LONDON: 
 
 JAMES NISBET&C? BERNERS ST 
 
 1T\ 
 
 l p - A ._ a|| ^ 
 
 'fjjgifilp] [g j 
 
 Rmjawin Pardon, Printer , Paternoster Roio. 
 
LECTURES, 1861-3 
 
 ISAAC TAYLOR, Esq. — France and England Eighty Years ago. 
 
 Rev. SAMUEL MARTIN.— Anglo-Saxon Christianity and Augustine 
 
 of Canterbury. 
 
 Rev. JOHN STOUGHTON.— Anglo-Norman Christianity and Anselm. 
 Rev. WILLIAM B. MACKENZIE, M. A. — Lollardie and Wyckliffe. 
 
 EDWARD CORDEROY, Esq.— The English Reformation and 
 
 Archbishop Cranmer. 
 
 Rev. HENRY ALLON. — Church Song, with Illustrations of the 
 People’s Worship in Ancient and Modern Times.* 
 
 Rev. CHARLES H. SPURGEON.— Counterfeits. 
 
 Rev. ARCHIBALD BOYD, M.A.— The Criteria of Truth. 
 
 Rev. WILLIAM C. MAGEE, D.D.— The Uses of Prophecy. 
 
 Rev. WALTER SMITH, M. A.— Miracles-. 
 
 Rev. JOHN C. MILLER, D.D. — The New Testament Narratives 
 
 Real not Ideal. 
 
 Rev. W. MORLEY PUNSHON, M.A.— Macaulay. 
 
 * The Musical Examples will be sung by a Choir of upwards of 100 Voices, under the 
 direction of Mr. Smythson, and accompanied by Dr. Gauntlet!’. 
 
 LECTURES, 1859-60. 
 
 The Right Hon. JAMES MONCRIEF, M.P. 
 — The Influence of Knox and the Scottish 
 Reformation on the Reformation of 
 England. 
 
 Rev. J. C. MILLER, D.D.— Bigotry. 
 
 Hev. RICHARD ROBERTS — Self Conquest. 
 
 Rev. HUGH STOWELL, M. A.— Queen 
 Elizabeth. 
 
 Rev JOHN" GRAHAM. — The Influence of 
 Society in the Formation of Character. 
 
 Rev. WILLIAM ARNOT, M.A.— The Earth 
 Framed and Furnished as a Habitation for 
 Man. 
 
 Rev. EDW. MEYRICK GOULBURN, D.D.- 
 
 13 ] RISC PctSCdl* 
 
 Rev. SAMUEL MARTIN.— The Advantages 
 to be derived from the Study of Church 
 History. 
 
 Rev. HUGH STOWELL BROWN.— Hogarth 
 and His Pictures. 
 
 Rev. FREDERIC GREEVES — The World’s 
 Oldest Poem. 
 
 Rev J. OWEN, M.A.— Old School Affectations 
 in Literature, Art, Science, Religion, Poli- 
 tics, and Social Customs. Concluding with 
 “ Bonnie Christie,” a Sketch. 
 
 JOHN B. GOUGH, Esq.— The Power of 
 Example. 
 
 LECTURES, 1860-61. 
 
 Lieut -Col. Sir HERBERT B. EDWARDES, 
 K C.B.— Our Indian Empire. 
 
 Rev. WILLIAM LANDELS — The Scottish 
 Covenanters. 
 
 Rev. THEOPHILUS PE ARSON. -Individ- 
 uality. 
 
 Rev. J. HAMPDEN GURNEY, M.A.— 
 England in the Olden Time ; or, Glimpses 
 of the Fourteenth Century. 
 
 Rev CHARLES VINCE.— Lessons from the 
 Lives of the Jesuits. 
 
 Rev. JOHN STOUGHTON.— Revivals, An- 
 cient and Modern. 
 
 Rev. ROBERT T. JEFFREY, M D.— Com- 
 merce Christianized. 
 
 Rev. SAMUEL COLEY.— The Blessed Life. 
 
 Rev. ARCHIBALD BOYD, M. A.- Why did 
 the Church reform itself in the Sixteenth 
 Century ? 
 
 Rev. JAMES HAMILTON, D.D.— Erasmus. 
 
 Rev. WILLIAM rOLLOCK, M.A.— Tho 
 Relations oi Religion and Art. 
 
k t a n I u g. 
 
 A LECTURE 
 
 BY 
 
 The Rev. W. Moeley Punshon, M.A. 
 
\ \^1 
 
 p 
 
 1 
 
 MACAULAY* 
 
 I am in difficulties to-night. There are three pictures 
 vivid to my mental eye, which will haply illustrate those 
 difficulties better than any long array of words. The first 
 is that of a gleaner, by the dim light of the moon, searching 
 painfully among the unwealthy stubble, in a harvest-field 
 from which the corn has been reaped, and from which the 
 reapers have withdrawn. I am that gleaner. About the 
 great man who is my subject to-night, there has been as 
 much said as would suffice for a long course of lectures, and 
 as much written as would almost furnish a library; Where 
 is the tongue which has not been loosened to utter his. 
 eulogy ? Where is the pen which has not been swift in his 
 praise ? I have, therefore, to deal with matters which are 
 already treasured as national property. If I am to furnish 
 for you any but thin and blasted ears, I must of necessity 
 enrich myself from the full sheaves of others. The second 
 picture is that of an unfortunate individual, who has to 
 write an art-criticism upon a celebrated picture, but who 
 finds himself, with a small physique and with a horror of 
 crowds, jammed hopelessly into the front rank of the spec- 
 tators at the Academy, with the sun dazzling his eyes, and 
 so near to the picture that he sees little upon the canvass 
 but a vague and shapeless outline of colour. I am that 
 unhappy critic, dazzled as I look upon my subject — and both 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS 
 & URBANA CHAMPAIGN 
 
4 
 
 MACAULAY. 
 
 you and I are too near for perfect vision. Macaulay, as 
 everyone knows, was through life identified with a political 
 party. Even his literary efforts were prompted by political 
 impulses, and tinged necessarily with political hues. It 
 would seem, therefore, that to be accurately judged he must 
 be looked at through the haze of years, when the strife of 
 passion has subsided, and prepossession and prejudice have 
 alike faded in the lapse of time. The third picture is that 
 of a son, keenly affectionate, but of high integrity, clinging 
 with almost reverent fondness to the memory of a father, 
 %ut who has become conscious of one detraction from that 
 father’s excellence, which he may not conscientiously con- 
 ceal. I am that mourning son. There are few of vou who 
 hold that marvellous Englishman more dear, or who are 
 more jealous for the renown which, on his human side, he 
 merits, and which has made his name a word of pride 
 wherever Anglo-Saxons talk in their grand, free, mother- 
 tongue. If this world were all, I could admire and worship 
 with the best of you, and no warning accompaniment should 
 mingle with the music of the praise ; but I should be 
 recreant to the duty which I owe to those who listen to me, 
 and traitorous to my higher stewardship as a minister of 
 Christ, if I forbore to warn you, that without godliness in 
 the heart and in the life, the most brilliant career has missed 
 of its allotted purpose, and there comes a paleness upon the 
 lustre of the very proudest fame. It is enough. Tour 
 discernment perceives my difficulties, and your sympathy 
 will accord me its indulgence while we speak together of 
 the man who was the marvel of other lands, and who occupies 
 no obscure place upon the bright bead-roll of his own — the 
 rhetorician, the essayist, the poet, the statesman, the his- 
 torian — Thomas Babington, first and last Baron Macaulay. 
 
 Erom a middle-class family, in a midland county in 
 England, was born the man whom England delighteth to 
 
} 
 
 I 
 
 MACAULAY. 
 
 t 
 
 honour. The place of his birth was Bothley Temple, in 
 Leicestershire, at the house of his uncle, Mr. Thomas 
 Babington, after whom he was named ; and the time the 
 month of October, when the century was not many moons 
 old. His grandfather was a minister of the Kirk of Scot- 
 land, who dwelt quietly in his manse at Cardross on the 
 Clyde. His father, after the manner of Scotchmen, travelled 
 in early life toward the south, that he might find wider 
 scope for his enterprise and industry than the country of 
 Maeallum More could yield. His mother was the daughter 
 of a bookseller in Bristol, who was a member of the Society 
 of Triends. Some of his critics, on the “post hoc propter 
 hoc ” principle, have discovered in these two facts the rea- 
 sons of his subsequent severity against Scotchmen and 
 Quakers. When, in these times, we ask after a man’s 
 parentage, it is not that we may know by how many 
 removes he is allied to the Plantagenets, nor how many 
 quarterings he is entitled to grave upon his shield. It is 
 morally certain that most of us had ancestors who dis- 
 tinguished themselves in the Wars of the Boses, and that 
 most of us will have posterity who shall be engaged in the 
 last strife of Armageddon. But estates and names are not 
 the only inheritances of children. They inherit the qualities 
 by which estates are acquired or scattered, and by which 
 men carve out names for themselves, the prouder because 
 they are self-won. Influences which are thrown around 
 them in the years of early life are vital, almost creative, in 
 their power upon the future of their being. You look upon 
 a child in the rounded dimples of its happiness, with large 
 wonder in its eyes, and brow across which sun and shadow 
 chase each other ceaselessly. It is all unconscious of its 
 solemn stewardship, and of the fine or fatal destiny which 
 it may achieve ; but you take the thoughts of responsibility 
 and of influence into account, and you feel that of all 
 
known and terrible forces, short of Omnipotence, the 
 mightiest may slumber in that cradle, or look wistfully from 
 out those childish eyes. You look at it again when the 
 possible of the child has developed into the actual of the 
 man. The life-purpose has been chosen, and there is the 
 steady strife for its accomplishment. The babe who once 
 slumbered so helplessly has become the village Hampden, 
 or the cruel Claverhouse ; the dark blasphemer, or the ready 
 helper of the friendless ; the poet, in his brief felony of the 
 music of Paradise, or the missionary in his labour to restore 
 its lost blessings to mankind. You might almost have pre- 
 dicted the result, because you knew the influences, subtle 
 but mighty, which helped to confirm him in the right, or 
 which helped to warp him to the wrong. And who shall 
 say in the character of each of us, how much we are 
 indebted to hereditary endowments, to early association, to 
 the philosophy of parental rule, and to that retinue of 
 circumstances which guarded us as we emerged from the 
 dream-land of childhood into the actual experiences of life ? 
 In the character and habits of Macaulay, the results of these 
 influences may be very largely discovered. Those of you 
 who are familiar with the wicked wit of Sydney Smith will 
 remember his reference to “the patent Christianity of 
 Clapham and in Sir James Stephen’s inimitable essay, the 
 worthies of the Clapham sect are portrayed with such 
 fidelity and power, that we feel their presence, and they are 
 familiar to us as the faces of to-day. Let us look in upon 
 them on a summer’s eve some fifty years ago. We are in 
 the house of Henry Thornton, the wealthy banker, and for 
 many years the independent representative of the faithful 
 constituency of Southwark. The guests assemble in such 
 numbers, that it might almost be a gathering of the clan. 
 They have disported on the spacious lawn, beneath the 
 shadow of venerable elms, until the evening warns them 
 
MACAUL AT . 
 
 7 
 
 inside, and they £re in the oval saloon, projected and 
 decorated, in his brief leisure, by William Pitt, and filled, 
 to every available inch, with a well-selected library. Take 
 notice of the company, for men of mark are here. There is 
 Henry Thornton himself, lord of the innocent and happy 
 revels, with open brow and searching eye ; with a mind 
 subtle to perceive and bright to harmonize the varied 
 aspects of a question ; with a tranquil soul, and a calm, 
 judicial, persevering wisdom, which, if it never rose into 
 heroism, was always ready to counsel and sustain the im- 
 pulses of the heroism of others. That slight, agile, restless 
 little man, with a crowd about him, whose rich voice rolls 
 like music upon charmed listeners, as if he were a harper 
 who played upon all hearts at his pleasure ; can that be the 
 apostle of the brotherhood ? By what process of compres- 
 sion did the great soul of Wilherforce get into a frame so 
 slender ? It is the old tale of the genius and the fisherman 
 revived. He is fairly abandoned to-night to the current of 
 his own joyous fancies ; now contributing to the stream of 
 earnest talk which murmurs through the room, and now 
 rippling into a merry laugh, light-hearted as a sportive 
 child. There may be seen the burly form, and heard the 
 sonorous voice of William Smith, the active member for 
 Norwich, separated from the rest in theological beliefs, but 
 linked with them in all human charities ; who at threescore 
 years and ten could say that he had no remembrance of an 
 illness, and that though the head of a numerous family, not 
 a funeral had ever started from his door. Yonder, with an 
 absent air, as if awakened from some dear dream of pro- 
 phecy, sits Granville Sharp , that man of chivalrous good- 
 ness ; stern to indignation against every form of wrong- 
 doing, gentle to tenderness towards the individual wrong- 
 doer. The author of many publications, the patron of 
 many societies, the exposer of many abuses; there was 
 
8 
 
 MACAULAY. 
 
 underlying the earnest purpose of his life, a festive humour 
 which made the world happy to him, and which gladdened 
 the circle of his home. His leisure was divided, when he 
 was not called to the councils of Clapham, between his 
 barge, his pencil, and his harp, the latter of which he 
 averred was after the precise pattern of David’s; and 
 strollers through the Temple Gardens in the early morning 
 might often hear his voice, though broken by age, singing to 
 it, as in a strange land, and by the river of the modern 
 Babylon, one of the songs of Zion. In his later years the 
 study of prophecy absorbed him, and we smile at the kindly 
 aberrations which devised portable wool-packs to save the 
 lives at once of exposed soldiers in the Peninsula, and of 
 starving artisans at home ; which thought’ that in King 
 Alfred’s law of frankpledge there was a remedy for all the 
 sorrows of Sierra Leone, and which mourned over the 
 degeneracy of statesmen, because Charles Pox, whom he 
 saw at the Foreign Office, had never so much as heard of 
 Daniel’s “ Little Horn.” Approaching with a half-im- 
 patient look, as if he longed to be breathing the fresh air in 
 some glen of Needwood Chase, comes Thomas Gislorne , the 
 sworn friend of Nature, to whom she whispered all her 
 secrets of bird and stream and tree, and who loved her 
 with a pure love, less only than that which he felt for the 
 souls in his homely parish to whom he ministered the word 
 of life. There, in a group, eagerly conversing together, are 
 the lamented Bowdler , and the elder Stephen, — Charles Grant , 
 at that time the reputed autocrat of that Leadenhall Street, 
 whose glory has so recently departed, and John , Lord 
 Teignmouth , whose quiet, gentlemanly face one could better 
 imagine in the chair of the Bible Society, than ruling in 
 viceregal pomp over the vast empire of India. Summoned 
 up from Cambridge to the gathering there is Isaac Milner , 
 “of lofty stature, vast girth, and superincumbent wig,” 
 
MACAULAY. 
 
