Macaulay thought it probable that he could re-write Sir Charles Grandison from memory, and certainly he might have done so with his sister’s help.  But his intimate acquaintance with a work was no proof of its merit.  “There was a certain prolific author,” says Lady Trevelyan, “named Mrs. Meeke, whose romances he all but knew by heart; though he quite agreed in my criticism that they were one just like another, turning on the fortunes of some young man in a very low rank of life who eventually proves to be the son of a Duke.  Then there was a set of books by a Mrs. Kitty Cuthbertson, most silly though readable productions, the nature of which may be guessed from their titles:—­’Santo Sebastiano, or the Young Protector,’ ‘The Forest of Montalbano,’ ’The Romance of the Pyrenees,’ and ‘Adelaide, or the Countercharm.’  I remember how, when ‘Santo Sebastiano’ was sold by auction in India, he and Miss Eden bid against each other till he secured it at a fabulous price; and I possess it still.”

As an indication of the thoroughness with which this literary treasure has been studied, there appears on the last page an elaborate computation of the number of fainting-fits that occur in the course of the five volumes.

Julia de Clifford . . . . . 11
Lady Delamore . . . . . . .  4
Lady Theodosia. . . . . . .  4
Lord Glenbrook  . . . . . .  2
Lord Delamore   . . . . . .  2
Lady Enderfield . . . . . .  1
Lord Ashgrove . . . . . . .  1
Lord St. Orville  . . . . .  1
Henry Mildmay . . . . . . .  1

A single passage, selected for no other reason than because it is the shortest, will serve as a specimen of these catastrophes “One of the sweetest smiles that ever animated the face of mortal now diffused itself over the countenance of Lord St. Orville, as he fell at the feet of Julia in a death-like swoon.”

The fun that went on in Great Ormond Street was of a jovial, and sometimes uproarious, description.  Even when the family was by itself, the school-room and the drawing-room were full of young people; and friends and cousins flocked in numbers to a resort where so much merriment was perpetually on foot.  There were seasons during the school holidays when the house overflowed with noise and frolic from morning to night; and Macaulay, who at any period of his life could literally spend whole days in playing with children, was master of the innocent revels.  Games of hide-and-seek, that lasted for hours, with shouting and the blowing of horns up and down the stairs and through every room, were varied by ballads, which, like the Scalds of old, he composed during the act of recitation, while the others struck in with the chorus.  He had no notion whatever of music, but an infallible ear for rhythm.  His knack of improvisation he at all times exercised freely.  The verses which he thus produced, and which he invariably attributed to an anonymous author whom he styled “the Judicious Poet,” were exclusively for home consumption.