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mind was to him not only a kingdom, but a universe framed by the seers of old, the serene creators of immortal things." Most picturesque was the scenery. There were mountains over which associations hung like clouds: the "secret top" of Horeb, the gray peak of Sinai, the sacred hill of Zion, the snowy summit of cold Olympus, and the shattered side of thundering Etna." There were ancient rivers whose very names, like their own currents, made sweet music: the Rhine and Danaw, the Ganges and Hydaspes, the "Abana and Pharpar, lucid streams," and Jordan, "where winds with weeds and osiers whispering play." Interspersed were landscapes on which beauty loved to rest: "the flowery dale of Sibma clad with vines," "the fair field of Enna," "the olive grove of Academe,"

Plato's retirement where the attic bird Trills his thick warbled note, the summer long.

Seated on hill or river bank were majestic cities: "Great Seleucia built by Grecian Kings;" "Athens, the eye of Greece, mother of Arts and Eloquence;" "the great_and glorious Rome, Queen of the Earth ;" "the fair Jerusalem, the holy city, lifting high her towers." More interesting still were those who peopled this domain. There were giants of mighty bone and high emprize," lionlike war riors of Judah, Greek heroes lithe and radiant with health and comeliness, and even angels "refulgent with heaven's own colors." It was in this glamour-lit region where the blind bard used to walk in glory and in joy :

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Yet not the more Cease I to wander, where the muses haunt Clear spring or shady grove, or sunny hill, Smit with the love of sacred song; but chief Thee, Zion, and the flowery brooks beneath, That wash thy hallowed feet, and warbling flow, Nightly I visit.

Special reference must be made to the ideal world that has been prepared for us by the genius of modern novelists. In this age of strife and struggle we are often haunted by some tormenting care. To dwell upon it would be to stretch our mind upon a rack, which

would not only torture us, but drain our strength and unfit us for the battle of life. Our best policy is to fly for a time, and to seek for rest and recovery in some new scene of contemplation. Now this is just the retreat, the health resort for the soul, which novelists have prepared for us. The ideal world which they have framed is a region of many provinces, illumined and made entrancing by the glamour of romance. It is like a genial clime of the sunny South where the scenes are beautiful, and the characters striking and picturesque, and the incidents new and engrossing; and where our weary soul can by turns be "delighted, raised, refined." What a comfort, nay, what a soothing, health-giving medicine to a bedridden patient is a high-class novel! Referring to the works of fiction which he had read during an attack of ague, Thackeray says: "These books gave me amusement from morning till sunset. I remember these ague fits with a great deal of pleasure and gratitude. Think of a whole day in bed and a good novel for a companion! No cares; no remorse about idleness; uo visitors; and the Woman in White' or the ' Chevalier d'Artagnan' to tell me stories from dawn till night.'

This ideal world, like other good things, is often abused. It is often made the resort of indolence and moral and mental dissipation. But when it is properly used, it is not only a blessing but an absolute essential of modern life.

There is, however, another and still more important way by which men of genius revive and intensify the public enthusiasm for the beautiful and the good. This is by impressing their own character upon those who study them. The student of imaginative artists and authors cannot fail to be influenced by them. Insensibly he catches their manner of observation and expression. He is infected by them. He is, in fact, set on fire by their fine frenzy. In this state of ecstasy he goes out of himself, places himself in the position of his fellow-beings, looks at things from their point of view, thinks their thoughts, feels their emotions, and thus enlarges his own being by assimi

lating whatever is valuable in the sentiments of others. In other words, his early love of the beautiful and the good has been developed into Universal Sympathy; and the glamour which glorified the surroundings of his infancy has now broadened into that glow of philanthropic sentiment which settles upon the whole of creation. He has now come to regard this wonderful world as a home, mankind as his brothers and sisters, and God as the loving Father of all. The real world has in his eyes become the ideal world.

