Washington standard. [volume] (Olympia, Wash. Territory) 1860-1921, 1879-01-25
Thomas Hood.

Death and fame came to Thomas
Hood almost together. For twenty
years he had held his place among the
rank and file of literature, earning
thereby little more than daily bread
and the applause that is but Of mo-
ment. when, in 1913. the Christmas
number of Punch electrified its readers
with the "Song of the Shirt" Those
wonderful verses went from newspaper
to newspaper as in old times the bea-
con fire was accustomed to pass from
hill to hill. The laurels reaped by the
author were, however, barren, and the
sunshine of celebrity had nothing gold
en- in its beams. With the new year
was born an unlucky publication chris
tened Hoods Magazine. Misfortunes
fell thick upon both periodical and ed
itor, and the CLASHES of merriment"
that the latter still put forth came from
life blackened with the thunderclouds
of sickness and calamity. BY May,
Hood was in a sick room, and, as edito-
rial apology for the NONCOMPLIANCE of
novel he had commenced, sent forth a
drawing of "a plate OF leeches, bis
ter, cup of water-gruel, and three Ia
belled walls" All the rest of that year,
and far into the spring of the next, the
light of life still fickered on, some
times burning up brightly enough for
the sick man to resume his pen, some
times all but fading away into eternity.
II am so near deaths door," said
Hood, on one occasion, "that can al
most fancy I hear the creaking of the
hinges" The third of May, 1S45, saw
the door gently opened for him, and as
quietly as tired child falls asleep this
gentle spirit passed away from earth.
Not mere jester was it that died, but a
brave and kindly spirit who did his
noble duty in the battle of life, and who
had constantly heart to appreciate
and hand to relieve the sufferings of
others. There is nothing in the fame
of Hood over which any descendant of
his can ever blush. He wrote much
that was calculated to make the best of
men better, not line that could, by
any possibility, make the most worth
less specimen of humanity worse.
Numerous and exquisite as are his
poems, there are two that especially
shed a star-like light upon his memory.
While London remains a city, the
hearts of men must continue to be
stirred by the "Song of the Shirt and
the Bridge of Signs" The one poem
is in some sense the sequel of the other.
In this metropolis Of ours, where the
worship of the golden calf is practiced
on an ever-increasing scale, it is the
poor and not the idols that so frequent
ly endure the fate of being ground to
powder. These victims are, in general,
girls, uneducated or half-educated
drudges, whom the love of liberty and
the hatred of domestic service have
driven to toilsome and ill.paid modes
of gaining their daily bread. Year by
year their numbers increase, year by
year thousands of miserable fates and
faces tell us how swift is the descent
from the death-in-life of the garnet to
the hell of the streets. Lest we should
be over-zealous in casting stones, lest
we should forget that forgiveness
turned not away from the sins Of Mag
dalen, Hood showed us the starving
woman despairing, the sinful woman
dead. zone more unfortunate" is,
perhaps, the most pathetic line poet
ever penned. The thought Of it seems
to turn the Thames into a grave.