ment and the conversation.

Barry Cornwall (B. W. Procter), a long time intimate friend, in his
_Recollections of Men of Letters_, mentions the evenings at Hunt's
house: "Hunt never gave dinners, but his suppers of cold meat and salad
were cheerful and pleasant; sometimes the cheerfulness (after a 'wassail
bowl') soared into noisy merriment. I remember one Christmas or New
Year's evening, when we sat there till two or three o'clock in the
morning, and when the jokes and stories and imitations so overcame me
that I was nearly falling off my chair with laughter. This was mainly
owing to the comic imitations of Coulson, who was usually so grave a
man. We used to refer to him as an encyclopedia, so perpetually, indeed,
that Hunt always spoke of him as 'The Admirable Coulson!' This _vis
comica_ left him for the most part in later life, when he became a
distinguished lawyer."

It was this same Barry Cornwall who introduced Hawthorne to Hunt, a
charming account of Hawthorne's visit being recorded in _Our Old Home_.
"I rejoiced to hear him say," he writes, "that he was favored with most
confident and cheering anticipations in respect to a future life; and
there were abundant proofs, throughout our interview, of an unrepining
spirit, resignation, quiet relinquishment of the worldly benefits that
were denied him, thankful enjoyment of whatever he had to enjoy, and
piety, and hope shining onward into the dusk--all of which gave a
reverential cast to the feeling with which we parted from him. I wish he
could have had one draught of prosperity before he died."

There are many of us ready to give expression to the same wish.

Speaking of Hunt's _Autobiography_, a book second only in interest to
Boswell's _Johnson_ said Carlyle, this caustic writer had the grace to
say that the reader might find in that book "the image of a gifted,
gentle, patient, and valiant human soul, as it buffets its way through
the billows of time, and will not drown though often in danger; cannot
be drowned, but conquers and leaves a track of radiance behind it."

The _Spectator_, London, said this autobiography was one of the most
graceful and genial chronicles of the incidents of a human life in the
English language. "The sweetness of temper, the indomitable love and
forgiveness, the pious hilarity, and the faith in the ultimate triumph
of good revealed in its pages show the humane and noble qualities of the
writer."

This appreciation of Hunt is in co