Perhaps I should be wise to continue here longer, in order to enjoy during a greater number of months the delusion,--for I know that it will prove a delusion,--of this delightful hope.

I feel as if I never could be unhappy in my own country; as if to exist on English ground and among English people, seeing the old familiar sights and hearing the sound of my mother tongue, would be enough for me.

This cannot be; yet some days of intense happiness I shall surely have; and one of those will be the day when I again see my dear father and sisters.
Ever yours most affectionately T.B.MACAULAY.
Calcutta: November 30, 1836.
Dear Ellis,--How the months run away! Here is another cold season; morning fogs, cloth coats, green peas, new potatoes, and all the accompaniments of a Bengal winter.

As to my private life, it has glided on, since I wrote to you last, in the most peaceful monotony.

If it were not for the books which I read, and for the bodily and mental growth of my dear little niece, I should have no mark to distinguish one part of the year from another.