 1857. “It is delicious. The lilacs are now completely out; 
 the laburnums almost completely. The brilliant red flowers of my favorite 
 thorn tree, began to show themselves yesterday. To-day thev are beauti- 
 ful. To-morrow, I dare say, the whole tree will be in a blaze.” And 
 
 again, a few days later : “ The rhododendrons are coming out; the mul- 
 
 berry tree, which, though small, is a principal object in the view of the 
 garden from my library window, is starting into leaf.” In the following 
 September, when fresh from a tour down the Moselle and up the Rhine, 
 through the glen of Vaucluse, and across the pastures of the Italian Alps, 
 he writes in high content, after his return to Holly Lodge : “ My garden 
 is really charming. The flowers are less brilliant than when I went away ; 
 but the turf is perfect emerald. All the countries through which I have 
 been travelling could not show such a carpet of soft rich green herbage 
 as mine.” 
 
 The beauty of the objects around him, combined with the novel sense 
 of possession, inspired Macaulay with an interest in small everyday 
 matters to which he had hitherto been a stranger. He began to feel the 
 proprietor’s passion for seeing things in order within doors and without. 
 He says in one place : “ To-dav I cleared mv tables of a vast accumulation 
 of books and pamphlets. This process I must carry a good deal further. 
 The time so spent is not time lost. It is, as Bacon would sav, luciferum-> 
 if not directly fructiferum'' One of the most fortunate consequences 
 arising from his change of residence was that, if it were for only ten 
 minutes in the day, he accustomed himself to do something besides write, 
 and talk, and read. It must be admitted that his efforts at gardening 
 
1856-58. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 259 
 
 were sufficiently humble. Far beneath anything which is recorded of such 
 scientific horticulturists as Pope and Shenstone, his first attempts might 
 have aroused the mild scorn even of Wordsworth and of Cowper. “I 
 have ordered,” he says, “the dead sprigs to be cleared from the lilacs 
 and the grass to be weeded of dandelions ; ” and, shortly after : “ I had 
 an hour’s walk, and exterminated all the dandelions which had sprouted 
 up since yesterday.” * But he soon became more ambitious. “I chose 
 places for rhododendron beds, and directed the workmen to set creepers 
 in my xystus.f On Christmas Day 1856 he writes to his sister Fanny; 
 “ The holiday interrupts my gardening. 1 have turned gardener, not indeed 
 working gai'dener, but master gardener. I have just been putting creepers 
 round my windows, and forming beds of rhododendrons round my fountain. 
 In three or four summers, if I live so long, I may expect to see the results 
 of my care.” 
 
 The hospitality at Holly Lodge had about it a flavor of pleasant pecu- 
 liarity. Macaulay was no epicure on his own account. In his Reform 
 Bill days, as many passages in his letters show, he enjoyed a banquet at 
 the house of a Cabinet Minister, or a City magnate, with all the zest of a 
 hungry undergraduate ; but there never was a time when his daily wants 
 would not have been amply satisfied by a couple of eggs with his coffee in 
 the morning, and a dinner such as is served at a decent seaside lodging- 
 house. He could not, however, endure to see guests, even of the most 
 tender age, seated round his board, unless there was upon it something 
 very like a feast. He generally selected, by a half-conscious preference, 
 dishes of an established, and, if so it may be called, an historical reputa- 
 tion. He was fond of testifying to his friendliness for Dissenters by 
 treating his friends to a fillet of veal, which he maintained to be the 
 
 * These unlucky weeds play a leading part in Macaulay’s correspondence with his 
 youngest niece. “ My dear little Alice,” he writes, “ I quite forgot my promised letter, 
 hut I assure you that you were never out of my mind for three waking hours together. I 
 have, indeed, had little to put you and yours out of my thoughts ; for I have been living, 
 these last ten days, like Robinson Crusoe in his desert island. I have had no friends 
 near me, but my books and my flowers, and no enemies but those execrable dandelions. 
 I thought that I was rid of the villains ; but the day before yesterday, when I got up and 
 looked out of my window, I could see five or six of their great, impudent, flaring, yellow faces 
 turned up at me. ‘ Only you wait till I come down,’ I said. How I grubbed them up ! 
 How I enjoyed their destruction! Is it Christianlike to hate a dandelion so savagely? 
 That is a curious question of casuistry.” 
 
 t The word “ xystus” was a reminiscence from the letters of Cicero and Pliny. Ac- 
 cording to Dr. William Smith it signifies “ an open colonnade or portico, for recreation, 
 conversation, and philosophical discussion.” The easier life which Macaulay hencefor- 
 ward led gave him a fresh lease of health, or, at any rate, of comfort. “ I am wonderfully 
 well,” he writes ; “my sleep is deeper and sweeter than it has been for years. And 
 again : “ I had an excellent night. What a blessing to regain, so late, the refreshing 
 sleep of early years ! I am altogether better than I have been since 1852.” 
 
26 o 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIV. 
 
 recognized Sunday dinner in good old Nonconformist families. He liked 
 still better to prove his loyalty to the Church by keeping her Feasts, and 
 keeping them in good company; and by observing her Fasts, so far, that 
 is to say, as they could be observed by making additions to the ordinary 
 bill of fare. A Michaelmas Day on which he did not eat goose, or ate it 
 in solitude, was no Michaelmas to him; and regularly on Christmas Eve 
 there came to our house a cod-fish, a barrel of oysters, and a chine, accom- 
 panied by the heaviest turkey which diligence could discover and money 
 could purchase. If he was entertaining a couple of schoolboys .who could 
 construe their fourth satire of Juvenal, he would reward them for their 
 proficiency with a dish of mullet that might have passed muster on the 
 table of an augur or an Emperor’s freedman. If he succeeded in collect- 
 ing a party of his own Cambridge contemporaries, he took care that they 
 should have no cause to remember with regret the Trinity butteries.* “ I 
 should be much obliged to you,” so he writes to Mr. Ellis, “ to lend me a 
 bottle or two of that e.xcellent audit ale which you produced the last time 
 that I dined with you. You shall have in return two bottles which still 
 require time to make them perfect. I ask this, because our party on 
 Tuesday will consist exclusively of old fellows and scholars of Trinity ; 
 and I should like to give them some of our own nectar.” t With regard 
 to the contents of his cellar, Macaulay prided himself on being able to say 
 with Mr. John Thorpe, “ Mine is famous good stuff, to be sure; ” and, if 
 my mother took him to task for his extravagance, he would reply, in the 
 words used by another of their favorite characters in fiction, that there 
 was “ a great deal of good eating and drinking ” in seven hundred a year, 
 if people knew how to manage it.f 
 
 But he never was so amusing as when it pleased him to season a 
 family repast by a series of quotations from the Almanach des Gour- 
 mands ; — that wonderful monument of the outrageous self-indulgence 
 prevalent in French society during the epoch of luxury and debauchery 
 
 * Macaulay liked nothing better than a Trinity gathering. In February 1852 he 
 says : “To the Clarendon at seven, where I had ordered dinner for a party of Ex-fellows 
 of the dear old College. Malden came first ; then the Lord Chief Baron, Baron Parke, 
 Waddington, Lefevre, and Ellis. We had an excellent dinner. The Dean of Durham’s 
 favorite dish. Filet de bceuf saut^ au vin de Mad^re aux Truffes, was there. We all 
 tried it, applauded it, and drank his health in champagne recommended by him.” 
 
 t The party in question turned out a complete success. “ November 9. — Lord 
 Mayor’s Day ; and I had a dinner as well as the Lord Mayor. I did my best as host. 
 The dinner was well cooked ; the audit ale perfect. We had so much to say about auld 
 lang syne that great powers of conversation were not wanted . I have been at parties of 
 men celebrated for wit and eloquence which were much less lively. Everybody seemed 
 to be pleased.” 
 
 t See Miss Perrier’s “ Marriage,” Chapter XX. 
 
1856-58. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 261 
 
 which succeeded to the surly discomfort of the Revolution,* and ushered 
 in the vulgar magnificence of the First Empire. He had by heart the 
 choice morsels of humor and extravagance that are so freely scattered 
 through the eight fat little volumes ; and he was at all times ready to 
 undertake the feat of detailing the ceremonies of a Parisian banquet, from 
 those awkward complications of arrangement, “ que les personnes bien 
 avisees out I’attention d’abreger en mettant d’avance le nom de chaque 
 convive sur chaque convert, dans Tordre de leur appetit connu ou pre- 
 sume,” to the “ visite de digestion ” on the morrow, the length of which 
 was supposed to be proportioned to the excellence of the entertainment. 
 He could follow the repast through the whole series of delicacies, from 
 the “ potage brulant, tel qu’il doit etre,” on to the •* biscuit d’ivrogne ; ” 
 taking care to impress upon the unwilling ears of his younger hearers 
 that “ tout bon mangeur a fini son diner apres le roti.” He would assure 
 us on the same high authority that, after the sixth dozen, oysters ceased 
 to whet the appetite ; and he would repeat with infinite gusto the sen- 
 tence that closes the description of a breakfast such as, during the last 
 years of the century, a high official of the Republic took pride in giving : 
 “ Ceux qui veulent faire grandement les choses, finissent par parfumer 
 la bouche de leurs convives, (ou plutot de leurs amis, car c’est ainsi que 
 s’appellent les convives d’un dejeuner,) avec deux ou trois tasses de 
 glaces ; on se la rinse ensuite avec un grand verre de marasquin ; et puis 
 chacun se retire en hate chez soi — pour aller manger la soupe.” t 
 
 It must be owned that even a “ grand dejeuner ” at the hotel of Cam- 
 baceres or Barras could hardly have lasted longer than a breakfast at 
 Holly Lodge ; but Macaulay’s guests were detained at table by attractions 
 less material than those which were provided by the Amphitryons of the 
 Directory and the Consulate. Long after the cutlets and the potted char 
 had been forgotten, the circle would sit entranced, while their host dis- 
 posed of topic after topic, and fetched from his shelves volume after 
 volume, until the noon-day sun invited the party to spare yet another 
 hour for a stroll round the garden, so gay in its winter dress that it seemed 
 “ very enjoyable ” even to the master of Castle Howard. Lord Carlisle 
 
 * “ Les Tables d’Hote,” says the Almanach, “ne se rouvrirent point alors. On con- 
 tinua d’aller manger isolement et tristement chez les restaurateurs, ou chacun, assis a une 
 petite table, et s^pare des autres, consomme en silence sa portion, sans se meler de ce 
 que dit ou de ce que fait son voisin.” 
 
 t Macaulay’s favorite passage in the Almanach des Gourmands was that which pre- 
 scribes the period, (varying from a week to six months according to the goodness of the 
 dinner,) during which the guests may not speak ill of their host ; who has, moreover, the 
 privilege of chaining their tongues afresh by sending out a new set of invitations before 
 the full time has expij^d. “On conviendra que, de toutes les mani^res d’empecher de 
 mal parler de soi, celle-ci n’est pas la moins aimable.” 
 
262 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIV. 
 
 says in his journal of December 19, 1856 : “ Walked to Campden Hill on 
 a beautiful morning. David Dundas had invited me to breakfast there. 
 Was received with surprise, but with warm welcome, by Macaulay. I 
 never knew his memory more brillant or surprising. A casual mention of 
 the lion on the Howard shield brought down a volume of Skelton with 
 his finger on the passage. Then there was a long charade on Polyphe- 
 mus, which he remembered from an Age newspaper in 1825. He seemed 
 to me to have gained in health by his transfer to his pleasant villa.” 
 
 So pleasant was it that its occupant did not care to seek for pleasure 
 elsewhere. Months would pass away without Macaulay’s having once 
 made his appearance in London society ; and years, during which he re- 
 fused all invitations to stay with friends or acquaintances in the country. 
 One or two nights spent at Windsor Castle, and one or two visits to Lord 
 Stanhope’s seat in Kent, formed almost the sole exceptions to a rule which 
 the condition of his health imperatively prescribed, and against which his 
 inclinations did not lead him to rebel. 
 
 “ Chevening, July 16, 1856. — After breakfast Lord Stanhope very 
 kindly and sensibly left me to rummage his library. A fine old library it 
 is, of, I should guess, fifteen thousand volumes : much resembling a col- 
 lege library both in appearance and in the character of the books. I was 
 very agreeably entertained till two in the afternoon. Then we set off for 
 Mountstuart Elphinstone’s, six miles off. I saw him probably for the 
 last time ; still himself, though very old and infirm. A great and accom- 
 plished man as any that I have known. In the evening Darwin, a geolo- 
 gist and traveller, came to dinner.” 
 
 yu/y ij . — The morning again in the library. In the afternoon to a 
 pretty spot of common land which has fallen to Lord Stanhope under a 
 late enclosure act ; — fine wood and heath, and a fine prospect. My Valen- 
 tine* was with us, dancing about among the flowers : gathering foxgloves 
 and whortle-berries, and very gay and happy. I love all little girls of that 
 age for the sake of my own nieces ; and Lady Mary is a very amiable child. 
 In the evening Lord Stanhope produced a Tragedy written by Pitt, and 
 his brother Lord Chatham, in 1772 ; detestable of course, but well enough 
 for a boy of thirteen. Odd that there was no love at all in the plot : — a 
 dispute about a Regency, during the absence of the King, and the minority 
 of his son Prince Florus. There were several passages which reminded 
 me of 1789.” 
 
 There is a characteristic notice in Macaulay’s diary of a winter visit to 
 Bowood. 
 
 “ January 31. — A fine frosty day. Lord Lansdowne proposed a walk, 
 and we went up to the hill where the old moat and the yew-tree are. The 
 
 See page 137. 
 
1856-58. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 263 
 
 way lay through a perfect Slough of Despond. I, like Pliable, should 
 have turned back but Lady Mahon’s courage shamed me. After lunch I went 
 to walk alone in the pleasure ground, but was pestered by a most sociable 
 cur who would not be got rid of. I went into a plantation, railed off with 
 gates at each end, and shut the brute out ; but he perfectly understood 
 my tactics — curse his intelligence ! — and waited for me at the other gate. 
 After vainly trying to escape him in this way, I shut him in, and stayed 
 outside myself. When I walked away, he saw that he had been out-gen- 
 eralled by human reason, and set up the most ludicrous howl that I ever 
 heard in my life.” 
 
 It is to be hoped, for Macaulay’s sake, that the biographers of great 
 men who were partial to the company of animals overstate their case when 
 they assert that the love of dogs is the surest test of a good heart. In 1850, 
 when staying with some friends in the country, he writes ; “After breakfast 
 I walked with the young ladies ; nice intelligent girls they are. A couple 
 of ill-conditioned curs went with us, whom they were foolish enough to 
 make pets of ; so that we were regaled by a dog-fight, and were very near 
 having on our hands two or three other fights. How odd that people of 
 sense should find any pleasure in being accompanied by a beast who is 
 always spoiling conversation ! ” * It must be said that my uncle was very 
 kind to the only dog which ever depended on him for kindness ; a very 
 pretty and very small Mexican spaniel, that belonged to one of his nieces. 
 He treated the little animal exactly as he treated children, bringing it pre- 
 sents from the toy-shops and making rhymes about it by the quarter of an 
 hour together. 
 
 * In July 1856 Macaulay writes : “ I went to Oatlands and walked with Margaret and 
 Alice to a most singular monument of human folly. The Duchess of York had made a 
 cemetery for her dogs. There is a gateway like that under which coffins are laid in the 
 churchyard of this part of the country ; there is a sort of chapel ; and there are the grave 
 stones of sixty-four of her Royal Highness’s curs. On some of these mausoleums were 
 inscriptions in verse. I was disgusted by this exceeding folly. Humanity to the Inferior 
 animals 1 feel and practise, I hope, as much as any man ; but seriously to make friends 
 of dogs is not my taste. 1 can understand, however, that even a sensible man may have 
 a fondness for a dog. But sixty-four dogs ? Why, it is hardly conceivable that there 
 should be warm affection in any heart for sixty-four human beings. I had formed a better 
 opinion of the Duchess.” It is difficult to say whether his opinion of the Duchess was 
 raised or lowered by some information which reached him a few days later, when he was 
 dining with Lord Lyveden, “ very agreeably seated between two clever women. Lady 
 Morley and Lady Dufferin.” The latter told him that she and Mrs. Norton had been much 
 at Oatlands when they were girls of twelve or thirteen ; that the epitaphs were not, as 
 Macaulay had supposed, the mature efforts of Monk Lewis’s genius, but the childish pro- 
 ductions of herself and her sister 5 and that the great multitude of the graves might be ac- 
 counted for by the fact that the Duchess was plagued to death with presents of dogs, 
 which she did not like to refuse, and which would have turned her house into a kennel, if 
 she had not given them a dose of opium, and sent them to the cemetery. 
 
264 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIV. 
 
 Little as Macaulay liked to spend his time under other people’s roofs, 
 he had no objection to hotels, and to foreign hotels least of all. Nothing 
 short of a Continental war, or the impossibility of getting Mr. Ellis’s com- 
 pany, would ever have prevented him from taking his autumn tour. In 
 1856 he once more crossed the Alps, and was at Milan by the end of 
 August. “ From the balcony we caught sight of the Cathedral, which 
 made us impatient to see the whole. We went. I never was more de- 
 lighted and amazed by any building except St. Peter’s. The great fa9ade 
 is undoubtedly a blunder; but a most splended and imposing blunder. I 
 wish to heaven that our Soanes, and Nashes, and Wilkinses had blunder- 
 ed in the same way.” Venice, with which, ever since his boyhood, he had 
 been as familiar as book and picture could make him, when seen at length 
 in her own sad grandeur, seemed to him “strange beyond all words.” He 
 did not fail to admire “ the succession of palaces, towering out of the 
 green salt water ; now passing into decay, yet retaining many traces of 
 their ancient magnificence, — rich carvings, incrustations of rare marbles, 
 faint remains of gilding and fresco-painting. Of these great mansions^ 
 there is scarcely one so modern as the oldest house in St. James’s Square. 
 Many were built, and crowded with brilliant company, in the days of 
 Henry the Eighth and Elizabeth ; some as far back as the days of Richard 
 the Second and Henry the Fourth. For Venice then was to London, 
 what London now is to Sydney or Toronto.” 
 
 St. Mark’s Church, without impairing his loyalty to the great Roman 
 basilica, affected him in a manner which was beyond, or rather beside, his 
 expectations. “ I do not think it, nobody can think it, beautiful, and yet 
 I never was more entertained by any building. I never saw a building 
 except St. Peter’s, where I could be content to pass so many hours in 
 looking about me. There is something attractive to me in the very bad- 
 ness of the rhyming monkish hexameters, and in the queer designs and 
 false drawing of the pictures. Everything carries back the mind to a re- 
 mote age ; to a time when Cicero and Virgil were hardly known in Italy; 
 to a time compared with which the time of Politian and even the time of 
 Petrarch, is modern. I returned in the course of the day, and spent an 
 hour in making out the histories of Moses and Joseph, and the mottoes. 
 They amused me as the pictures in very old Bibles used to amuse me 
 when I was a child.” 
 
