ready, and his dark eyes brightened at every happy expression, and
at every thought of kindness. His death was simply exhaustion; he
broke off his work to lie down and repose. So gentle was the final
approach, that he scarcely recognised it till the very last, and
then it came without terrors. His physical suffering had not been
severe; at the latest hour he said that his only uneasiness was
failing breath. And that failing breath was used to express his
sense of the inexhaustible kindness he had received from the family
who had been so unexpectedly made his nurses,--to draw from one of
his sons, by minute, eager, and searching questions, all that he
could learn about the latest vicissitudes and growing hopes of
Italy,--to ask the friends and children around him for news of those
whom he loved,--and to send love and messages to the absent who
loved him."


Thus, with a manly simplicity and filial affection, writes the
eldest son of Leigh Hunt in recording his father's death. These are
the closing words of a new edition of The Autobiography of Leigh
Hunt, published by Messrs. Smith and Elder, of Cornhill, revised by
that son, and enriched with an introductory chapter of remarkable
beauty and tenderness. The son's first presentation of his father
to the reader, "rather tall, straight as an arrow, looking slenderer
than he really was; his hair black and shining, and slightly
inclined to wave; his head high, his forehead straight and white,
his eyes black and sparkling, his general complexion dark; in his
whole carriage and manner an extraordinary degree of life,"
completes the picture. It is the picture of the flourishing and
fading away of man that is born of a woman and hath but a short time
to live.