occacio, particularly
one entitled "Theodore and Honoria."

But, truly admirable as the bard of Florence is, I must not permit
myself to give him more than his due share of my letter. I have likewise
read Gil Blas, with unbounded admiration of the abilities of Le Sage.
Malden and I have read Thalaba together, and are proceeding to the Curse
of Kehama. Do not think, however, that I am neglecting more important
studies than either Southey or Boccacio. I have read the greater part of
the History of James I. and Mrs. Montague's essay on Shakspeare, and
a great deal of Gibbon. I never devoured so many books in a fortnight.
John Smith, Bob Hankinson, and I, went over the Hebrew Melodies
together. I certainly think far better of them than we used to do at
Clapham. Papa may laugh, and indeed he did laugh me out of my taste at
Clapham; but I think that there is a great deal of beauty in the first
melody, "She walks in beauty," though indeed who it is that walks in
beauty is not very exactly defined. My next letter shall contain a
production of my muse, entitled "An Inscription for the Column of
Waterloo," which is to be shown to Mr. Preston to-morrow. What he may
think of it I do not know. But I am like my favourite Cicero about my
own productions. It is all one to me what others think of them. I never
like them a bit less for being disliked by the rest of mankind. Mr.
Preston has desired me to bring him up this evening two or three
subjects for a Declamation. Those which I have selected are as follows:
1st, a speech in the character of Lord Coningsby, impeaching the Earl of
Oxford; 2nd, an essay on the utility of standing armies; 3rd, an essay
on the policy of Great Britain with regard to continental possessions.
I conclude with sending my love to Papa, Selina, Jane, John, ("but he
is not there," as Fingal pathetically says, when in enumerating his sons
who should accompany him to the chase he inadvertently mentions the dead
Ryno,) Henry, Fanny, Hannah, Margaret, and Charles. Valete.

T.B. MACAULAY.

This exhaustive enumeration of his brothers and sisters invites
attention to that home where he reigned supreme. Lady Trevelyan thus
describes their life at Clapham: "I think that my father's strictness
was a good counterpoise to the perfect worship of your uncle by the rest
of the family. To us he was an object of passionate love and devotion.
To us he could do no wrong. His unruffled sweetness of temper, his
unfailing flow of