that is, the present writer-feel called upon here distinctly to declare that with scarcely any living author have we less agreement than with Carlyle; yet we are, nevertheless, sensible of great benefit derived from his writings. There is an indirect teaching not less valuable than the direct teaching. No serious thinker writes in vain. Carlyle has his affectations, his shams; but he has his realities. Had he not lived, some of the most active minds of our generation would have been different; they would assuredly have been active, it may be, wiser, but certainly different. Now it is impossible, we think, to say that any human being would have been otherwise had Macaulay never written. Some few might have written less picturesquely and less elegantly, but no human soul would have been poorer.

across him, he was smitten as if by enchantment. His mind dwindled away under the spell, from gigantic elevation to dwarfish littleness. Those its force, were now as much astonished at its who had lately been admiring its amplitude and strange narrowness and feebleness as the fisherman in the Arabian tale, when he saw the genie, whose stature had overshadowed the whole seacoast, and whose might seemed equal to a contest with armies, contract himself to the dimensions of his small prison, and lie there, the helpless slave of the charm of Solomon.

"Johnson was in the habit of sifting with extreme severity the evidence for all stories which were merely odd. But when they were not only odd, but miraculous, his severity relaxed. He began to be credulous precisely at the point where most credulous people begin to be sceptical. It is curious to observe, both in his writings and in his conversation, the contrast between the disdainful manner in which he rejects unauthenticated anecdotes, even when they are consistent with the The distinction between Macaulay and general laws of nature, and the respectful manCarlyle is curiously exhibited in their arti- ner in which he mentions the wildest stories recles on Johnson. Both give graphic and lating to the invisible world. A man who told delightful pictures of this remarkable man, him of a waterspout or a meteoric stone, generally whose monumental common had the lie given him for his pains. A man who sense almost told him of a prediction or a dream wonderfully amounted to genius; but Macaulay has painted the surface, Carlyle the soul. It is accomplished, was sure of a courteous hearing. Johnson,' observes Hogarth, like king David, not that Carlyle reasons better than Macau- says in his haste that all men are liars.' 'His lay, it is simply that he sees more. His in- incredulity,' says Mrs. Thrale, amounted almost tuitions are deeper, if not always truer. All to disease.' She tells us how he browbeat a the peculiarities of Johnson's person and gentleman, who gave him an account of a hurrimanners are, by Macaulay, depicted with cane in the West Indies; and a poor Quaker, felicitous strokes; all the apparent contrawho related some strange circumstances about the red-hot balls fired at the siege of Gibraltar. dictions of his mind are assembled and mar-It is not so. It cannot be true. Don't tell shalled out, so as to produce a striking that story again. You cannot think how poor a effect. But that is all. We see the man, figure you make in telling it.' He once said, half we do not understand him. The mystery of jestingly we suppose, that for six months he rehis nature is exhibited to us, but it is not fused to credit the fact of the earthquake at Lisbon, and that he still believed the extent of the explained; a mystery it remains, as far as the biographer is concerned. We must lated, with a grave face, how old Mr. Cave, of St. Yet he recalamity to be greatly exaggerated. quote one passage, which, in spite of its John's gate, saw a ghost, and how this ghost was length, is both too amusing and too signifi- something of a shadowy being. He went himself cant to be passed over. on a ghost-hunt to Cock-lane, and was angry with John Wesley for not following up another scent of the same kind with proper spirit and perseverance. He rejects the Celtic genealogies and poems without the least hesitation; yet he declares himself willing to believe the stories of the second sight. If he had examined the claims of the Highland seers with half the severity with which he sified the evidence for the genuineness of Fingal, he would, we suspect, have come away from Scotland with a mind fully made up. In his 'Lives of the Poets' we find that he is unwilling to give credit to the accounts of Lord Roscommon's early proficiency in his studies; but he tells with great solemnity an absurd romance about some intelligence preternaturally impressed on the mind of that nobleman. He avows himself to be in great doubt about the truth of the story, and ends by warning his readers not wholly to slight such impressions.