It will now be clearly seen that there could be no better cure for Pessimism than this Universal Sympathy. The Pessimist is like a man shut up in a close room, brooding over his own troubles and reinhaling the vitiated atmosphere which he himself has made. But let him once be inspired with the spirit of sympathy, and he is like a man who goes out under the free open canopy of heaven, where the pure breezes dispel all noxious vapors and touch every nerve and sinew with fresh energy, and where the many objects of interest in this ever changing world bring all his powers of head and heart into healthy play. Able now to look at things from the point of view of others, he sees many beauties which he never saw before -beauties of Nature, of human character, of providential design. In the face of all these multiform blessings around him he grows ashamed of his own petty miseries, of his little bunch of thorns, in sitting on which he has been taking a morbid pleasure. This world, after all, he begins to reason with himself, is not a bad place, but is abundantly supplied with everything that can conduce to the happiness and elevation of men. It is, without doubt, imperfect; but then it is not yet completed: it is still undergoing Evolution--Creation. There is such a thing as Evil; but is it not in the process of being turned into Good? There are trials and troubles innumerable; but are not all these necessary for the development of the highest part of man, his spiritual nature? There is the great evil. Death; but is Death really an evil? Is it not rather a blessing? Is it not the ultimate Panacea, which cures our ills after

all other remedies have failed-our great Liberator in the last resort, who can alone solve our business perplexities, carry us beyond the reach of inveterate foes, and lift off forever that time-worn and diseased body which, like the poisoned shirt of Nessus, has been torturing our immortal soul? Then, finally, there is the great mystery enshrouding the Creator, whose existence we would fain prove by the ordinary methods of reasoning. But, after all, are we not as certain of the existence of our Heavenly Father as we are of the existence of our earthly father? We do not see the real personality of our earthly father-his immortal spirit. We only see the material organization-the perishable body through which he works. Yet we have no doubt regarding his existence and his ever-active love for us. In the same way, we cannot see the personality of our Heavenly Father. We can only see the illimitable universe in which He is always living and moving. Yet if our soul has been expanded and refined by universal sympathy we shall feel His presence everywhere. The proofs of His existence will come to us through all the faculties of body and spirit. We shall see His ever-active goodness in the solemn silence of night, in the glories of day, in the flush, fragrance, and melodies of the summer landscape, in the inexhaustible treasures of the earth, in the whispers of conscience, in the live-giving words of inspired writers, in the noble deeds of heroes and martyrs, and, above all, in the perfect life and sacrifice of Jesus Christ.

Such is the important part played by this mystic glamour which Nature kindles, and which Art and Poetry make it their business to sustain. Of course, the objection may be made that this glamour after all is an illusion, and, therefore, should be discouraged and not fostered. But to this there is a sufficient answer. It may be called an illusion, but it is also a reality. It is an important factor in human nature, without which there could be no raptare in childhood, no enthusiasm and hope in youth, and no pleasant reminiscences in old age. And in conclusion, let it be asked: Which of the

two is really the truer the fact with the mystic glamour upon it or the fact without the mystic glamour upon itthe fact as seen by a highly-organized intellect or the fact as apprehended by

a dull mind-Wordsworth's idea of a primrose or that of Peter Bell-Newton's theory of the Universe or that of his dog Diamond ?— Gentleman's Magazine.

As it is now more than five-andthirty years since Lord Macaulay was laid to rest in "that venerable Abbey hallowed by the dust of many generations of princes, heroes, and poets," to use his own language, it may not be premature to consider how far the judgment already passed upon admired characteristics of his writings is in a fair way of being endorsed by posterity. On first acquaintance readers are perhaps too apt to think of the eminent historian and essayist as an unrivalled instance of the rare combination of impassioned eloquence, erudition, and sustained powers of literary art in connection with a successful parliamentary career and a splendid social reputation. But when we read and re read Essays and History, Lays and Speeches in riper years, we have a more exact and inward manner of estimating the value of the pre-eminent abilities that delight and enthrall us. Macaulay is still the brilliant and effective artist who keeps us spellbound with his unflagging eloquence, the marvels of his in formation and his vivid presentment of historic scenes and personages; but our more critical judgment calls upon us to give precise account of the source and nature of the impression produced, of the value of the influence excited upon our minds, and to consider how far these are of the highest concern for our mental and spiritual advancement. We are not content to be fascinated with the freshness, vigor, and vivacity of the descriptive touches with which his pages abound, but we also ask ourselves whether these inimitable pictures are true in spirit as in detail, how far the historian's insight throughout his magnificent survey enables him to connect the events and individuals portrayed with the central spiritual in

fluence of existence, and in what manner we are the wiser for the "science of philosophy" by which the intricacies of the panorama of human affairs spread before us are explained.