 After his first visit to the Academy, Macaulay makes some remarks 
 which, with the fear of Mr. Ruskin before my eyes, I almost tremble to 
 transcribe : “ The glow, the blaze, of warm Venetian coloring produces a 
 wonderful effect. But there are few pieces, which, considered separately 
 as works of art, give me much pleasure. There is an eternal repetition 
 of the same subjects ; — nine Holy Families, for example, in one small 
 room. Then the monstrous absurdity of bringing Doges, Archangels, 
 
IS56-58. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 265 
 
 Cardinals, Apostles, persons of the Trinity, and members of the Council 
 of Ten into one composition shocks and disgusts me. A spectator who 
 can forgive such faults for the sake of a dexterous disposition of red tints 
 and green tints must have improved his eye, I think, at the expense of 
 his understanding.” Macaulay’s last day at Venice was devoted to the 
 Ducal Palace. “ I was more indignant,” he writes, “ than I chose to show 
 when I found, not only that Petrarch’s legacy of books had been suffered 
 to perish, but that the public library of Venice did not contain a copy of 
 one of Aldus’s great editions of the Greek classics. I am sorry to leave 
 this fascinating city; for ever, I suppose. I may now often use the words 
 ‘ for ever ’ when I leave things.” 
 
 He had brought with him instructions from his nieces to report at 
 length upon Juliet’s tomb ; and he accordingly writes to them from Verona 
 to express his delight at finding himself in a city so rich in its matchless 
 variety of beauties and associations. “ You have an amphitheatre which 
 very likely Pliny may have frequented ; huge old palaces and towers, the 
 work of princes who were contemporary with our Edw’ard the First ; and 
 most charming and graceful architecture of the time of Michel Angelo 
 and Raphael; and all this within a space not larger than Belgrave 
 Square.” At the same time he threatens them with a Popish aunt, who 
 will be able to assist them in their Italian studies. “ But perhaps the 
 questions of religion and residence may be as hard to get over in the case 
 of the Chevalier Macaulay as m the case of the Chevalier Grandison ; 
 and I may be forced to leave the too charming Giuseppa here with a 
 blister on her head and a strait-waistcoat on her back.” 
 
 During his journeys abroad Macaulay always made a point of reading 
 the literature of the country. He began his Italian tour with Cicero’s 
 Letters,* and ended it with I Promessi Sposi. “ I finished Manzoni’s 
 novel, not without many tears. The scene between the Archbishop and 
 Don Abbondio is one of the noblest that I know. The parting scene be- 
 tween the lovers and Father Cristoforo is most touching. If the Church 
 of Rome really were what Manzoni represents her to be, I should be 
 tempted to follow Newman’s example.” 
 
 The next year, while travelling through France to the cities of the 
 Rhine and the Moselle, he bought on the way Chateaubriand’s Genie du 
 Christianisme. “ I was astonished,” he says, “ at the utter worthlessness 
 of the book, both in matter and manner. The French may be beautiful, 
 as far as mere selection and arrangement of words go. But in the higher 
 graces of style, — those graces which affect a foreigner as much as a native, 
 
 * “ I have been reading,” he says, “those letters of Cicero which were written just 
 after Caesar had taken up arms. What materials for history ! What a picture of a mind 
 which well deserves to be studied ! No novel ever interested me more. Often as I have 
 read them, every sentence seems new.” 
 
266 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIV. 
 
 — those graces which delight us in Plato, in Demosthenes, and in Pascal, 
 — there is a lamentable deficiency. As to the substance, it is beneath 
 criticism. Yet I have heard men of ten times Chateaubriand’s powers 
 talk of him as the first of French writers. He was simply a great hum- 
 bug.” 
 
 On the last day of February, 1856, Macaulay writes in his journal : 
 “ Longman called. It is necessary to reprint. This is wonderful. 
 Twenty-six thousand five hundred copies sold in ten weeks ! I should 
 not wonder if I made twenty thousand pounds clear this year by litera- 
 ture. Pretty well, considering that, twenty-two years ago, I had just noth- 
 ing when my debts were paid; and all that I have, with the exception 
 of a small part left me by my uncle, the General, has been made by my- 
 self, find made easily and honestly, by pursuits which were a pleasure to 
 me, and without one insinuation from any slanderer that I was not even 
 liberal in all my pecuniary dealings.” 
 
 “ March 7. — Longman came, with a very pleasant announcement. He 
 and his partners find that they are overflowing with money, and think 
 that they cannot invest it better than by advancing to me, on the usual 
 terms of course, part of what will be due to me in December. We agreed 
 that they shall pay twenty thousand pounds into Williams’s B ink next 
 week. What a sum to be gained by one edition of a book ! I may say, 
 gained in one day. But that was harvest-day. The work had been near 
 seven years in hand. I went to Westbourne Terrace by a Paddingtoij 
 omnibus, and passed an hour there laughing and laughed at. They are 
 all much pleased. They have, indeed, as much reason to be pleased as I, 
 who am pleased on their account rather than on my own, though I am 
 glad that my last years will be comfortable. Comfortable, however, I 
 could have been on a sixth part of the income which I shall now have.” 
 
 The cheque is still preserved as a curiosity among the archives of 
 Messrs. Longman’s firm. “ The transaction,” says Macaulay, “ is quite 
 unparalleled in the history of the book-trade ; and both the people at 
 Smith, Payne, and Smiths’ who are to pay the money, and my friends 
 who are to receive it, have been much amused. I went into the City to- 
 day to give instructions, and was most warmly congratulated on being a 
 great moneyed man. I said that I had some thoughts of going to the 
 Chancellor of the Exchequer as a bidder for the next loan.” 
 
 My uncle was a great favorite with his bankers. . Mr. Henry Thorn- 
 ton, who was, and is, a partner in Messrs. Williams and Deacon’s, care- 
 fully encouraged him in his fixed idea that business could only be done 
 by word of mouth, and many a pleasant hour the two old college friends 
 had together in the back-parlor at Birchin Lane. On one occasion Mr. 
 Thornton, by Macaulay’s request, explained to him at some length the 
 distinction between the different classes of Spanish Stock, — Active, Pas- 
 
1856-58. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 267 
 
 sive, and Deferred. “ I think,” said my uncle, “ that I catch your mean- 
 ing. Active Spanish Bonds profess to pay interest now, and do not. 
 Deferred Spanish Bonds profess to pay interest at some future time, and 
 will not. Passive Spanish Bonds profess to pay interest neither now, nor 
 at any future time. I think that you might buy a large amount of Passive 
 Spanish Bonds for a very small sum.” 
 
 It mattered nothing to Macaulay personally whether or not Spain pre- 
 tended to be solvent ; for he never touched crazy securities. He was 
 essentially an investor, and not a speculator. “ He had as sound a judg- 
 ment in City Matters,” said Mr. Thornton, “as I ever met with. You 
 might safely have followed him blindfold.” “I have,” my uncle writes in 
 his journal, “ a great turn for finance, though few people would suspect it. 
 
 I have a pleasure in carrying on long arithmetical operations in my head. 
 I used to find amusement, when I was Secretary at War, in the Army 
 Estimates. I generally went through my pecuniary statements without 
 book, except when it was necessary to come to pence and farthings.” 
 
 Macaulay so arranged his affairs that their management was to him a 
 pastime, instead of being a source of annoyance and anxiety. His econ- 
 omical maxims were of the simplest ; to treat official and literary gains as 
 capital,* and to pay all bills within the twenty-four hours. “ I think,” he 
 says, “ that prompt payment is a moral duty ; knowing, as I do, how 
 painful it is to have such things deferred.” Like other men who have 
 more money than time, his only account-book was that which his banker 
 kept for him ; and, to assist himself in making up his yearly balance- 
 sheet, he embodied a list of his investments, and the main items of his 
 expenditure, in a couple of irregular, but not inharmonious, stanzas. 
 
 North-West; South-West ; 'South-East ; Two Irish Greats ; 
 
 Denmark ; Bengal ; Commercial ; London Dock ; 
 
 Insurance; Steam-ship ; and United States ; 
 
 Slave-State; and Free-State; and Old English Stock. 
 
 Taxes; Rent; Sisters; Carriage; Wages; Clo’es; 
 
 Coals ; Wine ; Alms ; Pocket-cash ; Subscriptions ; Treats ; 
 
 Bills, weekly these, and miscellaneous those. 
 
 Travel the list conrpletes. 
 
 * Macaulay had good historical authority for this method of proceeding. We are told 
 by an admirer of the Right Honorable George Grenville that it was the unvaried practice 
 of that statesman, in all situations, to live up( n his private fortune, and save the emolu- 
 ments of whatever office he possessed. “ He had early accustomed himself to a strict ap- 
 propriation of his income, and an exact economy in its expenditure, as the only sure ground 
 on which to build a reputation for public and private integrity, and to support a dignified 
 independence.” The moral results which we 'e expected to flow from the observance of 
 these excellent precepts were not very visible in the case of Grenville, who ratted more 
 shamelessly than any public man even of his o^m century. 
 
268 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIV 
 
 The wealth which Macaulay gathered prudently he spent royally ; if 
 to spend royally is to spend on others rather than yourself. From the 
 time that he began to feel the money in his purse almost every page in 
 his diary contains evidence of his inexhaustible, and sometimes rather 
 carelessly regulated, generosity. 
 
 “Mrs. X applied to me, as she said, and as I believe, without 
 
 her husband’s knowledge, for help in his profession. He is a clergyman ; 
 a good one, but too Puritanical for my taste. I could not promise to ask 
 any favors from the Government ; but I sent him twenty-five pounds to 
 assist him in supporting the orphan daughters of his brother. I mean to 
 let him have the same sum annually.” “ I have been forced to refuse any 
 
 further assistance to a Mrs. Y , who has had thirty-five pounds from 
 
 me in the course of a few months, and whose demands come thicker and 
 thicker. I suppose that she will resent my refusal bitterly. That is all 
 that I ever got by conferring benefits on any but my own nearest relations 
 
 and friends.” “ H called. I gave him three guineas fqf his Library 
 
 subscription. I lay out very little money with so much satisfaction. For 
 three guineas a year, I keep a very good, intelligent young fellow out of 
 a great deal of harm, and do him a great deal of good.” “ I suppose,” 
 
 he writes to one of his sisters, “ that you told Mrs. Z that I was 
 
 not angry with her ; for to-day I have a letter from her begging for money 
 most vehemently, and saying that, if I am obdurate, her husband must go 
 to prison. I have sent her twenty pounds ; making up what she has had 
 from me within a few months to a hundred and thirty pounds. But I 
 have told her that her husband must take the consequences of his own 
 acts, and that she must expect no further assistance from me. This im- 
 portunity has provoked me not a little.” In truth, the tone in which 
 some of Macaulay’s most regular pensioners were accustomed to address 
 him contrasts almost absurdly with the respect paid towards him by the 
 public at large. “ That wretched K ,” he writes, “ has sent a scurril- 
 
 ous begging letter in his usual style. He hears that I have made thirty 
 thousand pounds by my malignant abuse of good men. Will I not send 
 some of it to him ? ” 
 
 To have written, or to pretend to have written, a book, whether good 
 or bad, was the surest and shortest road to Macaulay’s pocket. “ I sent 
 
 some money to Miss , a middling writer, whom I relieved some time 
 
 ago. I have been giving too fast of late ; — forty pounds in four or five 
 
 days. I must pull in a little.” “ Mrs. again, begging and praying. 
 
 * This the last time ; an execution ; &c., ’&c’ I will send her five pounds 
 more. This will make fifty pounds in a few months to a bad writer whom 
 I never saw.” “ I have received,” he writes to Mr. Longman, “ a rather queer 
 
 letter, purporting to be from the wife of Mr. D , the author of , 
 
 and dated from Greenwich. Now, I have once or tw'ice received similar 
 
1856-58. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 269 
 
 letters which have afterwards turned out to be forgeries. I sent ten pounds 
 to a sham Mary Howitt, who complained that an unforeseen misfortune had 
 reduced her to poverty ; and can hardly help suspecting that there may be a 
 sham Mrs. D . If, however, the author of is really in dis- 
 
 tress, I would gladly assist him, though I am no admirer of his poetry. 
 Could you learn from his publishers whether he really lives at 
 Greenwich > If he does, I will send him a few pounds. If he does not, I 
 will set the police to work.” The Rev, Mr. Frederick Arnold tells the 
 story of a German gentleman, the husband of a lady honorably connected 
 with literature, w'ho had fallen from affluence to unexpected poverty. He 
 applied to Macaulay for assistance, and, instead of the guinea for which 
 he had ventured to hope, he was instantly presented with thirty pounds. 
 During the last year of my uncle’s life, I called at Holly Lodge to bid 
 him good-bye before my return to the University. He told me that a 
 person had presented himself that very morning, under the name of a 
 Cambridge Fellow of some mark, but no great mark in the learned world. 
 This gentleman (for such he appeared to be) stated himself to be in dis- 
 tress, and asked for pecuniary aid. Macaulay, then and there, gave him 
 a hundred pounds. The visitor had no sooner left the room than my 
 uncle began to reflect that he had never set eyes on him before. He ac- 
 cordingly desired me, as soon as I got back to Cambridge, to make, with 
 all possible delicacy, such inquiries as might satisfy him that, when wish- 
 ing to relieve the necessities of a brother scholar, he had not rewarded the 
 audacity of a professional impostor.* 
 
 If he was such with regard to people whose very faces were strange to 
 him, it may well be believed that every valid claim upon his liberality was 
 readily acknowledged. He was handsome in all his dealings, both great 
 and small. Wherever he went (to use his own phrase), he took care to 
 make his mother’s son welcome. Within his own household he was posi- 
 tively worshipped ; and with good reason ; for Sir Walter Scptt himself 
 was not a kinder master. He cheerfully and habitually submitted to those 
 petty sacrifices by means of which an unselfish man can do so much to secure 
 the comfort and to earn the attachment of those who are around him ; — 
 marching off in all weathers to his weekly dinner at the club, in order to give 
 his servants their Sunday evening ; going far out of his way to make such 
 arrangements as would enable them to enjoy and to prolong their holi- 
 days ; or permitting them, if so they preferred, to entertain their relations 
 
 * “ September 14, 1859. — A Dr. called and introduced himself as a needy man 
 
 of letters. I was going to give him a sovereign, and send him away, w'hen I discovered 
 that he was the philologist, whom I should never have expected to see in such a plight. 
 I felt for him, and gave him a hundred pounds. A hard pull on me, I must say. How- 
 ever, I ha . e been prosperous beyond the common lot of men, and may well assist those 
 who have been out of luck.” 
 
270 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIV. 
 
 under his roof for a month together. “To-day,” he says, “William and 
 Elizabeth went off to fetch William’s father. As I write, here come my 
 travellers; the old man with a stick. Well ! It is good to give pleasure 
 and show .sympathy. There is no vanity in saying that I am a good 
 master.” 
 
 It would be superfluous to dwell upon Macaulay’s conduct towards 
 those with whom he was connected by the ties of blood, and by the re- 
 collections of early days which had not been exempt from poverty and 
 .sorrow. .Suffice it to say that he regarded himself as the head of his 
 family ; responsible (to speak plainly), for seeing that all his brothers and 
 sisters were no worse off than if his father had died a prosperous man. 
 It was only in this respect that he assumed the paternal relation. In his 
 ordinary behavior there was nothing which betokened that he was the 
 benefactor of all with whom he had to do. He never interfered ; he never 
 obtruded advice ; he never demanded that his own tastes or views should be 
 consulted, and he was studiously mindful of the feelings, and even the 
 fancies, of others. With the omission of only two words, we may justly 
 apply to him the eulogy pronounced upon another famous author by one 
 who certainly had the best of reasons for knowing that it was deserved. “ It 
 is .Southey’s almost unexampled felicity to possess the gifts of talent and 
 genius, free from all their characteristic defects. As son, brother, husband, 
 master, father, friend, he moves with firm yet light steps, alike unostenta- 
 tious, and alike exemplary.” * 
 
 It is pleasant to reflect that Macaulay’s goodness was repaid, as far as 
 gratitude and affection could suffice to repay it. He was contented with 
 the share of domestic felicity which had fallen to his lot. “ To-morrow,” 
 he says in one place, “the Trevelyans go to Weybridge. I feel these 
 separations, though they are for short times, and short distances ; but a 
 life is happy of which these are the mi.sfortunes.” t From graver calami- 
 ties and longer partings he was mercifully spared ; — most mercifully, be- 
 cause, as vt'ill soon be seen, he was quite unfitted to bear them. Already 
 he was painfully aware that the maladies under which he suffered had re- 
 laxed the elasticity of his spirits ; had sapped his powers of mental endur- 
 ance ; and had rendered his happiness more dependent than ever upon 
 
 * This passage is from a letter written by Coleridge, which forms part of the extraor- 
 dinarily interesting collection published by Mr. Cottle, the Bristol bookseller. The cor- 
 respondence presents a winning picture of Southey’s silent and unconscious heroism. “ I 
 feel,’’ he once said (and his life showed how truly he felt it), “ that duty and happiness 
 are inseparable.’’ Neither he nor Macaulay laid claim to what are called the “ privileges of 
 Genius.” In a note on margin of Nichol’s Literary Anecdotes my uncle says : “Genius! 
 What had Perceval .Stockdale to do witn genius But, as it is, the plea of genius is but 
 a poor one for immorality, and nine-tenths of those who plead it are dunces.” 
 
 t He consoled himself on this occasion by reading Crabbe “ during some hours, witf 
 pleasure ever fresh.” 
 
1856-58. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 271 
 
 the permanence of blessings which no human foresight could secure. The 
 prayer that most often came to his lips was that he might not survive 
 those whom he loved. “ God grant,” he writes on the ist of January, 
 1858, “that, if my dear little circle is to be diminished this year by any 
 death, it may be by mine ! Not that I am weary of life. I am far from 
 insensible to the pleasure of having fame, rank, and this opulence which has 
 come so late.” His imagination was deeply impressed by an old Roman 
 imprecation, which he had noticed long ago in a Gallery of Inscriptions : 
 
 “ ‘ Ultimus suorum moriatur ; ’ an awful curse ! ” 
 
 Once, and once only, during many years, he had any real ground for 
 alarm. 
 
