that I ought to take this opportunity of retiring from public life. Ever yours, T. B. M.

Edinburgh, July 30th, 1847.

DEAR ELLIS,-I am beaten, but not at all the less happy for being so. I think that having once been manumitted, after the old fashion, by a slap in the face, I shall not take to bondage again. But there is time to consider that matter. T. B. MACAULAY.

Ever yours,

That same night, while the town was still alive with jubilation over a triumph that soon lost its gloss even in the eyes of those who won it, Macaulay, in the grateful silence of his chamber, was weaving his perturbed thoughts into those exquisite lines which tell within the compass of a score of stanzas the essential secret of the life whose outward aspect these volumes have endeavored to portray.

The day of tumult, strife, defeat, was o'er.

Worn out with toil, and noise, and scorn, and spleen,

I slumbered, and in slumber saw once more

A room in an old mansion, long unseen.

That room, methought, was curtained from the light;
Yet through the curtains shone the moon's cold ray
Full on a cradle, where, in linen white,

Sleeping life's first soft sleep, an infant lay.

And lo! the fairy queens who rule our birth

Drew nigh to speak the new-born baby's doom:
With noiseless step, which left no trace on earth,
From gloom they came, and vanished into gloom.

Not deigning on the boy a glance to cast,

Swept careless by the gorgeous Queen of Gain.
More scornful still, the Queen of Fashion passed,
With mincing gait and sneer of cold disdain.

The Queen of Power tossed high her jeweled head,
And o'er her shoulder threw a wrathful frown.

The Queen of Pleasure on the pillow shed

Scarce one stray rose-leaf from her fragrant crown.

Still fay in long procession followed fay;

And still the little couch remained unblest:

But, when those wayward sprites had passed away,
Came One, the last, the mightiest, and the best.

Oh! glorious lady, with the eyes of light,

And laurels clustering round thy lofty brow,
Who by the cradle's side didst watch that night,
Warbling a sweet strange music, who wast thou?

Yes, darling; let them go," so ran the strain:

"Yes; let them go-gain, fashion, pleasure, power, And all the busy elves to whose domain

Belongs the nether sphere, the fleeting hour.

"Without one envious sigh, one anxious scheme,
The nether sphere, the fleeting hour resign.
Mine is the world of thought, the world of dream,
Mine all the past, and all the future mine.

*

"Of the fair brotherhood who share my grace, I, from thy natal day, pronounce thee free; And, if for some I keep a nobler place,

I keep for none a happier than for thee.

"There are who, while to vulgar eyes they seem

Of all my bounties largely to partake,

Of me as of some rival's handmaid deem,

And court me but for gain's, power's, fashion's sake.

"To such, though deep their lore, though wide their fame, Shall my great mysteries be all unknown:

But thou, through good and evil, praise and blame,
Wilt not thou love me for myself alone?

"Yes; thou wilt love me with exceeding love;
And I will tenfold all that love repay:
Still smiling, though the tender may reprove;
Still faithful, though the trusted may betray.

"In the dark hour of shame, I deigned to stand Before the frowning peers at Bacon's side;

On a far shore I smoothed with tender hand,

Through months of pain, the sleepless bed of Hyde.

"I brought the wise and brave of ancient days To cheer the cell where Raleigh pined alone. I lighted Milton's darkness with the blaze

Of the bright ranks that guard the eternal throne.

"And even so, my child, it is my pleasure

That thou not then alone shouldst feel me nigh, When in domestic bliss and studious leisure

Thy weeks uncounted come, uncounted fly.

"No; when on restless night dawns cheerless morrow,
When weary soul and wasting body pine,

Thine am I still, in danger, sickness, sorrow,
In conflict, obloquy, want, exile, thine;

"Thine where on mountain waves the snow-birds scream, Where more than Thule's winter barbs the breeze, Where scarce, through lowering clouds, one sickly gleam Lights the drear May-day of Antarctic seas;

"Thine when around thy litter's track all day

White sand-hills shall reflect the blinding glare; Thine when, through forests breathing death, thy way All night shall wind by many a tiger's lair;

"Thine most, when friends turn pale, when traitors fly, When, hard beset, thy spirit, justly proud,

For truth, peace, freedom, mercy, dares defy
A sullen priesthood and a raving crowd.