"The characteristic peculiarity of his intellect was the union of great powers with low prejudices. If we judged of him by the best parts of his mind, we should place him almost as high as he was placed by the idolatry of Boswell; if by the worst parts of his mind, we should place him even below Boswell himself. Where he was not under the influence of some strange scruple, or some domineering passion, which prevented him from boldly and fairly investigating a subject, he was a wary and accurate reasoner; a little too much inclined to scepticism, and a little too fond of paradox. No man was less likely to be imposed upon by fallacies in argument, or by exaggerated statements of facts. But if, while he was beating down sophisms, and exposing false testimony, some childish prejudices, such as would excite laughter in a well-managed nursery, came

neither a bigoted Tory nor a bigoted Radi- | thinker cannot write well; and all language cal; neither Catholic nor Calvinist; neither is rude until labor, assisting the delicate Cavalier nor Puritan, but an amiable Whig. sense of beauty, has fashioned it into harSympathizing with the polished demeanor monious shapes. In consequence of this and the social graces of the Cavaliers, he con- duplex condition, it not unfrequently happens demns their frivolity and dissoluteness; ap- that some men attain a certain mastery over plauding the seriousness and rectitude of the the form, who have very little matter of their energetic Puritans, he laughs at their affecta- own to fashion; just as there are men with tions of sanctity, at their illiberality, and very little poetic genius who nevertheless nasal twang. He will take it as no disre- attain so much of the " accomplishment of spect if we liken him to the accomplished verse,' as to produce very readable verses. person, whom he has so felicitously portrayed But no great prose writer, any more than a in the calm, sceptical, and polished Halifax. great poet, was ever made by labor alone. The style is the man. As the mind is will the style be: a great mind cannot altogether dwarf itself, a small mind cannot greatly exalt itself; natural grace will show itself, even in the awkwardness of incult speech, and the grace which is acquired will, after all, be only the grace of a dancing-master.

He is fond of moral reflections. One may say of them, that, though sometimes trite enough, they are generally very sensible, and being always happily expressed are always acceptible. They force your respect, and on the whole win your regard for the writer. They imply a generous and a healthy mind. Even when they have a satirical turn, the tone is pleasant, as in the following well-timed and well-turned admonition of public opinion:

The

Macaulay's style is characteristic of his mind, in its excellencies and in its deficiencies. It is eminently a cultivated style, the writing of an accomplished, well-trained mind. It is perhaps the very best style "We know of no spectacle so ridiculous as the ever written by one who was not an original British public in one of its periodical fits of mothinker. Its main defect is the absence of a rality. In general, elopements, divorces, and strong personality, of an unmistakable origifamily quarrels pass with little notice. We read nality. By originality, we of course do not the scandal, talk about it for a day, and forget it. But once in six or seven years our virtue becomes impress which is given to the style by every mean eccentricity; we mean that peculiar outrageous. We cannot suffer the laws of religion and decency to be violated. We must mind which thinks for itself, and writes as it make a stand against vice. We must teach thinks, not as others have thought. libertines that the English people appreciate the parentage of Macaulay's style is easily traceimportance of domestic ties. Accordingly, some able. The influence of Burke is so visible, unfortunate man, in no respect more depraved than that no one has ever failed to remark it; hundreds whose offences have been treated with there is indeed some kinship in the minds of lenity, is singled out as an expiatory sacrifice. If Burke and Macaulay, which makes the lathe has children, they are to be taken from him. ter's imitation less of an imitation (so to If he has a profession, he is to be driven from it. He is cut by the higher orders, and hissed by the speak) than it would otherwise have been. lower. He is, in truth, a sort of whipping-boy, by The influence of Sydney Smith upon Macauwhose vicarious agonies all the other transgres- lay's style has not, that we are aware, been sors of the same class are, it is supposed, suf- noticed. The very turn and trick of phrase, ficiently chastised. We reflect very complacently the easy winding of the sentences, and the on our own severity, and compare with great pride the high standard of morals established in peculiar diction which we remark in MacauEngland, with the Parisian laxity. At length, lay, may be found in Sydney Smith whenever they are not in Burke. It would occupy too much space to show this fully; we will, however, give two examples. These examples are taken almost at random in opening the "Edinburgh Review," and are chosen from the level passages, because such passages better prove our case than happy sentences, antitheses, or witticisms, in which all styles more or less resemble each other, Here is one:

our anger is satiated. Our victim is ruined and broken-hearted. And our virtue goes quietly to sieep for seven years more."

