closed. My bed is heaped with blankets, and my black servants are coughing round me in all directions. One poor fellow in particular looks so miserably cold that, unless the sun comes out, I am likely soon to see under my own roof the spectacle which, according to Shakespeare, is so interesting to the English a dead Indian. I traveled the whole four hundred miles between this and Madras on men's shoulders. I had an agreeable journey, on the whole. I was honored by an interview with the Rajah of Mysore, who insisted on showing me all his wardrobe, and his picture gallery. He has six or seven colored English prints not much inferior to those which I have seen in the sanded parlor of a country inn: "Going to Cover," "The Death of the Fox," and so forth. But the bijou of his gallery, of which he is as vain as the grand duke can be of the "Venus," or Lord Carlisle of "The Three Maries," is a head of the Duke of Wellington, which has most certainly been on a signpost in England. Yet, after all, the rajah was by no means the greatest fool whom I found at Mysore. I alighted at a bungalow appertaining to the British Residency. There I found an Englishman who, without any preface, accosted me thus: "Pray, Mr. Macaulay, do not you think that Bonaparte was the Beast?" "No, sir, I cannot say that I do." "Sir, he was the Beast. I can prove it. I have found the number 666 in his name. Why, sir, if he was not the Beast, who was?" This was a puzzling question, and I am not a little vain of my answer. "Sir," said I, "the House of Commons is the Beast. There are 658 members of the House; and these, with their chief officers the three clerks, the sergeant and his deputy, the chaplain, the doorkeeper, and the librarian make 666." "Well, sir, that is strange. But I can assure you that, if you write Napoleon Bonaparte in Arabic, leaving out only two letters, it will give 666." "And pray, sir, what right have you to leave out two letters? And, as St. John was writing Greek and to Greeks, is it not likely that he would use the Greek rather than the Arabic notation?" "But, sir," said this learned divine, "everybody knows that the Greek letters were never used to mark numbers." I answered with the meekest look and voice possible: "I do not think that everybody knows that. Indeed, I have reason to believe that a different opinion erroneous, no doubt is universally embraced by all - the small minority who happen to know any Greek." So ended the controversy. The man looked at me as if he thought me a very wicked fellow; and, I dare say, has by this time discovered that, if you write my name in Tamul, leaving out T in Thomas, B in Babington, and M in Macaulay, it will give the number of this unfortunate Beast. I am very comfortable here. The governor-general is the frankest and best-natured of men. The chief functionaries who have attended him hither are clever people, but not exactly on a par as to general attainments with the society to which I belonged in London. I thought, however, even at Madras, that I could have formed a very agreeable circle of acquaintance; and I am assured that at Calcutta I shall find things far better. After all, the best rule in all parts of the world, as in London itself, is to be independent of other men's minds. My power of finding amusement without companions was pretty well tried on my voyage. I read insatiably; the Iliad and Odyssey, Virgil, Horace, Cæsar's "Commentaries," Bacon, "De Augmentis," Dante, Petrarch, Ariosto, Tasso, "Don Quixote," Gibbon's "Rome," Mill's "India," all the seventy volumes of Voltaire, Sismondi's "History of France," and the seven thick folios of the "Biographia Britannica." I found my Greek and Latin in good condition enough. I liked the Iliad a little less, and the Odyssey a great deal more, than formerly. Horace charmed me more than ever; Virgil not quite so much as he used to do. The want of human character, the poverty of his supernatural machinery, struck me very strongly. Can anything be so bad as the living bush which bleeds and talks, or the Harpies who befoul Æneas' dinner? It is as extravagant as Ariosto, and as dull as Wilkie's "Epigoniad." The last six books which Virgil had not fully corrected pleased me better than the first six. I like him best on Italian ground. I like his localities; his national enthusiasm; his frequent allusions to his country, its history, its antiquities, and its greatness. In this respect he often reminded me of Sir Walter Scott, with whom, in the general character of his mind, he had very little affinity. The "Georgics" pleased me better; the "Eclogues" best the second and tenth above all. But I think that the finest lines in the Latin language are those five which begin: Sepibus in nostris parvam te roscida mala I cannot tell you how they struck me. I was amused to find that Voltaire pronounces that passage to be the finest in Virgil. I liked the "Jerusalem " better than I used to do. I was enraptured with Ariosto; and I still think of Dante, as I thought when I first