eturned to England, where he gave almost the entire remaining years of
his life to the work of negro emancipation in one form or another.

Thomas Babington Macaulay was born the 25th of October, 1800, the day of
St. Crispin and the anniversary of Agincourt. He drew in the love of
freedom with his earliest breath, and he was reared with the utmost care
by those high moralists, his noble parents. He was a prodigy from
babyhood. From the time he was three years old he read incessantly, for
the most part lying on the rug before the fire. Many laughable stories
are told of his precocity, particularly of the fine language he used
when a mere infant. For instance, when four years old some hot coffee
was spilled on his legs, and after a little time a lady inquired of him
if he felt better now, when the phenomenon replied, "Thank you, madam,
the agony is abated." Of course so quaint and remarkable a child was
much petted and spoiled, and probably rendered somewhat conceited and
priggish. But he was docile and affectionate, and was then, as always
thereafter, the idol of his family.

After he left Cambridge he went up to London, and soon after wrote his
article on Milton for the "Edinburgh Review." Like Byron, he awoke one
morning and found himself famous. Compliments and enthusiastic letters
poured in upon him from all sides. The one compliment which he said gave
him the most pleasure was Jeffrey's word at the end of a business note:
"The more I think, the less I can conceive where you picked up that
style." And no wonder; that style was not a thing to be picked up every
day. Jeffrey did well to wonder. Macaulay at once became the fashion,
and invitations were showered upon him from every side, many of which he
accepted. The first flush of such a success as Macaulay's must have been
very sweet to a young man of his genial nature. He was thus described by
Praed:--

"There came up a short, manly figure, marvellously upright, with a
bad neckcloth, and one hand in his waistcoat pocket. Of regular
beauty he had little to boast; but in faces where there is an
expression of great power or of great good-humor, or both, you do
not regret its absence."

He had a massive head, and features powerful and rugged, but peculiarly
expressive. His face was oftentimes all aglow with emotion. He dressed
badly but not cheaply; indeed, his wardrobe, Trevelyan tells us, was
always enormously overstocked. "Later in life he i