Now, since it would be nearly impossible to vary the rhetoric of Macaulay, in any material degree, without deterioration in the _essential_ particulars of clearness, vigor, etc., those who write _after_ Macaulay have to choose between the two horns of a dilemma:—they must be weak and original, or imitative and strong:—and since imitation, in a case of this kind, is merely adherence to _Truth_ and _Reason_ as pointed out by one who feels their value, the author who should forego the advantages of the “imitation” for the mere sake of being erroneously original, “_n’est pas si sage qu’il croit_.” The true course to be pursued by our critics—justly sensible of Macaulay’s excellences—is _not_, however, to be content with tamely following in his footsteps—but to outstrip him in his own path—a path not so much his as Nature’s. We must not fall into the error of fancying that he is _perfect_ merely because he excels (in point of style) all his British cotemporaries. Some such idea as this seems to have taken possession of Mr. Jones, when he says: “Macaulay’s style is admirable—full of color, perfectly clear, free from all obstructions, exactly English, and as pointedly antithetical as possible. We have marked two passages on Southey and Byron, so happy _as to defy improvement_. The one is a sharp epigrammatic paragraph on Southey’s political bias: ‘Government is to Mr. Southey one of the fine arts. He judges of a theory or a public measure, of a religion, a political party, a peace or a war, as men judge of a picture or a statue, by the effect produced on his imagination. A chain of associations is to him what a chain of reasoning is to other men; and what he calls his opinions are, in fact, merely his tastes.’ The other a balanced character of Lord Byron: ‘In the rank of Lord Byron, in his understanding, in his character, in his very person, there was a strange union of opposite extremes. He was born to all that men covet and admire. But in every one of those eminent advantages which he possessed over others, there was mingled something of misery and debasement. He was sprung from a house, ancient, indeed, and noble, but degraded and impoverished by a series of crimes and follies, which had attained a scandalous publicity. The kinsman whom he succeeded had died poor, and but for merciful judges, would have died upon the gallows. The young peer had great intellectual powers; yet there was an unsound part in his mind. He had naturally a generous and tender heart; but his temper was wayward and irritable. He had a head which statuaries loved to copy, and a foot the deformity of which the beggars in the street mimicked.’”