 9 
 
 charged perhaps with some message of affection from good 
 old John Venn, who then lay quietly waiting until his 
 change should come ; and CJiarles Simeon , redeemed from all 
 affectations, as he is kindled by the reading of a letter 
 which has just reached him from the far East, and which 
 bears the signature of Henry Martyn. Are we mistaken, 
 or did we discover in the crowd, lighted up with a fine 
 benignity, the countenance of the accomplished Mackintosh ? 
 And surely there flitted by us, with characteristic haste, that 
 active, working, marvellously expressive face which could 
 answer to no other name than that of Henry Brougham. 
 There is just one more figure in the corner upon whom we 
 must for a moment linger, and as we pass towards him that 
 we may get a nearer vision, look at that group of three 
 ingenuous youths, drinking in the rich flow of soul with 
 feelings of mingled shyness and pride. Can you tell their 
 fortunes ? The interpreting years would show them to 
 you — the one dying beloved and honoured as the Professor 
 of Modern History at Cambridge, the second living, as the 
 active and eloquent Bishop of Oxford, and the third the 
 future historian of his country, and one of her most re- 
 nowned and most lamented sons. 
 
 With beetling brows, and figure robust but ungainly, 
 slow of speech, and with a face which told no tale- described 
 as the man “ wdiose understanding was proof against 
 sophistry, and his nerves against fear,” and wLo, though 
 his demeanour was “ inanimate, if not austere, excited among 
 his chosen circle a faith approaching to superstition, and a 
 love rising to enthusiasm.” — What was the secret of Zachary 
 Macaulay' s power ? Just this, the consecration of every 
 energy to the one purpose upon wdiich his life was offered 
 as a living sacrifice — the sweeping from the face of the earth 
 of the wrong and shame of slavery. An eye-witness of its 
 abominations in Jamaica, a long resident at Sierra Leone, 
 
10 
 
 MACAULAY. 
 
 with the slave-trade flourishing around him, he became 
 impressed with the conviction that God had called him to 
 do battle with this giant sin, and from that moment he lived 
 apart, lifted above ordinary cares and aims by the grandeur 
 of this solemn inspiration. For this cause he laboured 
 without weariness, and wrote with force and vigour. For 
 this cause he suffered slander patiently, made light of fame 
 and fortune, wasted health, and died poor. His friends 
 marked this self-devotion, and respected it. They bowed in 
 homage to the majesty of goodness. They regarded him 
 almost as a being of superior order, while so deep was his 
 humility, and so close his fellowship with God, that it became 
 easy to imagine that he dwelt habitually in the presence 
 of the shining ones, and that the glory of the mount upon 
 which his footsteps often lingered, shone about him as he 
 sojourned among men. 
 
 Such were the men who, as leaders of the “Clapham sect,” 
 as it was called, drew down the wonder of the worldly, and 
 provoked the scoffing of the proud. 
 
 Oh rare and sacred fellowship ! Where is the limner 
 who will preserve for us these features upon canvass? 
 Already upon our walls we can live with the renowned and 
 the worthy. We see the great Duke in the midst of his 
 companions in arms ; we are at home with Dr. Johnson and 
 his friends ; we realise the penetralia of Abbotsford, we are 
 present when John Wesley dies; we can nod familiarly to 
 a group of free-traders ; we can recognise noble sheep- 
 breeders and stalwart yeomen at an agricultural show ; why 
 should our moral heroes be forgotten ? Who will paint 
 the Clapham sect for us ? Their own age derided them ; let 
 us, their posterity, enthrone them with double honour. 
 They sowed the seeds of which the harvest waveth now. It 
 was theirs to commence, amid unfriendly watchers, those 
 wide schemes of philanthropy which have made the name of 
 
MACAULAY. 
 
 11 
 
 England blessed. Catching the mantle of those holy men 
 who in the early part of the last century were the apostles 
 of the second Reformation, they had perhaps a keener sense 
 of the difficulties of evangelism, and a more practical know- 
 ledge of the manners and customs of the world. Eearlessly 
 as their fathers had testified in attestation of some vital 
 doctrine, they bore their heroic witness against insolent 
 oppression and wrong ; and to them we owe the creation of 
 that enlightened public opinion which has made the nation 
 a commonwealth, and the world a neighbourhood, which is 
 so prolific in its merciful inventions in the times in which 
 we live, and which, while it screens the peasant’s thatch, 
 and protects the beggar’s conscience, and uplifts the poor 
 man’s home, is so world- wide in its magnificence of charity, 
 that it has an ear for the plaint of the exile, a response to 
 the cry of the Sudra, and a tear for the sorrows of the slave. 
 
 With such healthy and stirring influences surrounding 
 him, Macaulay passed his childhood ; and though in after 
 years he became the contemplative student, rather than the 
 beneficent worker, and though, retaining many of the 
 opinions of his early friends, he seems to have remained 
 ignorant of the grand and living principle which was the 
 inspiration of them all — “ brought over,” as Mr. Maurice 
 significantly says, “ from the party of the saints to the party 
 of the Whigs,” — the results of the association stamped 
 themselves upon his character, and we can trace them in his 
 sturdy independence, and consistent love of liberty, in his 
 rare appreciation of the beauty of moral goodness, and 
 in the quiet energy of perseverance which urged him to the 
 mastery of every subject heihandled, and which stored his 
 mind so richly, that he grew into a living encyclopedia of 
 knowledge. The world has recently been enriched with 
 information upon the subject of Macaulay’s childhood, from 
 the letters addressed to his father by the venerable Hannah 
 
12 
 
 MACAULAY. 
 
 More. This remarkable woman — sprightly at seventy as at 
 twenty- five — was a living link between the celebrities of 
 two ages, and wielded, from her retirement at Barley "Wood, 
 an influence of which it is scarcely possible for us to esti- 
 mate the extent and value. Bich in recollections of Garrick, 
 Burke, Walpole, and Johnson, she entered heartily into the 
 schemes and interests of the world of later times, and many 
 were the eminent names who sought her counsel, or who 
 prized her correspondence and friendship. Her interest in 
 the Macaulay family was increased by the fact that the 
 Selina Mills, whom Zachary Macaulay afterwards married, 
 had been under her charge as a pupil, when she and her 
 sister kept a school in Bristol. From her letters we learn 
 the impression of extraordinary endowment which the 
 young Macaulay gave. When he had attained the mature 
 age of eight, she rejoices “that his classicality has not 
 extinguished his piety,” and adds — “ his hymns were really 
 extraordinary for such a baby.” What better illustration 
 can there be of the old adage that poets are born, not made ! 
 “ He lisped in numbers, and the numbers came.” In his 
 twelfth year, when the momentous question of a public 
 school was debated in the parental councils, Hannah More 
 gives her judgment in favour of his being sent to West- 
 minster by day — thus, as she thought, securing the dis- 
 cipline and avoiding the danger. And in the same letter she 
 says, “Yours, like Edwin, is no vulgar boy, and will require 
 attention in proportion to his great superiority of intellect 
 and quickness of passion. He ought to have competitors. 
 He is like the prince who refused to play with anything but 
 kings. I never saw any one bad propensity in him ; nothing 
 except natural frailty and ambition, inseparable, perhaps, 
 from such talents and so lively an imagination. He appears 
 sincere, veracious, tender-hearted, and affectionate.” It 
 would seem that private tuition was thought to have the 
 
MACAULAY. 
 
 13 
 
 advantage over public schools, for the Rev. Matthew 
 M. Preston, then of Shelford, Cambridgeshire, and subse- 
 quently of Aspeden House, Herts, was entrusted with the 
 educational guardianship of young Macaulay. During his 
 residence here, he is described as a studious, thoughtful boy, 
 rather largely built than otherwise, with a head which 
 seemed too big for his body, stooping shoulders, and pallid 
 face ; not renowned either at boating or cricket, nor any of 
 the other articles in the creed of muscular Christianity, but 
 incessantly reading or writing or repeating ballad-poetry by 
 the yard or by the hour. Hannah More says that during a 
 visit to Barley Wood, he recited all Bishop Heber’s prize- 
 poem of “ Palestine,” and that they had “poetry for break- 
 fast, dinner, and supper.” She laboured hard to impress 
 him with Sir Henry Savile’s notion that poets are the best 
 writers of all, next to those who have written prose, and 
 seems to have been terribly afraid lest he should turn out a 
 poet after all. It was about this period that he wrote 
 an epitaph on Henry Martyn, which has been published as 
 his earliest effort, and which other judges than partial ones 
 will pronounce excellent, to have been written by a boy of 
 twelve : — 
 
 “ Here Martyn lies ! in manhood’s early bloom, 
 
 The Christian hero found a Pagan tomb ! 
 
 Religion, sorrowing o’er her favourite son, 
 
 Points to the glorious trophies which he won. 
 
 Immortal trophies ! not with slaughter red, 
 
 Hot stained with tears by helpless orphans shed ; 
 
 But trophies of the Cross ! In that dear Name, 
 
 Through every scene of danger, toil, and shame, 
 
 Onward he journeyed to that happy shore, 
 
 Where danger, toil, and shame are known no more.” 
 
 In tbe fifteenth year of his age, we find the young student, 
 with characteristic energy, coming out as a church reformer, 
 assailing the time-honoured prerogative of parish clerks, and 
 
14 
 
 MACAULAY. 
 
 making “ heroic exertions” to promote, in the village where 
 he worshipped, the responses of the congregation at large. 
 The same period was signalised by the appearance of his 
 first critical essay, and of his earliest published work — the 
 criticism, however, ventured only in a letter to Barley 
 Wood, and the work being neither an epic nor a treatise, 
 but an index to the thirteenth volume of the Christian 
 Observer. It seems that his father shared the jealousy of 
 his poetical tendencies which Hannah More so frequently 
 expressed ; and to curb his Pegasus, imposed upon him the 
 cultivation of prose composition, in one of its most useful, 
 if not of its most captivating styles. The letter in which 
 Macaulay talks the critiques, and alludes to the forthcoming 
 publication, shall tell its own tale, and you may forget 
 or remember, as you please, that the writer was not yet 
 fifteen. After alluding to the illness of Mr. Henry Thornton, 
 and to Hannah More’s recovery from the effects of an acci- 
 dent by fire, he says : — 
 
 “ Every eminent writer of poetry, good or bad, has been 
 publishing within the last month, or is to publish shortly. 
 Lord Byron’s pen is at work over a poem, as yet nameless. 
 Lucien Buonaparte has given the world his ‘ Charlemagne/ 
 Scott has published his ‘ Lord of the Isles,’ in six cantos — 
 a beautiful and elegant poem ; and Southey his ‘ Roderick, 
 the last of the Goths.’ Wordsworth has printed ‘ The Ex- 
 cursion’ (a ponderous quarto of five hundred pages), being 
 a portion of the intended poem entitled ‘ The Recluse.’ 
 What the length of this intended poem is to be, as the 
 Grand Yizier said of the Turkish poet — ‘n’est connu qu’a 
 Dieu et a M. Wordsworth/ This fore-runner, however, is, 
 to say no more, almost as long as it is dull ,* not but that 
 there are many striking and beautiful passages interspersed ; 
 but who would wade through a poem 
 
MACAULAY. 
 
 15 
 
 “ Where perhaps one beauty shines 
 In the dry desert of a thousand lines.” 
 
 To add to the list, my dear Madam, you will soon see 
 a work of mine in print. Do not be frightened ; it is only 
 the Index to the thirteenth volume of the Christian Observer, 
 which I have had the honour of composing. Index-making, 
 though the lowest, is not the most useless round in the 
 ladder of literature; and I pride myself upon being able to 
 say that there are many readers of the Christian Observer 
 who could do without Walter Scott’s works, but not with- 
 out those of 
 
 “ My dear Madam, your affectionate friend, 
 
 “ Thomas B. Macaulay.” 
 
