Memorials of Thomas Hood

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Preface

In submitting the following memorials to the public, my sister and myself would wish, at the first outset, to warn those who think to find in them fine biographical writing, that the book is not for them. We have seen too many great men fail in that art, and we feel no desire to emulate them. Our own part in this work is small, being restricted to such explanations and amplifications as were necessary to connect the letters, to which we have added, here and there, characteristic anecdotes, to which reference is made in them.

Our language we have endeavoured to render as simple as possible. If therefore, at any time, it warms into a higher strain, it is solely at the promptings of the heart, and not by artistic design. Indeed, any such trick or premeditation could not have existed at the same time with the feelings called up by a task, how solemn, how sad, and how unutterably absorbing, none can tell, who have not experienced a like sensation of mingled pleas-

Viii PREFACE.

ure and pain ; for, although the latter predominate, there is some of the former in the performance of such a labour of love.

It is owing chiefly to this fact that the publication of these volumes has been so long delayed. To us, to turn over the MSS. for these pages — to consult the letters, written in that well-known, clear hand — was to recall to memory such a flood of recollections 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 progi'ess, and lingered somewhat over pages, that were often hidden from us by our tears.

Looking back now on my own emotion, while reading over these memorials, I can scarcely think how I should be 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.

We are well aware that there is considerable ground for the popular objection to Biographies, written by relatives ; but we are of opinion, that, in this case, the advantages to be gained by the Editorship of some leading literary man of the day, are more than balanced by the intimate knowledge and understanding we have of all the incidents and acts of our father's life. Althoujrh, as will

PREFACE. ix

be seen, he numbered among his friends many distinguished writers, they can none of them know, nor could we impart to them our perceptions (if I may use the term) of that inner private life, which gave a stamp to the character his writings claimed for him — that of a benevolent, loving, Christian gentleman.

We are the better enabled to prepare these memorials, because we were never separated, for any length of time, frcgji our parents, neither of us having been sent to a boarding-school, or in our earlier years confined to that edifying domestic Botany Bay — the Nursery — where children grow up by the pattern of unwatched, uneducated, hired servants.

How our father ever made of us companions, and was ready in return to be our playfellow, will be mentioned elsewhere.

Having then undertaken this " labour of love " ourselves, in preference, with all humility nevertheless, to entrusting it to others, comparative strangers, however distinguished; we repose, hopefully, on the generosity and consideration of the English people, with whom we have ever found our father's name a passport to the sympathies.

As regards the form and arrangement of these pages, a few words only are necessary. Each Chapter, with the exception of two, contains the events of a year ; that

X PKEFACE.

having appeared to us the most simple and natural division. In the letters we have done our best to omit everything approaching to a repetition. If we have not, altogether, and at all times succeeded, we can only plead as an excuse the difficulties we have had to encounter ; and the same must be said for any passage, which may give unintentional pain to those mentioned in it.

In the last volume we have ventured to reprint some of our father's less-known effusions, not included in the later editions of his works, and to offer to the public a few pieces hitherto unpublished, and, for the most part, more or less unfinished.

The illustrations consist, in the first place, of two fac-similes ; the one of a sheet of the " Song of the Shirt," as first written out, and the other of the sketch for his own monument drawn by our father towards the close of his last illness. The remaining vignettes are from sketches rapidly dashed off by him for our amusement. Many of them are from sheets of similar oddities, which we used to find, to our huge delight, lying on our pillows occasionally of a morning. He had drawn them overnight, before going to rest, after the long hours of his literary labour were done. They may have perhaps too great a value in our eyes, but we have added them to complete the memorials, as indications, however slight, of the untiring humour, and self-forgetful thought for the pleasure of

PREFACE. xi

Others, which could suggest and create them after the mental and physical labour of a weary night's composition.*

Having explained our plan in these volumes, I will add .1 few words on a subject which I feel it my duty to speak of rather plainly.

It has always been a popular misconception that men of letters, as a rule, are freethinkers. It is my own earnest belief, that the higher mental organization and refined sensibility of men of letters render them, almost to a fault, reserved in expressing a religious faith, for the very reason that they feel it so deeply and solemnly.

My father's religious faith was deep and sincere : but it was but little known to a world ever too apt to decide by hearing professions, rather than by scrutinising actions. Those to whom his domestic life was every day revealed, felt how he lived after the divine requirements : for he " did justice," sacrificing comfort, health, and fortune, in the endeavour ; he " loved mercy " with a love that was whispering into his ear, even as he was dying, new labours for his unhappy fellows ; and he " walked humbly with his God " in a faith too rare to be made a common spectacle ; for, as he said —

" I consider faith and prayers Among the privatest of men's affairs."