 “ Jamiary 29, 1855. — The severest shock that I have had since Janu- 
 ary 1835.* A note from Margaret to say that Hannah has scarlet fever. 
 Margaret, too, is exposed. I was quite overset. They begged me not to 
 go, but I could not stay away. I saw them both, and was much relieved. 
 It seems that the crisis is over, and that the worst was passed before the 
 nature of the disease was known.” A few days afterwards he says : “ I 
 went to Westbourne Terrace, and saw Margaret. I begin to be nervous 
 about her, now that her mother is safe. Alas, that I should have staked 
 so much on what may be so easily lost ! Yet I would not have it other- 
 wise ! ” 
 
 He assuredly had no cause to wish it otherwise ; for he enjoyed the 
 satisfaction of feeling, not only that his affection was appreciated and 
 returned, but that those of whom he was fondest never wearied of his 
 company. Full and diversified always, and often impassioned or pro- 
 found, his conversation was never beyond the compass of his audience ; 
 for his talk, like his writing, was explanatory rather than allusive ; and, 
 born orator that he was, he contrived without any apparent effort that 
 every sentence which he uttered should go home to every person who 
 heard it. He was admirable with young people. Innumerable passages 
 in his journals and correspondence prove how closely he watched them ; 
 how completely he understood them ; and how, awake or asleep, they 
 were for ever in his thoughts. On the fragment of a letter to Mr Ellis 
 there is mention of a dream he had about his younger niece, “ so vivid 
 that I must tell it. She came to me with a penitential face, and told me 
 that she had a great sin to confess ; that Pepys’s Diary was all a forgery, 
 and that she had forged it. I was in the greatest dismay. ‘ What ! I 
 have been quoting in reviews, and in my History, a forgery of yours as a 
 
 * It was in January, 1835, that he heard of his youngest sister’s death. He writes, in 
 April, 1856 : “ I passed the day in burning and arranging papers. Some things that met 
 my eyes overcame me for a time. Margaret. Alas ! Alas ! And yet she might have 
 changed to me. But no ; that could never have been. To think that she has been near 
 twenty-two years dead ; and I am crying for her as if it were yesterday.” 
 
272 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIV* 
 
 book of the highest authority. How shall I ever hold my head up again?' 
 I woke with the fright, poor Alice’s supplicating voice still in my ears.” 
 He now and then speaks of his wish to have some serious'talk with one 
 or another of the lads in whom he was specially interested “ in a quiet 
 way,” and “ without the forms of a lecture.” His lectures were, indeed, 
 neither frequent nor formidable. I faintly remember his once attempting 
 to shame me out of a fit of idleness by holding himself up as an awful 
 example of the neglect of mathematics. It must not, however, be sup- 
 posed that Macaulay spoiled the children of whom he was fondest. On 
 the contrary, he had strict notions of what their behavior should be ; and, 
 in his own quiet way, he took no little pains to train their dispositions. 
 He was visibly pained by any outbreak on their part of wilfulness, or bad 
 temper, or, above all, of selfishness. But he had very seldom occasion to 
 give verbal expression to his disapprobation. His influence over us was 
 so unbounded ; — there was something so impressive in the displeasure of 
 one whose affection for us was so deep, and whose kindness was so un- 
 failing ; — that no punishment could be devised one half as formidable as 
 the knowledge that we had vexed our uncle. He was enabled to r-eserve 
 his spoken reproofs for the less heinous sins of false rhymes, misquota- 
 tions, and solecisms (or what he chose to consider as such), in grammar, 
 orthography, and accentuation; — for saying “The tea is being made,” 
 and not “The tea is a-making;” for writing “Bosphorus” instead of 
 “ Bosporus,” and “ Syren ” instead of “ Siren ; ” and, above all, for pro- 
 nouncing the penultimate of “ Metamorphosis ” short. This was the more 
 hard upon us because, in conforming to the fashion of the world, we were 
 acting in accordance with the moral of the best among his many stories 
 about Dr. Parr. A gentleman, who had been taken to task for speaking 
 of the ancient capital of Egypt as “ Alexandria,” defended himself by the 
 authority and example of Dr. Bentley. “ Dr. Bentley and I,” replied Dr.’ 
 Parr, “ may call it Alexandria ; but I think you had better call it Alex- 
 andria.” 
 
 It was a grievous loss to Macaulay when we grew too old for sight- 
 seeing ; — or, at any rate, for seeing the same sight many times over. As 
 the best substitute for Madame Tussaud and the Colosseum he used in 
 later years to take his nieces the round of the picture-galleries; and, 
 though far from an unimpeachable authority on matters of art, he was 
 certainly a most agreeable Cicerone. In painting, as in most things, he 
 had his likes and dislikes, and had them strongly. In 1857 he writes : 
 “ Pre-raphaelitism is spreading, I am glad to see ; — glad, because it is by 
 spreading that such affectations perish.” He saw at the Frankfort Mu- 
 seum “ several chefs-d’oeuvre, as they are considered, of modern German 
 art ; all, to my thinking, very poor. There is a Daniel in the den of lions 
 which it is a shame to exhibit. I did not even like the John Huss, and 
 
1856-58. 
 
 I.ORD MACAULAY. 
 
 273 
 
 Still less Overbeck’s trashy allegory. One of Stanfield’s landscapes or of 
 Landseer’s hunting pieces is worth all the mystic daubs of all the Ger- 
 mans.” . 
 
 Macaulay looked at pictures as a man of letters, rather than as a con- 
 noisseur ; judging them less by their technical merits than with reference 
 to the painter’s choice and treatment of his subject. “ There was a Sal- 
 vator,” he says in one place, “ which I w'as pleased to see, because the 
 thought had occurred to me in Horatius ; — an oak struck by lightning, 
 with the Augurs looking at it in dismay.” In 1853 he writes : “ The Ex- 
 hibition was very good indeed ; capital Landseers ; one excellent Stan- 
 field ; a very good Roberts. Ward was good; but I was struck by one 
 obvious fault in his picture of Montrose’s execution ; — a fault, perhaps, 
 inseparable from such subjects. Montrose was a mean-looking man, and 
 Ward thought it necessary to follow the likeness, and perhaps he was 
 right. But all the other figures are imaginary, and each is, in its own 
 way, striking. The consequence is that the central figure is not only 
 mean in itself, but is made meaner by contrast. In pictures where all 
 the figures are imaginary this will not occur, not in pictures where all the 
 figures are real.” Macaulay’s sentence about Dr. Johnson’s literary ver- 
 dicts might perhaps be applied to his own criticisms on art : “ At the 
 very worst, they mean something ; a praise to which much of what is 
 called criticism in our time has no pretensions.” * 
 
 Macaulay may not have been a reliable guide in the regions of high 
 art, but there was one department of education in which, as an instructor, 
 he might have challenged comparison with the best. A boy whose classi- 
 cal reading he watched, and in some degree directed, might indeed be 
 lazy, but could not be indifferent to his work. The dullest of tiros would 
 have been inspired by the ardor of one whose thoughts were often for 
 weeks together more in Latium and Attica than in Middlesex ; who knew 
 the careers and the characters of the great men who paced the forum, 
 and declaimed in the Temple of Concord, as intimately as those of his 
 own rivals in Parliament, and his own colleagues in the Cabinet ; to whom 
 Cicero was as real as Peel, and Curio as Stanley ; who was as familiar 
 
 * Macaulay had a great admiration for that fine picture, the Lady’s Last Stake, 
 which, strange to say, is not included in the ordinary editions of Hogarth. He suggested 
 that an engraving of it should be prefixed as frontispiece to a collection of Mrs. Piozzi’s 
 papers which Mr. Longman talked of publishing. “ There is a great deal,” he writes, 
 “ about that picture in Mrs. Piozzi’s Life of herself. The Lady v/ho is reduced to the 
 last stake was a portrait of her ; and the likeness was discernible after the lapse of more 
 than fifty years.” The expression of puzzled amusement on the Lady’s face is as good as 
 anything in the breakfast scene of the Marriage ^ la Mode ; and the effect of the back- 
 ground, — a plain parlor, with the ordinary furniture of the day, — is a remarkable instance 
 of the amount of pleasure that may be afforded to the spectator by the merest accessories 
 of a picture which is the careful work of a great artist. 
 
 VOL. II.— 18 
 
274 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIV. 
 
 with his Lucian and his Augustan Histories as other men of letters are 
 with their Voltaire and their Pepys ; who cried over Homer with emotion, 
 and over Aristophanes with laughter, and could not read the De Corona 
 even for the twentieth time without striking his clenched fist at least once 
 a minute on the arm of his easy chair. As he himself says of Lord 
 Some“s, “ he had studied ancient literature like a man ; ” and he loved it 
 as only a poet could. No words can convey a notion of the glamour which 
 Macaulay’s robust and unaffected enthusiasm threw over the books or the 
 events which had aroused and which fed it ; or of the permanent impres- 
 sion which that enthusiasm left upon the minds of those who came within 
 its influence. All the little interviews that took place between us as 
 master and pupil, to which a multitude of notices in his diary refer, are 
 as fresh in my memory as if they had occurred last summer, instead of 
 twenty years ago. “Home, and took a cabful of books to Westbourne 
 Terrace for George ; — Scapula, Ainsworth, Lucian, Quintus Curtius.” 
 And again ; “ George was at home, with a hurt which kept him from re- 
 turning to school. I gave him a lecture on the tragic metres, which will 
 be well worth a day’s schooling to him, if he profits by it.” Macaulay’s 
 care of my classics ceased with the holidays ; for he knew that at school 
 I was in safe hands. He writes to his sister in December 1856: “ I am 
 truly glad that Vaughan remains for the present at Harrow. After next 
 October, the sooner he is made a Bishop the better. This last opinion 
 was shared by all who wished well to the Church of England, with the 
 most unfortunate exception of Dr. Vaughan himself. 
 
 Macaulay wrote to me at Harrow pretty constantly, sealing his letters 
 with an amorphous mass of red wax, which, in defiance of post-office 
 regulations, not unfrequently concealed a piece of gold. “It is said,” (so 
 he once began,) “that the best part of a lady’s letter is the postcript. 
 The best part of an uncle’s is under the seal.” 
 
 Tunbridge Wells : August i, 1853. 
 
 Dear George, — I am glad that you are working hard. Did you ever 
 read Paradise Lost ? If not, I would advise you to read it now ; for it is 
 the best commentary that I know on the Prometheus. There was a great 
 resemblance between the genius of .^Eschylus and the genius of Milton ; 
 and this appears most strikingly in those two wonderful creations of the 
 imagination, Prometheus and Satan. I do not believe that Milton bor- 
 rowed Satan from the Greek drama. For, though he was an excellent 
 scholar after the fashion of his time, ^Eschylus was, I suspect, a little 
 beyond him. You cannot conceive how much the facilities for reading 
 the Greek writers have increased within the last two hundred years, how 
 much better the text is now printed, and how much light the successive 
 labors of learned men have thrown on obscure passages. I was greatly 
 struck with this when, at Althorp, I looked through Lord Spencer’s 
 
1856-58. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 275 
 
 magnificent collection of Aldine editions. Numerous passages which are 
 now perfectly simple were mere heaps of nonsense. And no writer suf- 
 fered more than ^schylus. 
 
 Note particularly in the Prometheus the magnificent history of the 
 origin of arts and sciences. That passage shows iEschylus to have been 
 not only a poet of the first order but a great thinker. It is the fashion 
 to call Euripides a philosophical poet ; but I remember nothing in 
 Euripides so philosophical as that rapid enumeration of all the discoveries 
 and inventions which make the difference between savage and civilized 
 man. The latter part of the play is glorious. 
 
 I am very busy here getting some of my speeches ready for the press ; 
 and during the day I get no reading, except while I walk on the heath, 
 and then I read Plato, one of the five first-rate Athenians. The other 
 four are your friends iEschylus and Thucydides, Sophocles and Demos- 
 thenes. I know of no sixth Athenian who can be added to the list. Cer- 
 tainly not Euripides, nor Xenophon, nor Isocrates, nor ^schines. But I 
 forgot Aristophanes. More shame for me. He makes six, and I can 
 certainly add nobody else to the six. How I go on gossiping about these 
 old fellows when I should be thinking of other things ! 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 During my last year at school my uncle did me the honor of making 
 me the vehicle for a compliment to Lord Palmerston. “ George’s Latin 
 Poem,” he writes to Mr. Ellis in the spring of 1857, “ is an account of a 
 tour up the Rhine in imitation of the fifth Satire of Horace’s first Book. 
 The close does not j)lease Vaughan, and, indeed, is not good. I have 
 suggested what I think a happier termination. The travellers get into a 
 scrape at Heidelberg, and are taken up. How to extricate them is the 
 question. I advise George to represent himself as saying that he is an 
 Englishman, and that there is one who will look to it that an Englishman 
 i shall be as much respected as a Roman citizen. The name of Palmer- 
 ston at once procures the prisoners their liberty. Palmerston, you re- 
 member, is a Harrow man. The following termination has occurred to 
 me : 
 
 Tantum valuit prxnobile nomen, 
 
 Quod noster collis, nostra haec sibi vindicat aula ; 
 
 Quod Scytha, quod torti redinritus tempora mitrS 
 Persa timet, diroque gerens Ser bella veneno. 
 
 “ Do not mention this. It might lead people to think that I have 
 helped George ; and there is not a line in any of his exercises that is not 
 his own.” • 
 
 It may be imagined amidst what a storm of applause these spirited 
 verses (redolent, perhaps, rather of Claudian than of Horace), were 
 
LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIV. 
 
 276 
 
 declaimed, on the Harrow speech-day, to an audience as proud of Pal- 
 merston as ever an Eton audience was of Canning.* 
 
 August 2 Zy 1857. — A great day in my life. I stayed at home, very 
 sad about India.t Not that I have any doubt about the result ; but the 
 news is heart-breaking. I went, very low, to dinner, and hardly begun to 
 eat when a messenger came with a letter from Palmerston. An offer of 
 a peerage ; the Queen’s pleasure already taken. I was very much sur- 
 prised. Perhaps no such offer was ever made without the slightest solic- 
 itation, direct or indirect, to a man of humble origin and moderate for- 
 tune, who had long quitted public life. I had no hesitation about accept- 
 ing, with many respectful and grateful expressions ; but God knows that 
 the poor women at Delhi and Cawnpore are more in my thoughts than 
 my coronet. It was necessary for me to choose a title off-hand. I de- 
 termined to be Baron Macaulay of Rothley. I was born there ; I have 
 lived much there ; I am named from the family which long had the manor ; 
 my uncle was Rector there. Nobody can complain of my taking a designa- 
 tion from a village which is nobody’s property now.” 
 
 Macaulay went abroad on the ist of September. After his return from 
 the Continent he says : “ On my way from the station to Holly Lodge yes- 
 terday, I called at the Royal Institution, and saw the papers of the last 
 fortnight. There is a general cry of pleasure at my elevation. I am truly 
 gratified by finding how well I stand with the public, and gratified by 
 finding that Palmerston has made a hit for himself in bestowing this 
 dignity on me.” “ I think,” (so my mother writes,) “ that his being made 
 a peer was one of the very few things that everybody approved. I can- 
 not recall any opinion adverse to it. He enjoyed it himself, as he did 
 everything, simply and cordially. We were making a tour in the Tyrol 
 that summer; and, on our return, we stopped at Paris, I and my children, 
 to spend a few days at the Louvre Hotel with your uncle and Mr. Ellis. 
 I often think of our arrival at eleven at night ; — the well spread board 
 awaiting us ; his joyous welcome ; and then his desiring us to guess what 
 his news was, and my disappointing him by instantly guessing it. Then 
 our merry time together ; the last unbroken circle ; for change began the 
 following year, and change has since been the order of my life.” 
 
 * It is necessary, in order to explain the allusions in Macaulay’s lines, to remind 
 the reader that in July, 1857, Palmerston’s Russian laurels were still fresh; and that 
 he had, within the last few months, brought the Persian difficulty to a successful issue, 
 and commenced a war with China. Hostilities began with an attempt on the 
 part of a Hong- Kong baker, of the suggestive name of A-lum, to poison Sir John 
 Bowring. 
 
 t The Sepoy Mutiny was then at its very worst. Something like the truth of the Cawn- 
 pore story was begiuning to be known in England. 
 
1856-58. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 277 
 
 To the Rev. Dr. Whewell. 
 
 Holly Lodge, Kensington : October 9, 1857. 
 
 My dear Master, — Thanks for your kindness, which is what it has al- 
 ways been. Unhappily I have so bad a cold, and Trevelyan has so much 
 to do, that neither of us will be able to accompany our boy, — for we are 
 equally interested in him, — to Cambridge next week. It is pleasant to 
 me to think that I have now a new tie to Trinity. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 Macaulay. 
 
 My uncle had long been looking forward to the period of my residence 
 at the University as an opportunity for renewing those early recollections 
 and associations which he studiously cultivated, and which, after the lapse 
 of five-and-thirty years, filled as large a space as ever in his thoughts. I 
 have at this moment before me his Cambridge Calendar for 1859. The 
 book is full of his hand- writing. He has been at the pains of supple- 
 menting the Tripos lists, between 1750 and 1835, names of all 
 
 the distinguished men who took their degrees in each successive year, but 
 who, failing to go out in honors, missed such immortality as the Cambridge 
 Calendar can give. He has made an elaborate computation, which must 
 have consumed a whole morning, in order to ascertain the collective 
 annual value of the livings in the gift of the several colleges ; from the 
 twenty-four thousand pounds a year of St. John’s and the eighteen thou- 
 sand of Trinity, down to the hundreds a year of St. Catherine’s and of 
 Downing. Many and many an entry in his diary proves that he never 
 ceased to be proud of having won for himself a name at Cambridge. On 
 the nth of June, 1857, he writes: “I dined with Milnes, and sat between 
 Thirlwall and Whewell ; — three Trinity fellows together ; and not bad 
 specimens for a college to have turned out within six years, though I say 
 it.” 
 
 If Macaulay’s reverence for those personal anecdotes relating to the 
 habits and doings of famous students, which have come down to us from 
 the golden age of classical criticism, was any indication of his tastes, he 
 would willingly have once more been a member of his old college, leading 
 the life of a senior fellow, such as it was, or such as he imagined it to 
 have been, in the days of Porson, Scholefield, or Dobree. Gladly (at 
 least so he pretended to believe) would he have passed his summers by 
 the banks of the Cam, — editing the Pharsalia, collating * the manuscripts 
 of the Hecuba which are among the treasures of the University Library; 
 and “dawdling over Tryphodorus, Callimachus’s Epigrams, and Tacitus’s 
 
 * Macaulay had a sincere admiration for that old scholar, who, when condoled with 
 upon the misfortune of an illness which had injured his sight, thanked God that he had 
 kept his “collating eye.” 
 
LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIV 
 
 278 
 
 Histories.” He was always ready for a conversation, and even for a cor- 
 respondence, on a nice point of scholarship ; and I have seldom seen him 
 more genuinely gratified than by the intelligence that an emendation which 
 he had suggested upon an obscure passage in Euripides was favorably 
 regarded in the Trinity combination room.* 
 
 During the May term of 1858 he paid me the first of those visits which 
 he had taught me to anticipate with delight ever since I had been old 
 enough to know what a college was. He detained a large breakfast party 
 of undergraduates far into the day, while he rolled out for their amuse- 
 ment and instruction his stores of information on the history, customs, 
 and traditions of the University; and I remember that after their depart- 
 ure he entertained himself with an excessively droll comparison of his 
 own position with that of Major Pendennis among the young heroes of 
 St. Boniface. But, proud as I was of him, I can recall few things more 
 painful than the contrast between his strength of intellect and of memory, 
 and his extreme weakness of body. In July, 1858, Lord Carlisle expressed 
 himself as distressed “ to see and hear Macaulay much broken by cough ; ” 
 and in the previous May the symptoms of failing health were not less 
 clearly discernible. With a mind still as fresh as when in 1820 he wore 
 the blue gown of Trinity, and disputed with Charles Austin till four in 
 the morning over the comparative merits of the Inductive and the a priori 
 method in politics, it was already apparent that a journey across Clare 
 bridge, and along the edge of the great lawn at King’s, performed at the 
 rate of half a mile in the hour, was an exertion too severe for his feeble 
 frame.! 
 
 In the autumn of 1857 the High Stewardship of the Borough of Cam- 
 bridge became vacant by the death of Earl Fitzwilliam, and Macaulay 
 was elected in his place by the unanimous vote of the Town Council. “ I 
 find,” he says, “ that the office has been held by a succession of men of 
 the highest eminence in political and literary history; — the Protector 
 Somerset; Dudley, Duke of Northumberland; Ellesmere; Bacon; Cov- 
 
 * ri Itl ; tlv' vTro2,e'nro/J,at rvxw > 
 
 ■ydjuovg eXofiivT^ tcjv kokoo vTTaXXaydg, 
 jLier' avdpbg oiKslv ^apfidpov^ npog iz'kovaiav 
 Tpairei^av iI^ovg' ; brav -rroaig iriKpog 
 ^vvy ywaiKi^ ical ro aupi eorlv TUKpdv. 
 
 The difficulty of this passage lies in the concluding line. One editor reads ** 
 eariv ; ” another “ ro ac)C,eodaL” Macaulay proposed to substitute “ ^pop.’ ” for 
 « Gap 
 
 t In November, 1857, Macaulay received invitations from Edinburgh and Glasgow to 
 take part in the ceremonies of the Burns centenary. “ I refused both invitations,” he 
 says, “ for fifty reasons,” one of which is that, if I went down in the depth of winter to 
 harangue in Scotland, I should never come back alive.” 
 
1856-58. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 279 
 
 entry; Finch; Oliver Cromwell; Clarendon; and Russell, the La Hogue 
 man. Very few places have been so filled.” The ceremony of Macaulay’s 
 inauguration of High Steward was deferred till the warm weather of 
 1858. 
 
 “ Tuesday y May ii. — I was at Cambridge by ten. The mayor was at 
 the station to receive me ; and most hospitable he was, and kind. I went 
 with him to the Town Hall, was sworn in, and then was ushered into the 
 great room where a public breakfast was set out. I had not been in that 
 room since 1820, when I heard Miss Stephens sing there, and bore part in 
 a furious contest between ‘ God save the King ’ and ‘ God save the Queen.’ 
 I had been earlier in this room. I was there at two meetings of the 
 Cambridge Bible Society; that of 1813, and that of 1815. On the latter 
 occasion I bought at Deighton’s Scott’s Waterloo, just published, and 
 read it on a frosty journey back to Aspenden Hall. But how I go on 
 wandering ! The room now looked smaller than in old times. About 
 forty municipal functionaries, and as many guests, chiefly of the Univer- 
 sity, were present. The mayor gave my health in a very graceful manner. 
 I replied concisely, excusing myself, with much truth, on the plea of health, 
 ' from haranguing longer. I was well received ; very well. Several 
 speeches followed ; the Vice-Chancellor saying very handsomely that I 
 was a pledge of the continuance of the present harmony between town 
 and gown.” 
 
 Macaulay had good reason to shrink from the exertion of a long speech, 
 as was only too evident to his audience in the Cambridge Assembly-room. 
 There was a touch of sadness in the minds of all present as they listened 
 to the brief but expressive phrases in which he reminded them that the 
 time had been when he might have commanded a hearing “ in larger and 
 stormier assemblies,” but that any services which he could henceforward 
 do for his country must be done in the quiet of his own library. “ It is 
 now five years,” he said, “since I raised my voice in public; and it is not 
 likely — unless there be some special call of duty — that I shall ever raise 
 it in public again.” 
 
 That special call of duty never came. Macaulay’s indifference to the 
 vicissitudes of party politics had by this time grown into a confirmed 
 habit of mind. His correspondence during the spring of 1857 contains 
 but few and brief allusions even to catastrophes as striking as the minis- 
 terial defeat upon the China war, and the overwhelming reverse of fortune 
 which ensued when the question was transferred to the polling booths. 
 “ Was there ever anything,” he writes, “since the fall of the rebel angels, 
 like the smash of the Anti-Corn Law League ? How art thou fallen from 
 Heaven, O Lucifer ! I wish that Bright and Cobden had been returned.” 
 Macaulay’s opinion in the matter, as far as he had an opinion, was in 
 favoi of the Government, and against the coalition. “ I am glad,” he 
 
28o 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIV. 
 
 wrote on the eve of the debate, “ that I have done with politics. I should 
 not have been able to avoid a pretty sharp encounter with Lord John.” 
 ]iut his days for sharp encounters were over, and his feelings of partizan- 
 ship were reserved for the controversies about Standing Armies and 
 Royal Grants which convulsed the last two Parliaments of the seventeenth 
 century. He was, to describe him in his own words, “a vehement minis- 
 terialist of i6y8,” who thought “more about Somers and Montague than 
 about Campbell and Lord Palmerston.” 
 
 A faint interest, rather personal than political, in the proceedings of 
 the Upper House, was awakened in his breast when, sitting for the first 
 time on the red benches, he found himself in the presence of the most 
 eminent among his ancient rivals, adversaries, and allies. “ Lord Derby,” 
 he writes, “ was all himself, — clever, keen, neat, clear ; never aiming 
 high, but always hitting what he aims at.” A quarter of a century had 
 not changed Macaulay’s estimate of Lord Brougham, nor softened his 
 mode of expressing it. “ Strange fellow ! His powers gone. His spite 
 immortal. A dead nettle.” * 
 
 During his first Session the new Peer more than once had a mind to 
 speak upon matters relating to India. In February, 1858, Lord Ellen- 
 borough gave notice of a motion for papers, with the view, as was pre- 
 sumed, of eliciting proofs that the Sepoy Mutiny had been provoked by 
 the proselytizing tendencies of the British Government. Macaulay, 
 prompted by an Englishman’s sense of fair-play, resolved to give the 
 eloquent and redoubtable ex-Governor-General a chance of paying off 
 outstanding scores. But it all came to nothing. '‘^February 19. — I worked 
 hard, to make ready for a discussion of the great question of religion and 
 education in India. I went down to the House. Lord Ellenborough’s 
 speech merely related to a petty question about the report of a single 
 inspector — a very silly one, I am afraid — in Bahar. Lord Granville an- 
 swered well, and much more than sufficiently. Then the debate closed. 
 Many people thought that Lord Ellenborough would have been much 
 longer and more vehement if he had not been taken aback by seeing me 
 ready to reply. They say that he has less pluck than his warm and 
 somewhat petulant manner indicates. I can only say that I was quite as 
 much afraid of him as he could be of me. I thought of Winkle and 
 
 * Macaulay’s disapprobation of Lord Brougham had been revived and intensified by a 
 recent occurrence. “ April 27, 1856. — I had a short conversation with Lord Lansdowne 
 about a disagreeable matter ; — that most cruel and calumnious attack which Brougham 
 has made on Lord Rutherford in a paper which has been printed and circulated among 
 the peers who form the Committee on Life Peerages. I was glad to find that there was 
 no chance that the paper would be published. Should it be published, poor Rutherford 
 will not want defenders.” 
 
1856-58. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 281 
 
 Dowler in the Pickwick Papers.” * On the ist of May in the same year 
 Macaulay says : “ I meant to go to the Museum , but, seeing that Lord 
 Shaftesbury has given notice of a petition which may produce a discus- 
 sion about Christianity in India, I stayed at home all day, preparing my- 
 self to speak if there should be occasion. I shall drop no hint of my 
 intention. I cannot help thinking that I shall succeed, if I have voice 
 enough to make myself heard.” But, when the day arrived, he writes : 
 “ Shaftesbury presented the petition with only a few words. Lord Ellen- 
 borough said only a few words in answer.f To make a long set speech 
 in such circumstances would have been absurd ; so I went quietly home.” 
 
 In the course of the year 1858 several of those eminent Frenchmen 
 who refused to bow the knee before the Second Empire had frequent 
 and friendly conversations with Macaulay on the future of their unhappy 
 country ; but they failed to convince the historian of our great Revolu- 
 tion that the experiment of 1688 could be successfully repeated on Gallic 
 soil. “ I argued strongly,” he writes on one occasion, “ against the notion 
 that much good was likely to be done by insurrection even against the 
 bad governments of the Continent. What good have the revolutions of 
 1848 done ? Or, rather, what harm have they not done ? The only rev- 
 olutions which have turned out well have been defensive revolutions ; — 
 ours of 1688 ; the French of 1830. The American was, to a great extent, 
 of the same kind.” On the 15th of May he says : “ Montalembert called. 
 He talked long, vehemently, and with feeling, about the degraded state 
 of France. I could have said a good deal on the other side ; but I re- 
 frained. I like him much.” A fortnight later; “ Duvergier d’Hauranne 
 called, and brought his son. How he exclaimed against the French 
 Emperor ! I do not like the Emperor or his system ; but I cannot find 
 that his enemies are able to hold out any reasonable hope, that, if he is 
 pulled down, a better government will be set up : I cannot say to a 
 Frenchman what I think; — that the French have only themselves to 
 thank ; and that a people which violently pulls down constitutional gov- 
 ernments, and lives quiet under despotism, must be, and ought to be, 
 despotically governed. We should have reformed the government of the 
 House of Orleans without subverting it. We should not have borne the 
 yoke of Celui-ci for one day. However, I feel for men like Duvergier 
 d’Hauranne and Montalembert, who are greatly iff advance of the body of 
 their countrymen.” 
 
 Macaulay had little attention to spare for the politics of the West- 
 
 * “ ‘ Mr. Winkle, Sir, be calm. Don’t strike me. I won’t bear it. A blow I 
 Never ! ’ said Mr. Dowler, looking meeker than Mr. Winkle had expected from a gentle- 
 man of his ferocity.” 
 
 t Between February and May Lord Ellenborough had become Secretary of the Indian 
 Board of Control. 
 
282 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIV. 
 
 minister lobbies or the Parisian boulevards ; but it must not be thought 
 that he was growing indifferent to the wider and more permanent inter- 
 ests of the British nation and the British empire. The honor of our flag, 
 and the welfare of our people, were now, as ever, the foremost objects of 
 his solicitude. “England,” he writes, “seems to be profoundly quiet. 
 God grant that she may long continue so, and that the history of the 
 years which I may yet have to live may be the dullest portion of her 
 history 1 It is sad work to live in times about which it is amusing to 
 read.” The fervor of this prayer for public tranquillity was prompted by 
 the recollections of 1857, which were still fresh in Macafllay’s mind. On 
 the 29th of June in that terrible year he notes in his diary : “To break- 
 fast with Milnes. Horrible news from India ; massacre of Europeans at 
 Delhi, and mutiny. I have no apprehensions for our Indian Empire ; 
 but this is a frightful event. Home ; but had no heart to work. I will not 
 try at present.” Again he says, and yet again : “ I cannot settle to work 
 while the Delhi affair is undecided.” His correspondence during the 
 coming months overflows with allusions to India. “No more news; that 
 is to say, no later news than we had before you started ; but private, let- 
 ters are appearing daily in the newspapers. The cruelties of the Sepoys 
 have inflamed the nation to a degree unprecedented within my memory. 
 Peace Societies, and Aborigines Protection Societies, and Societies for 
 the Reformation of Criminals are silenced. There is one terrible cry for 
 revenge. The account of that dreadful military execution at Peshawur, — 
 forty men blown at once from the mouths of cannon, their heads, legs, 
 arms flying in all directions, — was read with delight by people who three 
 weeks ago were against all capital punishment. Bright himself declares 
 for the vigorous suppression of the mutiny. The almost universal feeling 
 is that not a single Sepoy within the walls of Delhi should be spared ; and 
 I own that it is a feeling with which I cannot help sympathizing.” 
 
 When Macaulay was writing these words, the crimes of the mutineers 
 were still unpunished, and their power unbroken. The belief that mercy 
 to the Sepoy was no mercy, as long as Delhi remained in rebel hands, was 
 sternly carried into action in the Punjaub and the North West Provinces 
 of India by men who were sincerely humane both by temperament and by 
 religious conviction. That belief was almost universal among people of 
 our race on both sides of the Atlantic. The public opinion even of phil- 
 anthropic and abolitionist Boston did not differ on this point from the pub- 
 lic opinion of London. “ The India mail,” wrote Dr. Oliver Wendell 
 Holmes, “ brings stories of women and children outraged and murdered. 
 The royal stronghold is in the hands of the babe-killers. England takes 
 down the Map of the world, which she has girdled with empire, and makes 
 a correction thus : DELHI. Dele. The civilized world says. Amen ! ” 
 '•^September 19, 1857. The Indian business looks ill. This miserable 
 
LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 1856-^8. 
 
 283 
 
 affair at Dinapore may produce serious inconvenience.* However, the 
 tide is near the turn. Within a month the flood of English will come in 
 fast. But it is painful to be so revengeful as I feel myself. I, who can- 
 not bear to see a beast or bird in pain, could look on without winking 
 while Nana Sahib underwent all the tortures of Ravaillac. And these 
 feelings are not mine alone. Is it possible that a year passed under the 
 influence of such feelings should not have some effect on the national 
 character ? The effect will be partly good and partly bad. The nerves 
 of our minds will be braced. Effeminate, mawkish philanthropy will lose 
 all its influence. But shall we not hold human life generally cheaper than 
 we have done ? Having brought ourselves to exult in the misery of the 
 guilty, shall we not feel less sympathy for the sufferings of the innocent ? 
 In one sense, no doubt, in exacting ’a tremendous retribution we are doing 
 our duty and performing an act of mercy. So is Calcraft when he hangs a 
 murderer. Yet the habit of hanging murderers is found to injure the 
 character.” 
 
 Macaulay did everything which lay in his power to show that at such a 
 crisis he felt a citizen’s concern in the fortunes of the commonwealth. At 
 the invitation of the Lord Mayor he became a member of the Committee 
 for the relief of the Indian sufferers. On the day appointed for national 
 humiliation and prayer he writes as follows : 
 
 “ Octob<^r 7. — Wind and rain. However, I went to Church, though by 
 no means well. Nothing could be more solemn or earnest than the aspect 
 of the congregation, which was numerous. The sermon was detestable ; 
 ignorance, stupidity, bigotry. If the maxims of this fool, and of others like 
 him, are followed, we shall soon have, not the mutiny of an army, but the 
 rebellion of a whole nation to deal with. He would have the Government 
 plant missionaries everywhere, invite the Sepoy to listen to Christian in- 
 struction, and turn the Government schools into Christian seminaries. 
 Happily there is some security against such mischievous doctrines in the 
 good sense of the country, and a still stronger security in its nonsense. 
 Christianity in teaching sounds very well ; but the moment that any plan 
 is proposed, all the sects in the kingdom will be together by the ears. 
 We who are for absolute neutrality shall be supported against such fools 
 as this man by all the Dissenters, by the Scotch, and by the Roman Catho- 
 lics.” 
 
 “ October 25, 1857. — My birthday. Fifty-seven. I have had a not un- 
 
 * The Dinapore Brigade, a force of twenty-five hundred bayonets, mutinied on the 
 25th of July, and a few days later routed, and well-nigh destroyed, an ill-conducted expe- 
 dition which had been despatched to relieve the European garrison at Arrah. The glo- 
 rious defence of the little house, and its equally glorious relief, have thrown into shade the 
 memory of the lamentable blunders which gave occasion for that display of intelligent and 
 heroic valor. 
 
284 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIV. 
 
 pleasant year. My health is not good, but my head is clear and my heart 
 is warm. I receive numerous marks of the good opinion of the public ; — 
 a large public, including the educated men both of the old and of the new 
 world. I have been made a peer, with, I think, as general an approbation 
 as I remember in the case of any man that in my time has been made a 
 peer. What is much more important to my happiness than wealth, titles, 
 and even fame, those whom I love are well and happy, and very kind and 
 affectionate to me. These are great things. I have some complaints, 
 however, to make of the past year. The Indian troubles have affected my 
 spirits more than any public events in the whole course of my life. To be 
 sure, the danger which threatened the country at the beginning of April, 
 1848, came nearer to me. But that danger was soon over ; and the Indian 
 Mutiny has now lasted several months, and may last months still. The 
 emotions which it excites, too, are of a strong kind. I may say that, till 
 this year, I did not know’ what real vindictive hatred meant. With what 
 horror I used to read in Livy how Fulvius put to death the whole Capuan 
 Senate in the Second Punic War! And with w’hat equanimity I could 
 hear that the whole garrison of Delhi, all the Moulavies and Mussulman 
 Doctors there, and all the rabble of the bazaar had been treated in the 
 same way ! Is this wrong ? Is not the severity which springs from a great 
 sensibility to human suffering a better thing than the lenity which springs 
 from indifference to human suffering ? The question may be argued long 
 on both sides.” 
 
 ^'■October 27. — Huzza! Huzza! Thank God ! Delhi is taken. A great 
 event. Glorious to the nation, and one which will resound through all 
 Christendom and Islam. What an exploit for that handful of Englishmen 
 in the heart of Asia to have performed ! ” 
 
 November — Huzza! Good news ! Lucknow relieved. Delhi ours. 
 
