could have happened, whether
for the correction of what was wrong in him, or the improvement of
what was right."

The concluding chapters contain a brief account of Mr. Hunt's
occupations during the last twenty-five years; his residence
successively at Highgate, Hampstead, Chelsea, and Kensington, and of
his literary labors while living at these places. Many interesting
topics are touched upon--among which we point to his remarks on the
difficulties experienced by him in meeting the literary requirements
of the day, and the peculiar demands of editors; his opinion of Mr.
Carlyle; the present condition of the stage, the absurd pretensions of
actors, and the delusions attempted respecting the "legitimate" drama;
the question of the laureateship, and his own qualifications for
holding that office; his habits of reading; and finally an avowal of
his religious opinions. We miss some account of Mr. Hazlitt. Surely
we had a better right to expect at the hands of Hunt a sketch of that
remarkable writer, than of Coleridge, of whom he saw comparatively
little. We also expected to find some allusion to the "Round Table," a
series of essays which appeared in the _Examiner_, about 1815, written
chiefly by Hazlitt, but amongst which are about a dozen by Hunt
himself, some of them perhaps the best things he has written: we need
only allude to "A Day by the Fire," a paper eminently characteristic
of the author, and we doubt not fully appreciated by those who know
his writings. Hunt regrets having re-cast the "Story of Rimini," and
tells us that a new edition of the poem is meditated, in which, while
retaining the improvement in the versification, he proposes to restore
the narrative to its first course.

We take leave of the work, with a few more characteristic passages.

* * * * *

A GLIMPSE OF PITT AND FOX.--Some years later, I saw Mr. Pitt in a
blue coat, buckskin breeches and boots, and a round hat, with powder
and pigtail. He was thin and gaunt, with his hat off his forehead,
and his nose in the air. Much about the same time I saw his friend,
the first Lord Liverpool, a respectable looking old gentleman, in a
brown wig. Later still, I saw Mr. Fox, fat and jovial, though he was
then declining. He, who had been a "bean" in his youth, then looked
something quaker-like as to dress, with plain colored clothes, a
broad round hat, white waistcoat, and, if I am not mistaken, white
stockings. He was stan