Westminster Abbey, so that the grave is dug down at once into the gravel beneath the stones. The grave of Macaulay seemed about ten feet deep, and almost as broad as it is long; so much so that the coffin appeared to rest in a deep square chamber of gravel. At one side, on the left, was what seemed to be part of the side of another coffin, which, if it was a coffin at all, must have been that which contains the remains of no less a genius than Sheridan. In the uncertain light, however, which penetrated to the bottom of Macaulay's last resting-place, it was hard to judge distinctly. In a few minutes after the ceremony was over, most of those who had assisted at it had quitted the Abbey. Shortly after, preparations were made for filling in the grave and replacing the pavement of Poet's corner as it was before it was destined to make room for its latest tenant. In a few days more, the slabs which mark the resting-place of other great men will be replaced; the monument of Addison restored, and leave perhaps only the freshly gilt letters to show where lie the great historian the last but not the least of those who slumber in Poet's corner, 'whose bodies are buried in peace, but whose names live for evermore.'

"Westminster Abbey was yesterday the witness of a solemnity which has an interest not only for Englishmen, but for every com. munity among which our language is spoken. The most powerful, popular, and versatile writer of our time was borne to the grave with all the honors which it is in the power of friends and admirers to bestow. Genius and rank and official dignity met to pay the last sorrowful tribute to one whose name has added new lustre to the country he so proudly loved. In the old Abbey, which has for centuries been associated with all that is great and noble in our history, among the remains of men widely diverse in genius and character, but whose various greatness his large mind enabled him to appreciate, Lord Macaulay now sleeps.

"No more fitting honor could have been paid to the illustrious dead than to lay his bones among those whose history he had recounted, and whose characters he has so happily sketched. No honor can we conceive more in accordance with what we know of his own feelings. Addison, at the foot of whose monument Lord Macaulay lies, moralized in his time on the Abbey in that eloquent and touching language which is known wherever the English language is read. It was with a peculiar fitness that he was in his turn laid in the spot which he had helped to consecrate with his genius. So with Macaulav. In his writings he repeatedly alludes

to the great burial-place of Englishmen, in terms which show how much his feelings and fancy were moved by this kind of national canonization. Yesterday, those whose praise he valued assembled to pay to him that tribute which he looked upon as the last and highest crown of fame.

"The funeral of yesterday was, perhaps, a more touching ceremony than if the decease had taken place during the session of Parliament and a public interment had been proposed and resolved on by the Legislature. It is more consistent with those habits of reserve which are natural to Englishmen that public funerals should take place only on rare occasions, such as the death of a sovereign, or of some very eminent citizen, like Pitt, or Nelson, or Wellington. Lord Macaulay was, indeed, a public man, that is, he had held high office in the State, and had taken his seat in the Cabinet; but it is as a man of letters that he will be chiefly remembered; and this being the case, the spontaneous honors paid by those of kindred pursuits are more fitting than any formal attendance of the two Houses, or any insertion of the funeral expenditure in the Estimates.'

"Lord Macaulay's pall was, however, borne by the Lord Chancellor and the Speaker of the House of Commons, who may be looked upon as representing the two assemblies over which they preside. Otherwise the funeral was in all respects a private one, attended by a number of men of eminence who admired the genius and held the principles of the deceased. And gratifying is it that honor can be so quietly and yet so grandly paid in this country. The funeral procession was plain, almost to meagrea hearse, three or four mourning coaches, and then the empty carriages of those who wished to show respect after the singular fashion which usage has consecrated. None of the pomp of sorrow which we are accustomed to associate with the interments of great men was to be observed yesterday. Lord Macaulay was borne to his resting-place like a private citizen, and like private citizens his friends and admirers received his remains, to be laid in the earth amid their heartfelt sorrow."

ness,

A poetical extract from the "London Punch" has been already given. In this connection, another from the same. source will be appropriate. It is entitled,

Who knew and treasured of all these

What was worth treasuring, more than he
Who to their silent company

Has last gone down from, life and ease?

He shared state-life: their measure gauged
With rule, where strife of party raged,
Perchance not always just or true;

Yet, granting error, and an eye

Too prone to wink excuse for friends,
Too sharp for flaw in means or ends
Of those whose camps o'erthwart him lie,

Who shall deny his pen has cast

New life in all wherewith it deals;
That light from his bright pages steals,
Between the clouds that wreathe the past? -

Who shall gainsay his right to sleep

With those whom England honors most.
Whom, while they live, we loudest boast,
Whom, when they die, we truliest weep?

Of the illustrious dead" in Westminster Abbey, Macaulay's companions in the tomb, the "London Post' remarks:

"Baron Macaulay now lies close at the foot of Westmacott's statue of Addison, whom he once so happily described as the unsullied statesman, the accomplished scholar, the master of pure English eloquence, the consummate painter of life and manners, and the 'great satirist who alone knew how to use ridicule without abusing it; who, without inflicting a wound, effected a great social reform; and who reconciled wit and virtue, after a long and disas