 The old dotard a prisoner. God be praised ! Another letter from Long- 
 man. They have already sold 7600 more copies. This is near 6000/., as 
 I reckoned, in my pocket. But it gratified me, I am glad to be able to say 
 with truth, far, very far, less than the Indian news. I could hardly eat my 
 dinner for joy.” 
 
 The lovers of ballad-poetry may be permitted to wonder how it was 
 that the patriotic ardor which passing events aroused in Macaulay did not 
 find vent in strains resembling those with which he celebrated Ivry and 
 the Armada. It is still more remarkable that (if we except the stanzas 
 which he wrote after his defeat at Edinburgh) he never embodied in verse 
 any of those touching expressions of personal emotion which so constantly 
 recur in the pages of his journal. The explanation probably lies in the fact 
 that, from the time when he became a regular contributor to the Edinburgh 
 Review, he always had on hand some weighty and continuous employment 
 which concentrated his imagination, and consumed all his productive ener- 
 
1856-58. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 285 
 
 gies. There was but one short break in his labors ; and that break gave 
 us the Lays of Ancient Rome. “ If,” said Goethe, “ you have a great work 
 in your head, nothing else thrives near it.” * The truth of this aphorism, 
 representing, as it does, the lifelong experience of the greatest master who 
 ever consciously made an art of literature, was at first not very acceptable 
 to Macaulay. But he soon discovered that Clio was a mistress who would 
 be satisfied with no divided allegiance ; and her sister muses thencefor- 
 ward lost the homage of one who might fairly have hoped to be numbered 
 among their favored votaries. 
 
 Long after Macaulay had abandoned all other public business he 
 continued to occupy himself in the administration of the British Museum. 
 In February, 1856, he wrote to Lord Lansdowne, with the view of securing 
 that old friend’s potent influence in favor of an arrangement by which 
 Professor Owen might be placed in a position worthy of his reputation and 
 of his services. The circumstance which gave rise to the letter was the 
 impending appointment of Signor Panizzi to the post of Secretary and 
 Principal Librarian to the Museum. “ I am glad of this,” writes Macau- 
 lay, “both on public and private grounds. Yet I fear that the appoint- 
 ment will be unpopular both within and without the walls of the Museum. 
 There is a growing jealousy among men of science which, between our- 
 selves, appears even at the Board of Trustees. There is a notion that 
 the department of Natural History is neglected, and that the library and 
 the sculpture gallery are unduly favored. This feeling will certainly not 
 be allayed by the appointment of Panizzi, whose great object, during 
 many years, has been to make our library the best in Europe, aud who 
 would at any time give three Mammoths for an Aldus.” 
 
 Macaulay then went on to propose that, simultaneously with Signor 
 Panizzi’s nomination to the Secretaryship, Professor Owen should be 
 constituted Superintendent of the whole department of Natural History, 
 
 * This remark was addressed to Eckermann. The whole conversation is highly interest- 
 ing. “ Beware,” Goethe said, “ of attempting a large work. It is exactly that which 
 injures our best minds, even those distinguished by the finest talents and the most earnest 
 efforts. I have suffered from this cause, and know how much it has injured me. What 
 have I not let fall into the well ! If I had written all that I well might, a hundred volumes 
 would not contain it. 
 
 “ The present will have its rights. The thoughts which daily press upon the poet will 
 and should be expressed. But, if you have a great work in your head, nothing else thrives 
 near it ; all other thoughts are repelled, and the pleasantness of life itself is for the time 
 lost. What exertion and expenditure of mental force are required to arrange and round 
 off a great whole ; and then what powers, and what a tranquil, undisturbed situation in 
 life, to express it with the proper fluency 1 * * * * But if he [the poet] daily seizes the 
 present, and always treats with a freshness of feeling what is offered him, he always makes 
 sure of something good, and, if he sometimes does not succeed, has, at least lost 
 nothing.” 
 
 The English of this passage is that of Mr. Oxenford’s translation. 
 
286 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIV. 
 
 including geology, zoology, botany, and mineralogy. “ I cannot but think,” 
 he says, “ that this arrangement would be beneficial in the highest degree 
 to the Museum. I am sure that it would be popular. I must add that I 
 am extremely desirous that something should be done for Owen. I 
 hardly know him to speak to. His pursuits are not mine. But his fame 
 is spread over Europe. He is an honor to our country, and it is painful 
 to me to think that a man of his merit should be approaching old age 
 amidst anxieties and distresses. He told me that eight hundred a year, 
 without a house in the Museum, would be opulence to him. He did not. 
 he said, even wish for more. His seems to me to be a case for publir 
 patronage. Such patronage is not needed by eminent literary men o^ 
 artists. A poet, a novelist, an historian, a painter, a sculptor, who stooc 
 in his own line as high as Owen stands among men of science, could nevei 
 be in want except by his own fault. But the greatest natural philosopher 
 may starve, while his countrymen are boasting of his discoveries, and 
 •while foreign Academies are begging for the honor of being allowed to 
 add his name to their list.” * 
 
 From the moment when, in the summer of 1854, Macaulay had definite, 
 ly and deliberately braced himself to the work of completing the second 
 great instalment of the History, he went to his daily labors without inter- 
 mission and without reluctance until his allotted task had been accomplished. 
 When that result had been attained, — when his third and fourth volumes 
 were actually in the hands of the public, — it was not at first that he 
 became aware how profoundly his already enfeebled health had been 
 strained by the prolonged effort which the production of those volumes 
 had cost him. At every previous epoch in his life the termination of one 
 undertaking had been a signal for the immediate commencement of 
 another ; but in 1856, summer succeeded to spring, and gave place to 
 autumn, before he again took pen in hand. For many weeks together he 
 indulged himself in the pleasure of loitering over those agreeable occupa- 
 tions which follow in the train of a literary success ; — answering letters of 
 congratulation ; returning thanks, more or less sincere, for the sugges- 
 tions and criticisms which poured in from the most opposite, and some- 
 times the most unexpected quarters ; preparing new editions ; and read- 
 ing everything that the Reviews had to say about him with the placid 
 enjoyment of a veteran author. 
 
 “ I bought the British Quarterly Review ; — an article on my book, 
 praise and blame. Like other writers I swallow the praise, and think 
 the blame absurd. But in truth I do think that the fault-finding is 
 generally unreasonable, though the book is, no doubt, faulty enough. It 
 
 * On the 26th of May, 1856, Professor Owen was appointed Superintendent of the 
 Department of Natural History with a salary of Sool. a year. 
 
LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 18S&-58. 
 
 287 
 
 is well for its reputation that I do not review it, as I could review it.’* 
 “ Fraser’s Magazine. Very laudatory. The author evidently John 
 Kemble. He is quite right in saying that I have passed lightly over 
 continental politics. But was this wrong } I think I could defend my- 
 self. I am writing a History of England ; and as to grubbing, as he rec- 
 ommends, in Saxon and Hessian archives for the purpose of ascertaining 
 all the details of the continental negotiations of that time, I should have 
 doubled my labor, already severe enough. That I have not given a 
 generally correct view of our continental relations he certainly has not 
 shown.” “ After breakfast to the Athenaeum, and saw articles on my book 
 in the Dublin Review, and the National Review. Very well satisfied 
 to find that the whole skill and knowledge of Maynooth could make no 
 impression on my account of the Irish war,” “ I received the Allgemeine 
 Zeitung, and found in it a long article on my book, very laudatory, and to 
 me very agreeable ; for I hold the judgment of foreigners to be a more 
 sure prognostic of what the judgment of posterity is likely to be than the 
 judgment of my own countrymen.” “ I made some changes in my account 
 of James’s Declaration of 1692. If my critics had been well informed, they 
 might have worried me about one paragraph on that subject. But it 
 escaped them, and now I have put everything to rights.” “ To-day I got 
 a letter from , pointing out what I must admit to be a gross impro- 
 
 priety of language in my book ; — an impropriety of a sort rare, I hope, 
 with me. It shall be corrected ; and I am obliged to the fellow, little as I 
 like him.” 
 
 At length, on the ist of October, 1856, Macaulay notes in his diary ; 
 “To the Museum, and turned over the Dutch despatches for information 
 about the fire of Whitehall. Home, and wrote a sheet of foolscap, the 
 first of Part III. God knows whether I shall ever finish that part. I 
 begin it with little heart or hope.” In the summer of 1857 he remarks ; 
 “ How the days steal away, and nothing done ! I think often of Johnson’s 
 lamentations repeated every Easter over his own idleness. But the cases 
 differ. Often I have felt this morbid incapacity to work ; but never so 
 long and so strong as of late ; — the natural effect of age and ease.” On 
 the 14th of July in the same year: “I wrote a good deal to-day; Darien. 
 The humor has returned, and I shall woo it to continue. What better 
 aruusement can I have, if it should prove no more than an amusement ? ” 
 And again : “ Read about the Darien affair. It will be impossible to tell 
 the truth as to that matter without putting the Scotch into a rage. But 
 the truth shall be told.” 
 
 The intrinsic importance of the work on which Macaulay was now 
 engaged could hardly be overrated ; for the course of his History had 
 brought him to a most momentous era in the political annals of our coun- 
 try. It was his business to tell the story, and to point the lesson, of the years 
 
288 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIV. 
 
 from 1697 to 1701 ; — those years when the majority in the House of Com* 
 mons was already the strongest force in the State, but when the doctrine 
 that the executive administration must be in the hands of Ministers who 
 possessed the confidence of that majority had not as yet been recognized 
 as a constitutional axiom. Nothing -which he has ever written is more 
 valuable than his account of the grave perils which beset the kingdom 
 during that period of transition, or, than his vivid and thoughtful com- 
 mentary upon our method of government by alternation of parties. No 
 passage in all his works more clearly illustrates the union of intellectual 
 qualities which formed the real secret of his strength, — the combination 
 in one and the same man of literary power, historical learning, and prac- 
 tical familiarity with the conduct of great affairs. * 
 
 Nor again, as specimens of narrative carefully planned and vigorously 
 sustained, has he produced anything with which his descriptions of the 
 visit of the Czar, the tria’ of Spencer Cowper, t and, above all, the fatal 
 hallucination of Darien, may not fairly rank. And yet, however effective 
 were the episodes which thickly strew the portion of his History that he 
 did not live to publish, there can be no question that the alacrity with 
 which he had once pursued his great undertaking had begun to languish. 
 “ I find it difficult,” he writes in February, 1857, “to settle to my work. 
 This is an old malady of mine. It has not prevented me from doing a 
 good deal in the course of my life. Of late I have felt this impotence 
 more than usual. The chief reason, I believe, is the great doubt w^hich I 
 feel whether I shall live long enough to finish another volume of my book.” 
 He already knew, to usp the expression which he applied to the dying 
 William of Orange, “ that his time was short, and grieved with a grief 
 such as only noble spirits feel, to think that he must leave his work but 
 half finished.” 
 
 Gradually and unwillingly Macaulay acquiesced in the conviction that 
 he must submit to leave untold that very portion of English history which 
 he was competent to treat as no man again will treat it. Others may study 
 the reign of Anne with a more minute and exclusive diligence, — the dis- 
 covery of materials hitherto concealed cannot fail from time to time to 
 throw fresh light upon transactions so extensive and complicated as those 
 
 * See especially the two paragraphs in Chapter XXIV. which commence with the 
 words, “ If a Minister were now to find himself thus situated — ” There is little 
 doubt that Lord Carlisle had something of this in his mind when he wrote in his diary of 
 the 28th of March, 1861 : “ I finished Macaulay’s fifth volume, and felt in despair to close 
 that brilliant pictured page. I think it even surpasses in interest and animation what has 
 gone before ; and higher praise no man can give. The leading reflection is, how as a 
 nation we have been rescued, led, and blessed ; by the side of this, how much of the old 
 faults and leaven still remain.” 
 
 t The page of Macaulay’s manuscript, which is preserved in the British museum, is 
 taken from his account of the trial of Spencer Cowper. 
 
1856-58. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 289 
 
 which took place between the rupture of the Peace of Ryswick and the 
 accession of the House of Brunswick ; but it may safely be affirmed that 
 few or none of Macaulay’s successors will be imbued like him with the 
 enthusiasm of the period. There are phases of literary taste which 
 pass away, never to recur ; and tlie early associations of future men of 
 letters will seldom be connected with the Rape of the Lock and the Essay 
 on Criticism, — with the Spectator, the Guardian, the Freeholder, the 
 Memoirs of Martinus Scriblerus, and the History of John Bull. But 
 Macaulay’s youth was nourished upon Pope, and Bolingbroke, and Atter- 
 bury, and Defoe. Everything which had been written by them, or about 
 them, was as familiar to him as the Lady of the Lake, and the Bride of 
 Abydos, were to the generation which was growing up when I^ockhart’s 
 Life of Scott and Moore’s Life of Byron were making their first appear- 
 ance in the circulating libraries. He had Prior’s burlesque verses, and 
 Arbuthnot’s pasquinades, as completely at his fingers’ ends as a clever 
 public-school boy of fifty years ago had the Rejected Addresses, or the 
 poetry of the Anti-Jacobin. He knew every pamphlet which had been 
 put forth by Swift, or Steele, or Addison as well as Tories of 1790 knew 
 their Burke, or Radicals of 1820 knew their Cobbett. There were times 
 when he amused himself with the hope that he might even yet be per- 
 mitted to utilize these Vast stores of information, on each separate frag- 
 ment of which he could so easily lay his hand. His diary shows him to 
 have spent more than one summer afternoon “ walking in the portico, 
 and reading pamphlets of Queen Anne’s time.” But he had no real ex- 
 pectation that the knowledge which he thus acquired would ever be turned 
 to account. Others, who could not bring themselves to believe that such 
 raciness of phrase, and such vivacity of intellect, belonged to one whose 
 days were already numbered, confidently reckoned upon bis making good 
 the brave words which form the opening sentence of the first chapter of 
 his History. One old friend describes himself in a letter as looking for- 
 ward to the seventh and eighth volumes in order to satisfy his curiosity 
 about the reigns of the first two Georges ; which, he says, “ are to me the 
 dark ages.” Another is sanguine enough to anticipate the pleasure of 
 reading what Macaulay would have to say about “ the great improvement 
 of the steam-engine, and its consequences.” But, by the time that he had 
 written a few pages of his fifth volume, the author himself would have 
 been well content to be assured that he would live to carry his History, 
 in a complete and connected form, dov/n to the death of his hero, William 
 of Orange. 
 
 During the later years of his life Macaulay sent an occasional article 
 to the Encyclopaedia Britannica. “ He had ceased,” says Mr. Adam 
 Black, “ to write for the reviews or other periodicals, though often earnest- 
 ly solicited to do so. It is entirely to his friendly feeling that I am in- 
 VoL. II.— iq 
 
LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIV. 
 
 290 
 
 debted for those literary gems, which could not have been purchased 
 with money : and it is but justice to his memory that I should record, as 
 one of the many instances of the kindness and generosity of his heart, 
 that he made it a stipulation of his contributing to the Encyclopaedia that 
 remuneration should not be so much as mentioned. The articles in 
 (luestion are those on Atterbury, Bunyan, Goldsmith, Doctor Johnson, 
 and William Pitt. The last of these, which is little more than 
 seventy octavo pages in length, was on hand for three-quarters 
 ot a year. Early in November, 1857, Macaulay writes ; “The plan 
 of a good character of Pitt is forming in my mind ; ” and, on the 9th of 
 August, 1858: “ I finished and sent off the paper which has caused me so 
 much trouble. I began it, I see, in last November. What a time to 
 have been dawdling over such a trifle ! ” 
 
 The conscientious and unsparing industry of his former days now 
 brought Macaulay a reward of a value quite inestimable in the eyes of 
 every true author. The habit of always working up to the highest stand- 
 ard within his reach was so ingrained in his nature, that, however sure 
 and rapid might be the decline of his physical strength, the quality of his 
 productions remained the same as ever. Instead of writing worse, he 
 only wrote less. Compact in form, crisp and nervous in style, these five 
 little essays are everything which an article in an Encyclopaedia should 
 be. The reader, as he travels softly and swiftly along, congratulates him- 
 self on having lighted upon what he regards as a most fascinating literary 
 or political memoir; but the student, on a closer examination, discovers 
 that every fact, and, date, and circumstance is distinctly and faithfully 
 recorded in its due chronological sequence. Macaulay’s belief about him- 
 self as a writer was that he improved to the last ; and the question of the 
 superiority of his later over his earlier manner may securely be staked 
 upon a comparison between the article on Johnson in the Edinburgh review 
 and the article on Johnson in the Encyclopaedia Britannica. The latter of 
 the two is indeed a model of that which its eminent subject pronounced to 
 be the essential qualification of a biographer, — the art of writing trifles with 
 dignity.* 
 
 Macaulay was under no temptation to over write himself ; for his time 
 never hung heavy on his hands. He had a hundred devices for dissipat- 
 ing the monotony of his days. Now that he had ceased to strain his 
 faculties, he thought it necessary to assure himself from time to time that 
 they were not rusting ; like an old Greek warrior who continued to exer- 
 cise in the Gymnasium the vigor which he no longer expended in the field. 
 “I walked in the portico,” he writes in October 1857, “and learned by 
 
 * A gentleman once observed to Doctor Johnson that he excelled his competitors rn 
 writing biography. “ Sir,” was the complacent reply, “ I believe that is true. The 
 dogs don’t enow how to write trifles with dignity.” 
 
LORD MACAULAi. 
 
 1856-58. 
 
 291 
 
 heart the noble Fourth Act of the Merchant of Venice. There are four 
 hundred lines, of which I knew a hundred and fifty. I made myself per- . 
 feet master of the whole, the prose letter included, in two hours.” And 
 again : “ I learned the passage in which Lucretius represents Nature ex- 
 postulating with men, v;ho complain of the general law of mortality. Very 
 fine it is ; but it strikes me that the Epicureans exaggerated immensely 
 the effect which religious terrors and the fear of future punishment had 
 on their contemporaries, for the purpose of exalting their master, as having 
 delivered mankind from a horrible mental slavery. I see no trace of such 
 feelings in any part of the literature of those times except in these Epicurean 
 declamations.” “ I have pretty nearly learned all that I like best in Catullus. 
 He grows on me with intimacy. One thing he has, — I do not know whether 
 it belongs to him, or to something in myself, — but there are some chords 
 of my mind which he touches as nobody else does. The first lines of 
 Miser Catulle ; the lines to Cornificius, written evidently from a sickbed ; * 
 and part of the poem beginning ‘ Si qua recordanti’ affect me more than 
 I can explain. They always move me to tears.” “ I have now gone 
 through the first seven books of Martial, and have learned about 360 of 
 the best lines. His merit seems to me to lie, not in wit, but in the rapid 
 succession of vivid images. I wish he were less nauseous. He is as 
 great a beast as Aristophanes. He certainly is a very clever, pleasant 
 writer. Sometimes he runs Catullus himself hard. But, besides his in- 
 decency, his servility and his mendicancy disgust me. In his position, 
 — ^for he was a Roman Knight, — something more like self-respect would 
 have been becoming. I make large allowance for the difference of 
 manners ; but it never can have been comme il faut in any age or nation 
 for a man of note, — an accomplished man, — a man living with the great, — 
 to be constantly asking for money, clothes, and dainties, and to pursue 
 with volleys of abuse those who would give him nothing.” 
 
