umstances of the time
were all in his favour. Never did our higher circles present so much
that would attract a new-comer, and never was there more readiness to
admit within them all who brought the honourable credentials of talent
and celebrity. In 1831 the exclusiveness of birth was passing away, and
the exclusiveness of fashion had not set in. The Whig party, during
its long period of depression, had been drawn together by the bonds
of common hopes, and endeavours, and disappointments; and personal
reputation, whether literary, political, or forensic, held its own as
against the advantages of rank and money to an extent that was never
known before, and never since. Macaulay had been well received in the
character of an Edinburgh Reviewer, and his first great speech in the
House of Commons at once opened to him all the doors in London that were
best worth entering. Brought up, as he had been, in a household which
was perhaps the strictest and the homeliest among a set of families
whose creed it was to live outside the world, it put his strength of
mind to the test when he found himself courted and observed by the
most distinguished and the most formidable personages of the day. Lady
Holland listened to him with unwonted deference, and scolded him with a
circumspection that was in itself a compliment. Rogers spoke of him with
friendliness, and to him with positive affection, and gave him the last
proof of his esteem and admiration by asking him to name the morning for
a breakfast-party. He was treated with almost fatherly kindness by the
able and worthy man who is still remembered by the name of Conversation
Sharp. Indeed, his deference for the feelings of all whom he liked
and respected, which an experienced observer could detect beneath the
eagerness of his manner and the volubility of his talk, made him a
favourite among those of a generation above his own. He bore his honours
quietly, and enjoyed them with the natural and hearty pleasure of a man
who has a taste for society, but whose ambitions lie elsewhere. For the
space of three seasons he dined out almost nightly, and spent many of
his Sundays in those suburban residences which, as regards the company
and the way of living, are little else than sections of London removed
into a purer air.

Before very long his habits and tastes began to incline in the direction
of domesticity, and even of seclusion; and, indeed, at every period of
his life he would gladly deser