read him, that he is a superior poet to Milton; that he runs neck and neck with Homer; and that none but Shakespeare has gone decidedly beyond him. As soon as I reach Calcutta I intend to read Herodotus again. By the bye, why do not you translate him? You would do it excellently; and a translation of Herodotus, well executed, would rank with original compositions. A quarter of an hour a day would finish the work in five years. The notes might be made the most amusing in the world. I wish you would think of it. At all events, I hope you will do something which may interest more than seven or eight people. Your talents are too great, and your leisure time too small, to be wasted in inquiries so frivolous (I must call them) as those in which you have of late been too much engaged - whether the Cherokees are of the same race with the Chickasaws; whether Van Diemen's Land was peopled from New Holland, or New Holland from Van Diemen's Land; what is the precise mode of appointing a headman in a village in Timbuctoo. I would not give the worst page in Clarendon or Fra Paola for all that ever was or ever will be written about the migrations of the Leleges and the laws of the Oscans. I have already entered on my public functions, and I hope to do some good. The very wigs of the judges in the Court of King's Bench would stand on end if they knew how short a chapter my Law of Evidence will form. I am not without many advisers. A native of some fortune at Madras has sent me a paper on legislation. "Your honor must know," says this judicious person, "that the great evil is that men swear falsely in this country. No judge knows what to believe. Surely, if your honor can make men to swear truly, your honor's fame will be great, and the company will flourish. Now, I know how men may be made to swear truly; and I will tell your honor, for your fame, and for the profit of the company. Let your honor cut off the great toe of the right foot of every man who swears falsely, whereby your honor's fame will be extended." Is not this an exquisite specimen of legislative wisdom? I must stop. When I begin to write to England, my pen runs as if it would run on forever. Ever yours affectionately, T. B. M. TO MISS FANNY AND MISS SELINA MACAULAY. OOTACAMUND, August 10th, 1834. MY DEAR SISTERS, — I sent last month a full account of my journey hither, and of the place, to Margaret, as the most stationary of our family; desiring her to let you all see what I had written to her. I think that I shall continue to take the same course. It is better to write one full and connected narrative than a good many imperfect fragments. Money matters seem likely to go on capitally. My expenses, I find, will be smaller than I anticipated. The rate of exchange, if you know what that means, is very favorable indeed; and, if I live, I shall get rich fast. I quite enjoy the thought of appearing in the light of an old hunks who knows on which side his bread is buttered; a warm man; a fellow who will cut up well. This is not a character which the Macaulays have been much in the habit of sustaining; but I can assure you that after next Christmas I expect to lay up on an average about seven thousand pounds a year, while I remain in India. At Christmas I shall send home a thousand or twelve hundred pounds for my father, and you all. I cannot tell you what a comfort it is to me to find that I shall be able to do this. It reconciles me to all the pains-acute enough, sometimes, God knows of banishment. In a few years, if I live - probably in less than five years from the time at which you will be reading this letter-we shall be again together in a comfortable, though a modest home; certain of a good fire, a good joint of meat, and a good glass of wine; without owing obligations to anybody; and perfectly indifferent, at least as far as our pecuniary interest is concerned, to the changes of the political world. Rely on it, my dear girls, that there is no chance of my going back with my heart cooled toward you. I came hither principally to save my family, and I am not likely while here to forget them. Ever yours, T. B. M. TO A SWALLOW BUILDING UNDER THE EAVES AT CRAIGENPUTTOCK. BY JANE WELSH CARLYLE. [JANE BAILLIE WELSH CARLYLE was born at Haddington, Scotland, July 14, 1801. She was educated at the Haddington school. She was married, October 17, 1826, to Thomas Carlyle (1795-1881). Her published writings are contained in "Letters and Memorials of Jane Welsh Carlyle," prepared for publication by Thomas Carlyle and edited by J. A. Froude (3 vols., 1883). She died in London, April 21, 1866.] THOU, too, hast traveled, little fluttering thing, But much, my little bird, couldst thou but tell, For thou hast passed fair places in thy flight, Did fortune try thee? was thy little purse Ah no, thou need'st not gold, thou happy one! What was it then? Some mystic turn of thought For the world's loveliness, till thou art grown Nay, if thy mind be sound, I need not ask, A well-laid scheme doth that small head contain, |