* Another reason for their insertion is, that they will give a fairer notion of his artistic skill, to which the cuts m the Comic Annuals did but inadequate justice.

PREFACE.

As regarded othei's' opinions, he was most indulgent.

" Intolerant to none Whatever shape the pious rite may bear ; Ev'n the poor heathen's homage to the Sun I would not rashly scorn — lest, even there I spurn'd some element of Christian prayer ; An aim, tho' erring, at a ' world ayont,' Acknowledgment of good, of man's futility, A sense of need, and weakness, and indeed The very thing so many Christians want — Humility."

In a similar spirit, he bids us —

" Ne'er o'erlook, in bigotry of sect, One truly Catholic, one common form,

At which, uncheck'd, AH Christian hearts may kindle, or keep warm. Say — was it to my spirit's gain or loss. One bright and balmy morning, as 1 went From Liege's lovely environs to Ghent, If hard by the wayside I found a Cross, That made me breathe a prayer upon the spot — Where Nature of herself, as if to trace The emblem's use, had traU'd around its base The blue significant Forget-Me-Not ? Methought the claims of Charity to urge More forcibly, along with Faith and Hope, The pious choice had pitched upon the verge

Of a delicious slope.

Giving the eye much variegated scope ; — ' Look round,' it wliisper'd, ' on that prospect rare. Those vales so verdant, and those hills so blue ;

PREFACE. xiii

Enjoy the sunny world, so fresh so fair, But ' — (how the simple legend pierced me thro' !) ' Priez pour LE8 Malheureux ! ' "

I am impelled to quote one more passage from the " Ode to Rae Wilson," because the appealing advice contained in it has since been acted on. I wonder does any working-man, when he attends one of the special evening services held for the poor and the labouring classes in our metropolitan minsters and churches, ever think of his affectionate friend and advocate, who once wrote thus ?

" Oh ! simply open wide the Temple door. And let the solemn, swelling organ gi-eet.

With Voluntaries meet.

The willing advent of the rich and poor ! And, while to God the loud Hosannas soar. With rich vibrations from the vocal throng — From quiet shades that to the woods belong,

And brooks with music of their own, Voices may come to swell the choral song With notes of praise they learned in musings lone ! "

Almost my father's last words were, " Lord — say ' Arise, take up thy cross, and follow me.' "

He had borne that cross during his whole life, but the quiet unobtrusive religious faith I have endeavoured to describe, supplied him Avith exemplary patience under severe sufferings, with cheerfulness under adverse circumstances, with a manly resolution to wrong no one, with an affecxiv PREFACE.

tionate longing to alleviate the suffering of all classes, and with a chai'ity and love that I will not do moi'e than touch on, for fear I should be thought to be carried away by my feelings.

My mother was a fitting companion for such a husband : she shared his struggles, and soothed his sorrow, and was so much a part of his very existence, that latterly he could hardly bear her out of his sight, or write when she was not by him. We have been frequently obliged to omit large portions of his letters to her — it would have been sacrilege to alter them, and we did not feel it right to publish what was intended for her eyes alone — the tender epithets, and the love-talk ; so fond, and yet so true. I quote here one passage, as a sample of those which occur so frequently in the letters.

" I never was anything, dearest, till I knew you — and I have been a better, happier, and more prosperous man ever since. Lay by that truth in lavender, sweetest, and remind me of it when I fail. I am writing warmly and fondly; but not without good cause. First, your own affectionate letter, lately received — next the remembrances of our dear children, pledges — what darling ones ! — of our old familiar love, — then a delicious impulse to pour out the overfloAvings of my heart into yours ; and last, not least, the knowledge that your dear eyes will read what my hand is now writing. Perhaps

PREFACE. XV

there is an after-thought that, whatever may befal me, the wife of my bosom will have this acknowledgment of her tenderness — worth — excellence — all that is wifely or womanly, from my pen."

Throughout his long illnesses she was his constant nurse and unwearying companion, nor did she long survive him. One trait in her character I record as an example for mothers. She never, even in the most unimpoi*tant matters, answered my childish inquiries as to the various things, which naturally attracted my young thoughts, with anything but the truth. I can truly say now that afterexperience has never discovered anything, in which she deceived me, as some do, to put a stop to tedious questionings. The consequence is, that, in many matters of faith, hard to understand and grasp, the only reason I can give for holding them, but that is an all-sufficient one, is " that I learnt to believe it of my mother, and she never taught me what was untrue." That memory has been an anchor on which I have rested, when otherwise I might have lost myself in blind gropings after the intangible.