 In September, 1857, Macaulay writes : “ I have at odd moments been 
 studying the Peerage. I ought to be better informed about the assembly 
 in which I am to sit.” He soon could repeat off book the entire roll of 
 the House of Lords ; and a few days afterwards comes the entry, “ more 
 exercise for my memory, — Second titles.” When he had done with the 
 Peerage, he turned to the Cambridge, and then to the Oxford Calendars. 
 “ I have now,” he says, “ the whole of our University Fasti by heart ; all, 
 I mean, that is worth remembering. An idle thing, but I wished to try 
 whether my memory is as strong as it used to be, and I perceive no 
 decay.” 
 
 “ June I, 1858. — I am vexed to think I am losing my German. I 
 resolved to win it back. No sooner said than done. I took Schiller’s 
 
 ‘ Male est, Cornifici, tuo Catullo, 
 Male est, mehercule, et Ir boriose.” 
 
292 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIV. 
 
 History of the War in the Netherlands out into the garden, and read a 
 hundred pages. I will do the same daily all the summer.” Having found 
 the want of Italian on his annual tours, Macaulay engaged a master to 
 assist him in speaking the language. “We talked,” he says, “an hour 
 and a quarter. I got on wonderfully ; much better than I at all expected.” 
 I well remember my uncle’s account of the interview. As long as the 
 lessons related to the ordinary colloquialisms of the road, the rail, and the 
 hotel, Macaulay had little to say and much to learn ; but, whenever the 
 conversation turned upon politics or literature, his companion was fairly 
 bewildered by the profusion of his somewhat archaic vocabulary. The 
 preceptor could scarcely believe his ears when a pupil, who had to be 
 taught the current expressions required for getting his luggage through 
 the custom-house or his letters from the Poste Restante, suddenly fell to 
 denouncing the French occupation of Rome in a torrent of phrases that 
 might have come straight from the pen of Fra Paolo. 
 
 The zest with which Macaulay pursued the amusements that beguiled 
 his solitary hours contributed not a little to his happiness and his equanim- 
 ity. During his last two years he would often lay aside his book, and 
 bury himself in financial calculations connected with the Stock Market, 
 the Revenue Returns, the Civil Service Estimates, and, above all, the 
 Clergy List. He would pass one evening in comparing the average 
 duration of the lives of Archbishops, Prime Ministers, and Lord Chancel- 
 lors ; and another in tracing the careers of the first half-dozen men in each 
 successive Mathematical Tripos, in order to ascertain whether, in the 
 race of the world, the Senior Wrangler generally contrived to keep ahead 
 of his former competitors. In default of any other pastime, he would have 
 recourse to the retrospect of old experiences and achievements, or would 
 divert himself by giving the rein to the vagaries of his fancy. “ I took up 
 Knight’s Magazine the other day, and, after an interval of perhaps thirty 
 years, read a Roman novel which I wrote at Trinity. To be sure, I was 
 a smart lad, but a sadly unripe scholar for such an undertaking.” * And 
 again : “ I read my own writings during some hours, and was not ill- 
 pleased on the whole. Yet, alas, how short life and how long art! I 
 feel as if I had but just begun to understand how to write ; and the pro- 
 bability is that I have very nearly done writing.” “ I find,” he says in 
 another place, “ that I dream away a good deal of time now ; not more 
 perhaps than formerly ; but formerly I dreamed my day-dreams chiefly 
 while walking. Now I dream sitting or standing by my fire. I will 
 write, if I live, a fuller disquisition than has ever yet been written on that 
 
 * Tlie Fragments of a Roman Tale are printed in Macaulay’s Miscellaneous Writ- 
 
 ings. 
 
1856-58. LORD MACAULAY. 293 
 
 Strange habit, — a good habit, in some respects. I, at least, impute to it a 
 great part of my literary success.”* 
 
 And so Macaulay dwelt at ease in his pleasant retreat, a classic in his 
 own lifetime. His critics, and still more his readers, honored him with a 
 deferential indulgence which is seldom exhibited towards a contemporary. 
 One or another of the Magazines occasionally published an article reflect- 
 ing upon his partiality as an historian ; but he held his peace, and the 
 matter, whatever it might be, soon died away. The world apparently 
 refused to trouble itself with any misgivings that might impair the enjoy- 
 ment which it derived from his pages. People were as little disposed to 
 resent his disliking James, and admiring William, as they would have 
 been to quarrel with Tacitus for making Tiberius a tyrant and Germanicus 
 a hero. Macaulay, in his diary, mentions a circumstance illustrating the 
 position which he already occupied in the popular estimation. A gentle- 
 man moving in good, and even high, society, — as thorough a man of the 
 world as any in London, — who had the misfortune to be a natural son, 
 called on him in order to make a formal remonstrance on his having used 
 the term “ bastard ” in his History, and earnestly entreated him not to 
 sanction so cruel an epithet with his immense authority.! 
 
 It may easily be supposed that Macaulay’s literary celebrity attracted 
 round him his full share of imitators and plagiarists, assailants and apolo- 
 gists, busybodies and mendicants. “ A new number of the Review. 
 There is an article which is a mocking-bird imitation of me. Somehow 
 or other, the mimic cannot catch the note, but many people would not be 
 able to distinguish. Sometimes he borrows outright. ‘ Language so pure 
 and holy that it would have become the lips of those angels — .’ That is 
 rather audacious. However, I shall not complain. A man should have 
 
 enough to spare something for thieves.” “ I looked through ’s two 
 
 volumes. He is, I see, an imitator of me. But I am a very unsafe 
 model. My manner is, I think, and the world thinks, on the whole a good 
 one ; but it is very near to a very bad manner indeed, and those character- 
 istics of my style which are most easily copied are the most questionable.” 
 “ There are odd instances of folly and impertinence. A clergyman of the 
 Scotch Episcopal Church is lecturing at Windsor. He wrote to me three 
 weeks ago to ask the meaning of the allusion to St. Cecilia in my account 
 of the trial of Warren Hastings. I answered him civilly, and he wrote to 
 
 ♦ “ I went yesterday to Weybridge,” he says in a letter to Mr. Ellis. “ We talked 
 about the habit of building Castles in the air, a habit in which Lady Trevelyan and I, in- 
 dulge beyond any people that I ever knew. I mentioned to George what, as far as I 
 know, no critic has observed, that the Greeks called this habit K:vy fiaKapia (empty 
 happiness).” 
 
 t The word in question is applied to the Due de Maine in Macaulay’s account of the 
 siege of Namur in his twenty-first Chapter. 
 
294 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIV 
 
 thank me. Now he writes again to say that he has forgotten a verse of 
 my IToratius, and begs me to write it for him ; as if there was nobody in 
 the kingdom, except me, to apply to. There is a fool at Wiesbaden, who 
 sent me, some days ago, a heap of execrable verses. I told him that they 
 were bad, and advised him to take to some other pursuit. As examples 
 illustrating my meaning, I pointed out half-a-dozen lines. Now he sends 
 me twice as many verses, and begs me to review them. He has, he 
 assures me, corrected the lines to which I objected. I have sent him 
 back his second batch with a letter which he cannot misunderstand.” “ A 
 letter from a man in Scotland, who says that he wants to publish a novel, 
 and that he will come up and show me the manuscript if I will send him' 
 fifty pounds. Really, I can get better novels cheaper.” “What strange 
 begging letters I receive. A fellow has written to me telling me that he 
 is a painter, and adjuring me, as I love the fine arts, to hire or buy him a 
 cow to paint from.” 
 
 “ A schoolmaster at Cheltenham,” writes Macaulay to his sister, 
 “ sent me two years and a half ago a wretched pamphlet about British 
 India. In answering him, I pointed out two gross blundeis into which he 
 had fallen, and which, as he proposed to publish a small edition for the 
 use of schools, I advised him to correct. My reward was that his book 
 was advertised as ‘ revised and corrected by Lord Macaulay.’ It is idle 
 to be angry with people of this sort. They do after their kind. One 
 might as well blame a fly for buzzing.” “ An article on me in Blackwood. 
 The writer imagines that William the Third wrote his letters in English, 
 and takes Coxe’s translations for the original. A pretty fellow to set me 
 
 to rights on points of history ! ” “I was worried by , who in 
 
 spite of repeated entreaties, pesters me with his officious defences of my 
 accuracy against all comers. Sometimes it is the Saturday Review ; 
 then Paget ; and now it is Blackwood. I feel that I shall be provoked 
 at last into saying something very sharp.” “ Some great fool has sent 
 me a card printed with a distich, which he calls an Impromptu on two 
 bulky histories lately published : 
 
 Two fabulists ; how different the reward I 
 
 One justly censured, t’other made a Lord. 
 
 Whom he means by the other I have not the slightest notion. That a 
 man should be stupid enough to take such a couplet to a printer, and 
 have it printed, purely in order to give pain, which, after all, he does 
 not give ! I often think that an extensive knowledge of literary history is 
 of inestimable value to a literary man ; I mean as respects the regulating 
 of his mind, the moderating of his hopes and of his fears, and the 
 strengthening of his fortitude. I have had detractors enough to annoy 
 me, if I had not known that no writer equally successful with myself has 
 
1856-58. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 29s 
 
 ever suffered so little from detraction ; and that many writers, more 
 deserving and less successful than myself, have excited envy which has 
 appeared in the form of .the most horrible calumnies. The proper answer 
 to abuse is contempt, to which I am by nature sufficiently prone ; and 
 contempt does not show itself by contemptuous expressions.” 
 
 Now and again, when Macaulay happened to be in a mood for criti- 
 cism, he would fill a couple of pages in his journal with remarks sug- 
 gested by the book which he had in reading at the time. A few of these 
 little essays are worth preserving. 
 
 “ I cannot understand the mania of some people about Defoe. They think him 
 a man of the first order of genius, and a paragon of virtue. He certainly wrote an 
 excellent book, — the first part of Robinson Crusoe, — one of those feats which can 
 only be performed by the union of luck with ability. That awful solitude of a 
 quarter of a century, — that strange union of comfort, plenty, and security with the 
 misery of loneliness, — was my delight before I was five years old, and has been the 
 delight of hundreds of thousands of boys. But what has Defoe done great except 
 the first part of Robinson Crusoe ? The second part is poor in comparison. The 
 History of the Plague, and the Memoirs of a Cavalier, are in one sense curious 
 works of art. They are wonderfully like true histories ; but, considered as novels 
 which they are, there is not much in them. He had undoubtedly a knack at making 
 fiction look like truth. But is such a knack much to be admired ? Is it not of the 
 same sort with the knack of a painter who takes in the birds with his fruit ? I have 
 seen dead game painted in such a way that I thought the partridges and pheasants 
 real ; but surely such pictures do not rank high as works of art. Villemain, and be- 
 fore him "Lord Chatham, were deceived by the Memoirs of a Cavalier; but, when 
 those Memoirs are known to be fictitious, what are they worth ? How immeasurably 
 inferior to Waverley, or the Legend of Montrose, or Old Mortality ! As to Moll 
 Flanders, Roxana, and Captain Jack, they are utterly wretched and nauseous ; in 
 no respect that I can see beyond the reach of Afra Behn.* As a political writer, 
 Defoe is merely one of the crowd. He seems to have been an unprincipled hack, 
 ready to take any side of any question. Of all writers he was the most unlucky in 
 irony. Tvfice he was prosecuted for what he meant to be ironical : but he was so un - 
 skilful that everybody understood him literally. Some of his tracts are worse 
 than immoral ; quite beastly. Altogether I do not like him.” 
 
 “ Lord Stanhope sent me the first volume of the Peel papers. I devoured 
 them. The first volume relates entirely to the Catholic question. It contains some 
 interesting details which are new ; but it leaves Peel where he was. I always no- 
 ticed while he was alive, and I observe again in this, his posthumous defence, an 
 obstinate determination not to understand what the charge was which I, and others 
 
 * “ Take back your bonny Mrs. Behn,” said Mrs. Keith, of Ravelstone, to her grand- 
 nephew, Sir Walter Scott ; “ and, if you will take my advice, put her in the fire, fori 
 found it impossible to get through the very first novel. But is it not a very odd thing 
 that I, an old woman of eighty and upwards, sitting alone, feel myself ashamed to read a 
 book which, sixty years ago, I have heard read aloud for the amusement of large circles, 
 consisting of the first and most creditable society in London ? ” 
 
LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIV. 
 
 296 
 
 who agreed with me, brought against him. He always affected to think that we 
 blamed him for his conduct in 1829, and he produced proofs of what we were 
 perfectly ready to admit, — that in 1829 the State would have been in great danger 
 if the Catholic disabilities had not been removed. Now what we blamed was his 
 conduct in 1825, and still more in 1827. We said: ‘ Either you were blind not to 
 foresee what was coming, or you acted culpably in not settling the question when 
 it might have been settled without the disgrace of yielding to agitation and to the 
 fear of insurrection ; and you acted most culpably in deserting and persecuting 
 Canning.’ To this, which was our real point, he does not even allude. He is a de- 
 bater even in this book.” * 
 
 “ I walked in the garden, and read Cicero’s speeches for Sextius and Coelius, 
 and the invective against Vatinius. The egotism is perfectly intolerable. I know 
 nothing like it in literature. The man’s self-importance amounted to a monomania. 
 To me the speeches, tried by the standard of English forensic eloquence, seem very 
 bad. They have no tendency to gain a verdict. They are fine lectures, fine dec- 
 lamations, excellent for Exeter Hall or the Music Room at Edinburgh ; but not to 
 be named with Scarlett’s or Erskine’s speeches, considered as speeches meant to 
 convince and persuade juries. We ought to know, however, what the temper of 
 those Roman tribunals was. Perhaps a mere political harangue may have had an 
 effect on the Forum which it could not have in the Court of King’s Bench. We 
 ought also to know how far in some of these cases Hortensius and others had dis- 
 posed of questions of evidence before Cicero’s turn came. The peroration seems to 
 have been reserved for him. But imagine a barrister now, defending a man accus- 
 ed of heading a riot at an election, telling the jury that he thought this an excellent 
 opportunity of instructing the younger part of the audience in the galleries touch- 
 ing the distinction between Whigs and Tories ; and then proceeding to give an 
 historical dissertation of an hour on the Civil War, the Exclusion Bill, the Revolu- 
 tion, the Peace of Utrecht, and heaven knows what ! Yet this is strictly analo- 
 gous to what Cicero did in his defence of Sextius.” 
 
 “ I went to the Athenaeum, and stayed there two hours to read John Mill on 
 liberty and on Reform. Much that is good in both. What he says about Indi- 
 viduality in the treatise on Liberty is open, I think, to some criticism. What is 
 meant by the complaint that there is n© individuality now ? Genius takes its own 
 course, as it always did. Bolder invention was never known in science than in our 
 time. The steam-ships, the steam-carriage, the electric telegraph, the gas lights, 
 the new military engines, are instances. Geology is quite a new true science. 
 Phrenology is quite a new false one. Whatever may be thought of the theology, 
 the metaphysics, the political theories of our time, boldness and novelty is not what 
 they want. Comtism, St. Simonianism, Fourierism, are absurd enough, but surely 
 they are not indications of a servile respect for usage and authority. Then the 
 clairvoyance, the spirit-rapping, the table-turning, and all those other dotages and 
 knaveries, indicate rather a restless impatience of the beaten paths than a stupid 
 determination to plod on in those paths. Our lighter literature, as far as I 
 
 * Macaulay writes elsewhere : “ I read Guizot’s Sir Robert Peel. Hardly quite 
 worthy of Guizot’s powers, I think ; nor can it be accepted as a just estimate of Peel. I 
 could draw his portrait much better, but for many reasons I shall not do so.” 
 
LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 1856-58. 
 
 297 
 
 know it, is spasmodic and eccentric. Every writer seems to aim at doing some- 
 thing odd, — at defying all rules and canons of criticism. The metre must be queer ; 
 the diction queer. So great is the taste for oddity that men who have no 
 recommendation but oddity hold a high place in vulgar estimation. I therefore do 
 not at all like to see a man of Mill’s excellent abilities recommending eccentricity as 
 a thing almost good in itself— as tending to prevent us from sinking into that 
 Chinese, that Byzantine state which I should agree with him in considering as a 
 great calamity. He is really crying ‘ Fire !’ in Noah’s flood.” 
 
 “ I read the Quarterly Reviews of 1830, 1831, and 1832, and was* astonished by 
 the poorness and badness of the political articles. I do not think that this is either 
 personal or political prejudice in me, though I certainly did not like Southey, and 
 though I had a strong antipathy to Croker, who were the two chief writers. But I 
 see the merit ot many of Southey’s writings with which I am far from agreeing, 
 — Espriella’s Letters, for example, and the Life of Wesley ; and I see the merit of 
 the novels of Theodore Hook, whom I held in greater abhorrence than even Croker, 
 stuffed as those novels are with scurrility against my political friends. Nay, I can see 
 merit in Warren’s Ten Thousand a Year. I therefore believe that my estimate of 
 these political papers in the Quarterly Review is a fair one ; and to me they seem 
 to be mere trash — absurd perversions of history ; parallels which shown no inge- 
 nuity, and from which no instruction can be derived ; predictions which the event 
 has singularly falsified ; abuse substituted for argument ; and not one paragraph of 
 wit or eloquence. It is all forgotten, all gone to the dogs. The nonsense which 
 Southey talks about political economy is enough to settle my opinion of his under- 
 standing. He says that no man of sense ever troubles himself about such pseudo- 
 scientific questions as what rent is, or what wages are. Surely he could not be 
 such a dunce as not to know that a part of the produce of a landed estate goes to 
 the proprietor, and a part to the cultivator ; and he must, unless he had a strange 
 sort of skull, have supposed that there was some law or other which regulated the 
 distribution of the produce between these parties. And, if there be such a law, how 
 can it be unworthy of a man of sense to try to find out what it is ? Can any inquiry 
 be more important to the welfare of society? Croker is below Southey ; for Southey 
 had a good styR, and Croker had nothing but italics and capitals as substitutes for 
 eloquence and reason.” 
 
