attempt to make the best of his calling. For some years he
contented himself with doing what he could, (so he writes to a
friend,) "to alleviate the hardships of a considerable number of
my fellow-creatures, and to render the bitter cup of servitude as
palatable as possible." But by the time he was four-and-twenty he
became tired of trying to find a compromise between right and
wrong, and, refusing really great offers from the people with
whom he was connected, he threw up his position, and returned to
his native country. This step was taken against the wishes of his
father, who was not prepared for the construction which his son
put upon the paternal precept that a man should make his practice
square with his professions.

But Zachary Macaulay soon had more congenial work to do. The
young West Indian overseer was not alone in his scruples. Already
for some time past a conviction had been abroad that individual
citizens could not divest themselves of their share in the
responsibility in which the nation was involved by the existence
of slavery in our colonies. Already there had been formed the
nucleus of the most disinterested, and perhaps the most
successful, popular movement which history records. The question
of the slave trade was well before Parliament and the country.
Ten years had passed since the freedom of all whose feet touched
the soil of our island had been vindicated before the courts at
Westminster, and not a few negroes had become their own masters
as a consequence of that memorable decision. The patrons of the
race were somewhat embarrassed by having these expatriated
freedmen on their hands; an opinion prevailed that the traffic in
human lives could never be efficiently checked until Africa had
obtained the rudiments of civilisation; and, after long