 [From Mr. Preston’s roof Macaulay proceeded in due 
 course to Trinity College, Cambridge, the alma mater of so 
 many distinguished sons, proud in the past of the fame of those 
 whose “ mens divinior ” first developed itself within her classic 
 precincts — her Bacon, Newton, Milton, Barrow— as she will 
 be proud in the future of her later child, who spake of their 
 greatness to the world. Such is reported to have been his 
 distaste for mathematics that he did not compete for honours, 
 but he twice carried off the Chancellor’s medal for prize- 
 poems on the subjects respectively of “ Pompeii,” and 
 “ Evening;” gained the Craven scholarship; and in 1822 
 obtained his Bachelor’s degree. It should not be forgot- 
 ten, and the mention of it may hearten into hope again 
 some timid youth who has been discouraged by partial 
 failure, that a third poem on the inspiring subject of 
 “ Waterloo,” failed to obtain the prize. In 1825 his 
 Master’s degree was taken, and in the year following he was 
 called to the bar. 
 
 It was during his residence at the University that he 
 started as an adventurer into that world of letters, which is 
 
16 
 
 MACAULAY. 
 
 so stony-hearted to the friendless and the feeble, but which, 
 once propitiated or mastered, speeds the vigorous or the 
 fortunate to the temple of fame. He was happy in the 
 enterprising individual who first enlisted his ready pen. 
 There were times when the publisher was as a grim ogre, 
 who held the writer in his thrall; and there would be 
 material for many an unwritten chapter of the “ Calamities 
 of Authors,” if one could but recount the affronts put upon 
 needy genius by vulgar but wealthy pride. They are to be 
 congratulated who find a publisher with a heart to sympa- 
 thise, and a soul to kindle, as well as with brows to knit and 
 head to reckon. It was well for Macaulay, though his 
 genius ■would have burst through all trammels of poverty or 
 sordidness, that he was a kind and genial leader under 
 whose banner he won his spurs of literary fame. There are 
 few names which the literature of m-odern times should hold 
 in dearer remembrance than the name of Charles Knight, at 
 once the Me cam as of youthful authorship, and a worthy 
 fellow-labourer with the band whom he gathered around 
 him. He yet lives in the midst of us, though in the winter 
 of his years. Long may it be ere Jerrold’s apt epitaph be 
 needed, and the last “ Good Knight” be breathed above the 
 turf that wraps his clay. 
 
 A goodly band of choice spirits those were, who, under 
 various names, enriched the pages of cs Knight’s Quarterly 
 Magazine.” It is not too much to say, however, that though 
 John Moultrie, Nelson Coleridge, and Winthrop Praed 
 were among the valued contributors, the great charm of the 
 magazine, during its brief but brilliant existence, was in the 
 articles signed 66 Tristram Merton,” which was the literary 
 alias of Thomas Macaulay. In these earlier productions of 
 his pen there are the foreshadowings of his future eminence, 
 the same flashes of genius, the same antithetical power, the 
 same prodigious learning, the same marvellous fecundity of 
 
MACAULAY. 
 
 17 
 
 illustration, which so much entrance and surprise us in his 
 later years. His versatility is amazing. Nothing comes 
 amiss to him. Italian poets and Athenian orators — the revels 
 of Alcibiades, and the gallantries of Caesar, the philosophy of 
 history, and the abstruser questions of political science, — all 
 are discussed with boldness and fervour by this youth of 
 twenty-four summers ; while those who read his fragments 
 of a parish law-suit, and a projected epic, will pronounce him 
 “ of an infinite humour and those who read his “ Songs of 
 the Huguenots,’’ and of the “ Civil War,” will recognise the 
 first martial outbursts of the poet-soul which flung its fiery 
 words upon the world in the “Lays of Ancient Borne.” 
 His old love of the ballad, which had been a passion in his 
 schoolboy life, was not entirely overborne by his application 
 to graver studies. Calliope had not yet been supplanted by 
 Clio, and he sung the Battle of Naseby, for example, with 
 a force of rushing words which takes our hearts by storm, 
 in spite of olden prejudice or political creed, and which, in 
 what some critics would call a wanton perversion of power, 
 carries away the most peace-loving amongst us in a momen- 
 tary insanity for war. 
 
 “ Oh ! wherefore come ye forth, in triumph from the North, 
 
 With your hands and your feet and your raiment all red ? 
 And wherefore doth your rout send forth a joyous shout ? 
 
 And whence be the grapes of the wine-press which ye tread ? 
 
 6 4 Oh ! evil was the root, and bitter was the fruit, 
 
 And crimson was the juice of the vintage that we trod ; 
 
 For we trampled on the throng of the haughty and the strong, 
 Who sate in the high places and slew the saints of God. 
 
 “ It was about the noon of a glorious day of June, % 
 
 That we saw their banners dance and their cuirasses shine ; 
 And the Man of Blood was there, with his long essenced hair, 
 And Astley, and Sir Marmaduke, and Bupert of the Ehine. 
 
18 
 
 MACAULAY, 
 
 Like a servant of the Lord, with his Bible and his sword, 
 
 The General rode along us to form us for the fight, 
 
 When a murmuring sound broke out, and swell’d into a shout. 
 Among the godless horsemen upon the tyrant’s right. 
 
 4 4 And hark ! like the roar of the billows on the shore, 
 
 The cry of battle rises along their charging line ! 
 
 Tor God ! for the Cause ! for the Church ! for the Laws ! 
 
 For Charles, King of England, and Rupert of the Rhine ! 
 
 4 4 The furious German comes, with his clarions and his drums, 
 
 His bravoes of Alsatia and pages of Whitehall ; 
 
 They are bursting on our flanks. Grasp your pikes : — close your 
 ranks : — 
 
 For Rupert never comes but to conquer or to fall. 
 
 44 They are here : — they rush on. — We are broken — we are gone : — 
 Our left is borne before them like stubble on the blast. 
 
 O Lord, put forth thy might ! 0 Lord, defend the right ! 
 
 Stand back to back, in God’s name, and fight it to the last. 
 
 ” Stout Skippon hath a wound : — the centre hath given ground : — 
 Hark ! hark ! — What means the trampling of horsemen on our 
 rear ? 
 
 Whose banner do I see, boys ? ’Tis he, thank God, ’tis he, boys. 
 Bear up another minute. Brave Oliver is here. 
 
 44 Their heads all stooping low, their points all in a row, 
 
 Like a whirlwind on the trees, like a deluge on the dykes, 
 
 Our cuirassiers have burst on the ranks of the Accurst, 
 
 And at a shock have scattered the forest of his pikes. 
 
 44 Fast, fast the gallants ride, in some safe nook to hide 
 Their coward heads, predestined to rot on Temple-Bar. 
 
 And he — he turns, he flies, — shame on those cruel eyes 
 That bore to look on torture, and dared not look on war. 
 ******** 
 
 44 Fools ! your doublets shone with gold, and your hearts were gay 
 and bold, 
 
 When you kissed your lily hands to your lemans to-day, 
 
 And to-morrow shall the fox, from her chambers in the rocks, 
 Lead forth her tawny cubs to howl above the prey. 
 ******** 
 
MACAULAY. 
 
 19 
 
 “ And she of the seven hills shall mourn her children’s ills, 
 
 And tremble when she thinks on the edge of England’s sword ; 
 
 And the kings of earth in fear shall shudder when they hear 
 What the hand of God hath wrought for the Houses and 
 the Word.” 
 
 It has been said that a speech delivered by Macaulay, on 
 the great question which absorbed his father’s life, attracted 
 the notice of Jeffrey, then seeking for young blood where- 
 with to enrich the pages of the ‘‘Edinburgh Keview,” and 
 that this was the cause of his introduction into the guild of 
 literature, of which he became the decus et tut amen. The 
 w r orld is now familiar with that series of inimitable essays, 
 which were poured out in rapid and apparently inexhaustible 
 succession, for the space of twenty years. To criticise them, 
 either in mass or in detail, is no part of the lecturer’s pro- 
 vince; and even to enumerate them would entail a pilgrim- 
 age to many and distant shrines. As w r e surrender ourselves 
 to his masterly guidance, we are fascinated beneath a life- 
 like biography, or are enchained by some sweet spell of 
 travel, we pronounce upon canons of criticism, and solve pro- 
 blems of government with a calm dogmat ism which is troubled 
 by no misgivings ; we range unquestioned through the 
 Court at Potsdam, and mix in Italian intrigues, and settle 
 Spanish successions ; and under the robe of the sagacious 
 Burleigh, peer out upon starched ruffs and colossal head- 
 dresses in the presence chamber of Elizabeth herself. Now, 
 with Clive and Hastings, we tread the sultry Ind — our path 
 glittering with “barbaric pearl and gold” — now on bloody 
 Chalgrove we shudder to see Hampden fall, and anon we 
 gaze upon the glorious dreamer, as he listens musingly to the 
 dull plash of the water from his cell on Bedford Bridge. We 
 stand aside, and are awed v T hile Byron raves, and charmed 
 while Milton sings. Addison condescendingly writes for us, 
 and Chatham declaims in our presence; Madame d’Arblay 
 trips lightly along the corridor, and Boswell comes ushering 
 
MACAULAY. 
 
 in his hurl}" idol, and smirking like the showman of a giant. 
 We watch the process curiously as an unfortunate poet is 
 impaled amid the scattered Sibyllines of the reviews which 
 puffed him; and we hold our breath while the Nemesis 
 descends to crucify the miscreant Barere. In all moods of 
 mind, in all varieties of experience, there is something for 
 us of instruction or of warning. If we pause, it is from 
 astonishment; if we are wearied, it is from excess of 
 splendour ; we are in a gorgeous saloon, superbly draped, 
 and from whose walls flash out upon us a long array of 
 pictures, many of them Pre-Baphaelite in colour ; and we 
 are so dazzled by the brilliant hues, and by the effective 
 grouping, that it is long ere we can ask ourselves whether 
 they are true to nature, or to those deeper convictions 
 which our spirits have struggled to attain. Criticism, for a 
 season, becomes the vassal of delight, and we know not 
 whether most to admire — the prodigality of knowledge, or 
 the precision of utterance — the sagacity which foresees, or 
 the fancy which embellishes — the tolerant temper, or the 
 moral courage. 
 
 In these essays Macaulay has written his mental auto- 
 biography, He has done for us in reference to himself 
 what, with all his brilliancy, he has often failed to do for us 
 in his portraitures of others. He has shown us the man. 
 He has anatomised his own nature. As in a glass, we may 
 here see him as he is. He is not the thinker — reverent, 
 hesitating, troubled, but the rare expositor of the thoughts 
 of elder time. He is not the discerner of spirits, born to 
 the knowledge of others in the birth-pangs of his own 
 regeneration, but the omnivorous reader, familiar with every 
 comer of the book-world, and divining from the entrails of a 
 folio, as the ancient augurs from the entrails of a bird. He 
 is not the prophet, but has a shrewdness of insight which 
 often simulates the prophet’s inspiration. He is not the 
 
MACAULAY. 
 
 21 
 
 philosopher, laying broad and deep the foundations of a new 
 system, but the illustrator, stringing upon old systems a 
 multitude of gathered facts ; not dry and tiresome, but 
 transmuted into impetuous logic or inspiring poetry by the 
 fire that burned within him. He is not the mere partisan, 
 save only “ in that unconscious disingenuousness from 
 which the most upright man when strongly attached to an 
 opinion is seldom wholly free,” but the discriminating 
 censor, who can deride the love-locks and fopperies of the 
 Cavalier, and yet admire his chivalrous loyalty ; who can 
 rejoice in the stern virtues of the Puritan, and yet laugh at 
 his small scruples, and at his nasal twang. He is not, alas ! 
 the Christian apostle, the witness alike amid the gloom of 
 Gethsemane and on the mount of vision ; not for him are 
 either those agonies or that mountain-baptism; he would 
 have “feared to enter into the cloud.” He is rather the 
 Hebrew scribe, astonished at the marvellous works, eager 
 and fluent in recording them, and yet retaining his earth- 
 ward leanings, and cherishing his country’s dream of the 
 advent of a temporal Messiah. 
 
 The first essay, that on Milton, at once established 
 Macaulay’s fame. In later years, he spoke of it as over- 
 loaded with gaudy and ungraceful ornament, and “ as con- 
 taining scarcely a paragraph such as his matured judgment 
 approved.” There are many yet, however, with whom its 
 high moral tone, courage, and healthy freshness of feeling 
 will atone for its occasional dogmatism, and for the efflo- 
 rescence of its youthful style. "Who has not glowed to read 
 that description of the Puritan worthies, “ whose palaces 
 were houses not made with hands ; their diadems crowns of 
 glory which should never fade away. On the rich and the 
 eloquent, on nobles and priests, they looked down with 
 contempt, for they esteemed themselves rich in a more 
 precious treasure, and eloquent in a more sublime language ; 
 
22 
 
 MACAULAY. 
 
 nobles b y the right of an earlier creation, and priests by 
 the imposition of a mightier hand 55 ? 
 
