enterprising publisher in Philadelphia not only reprinted them, but shipped copies to England, Macaulay gave way; and in the early months of 1843 a volume was issued. Like the "Lays," the "Essays" rose at once into popular favor, and in the course of thirty years 120,000 copies were sold in the United Kingdom by one publisher.

But the work on which he was now intent was the "History of England from the accession of King James the Second down to a time which is within the memory of men still living.' The idea of such a narrative had long been in his mind; but it was not till 1841 that he began seriously to write, and not till 1848 that he published the first and second volumes. Again his success was instant. Nothing like it had been known since the days of Waverley. Of "Marmion" 2000 were sold in the first month; of Macaulay's History 3000 copies were sold in ten days. Of the "Lay of the Last Minstrel" 2250 copies were disposed of in course of the first year; but the publishers sold 13,000 copies of Macaulay in four months. In the United States the success was greater yet.

"We beg you to accept herewith a copy of our cheap edition. of your work," wrote Harper & Brothers in 1849. "There have been three other editions published by different houses, and another is now in preparation; so there will be six different editions in the market. We have already sold 40,000 copies, and we presume that over 60,000 copies have been disposed of. Probably within three months of this time the sale will amount to 200,000 copies. No work of any kind has ever so completely taken our whole country by storm."

Astonishing as was the success, it never flagged; and year after year the London publisher disposed of the work at the rate of seventy sets a week. In November, 1855, the third and fourth volumes were issued. Confident of an immense sale, 25,000 copies were printed as a first edition, and were taken by the trade before a copy was bound. In the United States the sale, he was assured by Everett, was greater than that of any book ever printed, save the Bible and a few school books in universal use. Prior to 1875, his biographer states, 140,000 copies of the History were sold in the United Kingdom. In ten weeks from the day of the issue 26,500 copies were taken, and in March, 1856, $100,000 was paid him as a part of the royalty due in December. He was

Honors of every sort were now showered on him.

raised to the peerage; he was rich, famous, and great. But the enjoyment of his honors was short-lived; for in December, 1859, he was found in his library, seated in his easy-chair, dead. Before him on the table lay a copy of the "Cornhill Magazine," open at the first page of Thackeray's story of "Lovel the Widower."

All that has been said regarding the Essays and the Lays applies with equal force to the "History of England." No historian who has yet written has shown such familiarity with the facts of English history, no matter what the subject in hand may be the extinction of villeinage, the Bloody Assizes, the appearance of the newspaper, the origin of the national debt, or the state of England in 1685. Macaulay is absolutely unrivalled in the art of arranging and combining his facts, and of presenting in a clear and vigorous narrative the spirit of the epoch he treats. Nor should we fail to mention that both Essays and History abound in remarks, general observations, and comment always clear, vigorous, and shrewd, and in the main very just.

JAMES MACPHERSON.

JAMES MACPHERSON, a Scottish poet, born at Ruthven, Inverness-shire, Oct. 27, 1738; died Feb. 17, 1796. His claim to a place in literature rests solely upon his connection with the so-called "Ossianic Poems." In 1760 he published a small volume entitled "Fragments of Ancient Poetry Collected in the Highlands." In 1762 he put forth "Fingal, an ancient Epic Poem, in six Books; together with several other Poems composed by Ossian, the son of Fingal, translated from the Gaelic." This was followed the next year by "Temora, in eight Books, with other Poems by Ossian." The genuineness of these works was eagerly impugned and no less eagerly maintained. Macpherson promised to put forth the Gaelic originals from which he professed to have made his translations, but the manuscripts were not forthcoming. Ten years after his death they were published, all being in the handwriting of Macpherson or of his own amanuenses; from which it has been inferred that these alleged Gaelic originals had no existence, but were translated into Gaelic from Macpherson's own English. He made a fortune, entered Parliament, and wrote several other works, among which are a "History of Great Britain from the Restoration to the Accession of the House of Hanover" (1775), and a prose translation of the "Iliad."

THE DEATH OF OSCAR.

(From "Poems of Ossian.")

My son, I shall not call my sovereign, though Ossian should be offended at it this night. Oscar, and the strong Cairbre, fell in the battle of Gabra: the sharp pointed spear in the hand of Cairbre, he would shake in the ire of battle: he who tells the truth, says that by it Oscar was slain. Maid, who washes thy garment? To us prophesy without falsehood; shall any man of them fall by us: or shall we be victorious over Uladh? There shall fall, said she, by Oscar, many hundreds, and the king, himself, by him shall be wounded; and many of the warriors he brought with him over the sea.