 “ I read a great deal of the Memoirs of Southey by his son ; — little more than 
 Southey 3 0W1. .etters for the most part. I do not know how it happened that I 
 never read the book before. It has not at all altered my opinion of Southey. A 
 good father, husband, brother, friend, but prone to hate people whom he did not 
 know, solely on account of differences of opinion, and in his hatred singularly bitter 
 and rancorous. Then he was arrogant beyond any man in literary history ; for his 
 self-conceit was proof against the severest admonitions. The utter failure of one of 
 his books only confirmed him in his opinion of its excellence. Then he had none 
 of that dissatisfaction with his own performances which I, perhaps because I have a 
 great deal of it, am prone to believe to be a good sign. Southey says, some time 
 after Madoc had been published, and when the first ardor of composition must 
 have abated, that the execution is perfect ; that it cannot be better. I have had 
 infinitely greater success as a writer than Southey, and, though I have not written 
 
LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH.XIV. 
 
 298 
 
 a fifth part, nor a tenth part of what he wrote, have made more thousands by 
 literature than he made hundreds. And yet I can truly say that I never read again 
 the most popular passages of my own works without, painfully feeling how far my 
 execution has fallen short of the standard which is in my mind. He says that 
 Thalaba is equal or superior to the Orlando Furioso, and that it is the greatest 
 poem that has appeared during ages ; — and this over and over again, when nobody 
 would read it, and when the copies were heaped up in the booksellers’ garrets. His 
 History of Brazil is to be immortal, — to be a mine of wealth to his family under 
 an improved system of copyright. His Peninsular War, of which I never could 
 get through the first volume, is to live for ever. To do him justice, he had a fine 
 manly spirit where money was concerned. His conduct about Chatterton and 
 Kirke White, at a time when a guinea was an object to himself, was most honorable, 
 I could forgive him a great deal for it.” 
 
 Macaulay had a very slight acquaintance with the works of some 
 among the best writers of his own generation. He was not fond of new 
 lights, unless they had been kindled at the ancient beacons ; and he was 
 apt to prefer a third-rate author, who had formed himself after some 
 recognized model, to a man of high genius whose style and method were 
 strikingly different from anything that had gone before. In books, as in 
 people and places, he loved that, and that only, to which he had been 
 accustomed from boyhood upwards.^ Very few among the students of 
 Macaulay will have detected the intensity and, in some cases, (it must be 
 confessed.) the wilfulness, of his literary conservatism ; for, with the in- 
 stinctive self-restraint of a great artist, he permitted no trace of it to 
 appear in his writings. In his character of a responsible critic, he care- 
 fully abstained from giving expression to prejudices in which, as a reader, 
 he freely indulged. Those prejudices injured nobody but himself ; and 
 the punishment which befell him, from the very nature of the case, was 
 exactly proportioned to the offence. To be blind to the merits of a great 
 author is a sin which brings its own penalty ; and, in Macaulay’s instance, 
 that penalty was severe indeed. Little as he was aware of it, it was no 
 slight privation that one who had by heart the Battle of Marathon, as 
 told by Herodotus, and the Raising of the Siege of Syracuse, as told by 
 Thucydides, should have passed through life without having felt the glow 
 which Mr. Carlyle’s story of the charge across the ravine at Dunbar 
 could not fail to awake even in a Jacobite; that one who so keenly 
 
 * The remarks in Macaulay’s journal on the History of Civilization curiously illustrate 
 the spirit in which approached a new author. What he liked best in Buckle was that he 
 had some of the faults of Warburton. “ March 24, 1858. — I read Buckle’s book all day, 
 and got to the end, skipping of course. A man of talent and of a good deal of reading, 
 but paradoxical and incoherent. He is eminently an anticipator, as Bacon would have 
 said. He wants to make a system before he has got the matenals ; and he has not the 
 excuse which Aristotle had, of having an eminently systematizing mind. The book 
 reminds me perpetuslly of the Divine Legation. I could draw the parallel out far.” 
 
1856-58. LORD MACAULAY. 299 
 
 relished the exquisite trifling of Plato should never have tasted the 
 description of Coleridge’s talk in the Life of John Sterling, — a passage 
 which yields to nothing of ks own class in the Protagoras or the Sympo- 
 sium ; that one who eagerly and minutely studied all that Lessing has 
 written on art, or Goethe on poetry, should have left unread Mr. Ruskin’s 
 comparison between the landscape of the Odyssey and the landscape of 
 the Divine Comedy, or his analysis of the effect produced on the imagina- 
 tion by long continued familiarity with the aspect of the Campanile of 
 Giotto. 
 
 Great, beyond all question, was the intellectual enjoyment that Mac- 
 aulay forfeited by his unwillingness to admit the excellence of anything 
 which had been written in bold defiance of the old canons ; but, heavy as 
 the sacrifice was, he could readily afford to make it. With his omnivorous 
 and insatiable appetite for books there was, indeed, little danger that he 
 would ever be at a loss for something to read. A few short extracts, taken 
 at random from the last volume of his journals, will sufficiently indicate 
 how extensive and diversified were the regions of literature over which 
 he roved at will. “ I turned over Philo, and compared his narrative with 
 Josephus. It is amusing to observe with what skill those Jews, trained in 
 Greek learning, exhibited the philosophical side of their religion to the 
 Pagan scholars and statesmen, and kept out of sight the ceremonial part. 
 It was just the contrary, I imagine, with the lower class of Jews, who be- 
 came, in some sense, the spiritual directors of silly women at Rome.” 
 “ I read a good deal of Fray Gerundio. A good book. The traits of 
 manners are often interesting. There is something remarkable in the 
 simple plenty and joyousness of the life of the rustics of Old Castile.” 
 “ I read some of a novel about sporting ; — a Mr. Sponge the hero. It 
 was a new world to me, so I bore with the hasty writing, and was enter- 
 tained.” “ I read some of Tieck ; the Brothers, and the Preface to the 
 collected works. He complains that his countrymen are slow to take a 
 joke. He should consider that the jokes which he, and some of his 
 brother writers, are in the habit of producing are not laughing matters. 
 Then Sir Walter Scott’s Life. I had Rokeby out, and turned it over. 
 Poor work ; and yet there are gleams of genius few and far between. 
 What a blunder to make the scenery the foreground, and the human 
 actors the background of a picture ! In the Lay the human actors stand 
 out as they should, and the Aill, and the Tweed, and Melrose Abbey are 
 in proper subordination. Even in the Lady of the Lake, Loch Katrine 
 does not throw Fitzjames and Roderic into the shade ; but Rokeby is 
 primarily a descriptive poem like Grongar Hill. There was some foun- 
 dation for Moore’s sarcastic remark that Scott meant to do all the gentle- 
 men’s seats from Edinburgh to London. The only good thing in the 
 poem is the Buccaneer.” “ I read iElian for the first time. Odd that it 
 
300 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIV. 
 
 should be for the first time ! I despatched the whole volume in a few 
 hours, skimming and reading sometimes the Greek, and sometimes the 
 Latin translation, which I thought more than usually well written. The 
 most interesting fact which I learned from this very miscellaneous collec- 
 tion of information was that there were said to be translations of Homer 
 into the Persian and Indian languages, and that those translations were 
 sung by the barbarians. I had never heard this mentioned. The thing is 
 really not impossible. The conquests of Alexander must have made the 
 Greek language well known to men whose mother tongue was the Persian 
 or the Sanskrit. I wish to Heaven that the translations could be found.” 
 Some of the great metaphysical philosophers, both ancient and modern, 
 were among the authors with whom Macaulay was most familiar ; but he 
 read them for the pleasure of admiring the ingenuity of their arguments 
 or the elegance of their literary manner, and not from any sympathy with 
 the subject-matter of their works. He was, in fact, very much inclined 
 towards the opinion expressed by Voltaire in Zadig : “II savait de la 
 metaphysique ce qu’on a su dans tons les ages, — c’est a dire, fort peu de 
 chose.” But there was another field of inquiry and discussion in which 
 he was never tired of ranging. He had a strong and enduring predilec- 
 tion for religious speculation and controversy, and was widely and pro- 
 foundly read in ecclesiastical history. His partiality for studies of this 
 nature is proved by the full and elaborate notes with which he has cov- 
 ered the margin of such books as Warburton’s Julian, Middleton’s Free 
 Enquiry, Middleton’s Letters to Venn and Waterland, and all the rest of 
 the crop of polemical treatises which the Free Enquiry produced.* But 
 nowhere are there such numerous and deeply-marked traces of his passion 
 for Church history as in the pages of Strype’s biographies of the bishops 
 who played a leading part in the English Reformation. Those giim folios 
 of six generations back, — the Lives of Cranmer, and Grindal, and Whit- 
 
 * “ Middleton,” writes Macaulay, “does not shine in any of his strictly controversial 
 pieces. He is too querulous and egotistical. Above all, he is not honest. He knew that 
 what alarmed the Church was not his conclusion, but the arguments by which he arrived 
 at that conclusion. His conclusion might be just, and yet Christianity might be of Divine 
 origin; but his arguments seem to be quite as applicable to the miracles related by St. 
 Luke as to those related by Jerome. He was in a deplorable predicament. He boasted 
 of his love of truth and of his courage, and yet he was paltering and shamming through 
 the whole controversy. He should have made up his mind from the beginning whether 
 he had the courage to face obloquy and abuse, to give up all hopes of preferment, and to 
 speak plainly out. If, from selfish motives, (or, as I rather believe and hope, from a real 
 conviction that, by attacking the Christian religion, he should do more harm than good to 
 mankind), he determined to call himself a Christian, and to respect the sacred books, he 
 should have kept altogether out of a controversy which inevitably brought him into the 
 necessity of either declaring himself an infidel, or resorting to a thousand dishonest shifts, 
 injurious to his arguments, and discreditable to his character.” 
 
1856-58. LORD MACAULAY. 3OI 
 
 gift* and Parker, — acquire all the interest of a contemporary narrative if 
 read with the accompaniment of Macaulay’s vivid and varied comments. 
 When, at the commencement of the Life of Cranmer, Strype apologizes 
 for employing phraseology which even in his own day was obsolete and 
 uncouth, he obtained an easy pardon from his assiduous student. “ I 
 like,” says Macaulay, “ his old-fashioned style. He writes like a man 
 who lived with the people of an earlier age. He had thoroughly imbued 
 himself with the spirit of the sixteenth century.” * And again : “ Strype 
 was an honest man and a most valuable writer. Perhaps no person with 
 so slender abilities has done so much to improve our knowledge of English 
 history.” Somewhat later in the same volume, when Gardiner first ap- 
 pears upon the scene, Macaulay writes : “ Gardiner had very great vices. 
 He was a dissembler and a persecutor. But he was, on the whole, the 
 first public man of his generation in England. He had, I believe, a real 
 love for his country. He showed a greater respect for Parliaments than 
 any statesman of that time. He opposed the Spanish match. When 
 forced to consent to it, he did his best to obtain such terms as might 
 secure the independence of the realm. He w^as a far more estimable 
 man than Cranmer.” Of Latimer he says : “ He was the Cobbett of the 
 Reformation, with more honesty than Cobbett, and more courage ; but 
 very like him in the character of his understanding.” At the foot of a 
 fine letter addressed by Ridley from his prison in “ Bocardo in Oxenford, 
 to his former steward who had complied with the Romish Religion,” Mac- 
 aulay notes “A stout-hearted, honest, brave man.” Grindal he more than 
 once pronounces to be “the best Archbishop of Canterbury since the 
 Reformation, except Tillotson.” Indeed, it may safely be asserted that, 
 in one corner or another of Macaulay’s library, there is in existence his 
 estimate of every famous or notorious English prelate from the beginning 
 of the sixteenth to the end of the eighteenth century. The most concise 
 of these sketches of episcopal character may be found in his copy of the 
 letters from War burton to Hurd, the first of which is headed in pencil 
 with the words, “ Bully to Sneak.” 
 
 Valuable, indeed, is the privilege of following Macaulay through his 
 favorite volumes, where every leaf is plentifully besprinkled with the 
 annotations of the most lively of scholiasts ; but it would be an injustice 
 towards his reputation to separate the commentary from the text, and 
 present it to the public in a fragmentary condition. Such a process could 
 give but a feeble idea of the animation and humor of that species of run- 
 ning conversation which he frequently kept up with his author for whole 
 chapters together. Of all the memorials of himself which he has left 
 
 ♦ Strype himself was well enough aware that his style was suited to his subject. “ In 
 truth,” he writes, “ he that is a lover of antiquity loves the very language and phrases of 
 antiquit} . 
 
302 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XIV. 
 
 behind him, these dialogues with the dead are the most characterJfetic. 
 The energy of his remonstrances, the heartiness of his approbation, the 
 contemptuous vehemence of his censure, the eagerness with which he 
 urges and reiterates his own opinions, are such as to make it at times dif- 
 ficult to realize that his remarks are addressed to people who died cen- 
 turies, or perhaps tens of centuries, ago. But the writer of a book which 
 had lived was always alive for Macaulay. This sense of personal relation 
 between himself and the men of the past increased as years went on, — as 
 he became less able and willing to mix with the world, and more and 
 more thrown back upon the society which he found in his own library. His 
 way of life would have been deemed solitary by others, but it was not 
 solitary to him. While he had a volume in his hands he never could be 
 without a quaint companion to laugh with or laugh at ; an adversary to 
 stimulate his combativeness ; a counsellor to suggest wise or lofty thoughts, 
 and a friend with whom to share them. When he opened for the tenth 
 or fifteenth time some history, or memoir, or romance, — every incident, 
 and almost every sentence of which he had by heart. — his feeling was 
 precisely that which we experience on meeting an old comrade, whom we 
 like all the better because we know the exact lines on which his talk will 
 run. There was no society in London so agreeable that Macaulay would 
 have preferred it at breakfast or at dinner to the company of Sterne, or 
 Fielding, or Horace Walpole, or Boswell ; and there were many less dis- 
 tinguished authors with whose productions he was very well content to 
 cheer his repasts. “ I read,” he says, “ Henderson’s Iceland at breakfast ; 
 — a favorite breakfast book with me. Why ? How oddly we are made I 
 Some books which I never should dream of opening at dinner please me 
 at breakfast, and vice versa.” In choosing what he should take down 
 from his shelves he was guided at least as much by whim as by judgment. 
 There were certain bad writers whose vanity and folly had a flavor of 
 peculiarity which was irresistibly attractive to Macaulay. In August, 1859, 
 he says to Lady Trevelyan: “The books which I had sent to the binder 
 are come ; and Miss Seward’s letters are in a condition to bear twenty 
 more re-perusals.” But, amidst the infinite variety of lighter literature 
 with which he beguiled his leisure. Pride and Prejudice, and the five sister 
 novels, remained without a rival in his affections. He never for a moment 
 wavered in his allegiance to Miss Austen. In 1858 he notes in his jour- 
 nal : “ If I could get materials I really would write a short life of that 
 wonderful woman, and raise a little money to put up a monument to her 
 in Winchester Cathedral.” Some of his old friends may remember how 
 he prided himself on a correction of his own in the first page of Persua- 
 sion, which he maintained to be worthy of Bentley, and which undoubtedly 
 fulfils all the conditions required to establish the credit of an emendation; 
 for, without the alteration of a word, or even of a letter, it turns into per- 
 
185&-58. lord MACAULAY. 303 
 
 fectl^ intelligible common-sense a passage which has puzzled, or which 
 ought to have puzzled, two generations of Miss Austen’s readers.* 
 
 Of the feelings which he entertained towards the great minds of by- 
 gone ages it is not for any one except himself to speak. He has told us 
 how his debt to them was incalculable; how they guided him to truth; 
 how they filled his mind with noble and graceful images ; how they stood 
 by him in all vicissitudes, — comforters in sorrow, nurses in sickness, com- 
 panions in solitude, “ the old friends who are never seen with new faces ; 
 who are the same in wealth and in poverty, in glory and in obscurity.” 
 Great as were the honors and possessions which Macaulay acquired by 
 his pen, all who knew him were well aware that the titles and rewards, 
 which he gained by his own works, were as nothing in the balance as 
 compared with the pleasure which he derived from the works of others. 
 That knowledge has largely contributed to the tenderness with which he 
 has been treated by writers whose views on books, and events, and politics 
 past and present differ widely from his own. It has been well said that 
 even the most hostile of his critics cannot help being “ awed and touched 
 by his wonderful devotion to literature.” And, while his ardent and sin- 
 cere passion for letters has thus served as a protection to his memory, it 
 was likewise the source of much which calls for admiration in his character 
 and conduct. The confidence with which he could rely upon intellectual 
 pursuits for occupation and amusement assisted him not a little to pre- 
 serve that dignified composure, with which he met all the changes and 
 chances of his public career ; and that spirit of cheerful and patient en- 
 durance, which sustained him through years of broken health and enforced 
 seclusion. He had no pressing need to seek for excitement and applause 
 abroad, when he had beneath his own roof a never-failing store of ex- 
 quisite enjoyment. That “ invincible love of reading,” which Gibbon de- 
 clared that he would not exchange for the treasures of India, was with 
 Macaulay a main element of happiness in one of the happiest lives that it 
 has ever fallen to the lot of a biographer to record. 
 
 ♦ A slight change in the punctuation effects all that is required. According to Mac- 
 aulay, the sentence was intended by its author to run thus : “ There, any unwelcome sen- 
 sations, arising from domestic affairs, changed naturally into pity and contempt as he 
 turned over the almost endless creations of the last century; and there, if every other 
 leaf were powerless, he could read his own history with an interest which never failed. 
 This vas the page at which the favorite volume opened : — ” 
 
LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CK.ZT. 
 
 304 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 1859 - 
 
 Melancholy anticipations — Visit to the English lakes and to Scotland — Extracts from 
 Macaulay’s journal — His death and funeral. 
 