 Scarcely less eloquent, though much less known, is the 
 description of the influence of the literature of Athens, 
 which I quote as a fair example of the essayist’s early style : 
 
 “ It is a subject on which I love to forget the accuracy of 
 a judge in the veneration of a worshipper, and the gratitude 
 of a child. If we consider merely the subtlety of dis- 
 quisition, the force of imagination, the perfect energy and 
 elegance of expression, which characterise the great works 
 of Athenian genius, -we must pronounce them intrinsically 
 most valuable; but what shall we say when we reflect that 
 from hence have sprung, directly or indirectly, all the 
 noblest creations of the human intellect — that from hence 
 were the vast accomplishments and the brilliant fancy of 
 Cicero ; the withering fire of Juvenal ; the plastic imagina- 
 tion of Dante ; the humour of Cervantes ; the comprehension 
 of Bacon ; the wit of Butler ; the supreme and universal 
 excellence of Shakspeare ? All the triumphs of truth and 
 genius over prejudice and power, in every country and in 
 every age, have been the triumphs of Athens. "Wherever a 
 few great minds have made a stand against violence and 
 fraud, in the cause of liberty and reason, there has been her 
 spirit in the midst of them ; inspiring, encouraging, con- 
 soling : by the lonely lamp of Erasmus ; by the restless bed 
 of Pascal ; in the tribune of Mirabeau ; in the cell of 
 Galileo ; on the scaffold of Sidney. But who shall estimate 
 her influence on private happiness ? Who shall say how 
 many thousands have been made wiser, happier, and better, 
 by those pursuits in which she has taught mankind to 
 engage? — to how many the studies which took their rise 
 from her have been wealth in poverty, liberty in bondage, 
 health in sickness, society in solitude ? Her power is 
 
MACAULAY. 
 
 23 
 
 indeed manifested at the bar, in the senate, in the field of 
 battle, in the schools of philosophy. Eut these are not her 
 glory. Wherever literature consoles sorrow, or assuages 
 pain, wherever it brings gladness to eyes which fail with 
 wakefulness and tears, and ache for the dark house and 
 the long sleep, there is exhibited in its noblest form the 
 immortal influence of Athens. The dervise, in the Arabian 
 tale, did not hesitate to abandon to his comrade the camels 
 with their load of jewels and gold, while he retained the casket 
 of that mysterious juice which enabled him to behold at one 
 glance all the hidden riches of the universe. Surely it is 
 no exaggeration to say that no external advantage is to be 
 compared with that purification of the intellectual eye 
 which gives us to contemplate the infinite wealth of the 
 mental world, all the hoarded treasures of its primeval 
 dynasties, all the shapeless ore of its yet unexplored mines. 
 This is the gift of Athens to man. Her freedom and her 
 power have for more than twenty centuries been annihi- 
 lated ; her people have degenerated into timid slaves ; her 
 language into a barbarous jargon ; her temples have been 
 given up to the successive depredations of Eomans, Turks, 
 and Scotchmen ; but her intellectual empire is imperishable. 
 And when those who have rivalled her greatness shall have 
 shared her fate ; when civilisation and knowledge shall have 
 fixed their abode in distant continents ; when the sceptre 
 shall have passed away from England ; when, perhaps, 
 travellers from distant regions shall in vain labour to 
 decipher on some mouldering pedestal the name of our 
 proudest chief — shall hear savage hymns chanted to some 
 misshapen idol over the ruined dome of our proudest 
 temple, and shall see a single naked fisherman wash his 
 nets in the river of the ten thousand masts — her influence 
 and her glory will still survive, fresh in eternal youth, 
 
24 
 
 MACAULAY. 
 
 1 exempt from mutability and decay, immortal as the intel- 
 lectual principle from which they derived their origin, and 
 over which they exercise their control. 5 ” 
 
 You will not fail to perceive in the last sentence of this 
 quotation the first sketch of the celebrated New Zealander, 
 who has certainly earned the privilege of a free seat on 
 London Bridge, by the frequency with which he has “pointed 
 a moral and adorned a tale . 55 In his finished form, and 
 busy at his melancholy work, he appears in an article on 
 “ Banke’s History of the Popes , 55 to illustrate Macaulay’s 
 opinion of the perpetuity of the [Roman Catholic Church : — 
 “ She saw the commencement of all the governments, and of 
 all the ecclesiastical establishments that now exist in the 
 world ; and we feel no assurance that she is not destined to 
 see the end of them all. She was great and respected 
 before the Saxon had set foot in Britain, before the 
 [Frank had passed the [Rhine, when Grecian eloquence still 
 flourished at Antioch, when idols were still worshipped in 
 the temple of Mecca. And she may still exist in undi- 
 minished vigour when some traveller from New Zealand 
 shall, in the midst of a vast solitude, take his stand on a 
 broken arch of London Bridge to sketch the ruins of St. 
 Paul’s . 5 5 As one reads this oracular announcement, one is 
 ready to inquire, ‘ Is it really so ? Is the tide to roll 
 back so far ? Are all the struggles of the ages fruitless ? 
 Has the light streamed into the darkness only that the 
 darkness may not comprehend it ? The blood of our 
 fathers, shed in the battle for dear life, that life of the 
 spirit which is costlier far than this poor life of the body — 
 has it flowed in vain ?’ Ah ! he sees but events on the 
 level, and the mists of the past dim the eyes that would 
 penetrate the future. Let us get up higher, higher than 
 the plain, higher than the plateau, higher than the table- 
 land, even on to the summit where Faith rests upon the 
 
MACAULAY. 
 
 25 
 
 promises and awaits patiently their fulfilment ; and in the 
 light of that clear azure, which is unclouded by the fog or 
 by the shadow, we shall learn other lessons than these. 
 We shall see one purpose in the history of the nations, in 
 the preparation of agencies, in the removal of hinderances, 
 in the subordination, both of good and evil fortune, to the 
 unfolding of one grand design. We shall see a profound 
 religious movement awakened, growing, gathering strength, 
 and preparing in secret for the ministry which its manhood 
 is to wield. We shall see that Protestantism has hold of 
 the world’s intellectual wealth, spreads herself among new 
 peoples as a missionary power, breathes even in Eomish 
 countries as a healing and salutary breath, and is heaving 
 unconsciously in every trampled land which yearns and 
 groans for freedom. We shall see science extending her 
 discoveries, and Popery is at variance with science ; Educa- 
 tion diffusing her benefit, and Popery shrinks from know- 
 ledge ; Liberty putting forth her hand that serfs may touch 
 it, and leap at the touch into freemen, and Popery cannot 
 harbour the free ; Scripture universally circulated, and 
 Popery loves not the Bible ; and thee, remembering that 
 we have a sure word of prophecy, and gazing down upon 
 the city of harlotry and pride, where foul corruptions 
 nestle, and the: ghosts of martyrs wander and the 
 unburied witnesses appeal, we know that its doom is 
 spoken, and that, in God’s good time, Popery shall perish, 
 — thrown from the tired world which has writhed beneath 
 its yoke so long, — perish, from its seven hills, and from its 
 spiritual wickedness, utterly and for ever, before the Lord, 
 
 4 slain by the breath of His mouth, and consumed by the 
 brightness of His coming. 5 
 
 To the wealth of Macaulay in illustration we have already 
 made reference, and also to the fact that his images are 
 drawn but rarely from external nature. In books he found 
 
26 
 
 MACAULAY 
 
 the enchanted cave which required but his “ open sesame ” 
 to disclose to him the needed treasure ; and in his discursive 
 reading the highest boot was not forgotten. The reader of 
 his various worts will not fail to be struct with his frequent 
 scriptural allusions ; and if he is in search of a peroration, 
 and hits upon an’ image which rings more musically on the 
 ear, or which lingers longer in the memory than another, it 
 will be strange if he has not drawn it from that wonderful 
 Bible which dispenses to all men, and grudges not, and is 
 none the poorer for all the bounties of its magnificent 
 giving. I select but two brief passages ; the one from the 
 essay on Lord Bacon, and the other from that on Southey’s 
 Colloquies of Society : “ Cowley, who was among the most 
 ardent, and not among the least discerning followers of the 
 new philosophy, has, in one of his finest poems, compared 
 Bacon to Moses standing on Mount Pisgali. It is to 
 Bacon, we think, as he appears in the first book of the 
 Novum Organum, that the comparison applies with peculiar 
 felicity. There we see the great lawgiver looking round 
 from his lonely elevation on an infinite expanse ; behind 
 him a wilderness of dreary sands and bitter waters, in 
 which successive generations have sojourned, always moving, 
 yet never advancing, reaping no harvest, and building no 
 abiding city ; before him a goodly land, a land of promise, a 
 land flowing with milk and honey; while the multitude 
 below saw only the flat sterile desert in which they had so 
 long wandered, bounded on every side by a near horizon, or 
 diversified only by some deceitful mirage, he was gazing 
 from a far higher stand on a far lovelier country, following 
 with his eye the long course of fertilising rivers, through 
 ample pastures, and under the bridges of great capitals, 
 measuring the distances of marts and havens, and 
 portioning out all those wealthy regions from Dan to 
 
MACATJLAY. 
 
 27 
 
 Beersheba.” The other extract represents the evils of the 
 alliance between Christianity and Power, and commends 
 itself to our literary taste, even if we suppose that there are 
 two sides to the shield : “ The ark of God was never taken 
 till it was surrounded by the arms of earthly defenders. In 
 captivity its sanctity was sufficient to vindicate it from 
 insult, and to lay the hostile fiend prostrate on the thresh- 
 old of his own temple. The real security of Christianity 
 is to be found in its benevolent morality, in its exquisite 
 adaptation to the human heart, in the facility with which its 
 scheme accommodates itself to the capacity of every human 
 intellect, in the consolation which it bears to every house 
 of mourning, in the light with which it brightens the great 
 mystery of the grave. To such a system it can bring no addi- 
 tion of dignity or strength, that it is part and parcel of the com- 
 mon law. It is not now for the first time left to rely on the 
 force of its own evidences, and the attractions of its own 
 beauty. Its sublime theology confounded the Grecian 
 schools in the fair conflict of reason with reason. The 
 bravest and wisest of the Caesars found their arms and their 
 policy unavailing, when opposed to the weapons that were 
 not carnal, and the Kingdom that was not of this world. 
 Tim victory which Porphyry and Diocletian failed to gain 
 is not, to all appearance, reserved for any of those who 
 have, in this age, directed their attacks against the last 
 restraint of the powerful, and the last hope of the wretched. 
 The whole history of Christianity shows that she is in far 
 greater danger of being corrupted by the alliance of power, 
 than of being crushed by its opposition. Those who thrust 
 temporal sovereignty upon her, treat her as their prototypes 
 treated her Author. They bow the knee, and spit upon her ; 
 they cry, ‘Hail!’ and smite her on the cheek; they put a 
 sceptre in her hand, but it is a fragile reed ; they crown 
 her, but it is with thorns ; they cover with purple the 
 
28 
 
 MACAULAY. 
 
 wounds which their own hands have indicted on her ; and 
 inscribe magnificent titles over the cross on which they have 
 fixed her to perish in ignominy and pain.” 
 
 Every reader of the essays must be impressed with the 
 marvellous versatility of knowledge which they disclose. 
 What has he not read ? is the question which we feel dis- 
 posed to ask. Quotations from obscure writers, or from 
 obscure works of great writers ; multitudinous allusions to 
 ancient classics, or to modern authors whom his mention 
 has gone far to make classic — recondite references to some 
 less studied book of Scripture — names which have driven 
 us to the atlas to make sure of our geography — or to the 
 Biographical Gallery to remind us that they lived ; — they 
 crowd upon us so thickly that we are wildered in the 
 profusion, and there is danger to our cerebral symmetry 
 from the enlargement of our bump of wonder. It is said 
 that, in allusion to this accumulation of knowledge, his 
 associates rather profanely nicknamed him “ Macaulay the 
 Omniscient and, indeed, the fact of his amazing know- 
 ledge is beyond dispute. Then, how did he get it ? Did it 
 come to him by the direct fiat of heaven, as Adam’s, in 
 Paradise ? Did he open his eyes and find himself the 
 heir of the ages, as those who are born to fair acres and 
 broad lands ? Did he spring at once, like Minerva from the 
 brain of Jupiter, full-armed, a ripe and furnished scholar ? 
 Or was he just favoured as others, with a clear mind and a 
 resolute will — with a high appreciation of knowledge, and 
 a keen covetousness to make it his own P He had a won- 
 derful memory, that is true ; so that each fragment of his 
 amassed lore seemed to be producible at will. He had a 
 regal faculty, that also is true ; by whose high alchemy all 
 that he had gathered goldened into a beauty of its own ; 
 but it was the persevering industry of labour which brought 
 stores to the retentive memory, and material to the creative 
 
MACAULAY. 
 