Macaulay's style is of paramount importance in any estimate of his claims; for style is to a rhetorician what thought is to a teacher, principium et fons. Style is an art, and, like every other art, demands the conjunction of genius and labor: genius, to furnish the matter; labor, to give the form. With a blunt chisel the best sculptor will bungle; with a rude language, the greatest

"We do not think it has any great value as a history; nor is it very admirable as a piece of

Here is another from the opposite page:

composition. It comprehends too short a period; | dor, whose polished, stately style, better includes too few events to add much to our know- bears minute inspection than continuous ledge of facts; and abounds too little with splen- reading. Macaulay has a tendency to be did passages to lay much hold on the imagination. verbose and tautologous; he overlays his The reflections which it contains, too, are generally more remarkable for their truth and sim- sentences with words, much in the same way plicity, than for any great fineness or profundity as he overlays his arguments with illustraof thinking." tions. His ease, also, sometimes relapses into negligence, and his sentences become weak and faltering. But he is never weak for two pages together. One peculiarity in his fluent narrative is worthy of remark, and deserves imitation; it is the rarest of all peculiarities-graceful rapidity. There is no hurry, no abruptness; all the transitions are gradual, and nevertheless it dwells with such minuteness upon every point, that it would be inexpressibly tedious were not the selected points so salient, and so well fitted to convey the whole of what was intended, that in a brief time you are carried over a large space, and thus the valuable conjunction of fullness with brevity is secured.

"It can admit of no doubt, we suppose, that trade, which has made us rich, has made us still more luxurious; and that the increased necessity of expense has in general outgone the means of supplying it. Almost every individual now finds it more difficult to live on a level with his equals than he did when all were poorer; almost every man, therefore, is needy; and he who is both needy and luxurious holds his independence on a very precarious tenure."

Every one acquainted with Macaulay's writings will recognize their tone in these examples. Indeed, when, some time ago, we were reading Sydney Smith's collected Essays, the well-known sentences of Macaulay were constantly ringing in our ears. Let us admit, however, that the imitation both of Burke and of Sydney Smith has never the disagreeable effect of mere servile imitation. Macaulay has light of his own to add to the light which he reflects. If the bow he bends be the great bow of Ulysses, he at any rate has the strength, so rare, to bend it with ease, and to use it with effect. Make every allowable deduction for imitation, and his style still remains an admirable example of the powers of writing. It has its tricks; short, sharp sentences are splintered into the texture of periods whose length is unwieldy, but whose clearness is unrivalled; and caprices of punctuation play amidst a prodigality of antitheses. These tricks find imitators, who imagine that the charm lies there. But Macaulay's effects are produced by more legitimate means, by richness of diction, picturesqueness of selection, wonderful power of illustration, and a sense of grace and harmony-all which qualities are not imitable. There is another reason why his imitators fail; he writes in the language of the eighteenth century, so that the diction and the idioms he employs are not those in which his imitators think.

Any one page of Macaulay would, perhaps, but ill withstand close criticism; but it is impossible to read any number of pages without delight, and the stupidest of his readers never yawned over his volumes. In this respect we may compare him with Lan

Much of the effect of Macaulay's style arises from picturesque grouping of details; something also from his employment of names which in themselves are pictures. The reader of Milton well knows the magical power with which he employed long lists of sounding names, justly calculating on their double effect of music and association. It was a power he sometimes abused, and Macaulay, who has similar power, is open to a similar charge. He revels in geographical and historical wealth; he scatters about high-sounding names of mighty rivers and remote provinces, of great heroes and distant empires, with a prodigality which often savors of barbaric pomp, but which always fills the mind with splendid images. If he wants an illustration, he draws it from some such place as the "Spice Islands in the Eastern Seas;" if he speaks of English commoners, it is as "untitled men well known to be descended from knights who had broken the Saxon ranks at Hastings, and scaled the walls of Jerusalem." Is not that Miltonic? A couple of examples will go further than a dozen pages of explanation, and we take them from his masterly article on Lord Clive:

"Such, or nearly such, was the change which passed on the Mogul empire during the forty years which followed the death of Aurungzebe. A series of nominal sovereigns, sunk in indolence palaces, chewing bang, fondling concubines, and and debauchery, sauntered away life in secluded listening to buffoons. A series of ferocious invaders had descended through the western passes to prey on the defenseless wealth of Hindostan,

