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

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LITERATURE.

Memorials of Thomas Hood. Collected and ar
ranged by his Daughter. With a preface and
notes by his Son. Two vols, Edward Moxon
and Co.
We accept these two very agreeable volumes at
once as most welcome souvenirs of an exquisite
poet and a delightful humorist. At the same time
we cannot but feel that The" Memorials of Thomas
Hood" will henceforth be regarded as discoverable
not so much in the pages here submitted to our
consideration (readable though these are in them-
selves) as in the Works both Serious and Comic of
the inimitable author of whom they are commemo-
rative, and in that eminently beautiful Monument
erected, now six years ago, over the grave of Thomas
Hood, in Kensal-Green Cemetery. That. last-men-
tioned testimonial, in truth we take to be not only
the most touching and the most graceful, but also
the most conspicuous and conclusive attestation of
the living and indestructible popularity of the great
Wit and greater Lyrist whose remains had until then
for nine long years been lyingin the earth, unmarked
by the humblest stone or by the poorest little
flowering clump of rue—that lowly herb that, as
0 phelia sings, is for remembrance ! A kindred
Poet of the great English people—one kindred both
in genius and in popularity—Eliza Cook, chaunted
in remonstrance, over that neglected grave, a lay
in honour of the noble head and gentle heart that
had there been mouldering into dust without, until
then we repeat, the scantiest epitaph or the plainest
headstone to mark the honoured place of their
sepulture. In answer to that plaintive appeal,
the grave of Hood has now, for six years past,
(as we have said) been distinguished by its
appropriate monument; by a monument worthy
of perpetuating there, upon that sacred spot,
the name and fame of Thomas Hood. We must
confess that we think the insertion of the lines
which led to the erection of the monument would
have been a simply just addition to the interest of
the work. They are certainly good enough to
compete with the prose writing of the volumes, and
the engrafting of them in these pages would have
been a graceful and grateful compliment due to one
whose "strenuous exertions" far excelled those of
the " Committee formed of members of the Whit-
tington Club," and whose personal sympathy with
the genius of the dead poet effected an object which
had never been even suggested or attempted by his
contemporary and influential familiar friends. We
regret this omission, we say, on more grounds than
it might be worth while to touch on. However, the
good work was done, and done well. Standing
in fancy, by that grave, now so gracefully adorned
through the intervention of the sculpturesque
genius of Matthew Noble, as shown there in en-
during bronze and granite—there comes stealing to
our senses from that honoured ground at our feet :
" Colder, colder, colder still—
Upward steals a vapour chill—
Strong the earthy odour grows—
I smell the Mould above the Rose 1"
But the poet's own mournful thought is
dashed upon the instant by one of a more benig-
nant influence—one floating now around that
tomb in this genial summer weather :
" O'er the earth there comes a bloom—
Sunny light for sullen gloom,
Warm perfume for vapours cold—
I smell the Rose above the Mould !"
The memory of Hood is embalmed in his own
beautiful verses, and gratefully, too, in the popular
recollection.
In obedience to . the dictate of a most happy
thought, the work—such as it is—has, by Hood's
children, been