 29 
 
 mind. Work, hard work, the sweat of the brain through 
 many an exhausting hour, and through many a weary vigil, 
 was the secret, after all, of his success. Many who slumber 
 in nameless graves, or wander through the tortures of a 
 wasted life, have had memories as capacious, and faculties 
 as fine as he, but they lacked the steadiness of purpose, 
 and patient thoughtful labour, which multiplied the “ ten 
 talents’’ into “ ten other talents beside them.” It is the 
 old lesson, voiceful from every life that has a moral in it — 
 from Bernard Palissy, selling his clothes, and tearing up his 
 floor to add fuel to the furnace, and wearying his wife and 
 amusing his neighbours with dreams of his white enamel, 
 through the unremunerative years ; from Warren Hastings, 
 lying at seven years old upon the rivulet’s bank, and vow- 
 ing inwardly that he would regain his patrimonial property, 
 and dwell in his ancestral halls, and that there should be 
 again a Hastings of Daylesford ; from William Carey, pant- 
 ing after the moral conquest of India, whether he sat at the 
 lap-stone of his early craft, or wielded the ferule in the vil- 
 lage school, or lectured the village elders when the Sabbath 
 dawned. It is the old lesson, — a worthy purpose, patient 
 energy for its accomplishment, a resoluteness that is un- 
 daunted by difficulties, and, in ordinary circumstances, suc- 
 cess. Do you say that you are not gifted, and that therefore 
 Macaulay is no model to you ? — that yours is a lowly sphere 
 or a prosaic occupation, and that even if you were ambitious 
 to rise, or determined to become heroic, your unfortunate 
 surroundings would refuse to give you the occasion ? It is 
 quite possible that you may not have the affluent fancy, nor 
 the lordly and formative brain. All men are not thus en- 
 dowed, and the world will never be reduced to a level uni- 
 formity of mind. The powers and deeds of some men will 
 be always miracles to other men, even to the end of time. 
 It is quite possible, too, that the conditions of your life may 
 
30 
 
 MACAULAY. 
 
 be unfavourable, that your daily course may not glow with 
 poetical incident, nor ripple into opportunities of ostenta- 
 tious greatness. But, granted all these disadvantages, it is 
 the part of true manhood to surmount natural hinderances, 
 and to make its own occasions. The highest greatness is 
 not that which waits for favourable circumstances, but which 
 compels hard fortune to do it service, which slays the Nemsean 
 lion, and goes on to further conquests, robed in its tawny 
 hide. The real heroes are the men who constrain the tribute 
 which men would fain deny them, — 
 
 “ Men who walk up to Fame as to a friend, 
 
 Or their own house, which from the wrongful heir 
 They have wrested ; from the world’s hard hand and gripe, 
 Men who — like Death, all bone, but all unarmed — 
 
 Have ta’en the giant world by the throat, and thrown him, 
 And made him swear to maintain their name and fame 
 At peril of his life.” 
 
 There are few of you, perhaps, who could achieve distinc- 
 tion ; there are none of you who need be satisfied without 
 an achievement that is infinitely higher. You may make 
 your lives beautiful and blessed. The poorest of you can 
 afford to be kind ; the least gifted amongst you can prac- 
 tise that loving wisdom which knows the straightest road to 
 human hearts. You may not be able to thrill senates with 
 your eloquence, but you may see eyes sparkle and faces grow 
 gladder when you appear ; you may not astonish the listeners 
 by your acquirements of varied scholarship, but you may 
 dwell in some spirits, as a presence associated with all that 
 is beautiful and holy ; you may neither be a magnate nor a 
 millionnaire, but you may have truer honours than of earth, 
 and riches which wax not old. You may not rise to 
 patrician estate, and come under that mysterious process by 
 which the churl’s blood is transformed into the nobleman’s, 
 but you may ennoble yourselves, in a higher aristocracy than 
 
MACAULAY. 
 
 31 
 
 that of belted earl. Use the opportunities you have ; make 
 the best of your circumstances, however unpromising. Give 
 your hearts to God, and your lives to earnest work and 
 loving purpose, and you can never live in vain. Men will 
 feel your influence like the scent of a bank of violets, fragrant 
 with the hidden sweetness of the spring, and men will miss 
 you when you cease from their communions, as if a calm, 
 familiar star shot suddenly and brightly from their vision; 
 and if there wave not at your funeral the trappings of the 
 world’s gaudy woe, and the pageantry of the world’s surface- 
 honour, “ eyes full of heartbreak” will gaze wistfully adown 
 the path where you have vanished, and in the long after- time, 
 hearts which you have helped to make happy will recal your 
 memory with gratitude and tears. 
 
 The union of great acquirements and great rhetorical 
 power, so manifest in Macaulay’s mind, could not fail to 
 render him a desirable acquisition to any political party ; 
 and as he had imbibed, and in some sort inherited, Whig 
 principles, an opportunity was soon found for his admission 
 into Parliament, where he appeared in time to join in the 
 discussions on the Reform Bill. He was first returned, in 
 February, 1830, by the influence of the Marquis of Lans- 
 downe, for the nomination borough of Caine. He sat for 
 Caine until the passing of the Reform Bill, when he was 
 elected one of their first representatives by the newly- 
 created constituency of Leeds. In 1831 he was appointed 
 a Member of Council in India, and devoted himself to the 
 construction of a new penal code for that part of her 
 Majesty’s dominions. This was his sole legislative offspring, 
 and, from the best estimate which we can form from im- 
 perfect knowledge, it would seem to have been exquisite on 
 paper, but useless in working — a brilliant, but impracticable 
 thing. During his residence in India he continued on the 
 staff of the “Edinburgh,” and contributed some of his 
 
32 
 
 MACAULAY. 
 
 superb criticisms from beneath an Eastern sky. Here, also, 
 it is probable that he gathered the material and sketched 
 the plan of those masterly articles which, perhaps, more 
 than most others, aroused English sympathies for India — 
 the articles on Warren Hastings and Lord Clive. In May, 
 1839, he reappeared in Parliament, on the elevation to 
 the peerage of Mr. Speaker Abercromby, as the representa- 
 tive of Edinburgh. He was re-elected at the general 
 election of 1811, and twice on occasion of his accession 
 to office. In 1817, at the general election, he failed to 
 obtain his seat, partly, as it is said, from the brusque 
 manner in which he treated his constituents, and partly 
 from his consistent support of the enlarged Maynooth 
 grant, to which many of those who had previously sup- 
 ported him were conscientiously opposed. The papers were 
 loud in condemnation of the Edinburgh electors, who were 
 represented as having disgraced themselves for ever by their 
 rejection of a man of so much excellent renown. Well, if a 
 representative is to be chosen for his brilliant parts, or for his 
 fluent speech, perhaps they did ; but if men vote for con- 
 science’ sake, and they feel strongly on what they consider 
 a vital question, and if a representative is to be what his 
 name imports — the faithful reflex of the sentiments of the 
 majority who send him— one can see nothing in the outcry 
 but unreasoning clamour. I cannot see dishonour either 
 in his sturdy maintenance of unpopular opinions, or in his 
 constituents’ rejection of him because his sentiments were 
 opposed to their own ; but I can see much that is honour- 
 able to both parties in their reconciliation after temporary 
 estrangement, — on their part, that they should honour him 
 by returning him in 1852, unsolicited, at the head of the 
 poll, — on his part, that he should, with a manly generosity, 
 bury all causes of dissension, and consent to return to 
 public life, as the representative of a constituency which 
 
MACAULAY. 
 
 33 
 
 had bidden him for a season to retire. There is, indeed, no 
 part of Macaulay’s character in which he shows to more 
 advantage than in his position as a member of parliament. 
 We may not always be able to agree with him in sentiment, 
 we may fancy that we discover the fallacies which lurk 
 beneath the shrewdness of his logic, we may suffer now and 
 then from the apt sarcasm which he was not slow to w T ield ; 
 but we must accord to him the tribute, that his political 
 life w 7 as a life of unswerving consistency and of stainless 
 honour. In his lofty scorn of duplicity he became, perhaps, 
 sometimes contemptuous, just as in his calm dogmatism he 
 never seemed to imagine that there were plausible argu- 
 ments which might be adduced on both sides of a question ; 
 but in his freedom from disguise, and abhorrence of cor- 
 ruption, in his refusal to parley when compromise would 
 have been easy, and in his refusal to be silent when silence 
 would have wounded his conscience but saved his seat, in 
 the noble indignation with which he denounced oppression, 
 and in his fearless independence of all influences which were 
 crafty and contemptible, he may fairly be held up as a model 
 English statesman. Before the Reform Bill, the member 
 for the city usually subscribed fifty guineas to the Edin- 
 burgh races, and shortly after the election of 1841, Mr. 
 Macaulay was applied to on this behalf. His reply is a fine 
 specimen of manly decision. “ In the first place,” he says, 
 
 “ 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 amuse- 
 ments. 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 con- 
 
34 
 
 MACAULAY. 
 
 stituents to bait. But these were not the conditions on 
 which I undertook to represent Edinburgh. In return for 
 your generous confidence I offer faithful parliamentary 
 service, and nothing else. 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.” All 
 honour to the moral courage which indited that reply. 
 Brothers, let the manly example fire you. Carry such 
 heroism into your realms of morals and of commerce, and 
 into all the social interlacings of your life ; let no possible 
 loss of influence or patronage or gold tempt you to the 
 doing of that which your judgment and conscience dis- 
 approve. Better a thousand times to be slandered than to 
 sin; nobler to spend your days in all the bitterness of 
 unheeded struggle, than become a hollow parasite to gain a 
 hollow friend. Worthier far to remain poor for ever, the 
 brave and self-respecting heir of the crust and of the 
 spring, than, in another sense than Shakspeare’s, to “coin 
 your heart,” and for the “vile drachmas,” which are the 
 hire of wrong, to drop your “ generous ” blood. 
 
 Macaulay’s speeches, published by himself in self-defence 
 against the dishonest publication of them by other people, 
 bear the stamp and character of the essay rather than of 
 the oration, and reveal all the mental qualities of the man — 
 his strong sense and vast learning, his shrewdness in the 
 selection of his materials, and his mastery over that sort of 
 reasoning which silences if it does not convince. They 
 betray, also, very largely, the idiosyncrasy which is, per- 
 haps, his most observable faculty, the disposition to regard 
 all subjects in the light of the past, and to treat them 
 historically, rather than from the experience of actual life. 
 Thus in his speeches on the East India Company’s charter, 
 on the motion of want of confidence in the Melbourne 
 ministry, on the state of Ireland, on the Eactories Bill, 
 
MACAULAY. 
 
 35 
 
 on the question of the exclusion of the Master of the Bolls 
 from parliament, he ransacks for precedents and illustra- 
 tions in the histories of almost every age and clime, while 
 he gives but vague and hesitating solutions on the agitating 
 problems of the day. Hence, though his last recorded 
 speech is said to have been unrivalled in the annals of 
 parliamentary oratory for the number of votes which it 
 won, the impression of his speeches in the general was not 
 so immediate as it will, perhaps, be lasting. Men were 
 conscious of a despotism while he spoke, and none wished 
 to be delivered from the sorcery ; but when he ceased the 
 spell was broken, and they woke as from a pleasant dream. 
 They were exciting discussions in which he had to engage, 
 and he did not wholly escape from the acrimony of party 
 strife. There are passages in his speeches of that exacer- 
 bated bitterness which has too often made it seem as if our 
 politicians acted upon the instructions which are said to 
 have been once endorsed upon the brief of an advocate — “ No 
 case, but abuse the plaintiff’s attorney.” It wa3 in one of 
 these irritating debates, that on the enlarged grant to 
 Maynooth, that he made use of what his friend, Mr. Adam 
 Black, calls “his unguarded expression” about the “bray 
 of Exeter Hall.” There were many who thought, remem- 
 bering the antecedents of the orator, that it was an expres- 
 sion which might well have been spared. I am not going,, 
 however, to be the advocatus diaboli , recalling reasons for 
 the condemnation of an offender. I had far rather be re- 
 tained for the defence ; and, considering that the expression 
 was used in the heat of party strife, and in honest indigna- 
 tion against a government which had adopted the very 
 policy because of which they had hounded their predecessors 
 from power — considering that fifteen years have elapsed 
 since its utterance — consideriug that none of us has been 
 so prudent that w T e can afford to be judged by the Draconian 
 
3G 
 
 MACAULAY. 
 
 law, which would make a man an offender for a word — 
 considering that it was one of the most effective war-cries 
 which routed him from the field in Edinburgh, and that by 
 English fair play no one should be tried and punished twice 
 for the same offence — considering that the word expresses 
 the call of a trumpet as well as the music of a not very 
 complimentary quadruped, and that we need not, unless we 
 like, prefer the lower analogy w r hen a higher one is ready 
 to our hand — Considering, though one must very delicately 
 whisper it, that amid the motley groups who have held their 
 councils in Exeter Hall, it is not impossible that less noble 
 .-sounds have now and then mingled with the leonine roar — 
 considering that no one takes the trouble to impale a worm, 
 and that therefore the very mention of the name of an 
 adversary is in some sort a confession of his power — con- 
 sidering that Macaulay’s writings have done so much to 
 foster those eternal principles of truth and love, to whose 
 advocacy Exeter Hall is consecrated — and considering, espe- 
 cially, that Exeter Hall survived the assault, and seems in 
 pretty good condition still, that it has never ceased its 
 witness-bearing against idolatry and perfidy and wrong, 
 and that its testimony is a word of power to-day, — I should 
 like to pronounce that Exeter Hall is generous to forgive 
 him, and that this, its very latest “ bray,” is a trumpet-blast 
 which swells his fame. 
 
 There is one extract from the speeches which I quote 
 with singular pleasure. It will answer the double purpose 
 of affording a fair specimen of his clear and earnest style, 
 and of revealing what, to a resident in India, and one of 
 the most shrewd and sagacious observers, appeared sound 
 policy in reference to the method in which that country 
 should be governed. It is from his speech on Mr. Yernon 
 Smith’s motion of censure on Lord Ellenborough anent the 
 celebrated gates of Somnauth. a Our duty, as rulers, was 
 
MACAULAY. 
 