Before considering Macaulay's characteristic literary power, we may glance for a moment at one or two salient features of his mind, and observe, in the first place, how the remarkable completeness that this evinces is again noticeable in the peculiar harmony which exists between his life and writings. In both we discern the same clearness, vigor, and consistency, the same intrepid candor, vivid sympathy, and enthusiastic predilections. This harmony is perhaps all the more striking when we recall the unsettled character of the age in which his early years were cast, and the various influences at work in literature as well as in the more troubled sphere of active affairs. A study of Macaulay's life and of his mind as regards his opinions on contemporary subjects, as expressed in his letters and speeches, will help us to understand the first half of the century, as reflected through the medium of a clear, vigorous historical sense. It will enable us to realize many now extinct tendencies of that time and appreciate their value without the exaggeration or vagueness of their early originators. It will also supply us with a lofty and straightforward standard in estimating their distinctive merit with regard to the then existing state of society. Many years of Macaulay's life had passed before the "revolutionary dishes of the last century" were all served in this country, and it is a question whether we have quite finished up the "remnants" yet. Born*

* October 25, 1800.

amid the confusion and excitement which attended attended the first changes wrought by the French Revolution, when liberty, equality, and fraternity, in their old sense, were still the aspiration of advanced propagandists; when Europe was still convulsed by war, and men's minds, sobered by the excesses of the Republicans, turned once more to the old fixed system of government, Macaulay's opening years belong to the generation which came after that which had passed from the heights of glowing expectation to the depths of bitter disappointment; after the time when Coleridge and Southey had pictured the illusive delights of pantisocracy and Wordsworth had imagined that

But although born after the time when these visions had been most powerful and alluring, the youthful genius could not be entirely unaffected by their influence; and in the first decade of the century there were still aspirations quickening men's pulses, which were expressed in some of the noblest writings of the time. But in spite of these, the tendency was toward a reaction. A young and impressionable mind, however, was most likely to be influenced by what appealed to the imagination and feelings. Before Macaulay left college, Byron and Shelley had poured out their finest inspiration; but neither the vague impassioned yearnings, expressed in characteristic visionary eloquence, of the one, nor the manlier though stormier liberal thoughts of the other, seem to have affected the tone of the young student's feeling. Yet Byron's verse expresses the tumult of the revolutionary stir, its wild, vague emotion, the lawlessness of the reaction against dead authority, the glow of the old metallic forms of life and literature, molten to white heat, and surging with power," as much as the poetry of Shelley does "the constant exaltation of its pure ideal.' Shelley's revolt against authority, moreover, is evinced in his life as well as his writings, and his aspirations after what is just and free, inde

pendently of the forms that may clothe them, are a part of his very existence.

But abstract ideas, yearnings after imaginary ideals, stirred little sympathy in young Macaulay's mind. His attitude toward the French Revolution was already that of the historian. This position was no doubt as much due to the influence of the circle in which he passed his earliest years as the natural tendency of his mind to regard events and personages from an historical standpoint. As an instance of the extent of his early reading of poetry in which the prevalent ideas were conspicuously expressed, we may refer to a charming letter written to Hannah More when he was about fourteen. In this he mentions recently published works of Scott, Byron, Southey, and Wordsworth. Wordsworth he seems to have perused with mingled feelings. Elsewhere we learn that he was one of the few early readers of the poet who had " got through" The Excursion. Although outside Wordsworth's influence in its profoundest and most intimate phase, one tendency of the poet's verse must have been welcomed with the most vivid sympathy by the gifted young scholar. This was Wordsworth's fervid and unswerving love of liberty; the undying patriotism and intense desire for the free life of a nation which found its most exalted utterance in the series of noble sonnets on Liberty.

