rs into the waiting-rooms, were
thronged by people who had waited till four in the morning to know the
issue. We passed through a narrow lane between two thick masses of them;
and all the way down they were shouting and waving their hats, till we
got into the open air. I called a cabriolet, and the first thing the
driver asked was, "Is the Bill carried?" "Yes, by one." "Thank God for
it, Sir." And away I rode to Gray's Inn,--and so ended a scene which
will probably never be equalled till the reformed Parliament
wants reforming; and that I hope will not be till the days of our
grandchildren, till that truly orthodox and apostolical person Dr.
Francis Ellis is an archbishop of eighty.

As for me, I am for the present a sort of lion. My speech has set me
in the front rank, if I can keep there; and it has not been my luck
hitherto to lose ground when I have once got it. Sheil and I are on very
civil terms. He talks largely concerning Demosthenes and Burke. He made,
I must say, an excellent speech; too florid and queer, but decidedly
successful.

Why did not Price speak? If he was afraid, it was not without reason;
for a more terrible audience there is not in the world. I wish that
Praed had known to whom he was speaking. But, with all his talent, he
has no tact, and he has fared accordingly. Tierney used to say that he
never rose in the House without feeling his knees tremble under him; and
I am sure that no man who has not some of that feeling will ever succeed
there.

Ever yours

T. B. MACAULAY.

London: May 27, 1835.

My dear Hannah,--Let me see if I can write a letter a la Richardson:--a
little less prolix it must be, or it will exceed my ounce. By the bye,
I wonder that Uncle Selby never grudged the postage of Miss Byron's
letters. According to the nearest calculation that I can make, her
correspondence must have enriched the post office of Ashby Canons by
something more than the whole annual interest of her fifteen thousand
pounds.

I reached Lansdowne House by a quarter to eleven, and passed through the
large suite of rooms to the great Sculpture Gallery. There were seated
and standing perhaps three hundred people, listening to the performers,
or talking to each other. The room is the handsomest and largest, I
am told, in any private house in London. I enclose our musical bill of
fare. Fanny, I suppose, will be able to expound it better than I. The
singers were more showily dressed than the auditors, and se