I must not close this preface (although it has already exceeded the limits I assigned it), without a grateful reference to Miss Eliza Cook, and the originators and promoters of the movement, which led to the erection of the noble monument to my father in Kensal Green ; a monument which has not its peer in England, whether for the xvi PREFACE.

universal subscriptions which raised it, or for the chaste and unique novelty of its design.

From the managers and furtherers of the undertaking, or from the distinguished names on the subsci-iption lists, it would be ungracious and invidious to select any for special notice ; but a similar reason to that, which led me to connect my father's slight sketches with these memorials, induces me to select from the humbler names on the lists such donations as the following : " trifling sums from Manchester, Preston, Bideford, and Bristol — from a few poor needlewomen — from seven dressmakers — from twelve poor men."

I should be wanting indeed in appreciation of the people's love for my dead father, if I did not, (by incorporating them with this work,) endeavour to rescue from oblivion these tokens of the gentle remembi'ance, by the poor, of the Poet

" Who sang the Song of the Shirt."

T. H.

Note. The Vignette on page vi. is a sketch of the arms, which my father used to say he should adopt, if the Queen would give him a grant — "a heart, pierced with a needle threaded with silver tears," — the motto, "He Sang the Song of the Shirt."

The crest was one he selected in jest, quoting Shakespeare — " The ox hath his bow, sir; the horse his curb; and the falcon her bells;" so why should n't the Hood have his hawk?

It is worth noticing that the little silliouettes of Animals, &c., interspersed among the other vignettes, were drawn long before " Punch ' ' appeared with his spirited little black cuts.

CONTENTS OF VOL. I.

CHAPTER I. From 1799 to 1835

PAGE

Birth and Parentage. — Apprenticed to an Engraver. — Goes to Scotland for his Health. — Assistant Sub-Editor of " The London." — Acquaintance with the Eeynolds Family. — " Odes and Addresses." — He maiTies Jliss Jane Reynolds. — Robert Street, Adelphi. — Birth and Death of First Child. — " Whims and Oddities." — " National Tales." — " Plea of the Midsummer Fairies."

— Edits "The Gem." — "Eugene Aram." — Winchmore. - Birth of Second Daughter. — Anecdotes, Fondness for the Sea, &c. — "The Comic Annual." — Acquaintance with the Duke of Devonshire. — The Cliatsworth Library Door. — " Tylney Hall."

— Connection with the Stage. — Is presented to his Majesty King William IV. — Lake House, Wanstead. — Anecdotes, &c. 1

Chapter II

He is involved in Difficulties by the Failure of a Firm. — Birth of only Son. — lUness of Mrs. Hood. — Acquaintance with Dr. Elliot. — Goes to Germany. — Nearly lost in the " Lord Melville."

— At Rotterdam. — Letters to his Wife. — Joined by her and the Children at Coblenz. — Letter from Mrs. Hood to Mrs. Elliot. — Acquaintance with Lieutenant De Franck. — Letters to Mr. and Mrs. Dilke, Mr. Wright, and Lieutenant De Franck. . . .46 xviii CONTENTS.

Chapter III. Page

At Coblenz. — Letters from Mrs. Hood to Mrs. Elliot. — Letters to Mr. Wright and Mr. Dilke. — Accompanies the 19th Polish Infantry in their March to Berlin. — Letters to his Wife. — Returns to Coblenz. — Illness. — Letters to Lieut, de Franck, Mr. Wright, and Mr. Dilke. — Commences " Up the Rhine." .... 117

Chapter IV

At Coblenz. — Letters to Mr. Wright, Lieut, de Franck, and Dr. Elliot. — Leaves Coblenz. — Settles at Ostend. — Letters to Mr. Wright, Dr. Elliot, and Mr. Dilke 222

Chapter V

At Ostend. — Illness. — " Hood's Own." — Mrs. Hood to Mrs. Dilke. — Portrait Painted by Mr. Lewis. — Letters to Mr. Wright, Lieut. De Franck, and Mr. Dilke 276

MEMORIALS OF THOMAS HOOD.