 W HEN the year 1859 opened, it seemed little likely that any event 
 was at hand which would disturb the tranquil course of Macaulay’s 
 existence. His ailments, severe as they were, did not render him dis- 
 contented on his own account, nor diminish the warmth of his interest in 
 the welfare of those who were around him. Towards the close of the 
 preceding year, his niece, Margaret Trevelyan, had been married to the 
 son of his old friend Sir Henry Holland ; an event which her uncle re- 
 garded with heartfelt satisfaction. Mr. Holland resided in London ; and 
 consequently the marriage, so far from depriving Macaulay of one whom 
 he looked on as a daughter, gave him another household where he was as 
 much at home as in his own. But a most unexpected circumstance now 
 occurred which changed in a moment the whole complexion of his life. 
 Early in January 1859 the Governorship of Madras was offered to my 
 father. He accepted the post, and sailed for India in the third week of 
 February. My mother remained in England for a while ; but she was to 
 follow her husband after no very long interval, and Macaulay was fully 
 convinced that, when he and his sister parted, they would part for ever. 
 Though he derived his belief from his own sensations, and not from any 
 warning of physicians, he was none the less firmly persuaded that the 
 end was now not far off. “ I took leave of Trevelyan,” he says on the 
 i8th of February. “ He said, ‘ You have always been a most kind brother 
 to me.’ I certainly tried to be so. Shall we ever meet again I do not 
 expect it. My health is better ; but another sharp winter would probably 
 finish me.” In another place he writes : “ I am no better. This malady 
 tries me severely. However, I bear up. As to my temper, it never has 
 been soured, and, w'hile I keep my understanding, will not, I think, be 
 
LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 305 
 
 1859. 
 
 soured, by evils for which- it is evident that no human being is respon- 
 sible. To be angry with relations and servants because you suffer some- 
 thing which they did not inflict, and which they are desirous to alleviate, 
 is unworthy, not merely of a good man, but of a rational being. Yet I 
 see instances enough of such irritability to fear that I may be guilty of it. 
 But I will take care. I have thought several times of late that the last 
 scene of the play was approaching. I should wish to act it simply, but 
 with fortitude and gentleness united.” 
 
 The prospect of a separation from one with whom he had lived in 
 close and uninterrupted companionship since her childhood and his own 
 early manhood, — a prospect darkened by the thought that his last hour 
 would surely come when she was thousands of miles away, — was a trial 
 which weighed heavily on Macaulay’s sinking health. He endured it 
 manfully, and almost silently ; but his spirits never recovered the blow. 
 During the spring and summer of 1859 his journal contains a few brief 
 but significant allusions to the state of his feelings ; one of which, and 
 one only, may fitly be inserted here. July ii, 1859. — A letter from 
 Hannah ; very sad and affectionate. I answered her. There is a pleas- 
 ure even in this exceeding sorrow ; for it brings out the expression of 
 love with a tenderness which is wanting in ordinary circumstances. But 
 the sorrow is very, very bitter. The Duke of Argyll called, and left me 
 the sheets of a forthcoming poem of Tennyson. I like it extremely;— 
 notwithstanding some faults, extremely. The parting of Lancelot and 
 Guinevere, her penitence, and Arthur’s farewell, are all very affecting. I 
 cried over some passages ; but I am now apridaKpvg * as Medea says.” 
 Towards the end of July my uncle spent a week with us at Lowood 
 Hotel, on the shore of Windermere ; and thence accompanied my mother 
 and my younger sister on a fortnight’s tour through the Western High- 
 lands, and by Stirling to Edinburgh. Every stage of the journey brought 
 some fresh proof of the eager interest which his presence aroused in the 
 minds of his fellow-countrymen, to whom his face and figure were very 
 much less familiar than is usual in the case of a man of his eminence and 
 reputation. He now so rarely emerged from his retirement that, when- 
 ever he appeared abroad, he was attended by a respect which gratified, 
 and a curiosity which did not annoy him. “ I went the day before yes- 
 terday.” he writes to Mr. Ellis, “ to Grasmere Churchyard, and saw 
 Wordsworth’s tomb. I thought of announcing my intention of going, and 
 issuing guinea tickets to people who wished to see me there. For a 
 Yankee who was here a few days ago, and heard that I was expected, 
 said that he would give the world to see that most sublime of all specta- 
 cles, Macaulay standing by the grave of Wordsworth.” “ In Scotland,” 
 
 * “ With the tears near the eyes.” 
 
 VOL. IT.— 20 
 
LIFE AND LE'ITERS OF 
 
 CH. XV. 
 
 306 
 
 my mother writes, “his reception was everywhere most enthusiastic. He 
 was quickly recognized on steamers and at railway stations. At Tarbet 
 wc were escorted down to the boat by the w'hole household ; and, while 
 they surrounded your uncle, finding a seat for him, and making him com- 
 fortable, I sat modestly in the shade next a young woman, who called a 
 man to her, and asked who they were making such a fuss about. He 
 replied that it was the great Lord Macaulay, who wrote the History. 
 ‘Oh,’ said she, ‘ I thought it was considered only a romance! ’ How- 
 ever, she added herself to the group of starers. When we went to Dr. 
 Guthrie’s church at Edinburgh, the congregation made a line for us 
 through which to walk away.” At the hotels, one not uncommon form 
 of doing Macaulay honor consisted in serving up a better dinner than had 
 been ordered, — no easy matter when he was catering for others besides 
 himself, — and then refusing to accept payment for his entertainment.’* 
 At Invevary he writes ; “ The landlord insisted on treating us to our 
 drive of yesterday, but I was peremptory. I was half sorry afterwards, 
 and so was Hannah, who, at the time, took my part. It is good to accept 
 as well as to give. My feeling is too much that of Calderon’s hero ; 
 
 Como sabri pedir 
 Quien solo ha sabido dar ? * 
 
 I shrink too much from receiving services which I love to render.” 
 
 During this visit to the North my uncle was still the same agreeable 
 travelling companion that we had always known him ; with the same 
 readiness to please and be pleased, and the same sweet and even temper. 
 When one of us happened to be alone with him, there sometimes was a 
 touch of melancholy about his conversation which imparted to it a singular 
 charm ; but, when the whole of our little circle was assembled, he showed 
 h'mself as ready as ever to welcome any topic which promised to afford 
 material for amusing and abundant talk. I especially remember our 
 sitting at the window through the best part of an afternoon, looking 
 across Windermere, and drawing up under his superintendence a list of 
 forty names for an imaginary English Academy. The result of our 
 labors, in the shape in which it now lies before me, bears evident marks 
 of having been a work of compromise, and cannot therefore be pre- 
 sented to the world as a faithful and authentic expression of Macaulay’s 
 estimate of his literary and scientific contemporaries. 
 
 In a letter to Mr. Ellis, written on the 24th of October, 1859, Macaulay 
 says : “ I have been very well in body since we parted ; but in mind I 
 have suffered much, and the more because I have had to put a force upon 
 myself in order to appear cheerful. It is at last settled that Hannah and 
 Alice are to go to Madras in February. I cannot deny that it is right; 
 
 • “ How will he know how to ask who has only known how to give ? 
 
LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 307 
 
 1859. 
 
 and my duty is to avoid whatever can add to the pain which they suffer. 
 But I am very unhappy. However, I read, and write, and contrive to forget 
 my sorrow for whole hours. But it recurs, and will recur.” 
 
 The trial which now at no distant date awaited Macaulay was one of 
 the heaviest that could by any possibility have been allotted to him, and 
 he summoned all his resources in order to meet it with firmness and re- 
 signation. He henceforward made it a duty to occupy his mind, and 
 fortify his powers of self-control, by hard and continuous intellectual 
 exertion. “ I must drive away,” he says, “ these thoughts by writing ; ” 
 and with diminished strength he returned to his labors, purposing not to 
 relax them until he had completed another section of the History. In 
 October he tells Mr. Longman that he is working regularly, and that he 
 designs to publish the next volume by itself. On the 14th of December 
 he writes: “Finished at last the session of 1699-1700. There is a good 
 deal in what I have written that is likely to interest readers. At any rate 
 this employment is a good thing for myself, and will be a better soon when 
 I shall have little else left.” Influenced by the same settled determination 
 forcibly to divert the current of his reflections from the sombre channel 
 in which they were now prone to run, Macaulay, even during his hours of 
 leisure, began to read on system. On the second day after he had 
 received the unwelcome announcement of my mother’s plans with regard 
 to India, he commenced the perusal of Nichol’s Literary Anecdotes, — a 
 ponderous row of nine volumes, each containing seven or eight hundred 
 closely-printed pages. He searched and sifted this vast repertory of 
 eighteenth century erudition and gossip with a minute diligence such as 
 few’ men have the patience to bestow upon a book which they do not 
 intend to re-edit ; — correcting blunders, supplying omissions, stigmatizing 
 faults in taste and grammar, and enriching every blank space, which 
 invited his pencil, with a profusion of valuable and entertaining comments. 
 Progressing stea iily at the rate of a volume a week, he had read and 
 annotated the entire work between the 17th day of October and the 21st 
 of December. » 
 
 During this period of his life Macaulay certainly was least unhappy 
 when alone in his own library; * for, in the society of those whom he was 
 about to lose, the enjoyment of the moment could not fail to be over- 
 clouded by sad presentiments. “ I could almost wish,” he writes, “ that 
 what is to be were to be immediately. I dread the next four months 
 more than even the months which will follow the separation. This pro- 
 longed parting, — this slow sipping of the vinegar and the gall,— is terrible.” 
 The future was indeed dark before him ; but God, who had so blessed 
 
 • On the i6th of October he notes in his diary : “ I read, and found, as 1 have always 
 found, that an interesting book acted ais an anodyne.” 
 
3o8 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XV. 
 
 him, dealt kindly with him even to the end, and his burden was not per- 
 mitted to be greater than his strength could bear. 
 
 “ Friday, December i6. — From this morning I reckon some of the least 
 agreeable days of my life. The physic was necessary, but I believe 
 it brought me very low. The frost was more intense than ever, and 
 arrested my circulation.* Bating the irregularity of the pulse, I suffered 
 all that I suffered when, in 1852, I was forced to go to Clifton. The de- 
 pression, the weakness, the sinking of the heart, the incapacity to do any- 
 thing that required steady exertion, were very distressing. To write, 
 though but a few words, is disagreeable to me. However, I read German, 
 Latin, and English, and got through the day tolerably.” 
 
 ^'‘December 17 — Very hard frost. The weather has seldom been colder 
 in this latitude. I sent for Martin, and told him my story.f He says that 
 there is no organic affection of the heart, but that the heart is weak. 
 
 December ig. — Still intense frost. I could hardly use my razor for 
 the palpitation of the heart. I feel as if I were twenty years older since 
 last Thursday ; — as if I were dying of old age. I am perfectly ready, and 
 shall never be readier. A month more of such days as I have been pass- 
 ing of late would make me impatient to get to my little narrow crib, like a 
 weary factory child.” 
 
 “ Wednesday December 21. — Everything changed ; the frost and frozen 
 snow all gone; heavy rain falling; clouds from the south-west driving 
 fast through the sky. The sun came, and it was so mild that I ventured 
 into the veranda ; but I was far from well. My two doctors, Watson 
 and Martin, came to consult. They agreed in pronouncing my complaint 
 a heart-complaint simply. If the heart acted with force, all the plagues 
 would vanish together. They may be right. I am certainly very poorly ; 
 — weak as a child. Yet I am less nervous than usual. I have shed no 
 tears during some days, though with me tears ask only leave to flow, as 
 poor Cowper says. I am sensible of no intellectual decay; — not the 
 smallest.” 
 
 '•^Friday, December 23. — In the midst of life — . This morning I 
 had scarcely left my closet when down came the ceiling in large masses. I 
 should certainly have been stunned, probably killed, if I had stayed a few 
 minutes longer. I stayed by my fire, not exerting myself to write, but 
 making Christmas calculations, and reading. An odd declaration by 
 Dickens that he did not mean Leigh Hunt by Harold Skimpole. Yet he 
 owns that he took the light externals of the character from Leigh Hunt, 
 and surely it is by those light externals that the bulk of mankind will 
 always recognize character. Besides, it is to be observed that the vices 
 
 * Macaulay’s habitual ill health had been aggravated by a walk which he took in a 
 bitter East wind, from the British Museum to the Athenjeum Club, 
 t Sir Ranald Martin had been Macaulay’s physician in Calcutta. 
 
1859. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 309 
 
 of Harold Skimpole are vices to which Leigh Hunt had, to say the least, 
 some little leaning, and which the world generally imputed to him most 
 unsparingly. That he had loose notions of nieiim and tuum^ that he had 
 no high feeling of independence, that he had no sense of obligation, that 
 he took money wherever he could get it, that he felt no gratitude for it, 
 that he was just as ready to defame a person who had relieved his distress 
 as a person who had refused him relief, — these were things which, as 
 Dickens must have known, were said, truly or falsely, about Leigh Hunt 
 and had made a deep impression on the public mind. Indeed, Leigh 
 Hunt had said himself : ‘ I have some peculiar notions about money. 
 They will be found to involve considerable difference of opinion with the 
 community, particularly in a commercial country. I have not that horror 
 of being under obligation which is thought an 'essential refinement in 
 money matters.’ This is Harold Skimpole all over. How then could D. 
 doubt that H. S. would be supposed to be a portrait of L. H . } ” 
 
 At this point Macaulay’s journal comes to an abrupt close. Two 
 days afterwards he wrote to Mr. Ellis : “ The physicians think me better ; 
 but there is little change in my sensations. The day before yesterday I 
 had a regular fainting-fit, and lay quite insensible. I wish that I had 
 continued to be so ; for if death be no more — Up I got, however ; 
 and the doctors agree that the circumstance is altogether unimportant.” 
 Nevertheless, from this time forward there was a marked change for the 
 worse in Macaulay. “ I spent Christmas Day with him,” my mother 
 writes. “ He talked very little, and was constantly dropping asleep. We 
 had our usual Christmas dinner with him, and the next day I thought him 
 better. Never, as long as I live, can I lose the sense of misery that I 
 ever left him after Christmas Day. But I did not feel alarmed. I thought 
 the accident to the ceiling had caused a shock to his nerves from which 
 he was gradually recovering ; and, when we were alone together, he gave 
 way to so much emotion that, while he was so weak, I rather avoided 
 being long with him.” It may give occasion for surprise that Macaulay’s 
 relatives entertained no apprehension of his being in grave and immediate 
 danger; but the truth is that his evident unhappiness, (the outward mani- 
 festations of which, during the last few^ days of his life, he had no longer 
 the force to suppress,) was so constantly present to the minds of us all 
 that our attention was diverted from his bodily condition. His silence 
 and depression, — due, in reality, to physical causes, — were believed by us 
 to proceed almost entirely from mental distress. 
 
 In a contemporary account of Macaulay’s last illness ^ it is related 
 
 * This account, which is very brief, but apparently authentic, is preserved among the 
 Marquis of Lansdowne’s papers. Macaulay writes, on the 19th of August, 1859 : “ I 
 grieve to hear about my dear old friend, Lord Lansdowne. 1 owe more to him than to 
 
LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 CH. XV. 
 
 3IC 
 
 that on the morning of Wednesday, the 28th of December, he mustered 
 strength to dictate a letter addressed to a poor curate, enclosing twenty- 
 five pounds ; — after signing which letter he never wrote his name again. 
 Late in the afternoon of the same day I called at Holly Lodge, intending 
 to propose myself to dinner ; an intention whiqh was abandoned as soon 
 as I entered the library. My uncle was sitting, with his head bent for- 
 ward on his chest, in a languid and drowsy reverie. The first number of 
 the Cornhill Magazine lay unheeded before him, open at the first page of 
 Thackeray’s story of Lovel the Widower. He did not utter a word, ex- 
 cept in answer ; and the only one of my observations that at this distance 
 of time I can recall, suggested to him painful and pathetic reflections 
 which altogether destroyed his self-command. 
 
 On hearing my report of his state, my mother resolved to spend the 
 night at Holly Lodge. She had just left the drawing-room to make her 
 preparations for the visit, (it being, I suppose, a little before seven in the 
 evening,) when a servant arrived with an urgent summons. As we drove 
 up to the porch of my uncle’s house the maids ran crying out into the 
 darkness to meet us, and we knew that all was over. We found him 
 in the library, seated in his easy chair, and dressed as usual ; with his 
 book on the table beside him, still open at the same page. He had told 
 his butler that he should go to bed early, as he was very tired. The man 
 proposed his lying on the sofa. He rose as if to move, sat down again 
 and ceased to breathe. He died as he had always wished to die ; — without 
 pain ; without any formal farewell ; preceding to the grave all whom he 
 loved; and leaving behind him a great and honorable name, and the 
 memory of a life every action of which was as clear and transparent as 
 one of his own sentences. It would be unbecoming in me to dwell upon 
 the regretful astonishment with which the tidings of his death were re- 
 ceived wherever the English language is read; and quite unnecessary to 
 describe the enduring grief of those upon whom he had lavished his af- 
 fection, and for whom life had been brightened by daily converse with his 
 genius, and ennobled by familiarity with his lofty and upright example. 
 “We have lost,” (so my mother wrote,) “ the light of our home, the most 
 tender, loving, generous, unselfish, devoted of friends. What he was to 
 me for fifty years how can I tell ? What a world of love he poured out 
 upon me and mine ! The blank, the void he has left, — filling, as he did, 
 so entirely both heart and intellect, — no one can understand. For who 
 ever knew such a life as mine passed as the cherished companion of such 
 a man ? ” 
 
 He was buried in Westminster Abbey, on the 9th of January, i860, 
 
 any man living ; and he never seemed to be sensible that I owed him anything. I shall 
 look anxiously for the next accounts.” Lord Lansdowne recovered from this illness, and 
 survived Macaulay more than three years. 
 
LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 1859. 
 
 31I 
 
 The pall was borne by the Duke of Argyll, Lord John Russell, Lord 
 Stanhope, Lord Carlisle, Bishop Wilberforce, Sir David Dundas, Sir 
 Henry Holland, Dean Milman, Sir George Cornewall Lewis, the Lord 
 Chancellor, and the Speaker of the House of Commons. “ A beautiful 
 sunrise,” wrote Lord Carlisle. “The pall-bearers met in the Jerusalem 
 Chamber. The last time I had been there on a like errand was at Can- 
 ning’s funeral. The whole service and ceremony were in the highest de- 
 gree solemn and impressive. All befitted the man and the occasion.” 
 
 He rests with his peers in Poet’s Corner, near the west wall of the 
 South Transept. There, amidst the tombs of Johnson, and Garrick, and 
 Handel, and Goldsmith, and Gay, stands conspicuous the statue of Ad- 
 dison ; and, at the feet of Addison, lies the stone which bears this inscrip- 
 tion : 
 
 THOMAS BABINGTON, LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 BORN AT ROTHLEY TEMPLE, LEICESTERSHIRE, 
 OCTOBER 25, 1800. , 
 
 DIED AT HOLLY LODGE, CAMPBEN HILL, 
 DECEMBER 28, 1859. 
 
 “HIS BODY IS BURIED IN PEACE, 
 
 BUT HIS NAME LIVETH FOR EVERMORE.” 
 
 THE END.