, had invitations to dinner from
distinguished people; and these were most eagerly accepted. Macaulay
rapidly became a social favorite, sought for his brilliant conversation,
which was as remarkable for a young man of twenty-six as were his
writings in the foremost literary journal of the world. He was not
handsome, and was carelessly dressed; but he had a massive head, and
rugged yet benevolent features, which lighted up with peculiar animation
when he was excited. One of the first persons of note to welcome him to
her table was Lady Holland, an accomplished but eccentric and
plain-spoken woman, who seems to have greatly admired him. He was a
frequent guest at Holland House, where for nearly half-a-century the
courtly and distinguished Lord Holland and his wife entertained the most
eminent men and women of the time. This gratified young Macaulay's
inordinate social ambition. He scarcely mentions in his letters at this
time any but peers and peeresses.

And yet he did not court the society of those he did not respect. He was
not a parasite or a flatterer even of the great, but met them apparently
on equal terms, as a monarch of the mind. He was at home in any circle
that was not ignorant or frivolous. He was more easy than genial, for
his prejudices or intellectual pride made him unkind to persons of
mediocrity. It was a bold thing to cross his path, for he came down
like an avalanche on those who opposed him, not so much in anger as in
contempt. I do not find that his circle of literary friends was large or
intimate. He seldom alludes to Carlyle or Bulwer or Thackeray or
Dickens. He has more to say of Rogers and Lord Jeffrey, and other pets
of aristocratic circles,--those who were conventionally favored, like
Sydney Smith; or those who gave banquets to people of fashion, like Lord
Lansdowne. These were the people he loved best to associate with, who
listened to his rhetoric with rapt admiration, who did not pique his
vanity, and who had something to give to him,--position and _eclat_.

Macaulay was not a vain man, nor even egotistical; but he had a
tremendous self-consciousness, which annoyed his equals in literary
fame, and repelled such a giant as Brougham, who had no idea of sharing
his throne with any one,--being more overbearing even than Macaulay, but
more human. This new rival in the Edinburgh Review, of which for a long
time Brougham had been dictator, was, much to Jeffrey's annoyance, not
convivial. He did no