oned speeches on the burning question of interference in behalf
of Greek Independence were occasioned by a proposition of Malden's "that
'e Ellenike salpigks' do lie upon the table."

At the close of the debates, which were held in a large room at the back
of the Red Lion in Petty Cury, the most prominent members met for supper
in the Hotel, or at Moultrie's lodgings, which were situated close at
hand. They acted as a self-appointed Standing Committee, which watched
over the general interests of the Union, and selected candidates whom
they put in nomination for its offices. The Society did not boast a
Hansard;--an omission which, as time went on, some among its orators had
no reason to regret. Faint recollections still survive of a discussion
upon the august topic of the character of George the Third. "To whom
do we owe it," asked Macaulay, "that while Europe was convulsed with
anarchy and desolated with war, England alone remained tranquil,
prosperous, and secure? To whom but the Good Old King? Why was it that,
when neighbouring capitals were perishing in the flames, our own was
illuminated only for triumphs? [This debate evidently made some noise in
the university world. There is an allusion to it in a squib of Praed's,
very finished and elegant, and beyond all doubt contemporary. The
passage relating to Macaulay begins with the lines--"Then the favourite
comes with his trumpets and drums, And his arms and his metaphors
crossed."] You may find the cause in the same three words: the Good Old
King." Praed, on the other hand, would allow his late monarch neither
public merits nor private virtues. "A good man! If he had been a plain
country gentleman with no wider opportunities for mischief, he would at
least have bullied his footmen and cheated his steward."

Macaulay's intense enjoyment of all that was stirring and vivid around
him undoubtedly hindered him in the race for university honours; though
his success was sufficient to inspirit him at the time, and to give him
abiding pleasure in the retrospect. He twice gained the Chancellor's
medal for English verse, with poems admirably planned, and containing
passages of real beauty, but which may not be republished in the teeth
of the panegyric which, within ten years after they were written, he
pronounced upon Sir Roger Newdigate. Sir Roger had laid down the rule
that no exercise sent in for the prize which he established at Oxford
was to exceed fifty lines. This law, say