Hunt, after a long life of petty persecution, and a long struggle with poverty and calumny, seems destined to have his old age crowned with roses, and his books applauded with a universal three times three. He has been pensioned by the government, pensioned by the heir of Shelley, has had complimentary benefits, and is continually having complimentary notices. The present volumes are made up of selections from his contributions to periodical literature, including a few articles written for the Westminster and Edinburgh Reviews. There is considerable variety in the topics, with much individuality running through them all. The portrait with which the first volume is embellished, had better have been suppressed. It is the most decidedly cockney visage we ever saw engraved on steel, and would confirm the worst impressions obtained of him through the critiques of Blackwood’s Magazine. It has an air of impudent sentimentality, smirking conceit, and benevolent imbecility, which we can hardly reconcile with our notions of the author of “Rimini,” and “Captain Sword and Captain Pen.” These volumes have the characteristics which make all of Hunt’s essays delightful to read. They have no depth of thought or feeling, they evince no clear knowledge of any principles, intellectual or moral; but they are laden with fine impressions and fine sensations of many captivating things, and an unctuous good-nature penetrates them all. They are never profound, and never dull. With a gay and genial impertinence the author throws off his impressions of every subject which he meets in his path; and morality itself is made to look jaunty. When his remarks are good for nothing as opinions, he still contrives to make them charming as fancies or phrases. There is hardly an instance in the two volumes where he is not pleasantly wrong, when he has attempted to settle any debated question in morals or metaphysics. The essays in which he is most successful, are those relating to the refinements of literature and minor moralities of society. He is a writer whom we delight to follow when he talks of Suckling, Pope, Lady Montagu, or Madame de Sevigne; but when he touches a man like Milton, or a man like Shelley, the involuntary cry is, “hands off!” The finest thing in the present collection is the exquisite prose translation of Grisset’s “Ver-Vert.” In such niceties Hunt is unequalled. The publishers have issued these volumes in a handsome style. In mechanical execution as in intellectual character, they are well fitted for the parlor table. * * * * * _Louis the Fourteenth, and the Court of France in the Seventeenth Century. By Miss Pardoe. New York: Harper & Brothers. 2 vols. 12mo._