The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser.
Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1843-08-01 00:00:00

THE LIVERPOOL STANDARD.

" THOMAS HOOD" AND THE MANCHESTER
ATHENJEUM.

A few days ago, the secretaries of the Manchester Athe-
naeum bazaar committee addressed to this author—(whose
good qualities as a man are as delightful to those who know
him personally, as are his exquisite humour and playful
wit as a poet, and a graceful prose writer, to that numer-
ous class who know him only in his works)—a request that
he would allow his name to he placed on the list of patrons
of the approaching bazaar. To this request, the secreta-
ries have received the following characteristic reply :
" (From my bed), 17, Elm Tree Road,
St. John's Wood. 18th July, 1113.
_ _

" Gentlemen,—lf my humble name can be of the least
use for your purpose, it is heartily at your service, with
my best wishes for the prosperity of the Manchester Athe-
naeum, and my warmest approval of the objects of that
institution.

" I have elsewhere recorded my own deep obligations
to literature,—that a natural turn for reading and intellec-
tual pursuits probably preserved me from the moral ship-
wreck, so apt to befall those who are deprived in early life
of the paternal pilotage. At the very least, my books
kept me aloof from the ring, the dog-pit, the tavern, and
the saloon, with their degrading orgies. For the closet
associate of Pope and Addison,—the mind accustomed to
the noble, though silent, discourse of Shakspere and Mil-
ton,—will hardly seek, or put up with, low company and
slang. The reading animal will not be content with the
brutish wallowings that satisfy the unlearned pigs of the
world.

" Later experience enables me to depose to the comfort
and blessing that literature can prove in seasons of sick-
ness and sorrow—how powerfully intellectual pursuits can
help in keeping the head from crazing, and the heart from
breaking,—nay, not to be too grave, how generous mental
food can even atone for a meagre diet—rich fare on the
paper, for short commons on the cloth.
" Poisoned by the malaria of the Dutch marshes, my
stomach, for many months, resolutely set itself against
fish, flesh, or fowl ; my appetite had no more edge than
the German knife placed before me. But, luckily, the
mental palate and digestion were still sensible and vigi-
rous ; and, whilst I passed untasted every dish at the
Rhenish table d'hote, I could yet enjoy my Peregrine
Pickle, and the feast after the manner of the ancients.
There was no yearning towards calf's head ó la 'urine,
or sheep's heart; but I could still relish, Head ó la Brun-
nen, and the heart of Mid-Lothlan.

" Still more recently, it was my misfortune, with a
tolerable appetite, to be condemned to lenten fare, like
Sancho Panza, by my physician,—to a diet, in fact, lower
than any prescribed by the poor-law commissioners ; all
animal food, from a bullock to a rabbit, being strictly in-
interdicted ; as well as all fluids, stronger than that which
lays dust, washes pinafores, and waters polyanthus. But
' the feast of reason and the flow of soul' were still mine.
Denied beef, I had Bulwer and Couiper,—forbidden mut-
ton. there was Lamb,—and, in lieu of pork, the great
Bacon or Hogg.
" Then; as to beverage, it was bad, doubtless, for a
Christian to set his face like a Turk against the juice of
the grape. But, eschewing wine, I had still my Butler ;
and in the absence of liquor, all the choice spirits from
Tom Browne to Tom Moore.
"Thus, though confined, physically, to the drink that
drowns kittens, I quaffed mentally, not merely the best of
our own home-made, but the rich, racy. sparkling growths
of France and Italy, of Germany and Spain—the cham-
pagne of Moliere, and Monte Puiciano of Boccaccio, the
hock of Schiller, and the sherry of Cervantes. Depres-
sed bodily by the fluid that damps every thing, I got in-
tellectually elevated with Milton, a little merry with
Swift, or rather jolly with Rabelais, whose Pantagruel,
by the way, is quite equal to the best gruel with rum in
it.

So far can literature palliate or compensate for gastro-
nomical privations. But there are other evils, great and
small, in this world, which try the stomach less than the
head, the heart, and the temper—bowls that will not roll
right—well-laid schemes that will " gang aglee "—and• ill
winds that blow with the pertinacity of the monsoon, Of
these, Providence has allotted me a full share ; but still,
paradoxical as it may sound, my burthen has been greatly
lightened by a load of books. The manner of this will
be best understood from a feline illustration. Everybody
has heard of the. two Kilkenny cats, who devoured each
other ; but it is not so generally known, that they left
behind them an orphan kitten, which, true to the breed,
began to eat itself up, till it was diverted from the opera-
tion by a mouse. Now, the human mind, under vexation,
is like that kitten, fur it is apt to prey upon itself, unless
drawn off by a new object—and none better for the purpose
than a book. For example, one of Defoe's ; for who, in
reading his thrilling. " History of the Great Plague,"
would not be reconciled to a few little ones

" Many, many, a dreary, weary hour have I got over—
many a gloomy misgiving postponed—many a mental or
bodily annoyance forgotten, by help of the tragedies and
comedies of our dramatists and novelists!' Many a trouble
has been soothed by the still small voice of the moral
philosopher—many a dragon-like care charmed to sleep
by the sweet song of the poet! For all which I cry in-
cessantly, not aloud, but in my heart—thanks and honour
to the glorious masters of the pen, and the great in-
ventors of the press!
" Such has been my own experience of the blessing and
comfort of literature, and intellectual pursuits; and of the
same mind, doubtless, was Sir Humphrey Davy, who went
for ' consolations in Travel,' not to the inn or the posting
house, but to his library and'hisbooks.—l am, gentlemen,
yours very truly. " THO 9% HOOD."