"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.