CCCXXIV. The following seven letters, the first of which was written at the age of fourteen, are considered to be very characteristic of Lord Macaulay. They are published in this collection by the kind permission of Mr. G. Otto Trevelyan. Thomas Babington Macaulay to his Mother. Shelford: April 11, 1814. My dear Mamma,-The news is glorious indeed. Peace! peace with a Bourbon, with a descendant of Henri Quatre, with a prince who is bound to us by all the ties of gratitude! I have some hopes that it will be a lasting peace, for the troubles of the last twenty years will make kings and nations wiser. I cannot conceive a greater punishment to Buonaparte than that which the allies have inflicted on him. How can his ambitious mind support it? All his great projects and schemes, which once made every throne in Europe tremble are buried in the solitude of an Italian isle. How miraculously everything has been conducted! We almost seem to hear the Almighty saying to the fallen tyrant,' For this cause have I raised thee up that I might show in thee My power.' As I am in very great haste with this letter I shall have but little time to write. I am sorry to hear that some nameless friend of Papa's denounced my voice as remarkably loud. I have accordingly resolved to speak in a moderate key except on the undermentioned special occasions. Imprimis, when I am speaking at the same time with three others. Secondly, when I am praising the Christian Observer.' Thirdly, when I am praising Mr. Preston or his sisters, I may be allowed to speak in my loudest voice, that they may hear me. I saw to-day the greatest of churchmen, that pillar of Orthodoxy, that true friend to the Liturgy, that mortal enemy to the Bible Society,-Herbert Marsh, D.D., Professor of Divinity on Lady Margaret's foundation. I stood looking at him for about ten minutes, and shall always continue to maintain that he is a M M very ill-favoured gentleman as far as outward appearance is concerned. I am going this week to spend a day or two at Dean Milner's, where I hope, nothing unforeseen preventing, to see you in about two months' time. Ever your affectionate Son, T. B. MACAULAY. CCCXXV. In this, and in the following letter, Macaulay is recording his early impressions of the Rev. Sydney Smith. Thomas Babington Macaulay to his Father. York: July 21, 1826. My dear Father,―The other day as I was changing my neckcloth which my wig had disfigured, my good landlady knocked at the door of my bedroom, and told me that Mr. Smith wished to see me and was in my room below. Of all names by which men are called there is none which conveys a less determinate idea to the mind than that of Smith. Was he on the circuit? For I do not know half the names of my companions. Was he a special messenger from London? Was he a York attorney coming to be preyed upon, or a beggar coming to prey upon me, a barber to solicit the dressing of my wig, or a collector for the Jews' Society? Down I went, and to my utter amazement beheld the Smith of Smiths, Sydney Smith, alias Peter Plymley. I had forgotten his very existence till I discerned the queer contrast between his black coat and his snow-white head, and the equally curious contrast between the clerical amplitude of his person and the most unclerical wit, whim and petulance of his eye. I shook hands with him very heartily; and on the Catholic question we immediately fell, regretted Evans, triumphed over Lord George Beresford, and abused the Bishops. He then very kindly urged me to spend the time between the close of the Assizes and the commencement of the Sessions at his house; and was so hospitably pressing that I at last agreed to go thither on Saturday afternoon. He is to drive me over again into York on Monday Reference is here made to a recent general election. morning. I am very well pleased at having this opportunity of becoming better acquainted with a man who, in spite of innumerable affectations and oddities, is certainly one of the wittiest and most original writers of our time. Ever yours affectionately, T. B. M. CCCXXVI. Thomas Babington Macaulay to his Father. Bradford: July 26, 1826. My dear Father,-On Saturday I went to Sydney Smith's. His parish lies three or four miles out of any frequented road. He is, however, most pleasantly situated. Fifteen years ago,' said he to me as I alighted at the gate of his shrubbery, 'I was taken up in Piccadilly and set down here. There was no house and no garden; nothing but a bare field.' One service this eccentric divine has certainly rendered to the Church. He has built the very neatest, most commodious, and most appropriate rectory that I ever saw. All its decorations are in a peculiarly clerical style, grave, simple, and gothic. The bedchambers are excellent, and excellently fitted up; the sittingrooms handsome; and the grounds sufficiently pretty. Tindal and Parke (not the judge of course,) two of the best lawyers, best scholars, and best men in England, were there. We passed an extremely pleasant evening, and had a very good dinner, and many amusing anecdotes. After breakfast the next morning I walked to church with Sydney Smith. The edifice is not at all in keeping with the rectory. It is a miserable little hovel with a wooden belfry. It was, however, well filled, and with decent people, who seemed to take very much to their pastor. I understand that he is a very respectable apothecary; and most liberal of his skill, his medicine, his soup and his wine, among the sick. He preached a very queer sermon-the former half too familiar and the latter half too florid, but not without some ingenuity of thought and expres sion. Sydney Smith brought me to York on Monday morning 1 time for the stage-coach which runs to Skipton. We parted with many assurances of good will. I have really taken a great liking He is not to him. He is full of wit, humour, and shrewdness. one of those show talkers who reserve all their good things for special occasions. It seems to be his greatest luxury to keep his wife and daughter laughing two or three hours every day. His notions of law, government, and trade are surprisingly clear and just. His misfortune is to have chosen a profession at once above him and below him. Zeal would have made him a prodigy; formality and bigotry would have made him a bishop; but he could neither rise to the duties of his order, nor stoop to its degra dations. He praised my articles in the Edinburgh Review with a warmth which I am willing to believe sincere, because he qualified his compliments with several very sensible cautions. My great danger, he said, was that of taking a tone of too much asperity and contempt in controversy. I believe that he is right, and I shall try to mend. Ever affectionately yours, T. B. M. CCCXXVII. Macaulay's extraordinary power of work is scarcely more Thomas Babington Macaulay to Thomas Flower Ellis. Dear Ellis,-I have just received your letter dated Dec. 28. How time flies! Another hot season has almost passed away, and we are daily expecting the beginning of the rains. Cold season, hot season, and rainy season are all much the same to me. I shall have been two years on Indian ground in less than a fort |