Have you heard of Fingal's expedition, when he departed

towards Erin? Cairbre came with his host, and took possession of Erin, as sole monarch. We, as many as there were of the Fingalians, moved forward, strong and valiant: armies and troops of his, we have slain on the north side of Erin. By red Cairbre, a message was sent to the hardy Oscar, of the Fingalians, to go to the feast of the king, and that he would obtain a boon accordingly. The fairer Oscar, since he never refused a foe, departed to the hall of the king; and with him went three hundred valiant heroes, to wait upon his will and deeds. Greatly honored and feasted we were, as we ever were in the times that are past: and joyful and merry amongst the heroes of Cairbre in Temora.

On the last day of the feast of shells, with a bold voice Cairbre thus exclaimed: Change of spears I would have from thee, brown-haired Oscar from Albin. What change of spears dost thou want, red Cairbre of the havens of ships: since in the day of battle and conflict, myself and my spear are thine? It would not be too much for me to obtain any tribute, amercement, or rarity, in thy land. During all my life and age, whatever choice thing I asked, I must obtain it.

Any gold or precious wares, the king would ask from us, without offering us any disrespect or insult, would be under thy dominion: but exchange of spears, without exchange by lot, would be unjust to demand; and the cause for which thou would ask it is, that I am without Fingalians, and without father. Though your father and the Fingalians were as powerful as ever they were, it would not have been too much for me all my days, whatever I ask to obtain. Were the Fingalians and my father as powerful as they were, scarcely couldst thou obtain that, or the breadth of thy two soles in Ireland.

Enmity by degrees filled the breasts of the heroes, listening to the long strife: fierce words on both sides passed between Cairbre and Oscar. I shall give you my steady word, said the red-haired Cairbre, that the sharp-pointed spear that is in thy hand, shall be the cause of thy death. Said the red Cairbre, I shall give you my lasting warrants, that I shall thrust the spear of seven points, between thy kidneys and thy navel. Other words against these I shall give, says the valiant Oscar; that I shall thrust the spear of the nine points into thy hair and face. Fierce and steady words, gave the red-haired Cairbre, that he would carry off venison and booty from Albin in a few days. That night we passed without aid, on each side

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of the river; a pool of water lay half way between Cairbre and Oscar.

A chief bard, with mournful music, was heard on the sweet harp, with the lament of grief; and up rose Oscar in rage, and took his arms in his victorious hands. We rose up valiant and strong, as many of our army as we had. That Oscar was discomfited and overwhelmed, we clearly understood when we heard the music of the harp. We ascended, as many of our army as were together, the mountain of Gaul. Caoilte and young Fergus by Oscar were placed in the front of the battle. The king of Laighinn, of swords, and his bloody heroes, fell by the edge of our steel a while before the fierce combat began. When we arrived at the place, and the gallant hero in a narrow valley, Cairbre was on high, opposing us as he came forth to

meet us.

Five score fierce valiant heroes, by the hand of Oscar fell, on the other side, when he was designated to force his way forward to the king of Erin. Seven score sons of chiefs, of the most puissant valor and mighty deeds, fell by the hands of Oscar, when forcing his way towards the king of Erin. Mungan, the son of Seire the foe, who would vanish a hundred blue swords, fell on the other side by the hands of Oscar, briskly pushing on to the king of Erin. Five score strong hardy heroes, like Cairbre, of the armies, fell on the other side by the hands of Oscar, sallying violently to the king of Erin. When the red-haired Cairbre saw his forces hewed down by Oscar, at him he darted the sharp spear that was in his hand, and pierced him between the kidneys and the navel. On his right knee Oscar fell, with the sharp-pointed spear through his skin. Another cast he darted to the other side, and by him fell the king of Erin. Raise Airt, said the king, take thy sword, and firmly stand in thy father's stead: if thou shalt live long, I think thou wilt prove thyself the son of a noble king. He darted another throw on high, deemed by us a happy deed; by adventure, the second cast, Airt, the son of Cairbre, fell.

They sent to the king in the south, Cairbre's forces, strong in fight, that they might keep the field of victory; as they observed that Oscar was tormented. But he lifted up a smooth, hard stone, from the ground, red with blood, and broke the head of Cairbre through the helmet: the last exploit of my kind and fair

son.

Rise, Oscar, with thy victorious slaughter; with thy high