the utmost familiarity with
the subject, making him seem in this respect quite on a level with
Macaulay.

The time came for us to join the ladies in the drawing-room, but
Macaulay's carriage was announced, and he declined going up stairs
again, saying that his shortness of breath warned him it was dangerous
to do so. This symptom was doubtless due to that affection of the
heart which two years and a half later ended his life. As I have
said, he was beginning to give up dining out on account of his failing
health. But his delight was as great as ever in the society of his
near friends among men of letters, and these he continued to gather at
the breakfasts he had long been in the habit of giving--Dean Milman,
Lord Stanhope, the bishop of St. Davids (Thirlwall), our host, Mr.
Coleridge, and others. Occasionally he gave dinners to two persons.
His apartments were in Piccadilly, at what is known as the Albany.
His emoluments from his Indian appointment were ten thousand pounds a
year, and though he held the position little more than three years,
it was understood that his savings from it gave him an income of a
thousand pounds. This was before his English _History_ brought him in
its great returns. His Parliamentary life, Mr. Coleridge said, had not
been a success: he did good to neither party--indeed, was dangerous to
both. I may note a characteristic remark of his which was mentioned to
me by Mr. Coleridge: it was to the effect that what troubled us most
in life were the lesser worries and vexations: great perplexities and
calamities we somehow nerved ourselves to contend with. "If a thousand
megatheriums were let loose upon the world, in twenty-four hours they
would all be in museums."

E.Y.

UNVEILING KEATS'S MEDALLION.

I have just returned from a little ceremony of which I think that
the readers of these pages will be pleased to have some permanent
record--the uncovering of the medallion portrait of Keats, which Mr.
Warrington Wood, the well-known sculptor, has generously given for the
purpose of adorning his tomb. I have recorded in a previous number
of this Magazine the steps which were taken last year for putting the
poet's celebrated grave and gravestone in a proper state of repair,
and the singular circumstances that showed how on both sides of the
Atlantic a similar thought had with truly curious simultaneousness
occurred to the lovers of the poet's memory. The very striking scene
which took place