The years that Macaulay spent in the Albany, that phase of his life whose first half is recorded in this volume, were the most personally satisfactory of all to him. He lived in bookish, bachelor comfort, well-attended by servants who remained with him long, and surrounded by the growing thousands of volumes on his library shelves; thus he was free to read and write in undisturbed, though not reclusive, privacy. Yet, near enough so that he could have an intimate part in its daily life, was a household presided over by his adored Hannah, where he might have access to all the news of family and friends and all the satisfactions of parental interest without its obligations.

His return to politics kept him before the public and gave him the pleasure of exercising his oratorical skills. He enjoyed the rare success of directly altering legislation by the effect of his speaking, as, for example, by his speeches on the question of copyright. He produced, in fact, a series of notable speeches between 1839 and 1847, some on large and some on small issues, but always thoroughly Macaulayan: one may mention especially the speeches on the Gates of Somnauth, on Maynooth, and on the Ten Hours Bill.

For all this, it is evident that Macaulay was not passionately involved in politics after his return from India as he had been before. Why, then, did he allow public life to steal so much of his time and of his best energy? Why commit the fault, for which he was never tired of blaming Burke and Mackintosh, of giving to faction what was meant for literature? I have no answer.