first heard of his wondrous talent. In 1830 he was
returned by Lord Lansdowne for his borough of Calne; the Reform agitation
was then at its height, and how bitterly, and fiercely, and eloquently
Macaulay spoke we remember at this day. Then, in 1834, commenced his
Indian exile, at the end of which he returned to Parliament with a
competency. His Essays in the Edinburgh Review and his History were the
chief business of his life. He might have shone as a poet had he not
betaken himself to prose; but in this department he remained unrivalled,
and the result was riches and fame. On one occasion, it is said, his
publisher gave him a cheque for 20,000 pounds, and he was made by the
Whigs a peer. His burial at Westminster Abbey, at the foot of Addison,
was a fitting climax to his career of wondrous achievement and gorgeous
success. Men most distinguished in literature--in science--in law--in
statesmanship--in divinity--in rank--were present. The funeral was not
as touching as might have been expected. It may be that the choral
service itself interferes with the inner feeling of sadness the death of
such a man arouses in every mind; it may be that the human voice is
inadequate to express the power, and pathos, and majesty of the form of
words used on such occasions; and it is certain that the many ladies
present were dressed in the most unbefitting costumes, and that ribbons,
and bonnets, and dresses of all the colours of the rainbow were quite out
of keeping with the place and the occasion. The saddest sight, the one
most suggestive of deep feeling, was that of one or two ladies, high up
in a recess above the grave. They were real mourners. Indeed, it was
said one of them was the sister of the deceased peer. Lord John Russell
also exhibited an emotion for which the general public will scarce give
him credit. At the grave he was so much overcome, that it seemed as if
he would have fallen had not the Duke of Argyle held him up. Well might
his Lordship be moved to tears. Could he keep from thinking, while
standing there, how soon his own turn would come, and how well and
worthily he, who slept the sleep of death in the plain coffin at his
feet, had fought the battle of the Whigs in their palmy days? We looked
back, as we stood there, to other days. We saw a theatre in Gower Street
filled with intelligent youths. A winter session had been closed: all
its work and competition were over; to the successful candidates