together. I certainly think far better of them than we used to do
at Clapham. Papa may laugh, and indeed he did laugh me out of my
taste at Clapham; but I think that there is a great deal of
beauty in the first melody, "She walks in beauty," though indeed
who it is that walks in beauty is not very exactly defined. My
next letter shall contain a production of my muse, entitled "An
Inscription for the Column of Waterloo," which is to be shown to
Mr. Preston to-morrow. What he may think of it I do not know. But
I am like my favourite Cicero about my own productions. It is all
one to me what others think of them. I never like them a bit less
for being disliked by the rest of mankind. Mr. Preston has
desired me to bring him up this evening two or three subjects for
a Declamation. Those which I have selected are as follows: 1st, a
speech in the character of Lord Coningsby, impeaching the Earl of
Oxford; 2nd, an essay on the utility of standing armies; 3rd, an
essay on the policy of Great Britain with regard to continental
possessions. I conclude with sending my love to Papa, Selina,
Jane, John, ("but he is not there," as Fingal pathetically says,
when in enumerating his sons who should accompany him to the
chase he inadvertently mentions the dead Ryno,) Henry, Fanny,
Hannah, Margaret, and Charles. Valete.

T.B. MACAULAY.

This exhaustive enumeration of his brothers and sisters invites
attention to that home where he reigned supreme. Lady Trevelyan
thus describes their life at Clapham: "I think that my father's
strictness was a good counterpoise to the perfect worship of your
uncle by the rest of the family. To us he was an object of
passionate love and devotion. To us he could do no wrong. His