"Amidst the din of all things fell and vile,

Hate's yell, and envy's hiss, and folly's bray, Remember me; and with an unforced smile See riches, baubles, flatterers, pass away.

"Yes, they will pass away, nor deem it strange;
They come and go, as comes and goes the sea:
And let them come and go; thou, through all change,
Fix thy firm gaze on virtue and on me."

CHAPTER XI.

1847-1849.

Macaulay retires into Private Life.-Extracts from Lord Carlisle's Journal. -Macaulay's Conversation.-His Memory.-His Distaste for General Society. His Ways with Children.-Letters to his Niece Margaret.— "The Judicious Poet."-Valentines.-Sight-seeing.-Eastern Tours.— Macaulay's Method of Work.-His Diligence in collecting his Materials. -Glencoe.-Londonderry.—Macaulay's Accuracy: Opinions of Mr. Bagehot and Mr. Buckle.-Macaulay's Industry at the Desk.-His Love for his Task.-Extracts from his Diary.-His Attention to the Details of the Press. The "History" appears.-Congratulations.-Lord Halifax; Lord Jeffrey; Lord Auckland; Miss Edgeworth.-The Popularity of the Work. -Extract from Punch.-Macaulay's Attitude in Relation to his Critics. -The Quarterly Review.-The Sacrifices which Macaulay made to Lit

erature.

AFTER a few nights of sound sleep, and a few days of quiet among his books, Macaulay had recovered both from the fatigues of the contest and the vexation of the defeat. On the 6th of August, 1847, he writes to his sister Fanny: "I am here in solitude, reading and working with great satisfaction to myself. My table is covered with letters of condolence, and with invitations from half the places which have not yet chosen members. I have been asked to stand for Ayr, for Wigton, and for Oxfordshire. At Wigton and in Oxfordshire I was actually put in nomination without my permission, and my supporters were with difficulty prevented from going to the poll. From The Sheffield Iris, which was sent me to-day, I see that a party wishes to put me up for the West Riding. Craig tells me that there is a violent reaction at Edinburgh, and that those who voted against me are very generally ashamed of themselves, and wish to have me back again. I did not know how great a politician I was till my Edinburgh

friends chose to dismiss me from politics. I never can leave public life with more dignity and grace than at present."

Such consolations as private life had to offer, Macaulay possessed in abundance. He enjoyed the pleasures of society in their most delightful shape; for he was one of a circle of eminent and gifted men who were the warm friends of himself and of each other. How brilliantly these men talked is already a matter of tradition. No report of their conversation has been published, and in all probability none exists. Scattered and meagre notices in the leaves of private diaries form the sole surviving record of many an Attic night and still more agreeable morning. Happily, Lord Carlisle's journal has preserved for us (as may be seen in the extracts which follow) at least the names of those with whom Macaulay lived, the houses which he frequented, and some few of the topics which he discussed. That journal proves, by many an affectionate and admiring expression, how highly my uncle was esteemed by one whose approbation and regard were never lightly given.*

“June 27th, 1843.—I breakfasted with Hallam, John Russell, Macaulay, Everett, Van de Weyer, Mr. Hamilton, U. S., and Mahon. Never were such torrents of good talk as burst and sputtered over from Macaulay and Hallam. A great deal about Latin and Greek inscriptions. They think the first unrivaled for that purpose; so free from articles and particles.

*

Macaulay's acquaintance with the Howard family was of old standing, as may be gathered from a passage in a letter of the year 1833. This exceedingly droll production is too thickly strewn with personal allusions to admit of its being published, except in a fragmentary condition, which would be unjust to the writer, and not very interesting to the reader.

"I dined at Holland House yesterday.

Lord Holland..

Earl Grey..

DRAMATIS PERSONE.

.A fine old gentleman, very gouty and good-natured.

.Prime minister; a proud and majestic, yet polite

and affable person.

.....A holy and venerable ecclesiastic, director of the consciences of the above-named lords.