d games, and constantly spoke of the tongue as "the
unruly member."

He, of course, was not aware of it, but he was teaching his children by
antithesis.

"When I meet Macaulay I always imagine I am in Holland," once said Sydney
Smith.

"Why so!" asked a friend.

"Because he is such a windmill," was the reply.

But then we must remember that Sydney Smith never much liked
Macaulay--they were too near alike. Whenever they met there was usually a
wordy duel. "He is so overflowing with learning that it runs over and he
stands in the slop," said Smith.

Tom talked a great deal, he was fond of music and games, and was never so
pleased as when engaging in some wild frolic with his sisters and any
chance youngster that happened to stray in. His sister, Lady Trevelyan,
has recorded that during those days of gloom which followed her father's
failure, matters were made worse by the stricken man moping at home and
tightening the domestic discipline.

Tom never resented this, but on the instant the father would leave the
house, it was the signal of a wild pandemonium of disorder. Tom would play
he was a tiger, and crawling under the sofa would emit fearful growls that
would cause the children to scream with pretended fright. Next they would
play fire, and pile all the furniture in the center of the room, heaping
books, clothing, rugs on top. Then Tom would "rescue" his mother if she
appeared on the scene, and seizing her in his arms carry her to a place of
safety, and then engage in a pillow-fight if she came back.

This wild frolic was always a delight to the children, and Tom's
homecoming was ever watched with eager anticipation. His visits shot the
gloom through with sunshine, and when he went away even the neighbors'
children were in tears. His health and enthusiasm infected everybody he
met.

In the course of looking after his father's business Macaulay unlearned
most of the previous lessons of his life, and taught himself that to do
for others and sink self was the manly method. But so lightly did he bear
the burden that it is doubtful if he ever considered he was making any
sacrifice.

When his father died, Macaulay put entirely out of his mind the question
of a household separate and apart from that of his mother and sisters. He
devoted himself entirely to them; he wanted no other love than theirs.

Unlike so many men of decided talent, the best and most loving side of
Macaulay's nature was made manifest at home