of his inferiority in such a way, and
there are some particular circumstances in this case which render the
admonition more unpleasant than it would otherwise be. I know that
Brougham dislikes me; and I have not the slightest doubt that he feels
great pleasure in taking this subject out of my hands, and at having
made me understand, as I do most clearly understand, how far my services
are rated below his. I do not blame you in the least. I do not see how
you could have acted otherwise. But, on the other hand, I do not see why
I should make any efforts or sacrifices for a Review which lies under an
intolerable dictation. Whatever my writings may be worth, it is not for
want of strong solicitations, and tempting offers, from other quarters
that I have continued to send them to the Edinburgh Review. I adhered
to the connection solely because I took pride and pleasure in it. It has
now become a source of humiliation and mortification.

I again repeat, my dear Sir, that I do not blame you in the least.
This, however, only makes matters worse. If you had used me ill, I might
complain, and might hope to be better treated another time. Unhappily
you are in a situation in which it is proper for you to do what it
would be improper in me to endure. What has happened now may happen next
quarter, and must happen before long, unless I altogether refrain from
writing for the Review. I hope you will forgive me if I say that I
feel what has passed too strongly to be inclined to expose myself to a
recurrence of the same vexations.

Yours most truly

T. B. MACAULAY.

A few soft words induced Macaulay to reconsider his threat of
withdrawing from the Review; but, even before Mr. Napier's answer
reached him, the feeling of personal annoyance had already been effaced
by a greater sorrow. A letter arrived, announcing that his sister Jane
had died suddenly and most unexpectedly. She was found in the morning
lying as though still asleep, having passed away so peacefully as not to
disturb a sister who had spent the night in the next room, with a door
open between them. Mrs. Macaulay never recovered from this shock. Her
health gave way, and she lived into the coming year only so long as to
enable her to rejoice in the first of her son's Parliamentary successes.

Paris: September 26.

My dear Father,--This news has broken my heart. I am fit neither to go
nor to stay. I can do nothing but sit down in my room, and think of poor
dear Jane's ki