A Persian conqueror crossed the Indus, marched | intensely prosaic than that which peers through the gates of Delhi, and bore away in tri- through the shabby finery of cast-off poetic umph those treasures of which the magnificence diction in the pages of the " History of Euhad astounded Roe and Bernier; the Peacock Throne, on which the richest jewels of Golconda rope" we have seldom noticed in an ambitious writer. Mr. Alison has the naiveté to had been disposed by the most skillful hands of Europe, and the inestimable Mountain of Light, suppose that by perpetually talking of courwhich, after many strange vicissitudes, lately age "chaining victory to the standards," or shone in the bracelet of Runjeet Sing, and is now of Napoleon's "carrying his standards from destined to adorn the hideous idol of Orissa. the Elbe to the Kremlin," he is eloquent The Afghan soon followed to complete the work and pictorial. A dictionary-maker might as of devastation which the Persian had begun. well imagine he had rivalled Milton. In The warlike tribes of Rajpoots threw off the Mussulman yoke. A band of mercenary soldiers octruth, poetic diction is a delicate thing, and cupied Rohilcund. The Seiks ruled on the will not bear handling by prosaic men. We Indus. The Jauts spread terror along the Jum- say this, not for Mr. Alison's benefit-he is nah. The high lands which border on the west- incorrigible--but for the benefit of young ern sea-coast of India poured forth a yet more aspirants who may fancy they can produce formidable race; a race which was long the tereffect is produced; forgetting that art dean effect because they understand how the pends on other faculties than criticism.

ror of every native power, and which yielded only, after many desperate and doubtful struggles, to the fortune and genius of England. It was under the reign of Aurungzebe that this wild clan of plunderers first descended from the mountains; and soon after his death, every corner of his wide empire learned to tremble at the mighty name of the Mahrattas. Many fertile viceroyalties were entirely subdued by them. Their dominions

stretched across the Peninsula from sea to sea.

Their captains reigned at Poonah, at Gaulior, in
Guzerat, in Berar, and in Tanjore."

A few paragraphs further on we meet with this second example of poetical prose:

"Scarcely any man, however sagacious, would have thought it possible, that a trading company, separated from India by fifteen thousand miles of sea, and possessing in India only a few acres for purposes of commerce, would, in less than a hundred years, spread its empire from Cape Comorin to the eternal snow of the Himalayas; would compel Mahratta and Mohammedan to forget their mutual feuds in common subjection; would tame down even those wild races which had resisted the most powerful of the Moguls; and, having established a government far stronger than any ever known in those countries, would carry its victorious arms far to the east of the Burrampooter, and far to the west of the Hydaspes; dictate terms of peace at the gates of Ava, and seat its vassals on the throne of Candahar."

This may perhaps be thought a trick, an easy method of producing an effect which ordinary writers might employ. We advise them not to attempt it. Mr. Alison has done so, and his "History of Europe" is the best possible refutation of such an idea. The donkey in the fable did not less successfully imitate the caressing grace of the spaniel fawning on its master, than Mr. Alison has imitated the splendor of Macaulay's geographical prodigality. A spirit more

We have not done yet with Macaulay's style; we have still to notice its unsurpassed clearness. No mortal ever for an instant paused over one of Macaulay's sentences, in doubt as to its meaning. The writer has no misgivings; he goes direct to the point, and his phrases fall naturally into their proper places. This is partly mastery over expression; but it is also partly owing to that absence of deep meditation and continuous thought, which we have already noticed as characteristic of his mind. Every clear thinker will of course write clearly; but depth of thought is not always compatible with transparency of expression. other hand, it is not every shallow stream which is clear; and no mistake is more general than that of men supposing their writings are profound when they are simply obscure.

On the

robes itself; sometimes it is an antique panStyle is as a garment in which the mind oply beneath whose weight the mind staggers, trying to be grand and dignified; sometimes it is a flowing robe which bends with every movement of the mind, betraying in every winding of its phrase all the mind's grace, all its abruptness, all its vigor, and all its hesitation. Now Macaulay never hesitates, and his style is unperplexed. He sees sharply enough all the surfaces presented to his view, and can accurately distinguish all their differences. But he has no misgivings as to the existence of anything beyond what he sees. His style is, therefore, never overpowered, never borne down by the weight of what it would express, never ruffled by the perplexity of his thoughts, never confused by the flashing of cross lights, never darkened by the shadow of mysteries unexplored. It