proving conscience, and of the same blessed reward? He was almost the last survivor of a noble brotherhood now reunited in affection, and in employment. Mr. Wilberforce, Henry Thornton, Babington, my father, and other not less dear, though less conspicuous, companions of his many labours, have ere now greeted him as their associate in the world of spirits; and, above all, he has been welcomed by his Redeemer with Well done, good and faithful servant.' 6 Zachary Macaulay's bust in Westminster Abbey bears on its pedestal a beautiful inscription, (which is, and probably will remain, his only biography,) in which much more is told, than he himself would wish to have been told, about a man WHO DURING FORTY SUCCESSIVE YEARS, PARTAKING IN THE COUNSELS AND THE LABOURS AND THE BRITISH EMPIRE FROM THE GUILT, MEEKLY ENDURED THE TOIL, THE PRIVATION, AND THE REPROACH, His tomb has for many years past been cut off from the body of the nave by an iron railing equally meaningless and unsightly; which withdraws from the eyes of his fellow-countrymen an epitaph at least as provocative to patriotism as those of the innumerable military and naval heroes of the Seventeenth and Eighteenth centuries, who fell in wars the very objects of which are for the most part forgotten, or remembered only to be regretted.' The first piece of business which Macaulay found waiting to be settled on his return to England was sufficiently disagreeable. As far back as July 1835, he had reviewed Sir James Mackintosh's History of the Dean Stanley, who is always ready to remove ecclesiastical barriers. Since these lines were printed, the railing has been taken down by the orders of Revolution of 1688. This valuable fragment was edited by a Mr. Wallace, who accompanied it with a biographical sketch of his author, whom he treated throughout with an impertinence which had an air of inexcusable disloyalty; but which in truth was due to nothing worse than self-sufficiency, thrown into unpleasant relief by the most glaring bad taste. Macaulay, who from a boy had felt for Mackintosh that reverence which is "Dearer to true young hearts than their own praise," fell upon the editor with a contemptuous vigour, of which some pretty distinct traces remain in the essay as it at present appears in the collected editions, where the following sentence may still be read: “It is plain that Thomas Burnet and his writings were never heard of by the gentleman who has been employed to edit this volume, and who, not content with deforming Sir James Mackintosh's text by such blunders, has prefixed to it a bad memoir, has appended to it a bad continuation, and has thus succeeded in expanding the volume into one of the thickest, and debasing it into one of the worst, that we ever saw." What the first vehemence of Macaulay's indignation was, may be estimated by the fact that this passage, as it now stands, has been deprived of half its sting. One extract from the article, in its original form, merits to be reproduced here, because it explains, and in some degree justifies, Macaulay's wrath, and in itself is well worth reading. "He" (the editor) "affects, and for aught we know, feels, something like contempt for the celebrated man whose life he has undertaken to write, and whom he was incompetent to serve in the capacity even of a corrector of the press. Our readers may form a notion of the spirit in which the whole narrative is composed from expressions which occur at the beginning. This biographer tells us that Mackintosh, on occasion of taking his medical degree at Edinburgh, 'not only put off the writing of his Thesis to the last moment, but was an hour behind his time on the day of examination, and kept the Academic Senate waiting for him in full conclave.' This irregularity, which no sensible professor would have thought deserving of more than a slight reprimand, is described by the biographer, after a lapse of nearly half a century, as an incredible instance'not so much of indolence, as of gross negligence and bad taste.' But this is not all. Our biographer has contrived to procure a copy of the Thesis, and has sate down, with his As in præsenti and his Propria quæ maribus at his side, to pick out blunders in a composition written by a youth of twenty-one on the occasion alluded to. He finds one mistake--such a mistake as the greatest scholar might commit when in haste, and as the veriest schoolboy would detect when at leisure. He glories over this precious discovery with all the exultation of a pedagogue. 'Deceived by the passive termination of the verb defungor, Mackintosh misuses it in a passive sense.' He is not equally fortunate in his other discovery. 'Laude conspurcare,' whatever he may think, is not an improper phrase. Mackintosh meant to say that there are men whose praise is a disgrace. No person, we are sure, who has read this memoir, will doubt that there are men whose abuse is an honour." Mr. Wallace did not choose to rest quietly under a castigation which even Macaulay subsequently admitted to have been in excess of his deserts. 3 Clarges Street, London: June 14, 1838. Dear Napier,--I did not need your letter to satisfy me of your kindness, and of the pleasure which my arrival would give you. I have returned with a small independence, but still an independence. All my tastes and wishes lead me to prefer literature to politics. When I say this to my friends here, some of them seem to think that I am out of my wits, and others that I am coquetting to raise my price. I, on the other hand, believe that I am wise, and know that I am sincere. I shall be curious, when we meet, to see your correspondence with Wallace. Empson seemed to be a little uneasy lest the foolish man should give me trouble. I thought it impossible that he could be so absurd; and, as I have now been in London ten days without hearing of him, I am confirmed in my opinion. In any event you need not be anxious. If it be absolutely necessary to meet him, I will. But I foresee no such necessity; and, as Junius says, I never will give a proof of my spirit at the expense of my understanding. Ever yours most truly T. B. MACAULAY. London: August 14, 1838. Dear Napier,-Your old friend Wallace and I have been pretty near exchanging shots. However, all is accommodated, and, I think, quite unexceptionably. The man behaved much better to me than he did to you. Perhaps time has composed his feelings. He had, at all events, the advantage of being in good hands. He sent me by Tom Steele,—a furious O'Connellite, but a gentleman, a man of honour, and, on this occasion at least, a man of temper,—a challenge very properly worded. He accounted, handsomely enough, for the delay by saying that my long absence, and the recent loss in my family, prevented him from applying to me immediately on my return. I put the matter into Lord Strafford's hands. I had, to tell you the truth, no notion that a meeting could be avoided; for the man behaved so obstinately well that there was no possibility of taking Empson's advice, and sending for the police; and, though I was quite ready to disclaim all intention of giving personal offence, and to declare that, when I wrote the review, I was ignorant of Mr. Wallace's existence, I could not make any apology, or express the least regret, for having used strong language in defence of Mackintosh. Lord Strafford quite approved of my resolution. But he proposed a course which had never occurred to me; which at once removed all scruples on my side; and which, to my great surprise, Steele and Wallace adopted without a moment's hesitation. This was that Wallace should make a preliminary declaration that he meant, by his memoir, nothing disrespectful or unkind to Mackintosh, but the direct contrary; and that then I should declare that, in consequence of Mr. Wallace's declaration, I was ready to express my regret if I had used any language that could be deemed personally offensive. This way of settling the business appeared to both Lord Strafford and Rice perfectly honourable; and I was of the same mind: for certainly the language which I used could be justified only on the ground that Wallace had used Mackintosh ill; and, when Wallace made a preliminary declaration that he intended nothing but kindness and honour to Mackintosh, I could not properly refuse to make some concession. I was much surprised that neither Steele nor Wallace objected to Lord Strafford's proposition; but, as they did not object, it was impossible for me to do so. In this way the matter was settled,-much better settled than by refusing to admit Wallace to the privileges of a gentleman. I hope that you will be satisfied with the result. The kind anxiety which you have felt about me renders me very desirous to know that you approve of my conduct. Yours ever T. B. MACAULAY. 3 Clarges Street: June 26, 1838. Dear Napier,-I assure you that I would willingly, and even eagerly, undertake the subject which |