er, Macaulay had no superior,--a fact which no one knew
better than himself.

In 1838, on his return from India,--where he had regarded himself as in
honorable exile,--Macaulay had accumulated a fortune of L30,000, to him
more than a competency. This, added to the legacy of L10,000 which he
had received from his uncle, General Macaulay, secured to him
independence and leisure to pursue his literary work, which was
paramount to every other consideration. If both from pleasure and
ambition there ever was a man devoted heart and soul and body to a
literary career, it was Macaulay. Nor would he now accept any political
office which seriously interfered with the passion of his life. Still
less would he waste his time at the dinner parties of the great, no
longer to him a novelty. He was eminently social by nature, and fond of
talk and controversy, with a superb physique capable of digesting the
richest dishes, and of enduring the fatigues and ceremonies of
fashionable life; but even the pleasures of the banquet and of
cultivated society, to many a mere relaxation, were sacrificed to his
fondness for books,--to him the greatest and truest companionship,
especially when they introduced him to the life and manners of by-gone
ages, and to communion with the master-minds of the world.

For relaxation, Macaulay preferred to take long walks; lounge around the
book-stalls; visit the sights of London with his nieces; invite his
intimate friends to simple dinners at The Albany; amuse himself with
trifles, especially in company with those he loved best, in the domestic
circle of his relatives, whom he treated ever with the most familiar and
affectionate sympathy,--so that while they loved and revered him, they
had no idea that "Uncle Tom" was a great man. His most interesting
letters were to his sisters and nieces, whose amusement and welfare he
had constantly in view, and who were more to him than all the world
besides. Indeed, he did not write many letters except to his relatives,
his publishers, and his intimate friends, who were few, considering the
number of persons he was obliged to meet. He was a thoroughly domestic
man, although he never married or wished to marry.

It surprises me that Macaulay's intercourse with eminent authors was so
constrained. He saw very little of them; but while he did not avoid
talking with them when thrown among them, and keeping up the courtesies
of life even with those he thoroughly disliked, I ca