The Sun.
London, England, 1860-07-12 00:00:00

DEDICATED

THE PEOPLE:
FOR WHOM THOMAS HOOD WHOLE ♦ND LABOURED

Nothing could be more tenderly or more irresis-
tibly persuasive than the apology with which the
delay in the issue of these volumes is accounted for
by the son and daughter of the long since dead and
buried man of letters—respectively the editor and the
annotator of these " Memorials. In his manly
and graceful preface, writes the son, Thomas Hood
the Younger—" It is owing chiefly to this fact
[l. e., the fact that, in the performance of this self-
imposed labour, so very often pain has predominated
over pleasure] that the publication of these
volumes has been so long delayed. To us, to
turn over the MSS. for these pages—to con-
sult the letters, written in that well-known, clear
hand—was to recall to memory such a flood of re-
collections of dead joys, of long past sorrows, of
gentle, loving deeds and words, that we may well
claim to be excused if we were slow in our pro-
gress, and lingered somewhat over pages that
were often hidden from us by our tears."
And the same filial annotator adds imme-
diately afterwards in the preface : " Look-
ing back now on my own emotion, while
reading over these memorials, I can scarcely
think how I should bo so moved after the lapse
of fifteen years, and I can fully realise how
intensely painful must the compilation have
been to my sister, who, as the elder, was more
intimately connected with, and has a clearer
memory of the events chronicled, than I."
Who will not bow in respectful recognition of this
generous sensibility? Who will not turn the
pages afterwards with a reverent recollection of
the tears with which they have been sprinkled
(nature's holy water) during the process of their
arrangement. A formal biography was hardly to
be looked for in the pages designed, only by their
very title, to be devoted to the preservation of mis-
cellaneous recollections of the departed literateur.
Yet the memoirs of Hood, or, at the least, the ma-
terials for his memoirs, are here discernible—with a
certain charm in their unostentatious completeness.
From his birthday, in the Poultry, on the 23d of
May, in the year 1799, to his marriage day, on the
sth of May, 1824, down to his death day, on the
3d of May, 1845—the whole of these " short and
simple annals " are epitomized. Interspersed
throughout with fragments of Hood's correspon-
dence with his intimate friends—many of these (as
for example, Charles Dickens) his illustrious con-
temporaries. Several of the witticisms we cannot
but think are somewhat inaptly selected. The sub-
joined epigram for example—dedic ttory of the first
series of his Whims and Oddities to the Reviewers
—might very well have been omitted :

" What is a modern Poet's fate ?
To write his thoughts upon a slate ;
The critic spits on what is done,
Gives it a wipe—and all is goner
Most of the titles again, suggested by Hood for the
sham book-case at Chatsworth (according to the
device of Hood's noble patron—patron in the
noblest sense—the late Duke of Devonshire) are
unworthy of the author of the Whimsicalities.
While the publication, in cold blood, of the frag-
mentary jottings in Hood's note-book, we take to
be the cruelest kindness ever done to Wit posthu-
mously. These—beginning at page 341 of the
second volume—are, it must be remembered, an-
nounced as from his common place book, it
might even have been put as from his
very common place book—they are to our
thinking, in many particulars, so exceedingly
indifferent. The excessive particularity again
which has been shown here and there in regard to
dates, both by editor and annotator, we cannot
but deem a blemish provocative of the sneers of the
supercilious. As, for example, at page 40 of the Ist
Vol., where it being observed in the text that "Li
1832 he (Hood) left Winchmore Hill," &c., an
asterisk at the year 1832 * carries attention
down to a footnote, where we read :
*lt will be seen by reference to the lettersto the Duke
of Devonshire, that this removal took place to ward
the end of the year—probably in October.—T. H.
Frequently, however—be sure of that l—the reader
of these pleasant volumes comes upon jokes, and
witticisms, and whimsicalities, and fun-poking,
worthy of one of the quaintest and most delectable
humorists of his age. Who can preserve agrave
face when reading (p. 46, Vol. I.) in the midst of
Hood's wonder at the prodigious quantity of eggs
imported into England from the Continent, " For
certain the quantity is great: and the French hens
must lay longer odds than ?nine ! ' f Or who can re
main true to his own centre o gravity, When
shaken towards laughter, by Hood's record of a
smooth passage down the river :—" There was no
sickness whatever when I came down—at least
human sickness," he writes, "the only symptom I
saw was the heaving of the lead p) Delightfully
ridiculous, too, is his chance remark to another
correspondent, when touching upon amenity as
opposed to ascerbity in religious matters, he con-
tinues :—" I recollect rightly your' style of
singing,you were also in favour of `tolloVeration !' "
Then the airy inexhaustible play of comicality,