Some of the present specimens are copied from the plate appended to the
_Edinburgh Literary Journal_, whence the page in No. 478 of the _Mirror_
was taken. First is

LEIGH HUNT.--Leigh Hunt's writing is a good deal like the man: it is
constrainedly easy, with an affectation of ornament, yet withal a good
hand. The signature is copied from a letter written to a friend in
Edinburgh, in 1820; and as one part of this letter is curious and
interesting, we have pleasure in presenting it to our readers. We are
inclined to believe that there are many good points about Leigh Hunt. We
like the spirit of the following extract from his letter:--

"And this reminds me to tell you, that I am not the author of the book
called the Scottish Fiddle, which I have barely seen. The name alone, if
you had known me, would have convinced you that I could not have been the
author. I had made quite mistakes enough about Sir Walter, not to have to
answer for this too. I took him for a mere courtier and political bigot.
When I read his novels, which I did very lately, at one large glut (with
the exception of the Black Dwarf, which I read before), I found that when
he spoke so charitably of the mistakes of kings and bigots, he spoke out
of an abundance of knowledge, instead of narrowness, and that he could
look with a kind eye also at the mistakes of the people. If I still think
he has too great a leaning to the former, and that his humanity is a
little too much embittered with spleen, I can still see and respect the
vast difference between the spirit which I formerly thought I saw in him,
and the little lurking contempts and misanthropies of a naturally wise and
kind man, whose blood perhaps has been somewhat saddened by the united
force of thinking and sickliness. He wishes us all so well that he is
angry at not finding us better. His works occupy the best part of some
book-shelves always before me, where they continually fill me with