 37 
 
 to preserve strict neutrality on all questions merely reli- 
 gious ; and I am not aware that we have ever swerved from 
 strict neutrality for the purpose of making proselytes to 
 our own faith. But we have, I am sorry to say, sometimes 
 deviated from the right path in an opposite direction. 
 Some Englishmen, who have held high office in India, seem 
 to have thought that the only religion which was not 
 entitled to toleration and respect was Christianity. They 
 regarded every Christian missionary with extreme jealousy 
 and disdain ; and they suffered the most atrocious crimes, 
 if enjoined by the Hindoo superstition, to be perpetrated in 
 open day. It is lamentable to think how long after our 
 power was firmly established in Bengal, we, grossly neglect- 
 ing the first and plainest duty of the civil magistrate, suf- 
 fered the practices of infanticide and suttee to continue 
 unchecked. We decorated the temples of the false gods. 
 We provided the dancing girls. We gilded and painted 
 the images to which our ignorant subjects bowed down. 
 We repaired and embellished the car under the wheels of 
 which crazy devotees flung themselves at every festival to 
 be crushed to death. We sent guards of honour to escort 
 pilgrims to the places of worship. We actually made obla- 
 tions at the shrines of idols. All this was considered, and 
 is still considered, by some prejudiced Anglo-Indians of the 
 old school, as profound policy. I believe that there never 
 was so shallow, so senseless a policy. We gained nothing 
 by it. We lowered ourselves in the eyes of those whom 
 we meant to flatter. We led them to believe that we 
 attached no importance to the difference between Chris- 
 tianity and heathenism. Yet how vast that difference is ! 
 I altogether abstain from alluding to topics which belong 
 to divines ; I speak merely as a politician, anxious for the 
 morality and the temporal well-being of society ; and so 
 speaking, I say that to countenance the Brahminical idol 
 
38 
 
 MACAULAY. 
 
 atry, and to discountenance that religion which has done so 
 much to promote justice, and mercy, and freedom, and arts, 
 and sciences, and good government, and domestic happiness, 
 which has struck off the chains of the slave, w T hich has miti- 
 gated the horrors of war, which has raised women from 
 servants and playthings into companions and friends, is to 
 commit high treason against humanity and civilisation.” I 
 should like to commend this manly and Christian utterance 
 to our rulers now. The old traditional policy is yet a 
 favourite sentiment with many, though it has borne its 
 bitter fruits of bloodshed. "While we thankfully aclmow r - 
 ledge an improved state of feeling, and the removal of many 
 restrictions which in former times hindered the evangelisa- 
 tion of India, we must never forget that at this day, not by 
 a company of traders, but the government of our beloved 
 Queen, there is in all government schools on that vast con- 
 tinent, a brand upon the Holy Bible. It may lie upon the 
 shelf of the library, but for all purposes of instruction it is 
 a sealed book. The Koran of the Mussulman is there, the 
 Shastras of the pagan are there, the Zend Avesta of the 
 Parsee is there ; and their lessons, sanguinary or sensual 
 or silly, are taught by royal authority, and the teachers 
 endowed by grants from the royal treasury ; but the Book 
 which this nation acknowleges as the fountain of highest 
 inspiration, and the source of loftiest morals ; from whose 
 pure precepts all sublime ethics are derived ; which gives 
 sanction to government, and majesty to law; on which 
 senators swear their allegiance, and royalty takes its coro- 
 nation oath, — that Book is not only ignored but proscribed, 
 subjected to an Index Expurgatorius as rigid as ever issued 
 from Borne ; branded with this ford dishonour before scoff- 
 ing Mussulmen and wondering pagans at the bidding of 
 time-serving state-craft, or spurious charity, or craven fear. 
 It is time' that this should end. Our holy religion ought 
 
MACAULAY. 
 
 39 
 
 not to be thus wounded in the house of her enemies, by 
 the hands of her professed friends. An empire which 
 extends “ from cape Comorin to the eternal snow of the 
 Himalayas,” “far to the east of the Burrampooter and far 
 to the west of the TXydaspes,” should not demean itself 
 before those whom it has conquered by a proclamation of 
 national irreligion. We ask for Christianity in India 
 neither coercive measures nor the boastful activity of 
 government proselytism. Those who impute this to the 
 Christians of this land are either ignorant of our motives, or 
 they slander us for their own ends. The rags of a political 
 piety but disfigure the Cross around which they are osten- 
 tatiously displayed, and to bribe a heathen into conformity 
 were as bad as to persecute him for his adhesion to the 
 faith of his fathers. All we ask of the government is a fair 
 field ; if Alexander would but stand out of the way, the fair 
 sunshine would stream at once into the darkness of the 
 Cynic’s dwelling ; if they will give freedom to the Bible, it 
 w r ill assert its own supremacy by its own power, and Britain 
 will escape from the curse which now cleaves to her like a 
 Hessus’ robe — that in a land committed to her trust, and 
 looking up to her for redress and blessing, she has allowed 
 the Word upon which rest the dearest hopes of her sons for 
 eternity, to be forbidden from the Brahman’s solicitude, 
 and trampled beneath the Mollah’s scorn. 
 
 In the year 1842 Mr. Macaulay appeared in a new cha- 
 racter, by the publication of the “ Lays of Ancient Borne.” 
 This was his first venture in acknowledged authorship. 
 It is not safe often to descend from the bench to the bar. 
 The man who has long* sat in the critic’s chair must have 
 condemned so many criminals that he will find little mercy 
 when he is put upon his own trial, and has become a sup- 
 pliant for the favour which he has been accustomed to grant 
 or to refuse. The public were taken by surprise, but sur- 
 
40 
 
 MACAULAY. 
 
 prise quickly yielded to delight. Minos and Bhadaman- 
 thus abdicated their thrones to listen ; every pen flowed in 
 praise of that wonderful book, which united rare critical 
 sagacity with the poetic faculty and insight ; and now, 
 after the lapse of years, the world retains its enthusiasm, 
 and refuses to reverse the verdict of its first approval. By 
 one critic, indeed, whose opinions are entitled to all respect, 
 the ballads are said to be as much below the level of 
 Macaulay, as the “Cato” of Addison was below all else 
 which proceeded from his pen. But there is surely more 
 in them than “ rattling and spirited songs.” These are 
 expressions which hardly describe those minutely accurate 
 details ; that gorgeousness of classic colouring, those ex- 
 quisite felicities of word ; and, above all, that -grand roll of 
 martial inspiration which abounds throughout their stirring 
 lines. Another critic strangely says that “none of the 
 characters have the flesh and blood, the action and passion 
 of human nature.” The test of this, I suppose, should be 
 the effect which they produce upon those who hear or read 
 them. It has not been an unfrequent charge against 
 Macaulay that he had no heart, and that he was wanting in 
 that human sympathy which is so large an element of 
 strength. ITe who has no heart of his own cannot reach 
 mine and make it feel. There are instincts in the soul of a 
 man which tell him unerriugly when a- brother-soul is 
 speaking. Let me see a man in earnest, and his earnest- 
 ness will kindle mine. I apply this test in the case of 
 Macaulay. I am told of the greatest anatomist of the age 
 suspending all speculations about the mastodon, and all 
 analyses of the lesser mammalia, beneath the spell of the 
 sorcerer who drew the rout at Sedgemoor and the siege of 
 Derry. I see Bobert Hall lying on his back at sixty years 
 of age, to learn the Italian language, that he might verify 
 Macaulay’s description of Dante, and enjoy the “Inferno” 
 
MACAULAY. 
 
 41 
 
 and the “ Paradiso ” in the original. I remember my own 
 emotions when first introduced to the Essays ; the strange, 
 wild heart-throbs with which I revelled in the description 
 of the Puritans ; and the first article on Bunyan. There is 
 something in all this more than can be explained by artistic 
 grouping or by the charms of style. The man has convic- 
 tions and sympathies of his own, and the very strength of 
 those convictions and sympathies forces an answer from the 
 “like passions” to which he appeals. It is just so with the 
 poetry. It were easy to criticise it, and perhaps to find in 
 it some shortcomings from the rules of refined melody, and 
 a ruggedness which the linked sweetness of the Lakers 
 might not tolerate ; but try it in actual experiment, sound 
 it in the ears of a Crimean regiment, and see how it will 
 inspirit them to the field ; rehearse it with earnestness and 
 passion to a company of ardent schoolboys, at the age when 
 the young imagination has just been thrilled with its first 
 conscious sense of beauty and of power ; and you shall have 
 the Bard’s best guerdon in their kindling cheeks and gleam- 
 ing eyes. “The Prophecy of Capys” is perhaps the most 
 sustained, “Virginia” the most eloquent, and “The Battle 
 of the Lake Kegillus” the one which contains the finest 
 passages ; but I confess to a fondness for “ Horatius,” my 
 first and early love, which all the wisdom which ought to 
 have come with maturity has not been able to change. 
 Perhaps you will bear w T ith a few stanzas of it, just to try 
 the effect upon yourselves. : 
 
 * ‘ But the Consul’s brow was sad, 
 
 And the Consul’s speech was low, 
 
 And darkly looked he at the wall, 
 
 And darkly at the foe. 
 
 * Their van will be upon us 
 
 Before the bridge goes down ; 
 
 And if they once but win the bridge, 
 
 What hope to save the town ?’ 
 
42 
 
 MACAULAY. 
 
 4 4 Then out spake brave Horatius, 
 
 The Captain of the Gate : 
 
 4 To every man upon this earth 
 Death cometh soon or late. 
 
 And how can man die better 
 Than facing fearful odds, 
 
 For the ashes of his fathers, 
 
 And the temples of his gods ?’ 
 
 * * * * % * 
 
 4 4 4 Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul, 
 With all the speed ye may ; 
 
 I, with two more to help me, 
 
 Will hold the foe in play. 
 
 In yon strait path a thousand 
 May well be stopped by three. 
 
 How who will stand on either hand, 
 And keep the bridge with me ? ’ 
 
 4 4 Then out spake Spurius Lartius ; 
 
 A Hainnian proud was he : 
 
 4 Lo, I will stand at thy right hand, 
 And keep the bridge with thee.’ 
 
 And out spake strong Herminius ; 
 
 Of Titian blood was he : 
 
 4 1 will abide on thy left side, 
 
 And keep the bridge with thee. ’ 
 
 4 4 4 Horatius, ’ quoth the Consul, 
 
 4 As thou sayest, so let it be. ’ 
 
 And straight against that great array 
 Forth went the dauntless Three. 
 
 For Homans in Home’s quarrel 
 Spared neither land nor gold, 
 
 Hor son nor wife, nor limb nor life, 
 
 In the brave days of old. 
 
 4 Then none was for a party ; 
 
 Then all were for the state ; 
 
 Then the great man helped the poor, 
 And the poor man loved the great : 
 
MACAULAY. 
 
 43 
 
 Then lands were fairly portioned ; 
 
 Then spoils were' fairly sold : 
 
 The Romans were like brothers 
 In the brave days of old. 
 
 -*■ * * * * 
 
 44 Rut all Etruria’s noblest 
 Eelt their hearts sink to see 
 On the earth the bloody corpses, 
 
 In the path the dauntless Three 
 And, from the ghastly entrance 
 Where those bold Romans stood, 
 
 All shrank, like boys who unaware, 
 Ranging the woods to start a hare, 
 Come to the mouth of the dark lair 
 Where, growling low, a fierce old bear 
 Lies amidst bones and blood. 
 
 44 Was none who would be foremost 
 To lead such dire attack : 
 
 Rut those behind cried 4 * * Eorward ! 7 
 
 And those before cried 4 Rack ! ’ 
 
 And backward now and forward 
 W avers the deep array ; 
 
 And on the tossing sea of steel, 
 
 To and fro the standards reel ; 
 
 And the victorious trumpet peal 
 Dies fitfully away. 
 
 44 Rut meanwhile axe and lever 
 Have manfully been plied ; 
 
 And now the bridge hangs tottering 
 Above the boiling tide. 
 
 4 Come back, come back, Horatius ! 7 
 
 Loud cried the Eathers all. 
 
 4 Rack, Lartius ! back, Herminius ! 
 Rack, ere the ruin fall ! 7 
 
 4 4 Rack darted Spurius Lartius ; 
 
 Herminius darted back : 
 
 And, as they passed, beneath their feet 
 
 They felt the timbers crack. 
 
MACAULAY. 
 
 But when they turned their faces, 
 
 And on the farther shore 
 
 Saw brave Horatius stand alone, 
 
 They would have crossed once more. 
 
 “But with a crash like thunder 
 Fell every loosened beam. 
 
 And, like a dam, the mighty wreck 
 Lay right athwart the stream : 
 
 And a long shout of triumph 
 Rose from the walls of Rome, 
 
 As to the highest turret-tops 
 Was splashed the yellow foam. 
 
 -*• * * 
 
 44 Alone stood brave Horatius, 
 
 But constant still in mind ; 
 
 Thrice thirty thousand foes before, 
 And the broad flood behind. 
 
 4 Down with him ! ’ cried false Sextus, 
 With a smile on his pale face. 
 
 * How yield thee,’ cried Lars Borsena, 
 
 4 How yield thee to our grace. ’ 
 
 £ 4 Round turned he, as not deigning 
 Those craven ranks to see ; 
 
 Hought spake he to Lars Porsena, 
 
 To Sextus nought spake he ; 
 
 But he saw. on Palatinus 
 
 The white porch of his home ; 
 
 And he spake to the noble river 
 That rolls by the towers of Rome. 
 
 4 4 4 Oh, Tiber ! father Tiber ! 
 