While at college, we are told, the tendency of Macaulay's opinions was at first Conservative; but the early predilections of genius are not to be reckoned of much account. The Conservative tendency in Macaulay's instance-never more, we venture to surmise, than a reactionary phase-was, however, definitely extinguished by the influence of his brilliant friend and fellow-student, Charles Austin. Perhaps it was only that Austin, who dominated" so many of his associates, drew out the latent sentiments of the future Whig politician and gave decision to the wavering impressions of a mind that as yet had taken no definite form. But when once Macaulay's views became defined and settled he never swerved from them. Austin seems to have been the commanding

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intellect of a select circle at Cambridge, which included Henry and Derwent Coleridge, the inspiring Greek professor, Malden, and John Moultrie, meditative poet and divine, who, in one of his most felicitous poems, has drawn with graceful skill the principal figures of that gifted conclave, and in which he makes special mention of the simple, genial character of one who now ranks high among the great on earth." Macaulay's powers of application were undoubtedly great, and his love of literature supplied the incentive which led him to devour volume after volume with such extraordinary persistency. Into a mind, watched over, as it were, by a most vigilant and retentive memory, he poured an incessant stream of impressions, which were retained in a manner to be of use whenever required. When the time came they were fused together and poured forth in a flood of fascinating language, invested as well with all the splendor of his imagination. His spirit had an instinctive sympathy with that realm of genius, sacred to

"the great of old, The dead but sceptred sovrans, who still rule Our spirits from their urns.

Although the reverse of an antiquarian's his mind did to a most remarkable degree gloat over every detail of the past; but these were precious only so far as they enabled him to make that past more vivid and lifelike to the mental eye. One of his sisters has preserved a singularly interesting conversation in which Macaulay, replying to a question of hers, explained how his memory was so distinct and exact. He told her that in storing up the details of events of former times he made a picture of them in his own mind, where each part had its appropriate place. As he walked along he imagined the various times and personages, and fitted them into his conception. He mingled with groups of statesmen, courtiers, and writers in particular places, as if in life, and the slightest detail became of the greatest assistance to the full comprehension of any particular scene or individual. This remarkable facility of vivid representation was no doubt dependent upon his marvellous memory-a memory which

while it could retain nearly the whole of Paradise Lost was ready to preserve the most insignificant society anecdote; a memory which while it called forth the delighted astonishment of Hallam and Milman at its stores of erudition made Moore exclaim, "It's astonishing what a lot of rubbish Macaulay remembers."

His memory thus assisting, a clear and powerful imagination was in its turn aided by that remarkable faculty. His power of retaining so accurately all that he read was in a measure due to his being able to fix exact visual impressions upon his mind, associated even with the particular form or position of the words expressive of the ideas to be remembered. In the manner we usually recall a picture or an image, Macaulay could recall the form of the type or the exact place of the letters upon the page where any particular passage occurred, and this operation brought before his mind the sentence referred to as if actually before him. As an instance of this "second sight" one may refer to what he once said upon being asked the authority for a certain statement in his essay on "Frederick the Great." "It is in an article in the British Encyclopædia. You will find it there on the left-hand side of the page, about half-way down. I read it when at Cambridge and have never seen it since. I am certain you will find it there." This was the case, although it was twenty years since Macaulay had seen the passage in question.

Passing from these general references. we must now briefly notice two distinct and significant positions in which Macaulay presents himself to the world

that of the vigorous, Liberal political man of affairs, and that of the consummate and brilliant literary artist. The instances we possess of his success in the former respect have been regarded as belonging as much to literature as to oratory; and the more appreciable difference arises from the circumstance, that although prepared with elaborate care and thoughtfulness, he was enabled by the aid of his fine memory to deliver his speeches without committing any part of them to paper. His reason for adopting this method-that it saved his utterance