The Oxford intelligencer., 1860-09-19
From Memorials Of Thomas Hood.
A Letter from Thomas Hood.
FRoN MY BED-l7 elan TREE ROAD,

GEErLEMEN IF my humble name can be
of the least use for your purpose, it is heart
Fly at your service, with my best wishes for
the prosperity of the Manchester Athenaum,
and my warmest approval of the objects of
that institution.
have elsewhere recorded my own deep
obligations to literature-that natural turn
for reading and intellectual pursuits probably
preserved me from the moral ship@reck 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 saloons, with
their degrading orgies. For the closest as
sociate of Pope and Addison, the mind &C
customed to the noble though silent dis
course of Shakespeare and Milton, will hardly
seek or put up with low company and slang.
The reading animal will not be content with
the british wallowings that satisfy the nm
learned pigs of the world. Later experience
enables me TO depose to the comfort and
blessing that literature can prove in seasons
of sickness and sorrow; how powerfully in
tcllectual pursuits can help in keeping the
head from Grazing and the heart from break
ing-nay, not TO be too grave, how generous
mental food can even atone for 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 reso-
lutely set itself against fish, flesh or fowl;
my appetite bad no more edge than the Ger
man knife placed before me. But luckily the
mental palate and digestion were still sensi-
BILE and vigorous; and whilst passed UNI
tasted every dish at the Rhenish table dhote,
could still enjoy my "Peregrine Pickle"
and the feast after the manner Of the an
clients. There was no yearning toward calls
head Ia toriue, or sleeps heart; but l
could still relish Head Ia Brunnen, and
the "Heart of Midlothian" Still more
recently it was my misfortune, with tolera-
BILE appetite, TO be condemned TO Lentcn
fare, like Sancho Panza, by my physician; to
a diet, in fact, lower than any prescribed by
the PoorLaw Commissioners, Ill snip.al
food, from bullock to rabbit, heinz: strict
ly interdicted, as well as all fluids stronger
than that which lays dust, washes pinafores
and waters polyanthus. But the feast of rea-
son and the flow of soul were still minel
Denied beef, had Bulwer and Cowper;
forbidden mutton, there was Lamb; and, in
lieu of pork, the great Bacon and Hogg.
Then as to bcverage-it was hard, doubtless,
for Christian to set his face, like a Turk,
against the juice of the grape. But eschew-
ing wine, had still my Butler, and in the
absence of liquor, all the Choice Spirits from
Tom Brown to Tom Moore. Thus, though
confined physically to the drink that browns
kittens, quaffcd mentally not merely the
best Of our own homemade, but the rich,
racy, sparkling growths of France and Italy,
of Germany and Spain; the champagne of
| Moliere, the Monte Pulciano of Boccaccio,
the hook of Schiller, anu the sherry of Ger
vantcs. Depressed by the fluid that damps
every thing got Intellectually elevated with
Milton, little merry with Swift, or rather
jolly with Rabelais whose Pantagruel, by the
way, is equal to the best cruel with rum in it.
SO far can literature palliate or compensate
for astronomical 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
agce," and i'll winds that blow with the per-
! tinacity of the monsoon. OF these Proyi-
dence has allotted me a full share; but still,
paradoxical as it may sound, my burthen has
been greatly enlightened by a Toad Of books.
The manner of this will be best understood
by feline illustration. Everybody has
heard Of the two Kilkenny cats who devour-
ed each other; but it is not so generally
known that they left behind them an orphan
kitten, which, true to its breed, began to eat
itself up, till 1t was diverted from the ope-
ration by a mouse. Now the human mind,
under vexation, is like that kitten; for it is
apt to prey upon itself, unless drawn off by
new object, and none better for the purpose
than book. For example, one of Defoes;
for who, in reading his thrilling History of
the Great Plague" would not be reconciled
to few little ones!
Many dreary, weary hour have I got over
many gloomy misgiving postponed
many mental 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 From all which cry necessarily,
not aloud but in my heart, "Thanks and
honor to the glorious masters of the pen, and
the great inventors of the pressi"
Such has been my own experience of the
blessing and comfort of literature and intel
lectual pursuits; and of the same mind,
doubtless, was Sir Humphrey Davy, who