 To whom the Romans pray, 
 
 A Roman’s life, a Roman’s arms, 
 
 Take thou in charge this day ! ’ 
 
 So he spake, and speaking sheathed 
 The good sword by his side, 
 
 And with his harness on his back, 
 Plunged headlong in the tide. 
 
MA.CA.TJLAY. 
 
 45 
 
 “ No sound of joy or sorrow 
 Was heard from either bank ; 
 
 But friends and foes in dumb surprise, 
 With parted lips and straining eyes, 
 Stood gazing where he sank ; 
 
 And when above the surges 
 They saw his crest appear, 
 
 All Borne sent forth a rapturous cry. 
 
 And even the ranks of Tuscany 
 Could scarce forbear to cheer. 
 
 * * * * * * 
 
 “ Never, I ween, did swimmer. 
 
 In such an evil case, 
 
 Struggle through such a raging flood 
 Safe to the landing place : 
 
 But his limbs were borne up bravely 
 By the brave heart within, 
 
 And our good father Tiber 
 Bare bravely up his chin. 
 
 4 4 ‘ Curse on him ! ’ quoth false Sextus ; 
 
 £ Will not the villain drown ? 
 
 But for this stay, ere close of day 
 We should have sacked the town.’ 
 
 6 Heaven help him ! ’ quoth Lars Porsena, 
 ‘ And bring him safe to shore ; 
 
 For such a gallant feat of arms 
 Was never seen before.’ 
 
 4 c And now he feels the bottom ; 
 
 Now on dry earth he stands ; 
 
 Now round him throng the Fathers 
 To press his gory hands ; 
 
 And now, with shouts and clapping, 
 
 A nd noise of weeping loud, 
 
 He enters through the Biver-gate, 
 
 Borne by the joyous crowd. 
 
 “ They gave him of the com land, 
 
 That was of public right, 
 
 As much as two strong oxen 
 
 Could plough from morn till night ; 
 
46 
 
 MACAULAY. 
 
 And they made a molten image, 
 
 And set it up on high, 
 
 And there it stands unto this day 
 To witness if I lie. 
 
 -*■ -*• 
 
 6 ‘ And in the nights of winter, 
 
 When the cold north winds blow, 
 
 And the long howling of the wolves 
 Is heard amidst the snow ; 
 
 When round the lonely cottage 
 Roars loud the the tempest’s din, 
 
 And the good logs of Algid us 
 Roar louder yet within — 
 
 “ When the oldest cask is opened, 
 
 And the largest lamp is lit ; 
 
 When the chestnuts glow in the embers, 
 
 And the kid turns on the spit ; 
 
 When young and old in circle 
 Around the firebrands close ; 
 
 When the girls are weaving baskets, 
 
 And the lads are shaping bows — 
 
 4 ‘ When the goodman mends his armour, 
 
 And trims his helmet’s plume ; 
 
 When the goodwife’s shuttle merrily 
 Goes flashing through the loom ; 
 
 With weeping and with laughter 
 Still is the story told, 
 
 How well Horatius kept the bridge 
 In the brave days of old. ” 
 
 It is undoubtedly as the historian that Macaulay will be 
 longest remembered. His work, which, fragment though it 
 is, yet possesses a sort of dramatic unity, will survive at 
 once the adulation of servile flattery and the snarl of 
 cynical criticism, and will be shrined among the classics of' 
 our literature in calmer times than ours. It is amusing to 
 read the various opinions of reviewers, each convinced after 
 the manner of such literary craftsmen that he is nothing if 
 
MACAULAY. 
 
 47 
 
 not critical, and gloating over some atom of inaccuracy or 
 some discovery of Oriental colouring, as if he had found 
 hidden treasure. I deemed it my duty in the preparation 
 for this lecture to go through a course of review reading, if 
 haply I might find confirmation of the sentiments I had 
 entertained, or some reason to change them ; and while I 
 have been delighted with and proud of the vast and varied 
 talent of the articles, the result as to opinion has been 
 only to unsettle my own, and to induce a mental dyspepsia 
 from which I have hardly yet recovered. I have been told 
 that it is the History of England — a history of England — 
 an attempt at history — a mistaken notion of history — an 
 historiette — an historical picture-gallery — an historical 
 novel. I have been informed that it is thoroughly impartial, 
 and I have been informed that it is thoroughly factious : 
 one critic tells me that his first object is to tell the story 
 truly ; another, that his first object is picturesque effect. 
 Some christen him Thucydides, and others Walter Scott. 
 One eulogist exalts my confidence by assuring me that “ he 
 does not lie, even for the Whigs ; ” and just as I have made 
 up my mind to trust him thoroughly, I am thrown into 
 terrible bewilderment by the averment of another learned 
 Theban, that “his work is as full of political prejudice as 
 any of his partisan speeches, and is written with bad taste, 
 bad feeling, and bad faith.” The impression left upon my 
 mind by all this conflict of testimony is a profound convic- 
 tion of Macaulay’s power. All the faults which his censors 
 charge upon him, reappear in their own writings, as among 
 the supple courtiers of Macedon was reproduced the wry 
 neck of Alexander. They charge him with carelessness, 
 but it is in flippant words. If they call him vituperative, 
 they become atrabilious. If he is said to exaggerate, not 
 a few of them out -Herod him ; and his general impartiality 
 may be inferred from the fact, that while his critics are 
 
48 
 
 MACAULAY. 
 
 indignant at the caricatures which they allege that he has 
 drawn of their own particular idols, they acknowledge the 
 marvellous fidelity of his likenesses of all the world beside. 
 Moreover, for the very modes of their censorship, they are 
 indebted to him. They bend Ulysses’ bow. They wield 
 the Douglas brand. His style is antithetical, and there- 
 fore they condemn him in antitheses. His sentences are 
 peculiar, and they denounce him in his own tricks of phrase. 
 There can be no greater compliment to any man. The 
 critics catch the contagion of the malady which provokes 
 their surgery. The eagle is aimed at by the archers, but 
 “he nursed the pinion which impelled the steel.” To say 
 that there are faults in the history is but to say that it is a 
 human production, and they lie on the surface and are 
 patent to the most ordinary observer. That he was a “ good 
 hater” there can be no question; and Dr. Johnson, the 
 while he called him a vile Whig, and a sacrilegious heretic, 
 would have hugged him for the heartiness with which he 
 lays on his dark shades of colour. That he exaggerated 
 rather for effect than for partisanship, may be alleged with 
 great show of reason, and they have ground to stand upon 
 who say that it was his greatest literary sin. There are 
 some movements which he knew not how to estimate, and 
 many complexities of character which he was never born to 
 understand. Still, if his be not history, there is no history 
 in the world. Before his entrance, history was as the 
 marble statue ; he came, and by his genius struck the statue 
 into life. 
 
 We thank him that he has made history readable; that 
 it is not in his page the bare recital of facts, names, 
 and deeds inventoried as in an auctioneer’s catalogue, but a 
 glowing portraiture of the growth of a great nation, and of 
 the men who helped or hindered it. We thank him that he 
 has disposed for ever of that shallow criticism, that the 
 
MACAULAY. 
 
 45 
 
 brilliant is always the superficial and unworthy, and that in 
 the inestimable value of his work he has confirmed what the 
 sonorous periods of John Milton, and the long-resounding 
 eloquence of Jeremy Taylor, and the fiery passion-tones of 
 Edmund Burke had abundantly declared before him, that 
 the diamond flashes with a rarer lustre than the spangle. 
 We thank him for the happy combination which he has 
 given us of valuable instruction and of literary enjoyment, 
 of massive and substantial truth decorated with all the 
 graces of style. We thank him for the vividness of delinea 
 tion, by which we can see statesmen like Somers and 
 Nottingham in their cabinets, marshals like Sarsfield and 
 Luxembourg in the field, and galliard-intriguers like Buck- 
 ingham and Marlborough, who dallied in the council-room 
 and plotted at the revel. 
 
 We thank him for the one epical character which he 
 has left us — William, the hero of his story, whom he has 
 taxed himself to the utmost to portray — the stadtholder 
 adored in Holland — the impassive, sagacious monarch who 
 lived apart in the kingdom which he freed and ruled — 
 the audacious spirit of whom no one could discover the 
 thing that could teach him to fear — the brave soldier 
 who dashed about among musketry and sword-blades, as if 
 he bore a charmed life — the reserved man upon whom 
 “ danger acted like wine, to open his heart, and loosen his 
 tongue” — the veteran who swam through the mud at the 
 Boyne, and retrieved the fortunes which the death of Schom- 
 berg had caused to waver — “the asthmatic skeleton who 
 covered the slow retreat of England” at Landen — the acute 
 diplomatist who held his trust with even-handed wisdom — 
 the faithful friend, who when he loved once, loved for a life- 
 time— who kept his heart barred against the multitude, but 
 gave pass-keys to the chosen ones so that they might go in 
 and out at pleasure — the stern and stoical sufferer, who 
 
 D 
 
50 
 
 MACAULAY. 
 
 wrote, and hunted, and legislated, and devised, while ague 
 shook the hand which held the pen or the bridle, and fever 
 was burning away the life which animated the restless 
 brain — the rigid predestinarian, who though he grieved 
 over noble works unfinished, and plans which could never 
 become deeds, submitted himself calmly as a child when the 
 inevitable hour drew nigh. We feel that, if there had been 
 nothing else, the working out of that one character, its 
 investiture with “ newer proportions and with richer colour- 
 ing,” the grand exhibition which it gives us of the superiority 
 of mind over matter and circumstance, and native repulsive- 
 ness and alien habits, is in itself a boon for which the world 
 should speak him well. 
 
 Above all, we thank Macaulay for the English-hearted- 
 ness which throbs transparently through his writings, 
 and which was so marked a characteristic of his life. — 
 It has been well said, “he loved his country as a Roman 
 the city of the Seven Hills, as an Athenian the city 
 of the Violet Grown.” Herein is his essential difference 
 from the hero whom he celebrated, and whom in so many 
 things he so closely resembles. William never loved 
 England. She was but an appanage of Holland to him. 
 One bluff Dutch burgomaster would outweigh with him a 
 hundred English squires, and he was never so happy as 
 when lie could escape from the foggy Thames to the foggier 
 Meuse, or be greeted with a Rhenish welcome by a people 
 to whom an enthusiasm was as an illness which came once 
 in a lifetime, and was over. But with Macaulay the love of 
 country was a passion. How he kindles at each stirring or 
 plaintive memory in the annals he was so glad to record ! 
 Elizabeth at Tilbury ; the scattering of the fierce and proud 
 Armada ; the deliverance of the Seven Bishops ; the thrilling 
 agony and bursting gladness which succeeded each other so 
 rapidly at the siege of Derry; the last sleep of Argyle; 
 
MACAULAY. 
 
 51 
 
 Lord Russell’s parting from his heroic wife ; the wrongs of 
 Alice Lisle ; the prayer upon whose breath fled the spirit of 
 Algernon Sydney : they touch his very soul, and he recounts 
 them with a fervour which becomes contagious until his 
 readers are thrilled with the same joy or pain. 
 
 It is not unfashionable among our popular writers to de- 
 nounce the England of to-day, and to predict for us in the 
 future, auguries of only sinister omen. The mediaeval admirers 
 sigh in the midst of us for the past, and are never weary of 
 recalling the days when feudalism displayed its brilliant but 
 barbaric chivalry, when the baldrick of the noble was 
 answered by the horn of the freebooter in the glens of 
 merry Sherwood; when the thane upon his dais held 
 wassail in the Saxon homestead, and the baron feasted his 
 retainers, or caroused with jolly monk and swarth Crusader 
 as his boon companions, in his oaken and bannered hall ; 
 and there is a school of prophets to whom everything in the 
 present is out of joint ; who can see nothing around them 
 but selfishness, and nothing beyond them but the undis- 
 coverable bourn, to whom there is “ cold shade” in an aristo- 
 cracy, and in the middle classes but a miserable mammon- 
 worship ; and beneath a trampled people, in whom the 
 sordid and the brutal instincts strive from day to day. Of 
 these extremes of sentiment, meeting on the common ground 
 of gloomy prophesyings about England, her history, as 
 Macaulay has told it, is the best possible rebuke. He has 
 shown us the steps by which, in his own eloquent words, 
 “the England of the Curfew and the Eorest laws, the 
 England of Crusaders, monks, schoolmen, astrologers, 
 serfs, outlaws, became the England which we know and love, 
 the classic ground of liberty and philosophy, the school of 
 all knowledge, the mart of all trade.” He has shown us 
 how, through the slow struggles of years, the component- 
 forces of society become equalised in their present rare and 
 
52 
 
 MACAULAY. 
 
 happy adjustment ; how each age has added to the con- 
 quests of its predecessors, by the truer solution of political 
 problems ; by the readier recognition of human rights ; by 
 the discovery of richer resources in nature, and of more 
 magnificent capabilities in man. Pie has shown us how in 
 health, in intelligence, in physical comfort, in industrial 
 appliances, in social and moral culture, the tide of progress 
 has rolled on without a refluent wave. He has shown us 
 now the despairs and hopes, the passions and lassitudes of 
 the former generations, have helped our national growth ; 
 how our country has been rallied by her very defeats, and 
 enriched by her very wastefulness, and elevated by her 
 disasters to ascendency ; how the storms which have howled 
 along her coast have only ribbed her rocks the more firmly ; 
 and the red rain of her slaughtered sires has but watered 
 •the earth for the harvest of their gallant sons. Oh, if the 
 young men of our time would glow with a healthy pride of 
 race ; if they would kindle with the inspirations of patriot- 
 ism ; if they would find annals wealthier in enduring 
 lesson, and bright with the radiance of a holier virtue, than 
 ever Rome embraced or Sparta knew, let them read their 
 own land’s history, as traced by the pen of its most fervent 
 recorder ; and while grateful for the instruction of the past, 
 let its unwavering progress teach them to be hopeful for the 
 future. What hinders that the growth of England’s past 
 should be but the type of the yet rarer splendours of its 
 coming time ? There are many who wait for her halting, 
 “wizards that peep and that mutter” in bootless necro- 
 mancy for her ruin ; but let her be true to herself and to her 
 •stewardship, and her position may be assured from peril. 
 On the “ coign of vantage” to which she has been lifted, 
 let her take her stand ; let her exhibit to the wondering 
 nations the glad nuptials between liberty and order ; let 
 her sons, at once profound in their loyalty and manly in 
 
MACAULAY. 
 
