age which the officer takes and carries to the office, where
he gets his reward. The witness whom he has with him--by accident of
course--testifies to the zeal of his exertions, fruitless though they
were, for the seizure of the unknown smuggler. The smuggler afterward
receives from the officer the stipulated portion of the reward. This
trick is constantly practiced along the frontier, and to meet the
demand the Prussian dealers keep stocks of good-for-nothing tea, which
they sell generally at five silver groschen (12-1/2 cents) a pound."

* * * * *

MORE OF LEIGH HUNT.[1]

Although a large portion, perhaps more than half, of these volumes has
been given to the world in previous publications, yet the work carries
this recommendation with it, that it presents in an accessible and
consecutive form a great deal of that felicitous portrait-painting,
hit off in a few words, that pleasant anecdote, and cheerful wisdom,
which lie scattered about in books not now readily to be met with, and
which will be new and acceptable to the reading generation which has
sprung up within the last half-score years. Mr. Hunt almost disarms
criticism by the candid avowal that this performance was commenced
under circumstances which committed him to its execution, and he tells
us that it would have been abandoned at almost every step, had these
circumstances allowed. We are not sorry that circumstances did not
allow of its being abandoned, for the autobiography, altogether apart
from its stores of pleasant readable matter, is pervaded throughout by
a beautiful tone of charity and reconcilement which does honor to the
writer's heart, and proves that the discipline of life has exercised
on him its most chastening and benign influence:--

For he has learned
To look on Nature, not as in the hour
Of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes
The still, sad, music of Humanity,
Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power
To chasten and subdue.

The reader will find numerous striking exemplifications of this spirit
as he goes along with our author. From the serene heights of old age,
"the gray-haired boy whose heart can never grow old," ever and anon
regrets and rebukes some egotism or assumption, or petty irritation
of bygone years, and confesses that he can now cheerfully accept
the fortunes, good and bad, which have occurred to him, "with the
disposition to believe them the best that