C."
"Some years later," says a writer in "Macmillan's Magazine,"[A] "in
the 'mellow evening' of a life that had been so stormy, Mr. Leigh
Hunt himself told the story of his struggles, his victories, and
his defeats, with so singularly graceful a frankness, that the most
supercilious of critics could not but acknowledge that here was
an autobiographer whom it was possible to like. Here is Carlyle's
estimate of Leigh Hunt's Autobiography:--
[Footnote A: July, 1862.]
"Chelsea, June 17, 1850.
"DEAR HUNT,
"I have just finished your Autobiography, which has been most
pleasantly occupying all my leisure these three days; and you must
permit me to write you a word upon it, out of the fulness of the
heart, while the impulse is still fresh to thank you. This good
book, in every sense one of the best I have read this long while, has
awakened many old thoughts which never were extinct, or even properly
asleep, but which (like so much else) have had to fall silent amid the
tempests of an evil time--Heaven mend it! A word from me once more, I
know, will not be unwelcome, while the world is talking of you.
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