 53 
 
 tlieir independence, be fired with ambition greater than of 
 glory, and with covetousness nobler than of gain ; let her 
 exult that her standard, however remote and rocky the islet 
 over which it waves, is ever the flag of the freeman ; let her 
 wfiden with the ages into still increasing reverence for truth 
 and peace and God, and “ she may stand in her lot until 
 the end of the days,” and in the long after-time, when the 
 now young world shall have grown old, and shall be prepar- 
 ing, by reason of its age, for the action of the last fires, she 
 may still live and flourish, chartered among the nations as 
 the home of those principles of right and freedom which 
 shall herald and welcome the coming of the Son of 
 man. 
 
 The one great defect in Macaulay’s life and writings, 
 viewed from a Christian standpoint, is his negativism, to 
 use no stronger word, on the subject of evangelical religion. 
 Not that he ever impeaches its sacredness; no enemy of 
 religion can claim his championship: he was at once too 
 refined and too reverent for infidelity, but he nowhere 
 upholds Divine presence or presidency ; nowhere traces the 
 unity of a purpose higher than the schemes of men ; 
 nowhere speaks of the precepts of Christianity as if they 
 were Divinely-sanctioned ; nowhere gives to its cloud of 
 witnesses the adhesion of his honoured name. As we read 
 his essays or his history, when he lauds the philosophy of 
 Bacon, or tells of the deliverances of William, we are 
 tempted to wonder at his serene indifference to those great 
 questions which sooner or later must present themselves to 
 the mind of every man. Did it never occur to him that men 
 were deeper than they seemed, and restless about that 
 future into which he is so strangely averse to pry ? Did the 
 solemn problems of the soul, the whence of its origin, the 
 what of its purpose, the whither of its destiny, never per- 
 plex and trouble him? Had he no fixed opinion about 
 
54 
 
 MACAULAY. 
 
 religion as a reality, that inner and vital essence which 
 should be “ the core of all the creeds’’ P or did he content 
 himself with “ the artistic balance of conflicting forces,” and 
 regard Protestantism and Popery alike as mere schemings 
 of the hour, influences equally valuable in their day and 
 equally mortal when their work was done ? Did it never 
 strike him that there was a Providence at work when his 
 hero was saved from assassination, when the fierce winds 
 scattered the Armada, when the fetters were broken which 
 Borne had forged and fastened, when from the struggles of 
 years rose up the slow and stately growth of English free- 
 dom ? Did he never breathe a wish for a God to speak the 
 chaos of events into order, or was he content to leave the 
 mystery as he found it, deeming “such knowledge too 
 wonderful for man” ? Why did he always brand vice as an 
 injury or an error ? Did he never feel it to be a sin P Look- 
 ing at the present, why always through the glass of the past, 
 and never by the light of the future ? Did he never pant 
 after a spiritual insight, nor throb with a religious faith ? 
 Alas, that on the matters on which these questions touch, 
 his writings make no sign ! Of course, no one expected the 
 historian to become a preacher, nor the essayist a theologian ; 
 but that there should be so studious an avoidance of those 
 great, deep, awful matters which have to do with the 
 eternal, and that in a history in which religion, in some 
 phase or other, was the inspiration of the events which 
 he records, is a fact which no Christian heart can think 
 of without surprise and sorrow. 
 
 It has become fashionable to praise a neutral litera- 
 ture which prides itself upon its freedom from bias, and 
 upon the broad line of separation which it draws care- 
 fully between things secular and things sacred ; and there 
 are many who call this liberality, but there is an old Book 
 whose authority, thank God, is not yet deposed from the 
 
MACAULAY. 
 
 55 
 
 heart of Christian England, which would brand it with 
 a very different name. That Book tells us that the fig- 
 tree was blasted, not because it was baneful, but because 
 it was barren; and that the bitter curse was denounced 
 against Meroz, not because she rallied with the forces of the 
 foe, but because in her criminal indifference she came not 
 up to the help of the Lord. Amid the stirring and mani- 
 fold activities of the age in which we live, to be neutral in 
 the strife is to rank with the enemies of the Saviour. There 
 is no greater foe to the spread of Ilis cause in the world 
 than the placid indifferentism which is too honourable to 
 betray, while it is too careless or too cowardly to join Him. 
 The rarer the endowments, the deeper the obligation to 
 consecrate them to the glory of their Giver. That brilliant 
 genius, that indefatigable industry, that influencing might 
 of speech, that wondrous and searching faculty of analysis, 
 what might they not have accomplished if they had been 
 pledged to the recognition of a higher purpose than 
 literature, and ‘fearless in their advocacy of the faith of 
 Christ ! Into the secret history of the inner man, of course 
 we may not enter ; and we gladly hope, from small but 
 significant indications which a searcher may discover in his 
 writings, as well as from intimations, apparently authentic, 
 which were published shortly after his death, that if 
 there had rested any cloud on his experience, the Sun of 
 righteousness dispersed it, and that he anchored his per- 
 sonal hope on that “ dear Name” which his earliest rhymes 
 had sung ; but the regret may not be suppressed that his 
 transcendent powers were given to any object lower than 
 the highest. And when I see two life courses before me, 
 both ending in Westminster Abbey, for the tardy gratitude 
 of the nation adjudged to Zachary Macaulay’s remains, the 
 honour which it denied to his living reputation ; when I see 
 the father, poor, slandered, living a life of struggle, yet 
 
56 
 
 MACAULAY. 
 
 secretly but mightily working for the oppressed and the 
 friendless, and giving all his energies in a bright summer of 
 consecration unto Grod; and when I see the son, rich, 
 gifted, living a life of success, excellent and envied in every- 
 thing he undertook, breathing the odours of a perpetual 
 incense-cloud, and passing from the memory of an applaud- 
 ing country to the tomb, but aiming through his public life- 
 time only at objects which were “ of the earth, earthy,” I 
 feel that if there be truth in the Eible, and sanction in the 
 obligations of religion, and immortality in the destinies of 
 man, “he aimed too low who aimed beneath the skies;” 
 that the truer fame is with the painstaking and humble 
 Christian worker, and that the amaranth which encircles 
 the father is a greener and more fragrant wreath than the 
 laurel which crowns the forehead of the more gifted and 
 brilliant son. 
 
 In 1856 he resigned his seat for Edinburgh, in conse- 
 quence of failing health ; and in 1857 literature was 
 honoured with a peerage in the person of one of the 
 noblest of her sons, and the peerage was honoured by the 
 accession of Lord Macaulay’s illustrious name. Thence- 
 forward in his retirement at Kensington he devoted himself 
 to his History, “ the business and the pleasure of his life.” 
 The world rejoiced to hope that successive volumes might 
 yet stimulate its delight and wonder, and wished for the 
 great writer a long and mellow eventide, which the night 
 should linger to disturb. But suddenly, with the part- 
 ing year, a mightier summons came, and the majestic 
 brain was tired, and the fluttering heart grew still. 
 Already, as the months of that fatal year waned on, 
 had the last harvestman multiplied his sheaves from 
 the ranks of genius and of skill. There had been 
 mourning in Prussia for Humboldt, and across the wide 
 Atlantic there had wailed a dirge for Prescott and Washing- 
 
MACAULAY. 
 
 57 
 
 ton Irving ; Brunei and Stephenson had gone down in quick 
 succession to the grave ; men had missed the strange con- 
 fessions of De Quincev, and the graceful fancies with 
 which Leigh Hunt had long delighted them ; Hallam and 
 Stephen had passed the ivory gates ; but, as in the sad year 
 which has just closed upon our national sorrow, it seemed 
 as if the spoiler had reserved the greatest victim to the 
 last, that he might give to the vassal world the very 
 proudest token of his power. 
 
 If Macaulay had an ambition dearer than the rest, 
 it was that he might lie “ in that temple of silence and 
 reconciliation where the enmities of twenty generations 
 lie buried;” and the walls of the great Abbey do enclose 
 him “in their tender and solemn gloom.” Not in osten- 
 tatious state, nor with the pomp of sorrow, but with 
 hearty and mourning affection, did rank and talent, and 
 office and authority, assemble to lay him in the grave. 
 The pall was over the city on that drear January morning, 
 and the cold, raw wind wailed mournfully, as if sighing 
 forth the requiem of the great spirit that was gone; and 
 amid saddened friends — some who had shared the sports of 
 his childhood, some who had fought with him the battles of 
 political life — amid warm admirers and generous foes, while the 
 aisles rang with the cadences of solemn music, and here and 
 there were sobs and pants of sorrow, they bore him to that quiet 
 resting-place, where he “waits the adoption, to wit, the 
 redemption of the body.” Not far from the place of his sepul- 
 ture are the tablets of Gray, and Howe, and Thomson, and 
 Garrick, and Goldsmith ; on his right sleeps Isaac Barro^w, 
 the ornament of his own Trinity College; on his left, no 
 clamour breaks the slumber of Samuel Johnson ; from a 
 pedestal at the head of the grave, serene and thoughtful, 
 Addison looks down ; the coffin, which was said to have 
 been exposed at the time of the funeral, probably held all 
 
58 
 
 MACAULAY. 
 
 that was mortal of Bichard Brinsley Sheridan ; Campbell 
 gazes pensively across the transept, as if he felt that the 
 pleasures of hope were gone ; while from opposite sides, 
 Shakspeare, the remembrancer of mortality, reminds us 
 from his open scroll that the “ great globe itself, and all 
 that it inhabit, shall dissolve, and, like the baseless fabric of 
 a vision, leave not a wreck behind ;” and Handel, comforting 
 us in our night of weeping by the glad hope of immortality, 
 seems to listen while they chant forth his own magnificent 
 hymn, “His body is buried in peace, but his name liveth 
 for evermore.” There are strange thoughts and lasting 
 lessons to be gathered in this old Abbey, and by the side 
 of this latest grave. From royal sarcophagus, and carven 
 shrine; from the rustling of those fading banners, which tell 
 of the knights of the former time ; yonder where the Chat- 
 hams and Mansfields repose; here where the orators and 
 poets lie, comes there not a voice to us of our frailty, borne 
 into our hearts by the brotherhood of dust upon which our 
 footsteps tread ? How solemn the warning ! Oh for grace 
 to learn it 1 
 
 44 Earth’s highest glory ends in — 4 Here he lies ! ’ 
 
 And 4 dust to dust ’ concludes her noblest song.” 
 
 And shall they rise, all these ? Will there be a trumpet 
 blast so shrill that none of them may refuse to hear it, and 
 the soul, re-entering its shrine of eminent or common clay, 
 pass upward to the judgment? “Many and mighty, but 
 all hushed,” shall they submit with us to the arbitrations of 
 the last assize ? And in that world, is it true that gold is 
 not the currency, and that rank is not hereditary, and that 
 there is only one name that is honoured ? Then, if this is 
 the end of all men, let the living lay it to his heart. Solemn 
 and thoughtful, let us search for an assured refuge ; child- 
 like and earnest, let us confide in the one accepted Name ; let 
 
MACAULAY. 
 
 50 
 
 us realise the tender and infinite nearness of God our Father, 
 through Jesus our Surety and our Friend ; and in hope of a 
 joyful resurrection for ourselves, and for the marvellous 
 Englishman we mourn, let us sing his dirge in the words of 
 the truest poet of our time : — 
 
 44 All is over and done : 
 
 Render thanks to the Giver ! 
 
 England, for thy son. 
 
 Let the bell be tolled. 
 
 Render thanks to the Giver, 
 
 And render him to the mould. 
 
 Let the bell be tolled 
 
 And the sound of the sorrowing anthem rolled, 
 
 And a deeper knell in the heart be knolled. 
 
 To such a name for ages long 
 To such a name 
 
 Preserve a broad approach of fame, 
 
 And ever- ringing avenues of song. 
 
 *■ * -*• # # * 
 
 Hush ! the dead march wails in the people’s ears, 
 
 The dark crowd moves, and there are sobs and tears ; 
 
 The black earth yawns — the mortal disappears ; 
 
 Ashes to ashes — dust to dust ; 
 
 He is gone who seemed so great. 
 
 Gone, but nothing can bereave him 
 Of the force he made his own 
 Being here, and we believe him 
 Something far advanced in state, 
 
 And that he wears a truer crown 
 
 Than any wreath that man can weave him. 
 
 But speak no more of his renown, 
 
 Lay your earthly fancies down, 
 
 And in the solemn temple leave him : 
 
 God accept him, Christ receive him.” 
 
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