The International Weekly Miscellany - Volume I, No. 5 | Page 2

the goods, is hailed by the officer and takes
to flight. The officer pursues the fugitive, but cannot reach him, and
fires his musket after him. Hereupon the Jew drops the package 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 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