Chapter I

Birth and Parentage. — Apprenticed to an Engraver. — Goes to Scotland for his Health. — Assistant Sub-Editor of " The London." — Acquaintance with the Reynolds Family. — " Odes and Addresses." — He marries Sliss Jane Reynolds. — Robert Street, Adelphi. — Birth and Death of first Child. — " Whims and Oddities." — " Nalional Tales." — " Plea of the Midsummer Fairies." — Edits " The Gem." — " Eugene Aram." — Winchmore. — Birth of second Daughter. — Anecdotes, Fondness for the Sea, &c. — " The Comic Annual." — Acquaintance with the Duke of Devonshire. — The Chatsworth Library Dooi*. — " Tylney Hall." — Connection with the Stage. — Is presented to his Majesty King William IV. — Lake House, Wanstead. — Anecdotes, &c.

THE public record of Thomas Hood has been long before the world — either in the quaint jests and witty conceits, that enlivened many a Christmas fireside ; or in the poems, which were his last and best legacy to his country. All that I'emains is the history of his private life — that " long disease," as it was truly called, so long, and so severe, that it was only wonderful that the sensitive mind and frail body had not given way before. From his earliest years, with the exception of a few

TOL. I. 1 A bright but transient gleams, it was a hand to hand struggle with straitened means and adverse circumstaiices. It was a practical illustration of Longfellow's noble lines —

" How sublime a thing it is To suffer and be strong."

He possessed the most refined taste and appreciation for all the little luxuries and comforts that make up so much of the enjoyments of life ; and the cares and annoyances that would be scarcely perceptible to a stronger and rougher organisation, fell with a double weight on the mind overtasked by such constant and harassing occupation. He literally fulfilled his own words, and was one of the " master minds at journey-work — moral magistrates greatly underpaid — immortals without a living — menders of the human heart, breaking their own — mighty intellects, without their mite." The income his works now jiroduce to his children, might then have prolonged his life for many years ; although, when wc looked on the calm happy face after death, free at last from the painful expression that had almost become habitual to it, we dared not regret the rest so long prayed for, and hardly won.

His life, like that of most modern literary men, was very barren of incident; there is therefore little to relate, save the ebb and flow of health and strength —

" As in his breast the wave of fife Kept heaving to and fro."

The reader must bear this in mind, if wearied with the recurrence of the chronicle of sickness and suffering.

MEMORIALS OP THOMAS HOOD. 3

"With the distinct and even minute foreknowledge of organic and mortal disease, liable at any moment to a fatal and sudden termination, it must indeed have been a brave spirit to bear so cheerfully and courageously, as he did, that life, which was one long sickness. He knew that those dearest to him were dependent on his exertions, and his mental powers were cramped and tied down by pecuniary necessity ; while his bodily frame was enfeebled by nervousness and exhaustion.

Of my father's birth and parentage we can glean but few particulars ; his own joking account was, that, as his grandmother was a Miss Armstrong, he was descended from two notorious thieves, i. e. Robin Hood and Johnnie Armstrong. I have found his father's name mentioned in " Illustrations of the Literary History of the Eighteenth Century," by J. B. Nicholls, F.S.A. : —

"August 20th. — At Islington, of a malignant fever, originating from the effects of the night air in travelling, Mr. Thomas Hood, bookseller, of the Poultry. Mr. Hood was a native of Scotland, and came to London to seek his fortune, where he was in a humble position for four or five years. * * * His partner, Mr. Vernor, died soon afterwards. Mr. Thomas Hood married a sister of Mr. Vernor, junior, by whom he had a larg^e family. He was a truly domestic man, and a real man of business. Mr. Hood was one of the ' Associated Booksellers,' who selected valuable old books for reprinting, with great success. Messrs. Vernor and Hood afterwards moved into the Poultry, and took into partnership Mr. C. Sharpe. The firm of Messrs. Vernor and Hood published ' The Beauties of England and Wales,' ' The Mirror,' ' Bloomfield's

Poems,' and those of Henry Kirke White. Mr. Hood was the father of Thomas Hood the celebrated comic poet."

The above account is, I believe, tolerably correct, except that Mr. Hood married a Miss Sands, sister to the engraver of that name, to whom his son was afterwards articled. Mr. Hood's family consisted of two sons, James and Thomas, and four daughters, Elizabeth, Anne, Jessie, and Catherine. At his house in the Poultry, on the 23d of May, as far as we trace, in the year 1799, was born his second son Thomas, the subject of this memoir. The first son, James, was supposed to be the most promising, fond of literature, and a good linguist, a more rare accomplishment then than now. He drew exceedingly well in pen and ink, and water-colours, as also did one or two of the sisters. The elder Mr. Hood was a man of cultivated taste and literary inclinations, and was the author of two novels which attained some popularity in their day, although now their very names are forgotten. No doubt his favourite pursuits and his profession influenced in no small degree the amusements and inclinations of his children ; and, for those days, they must have been a very fairly intellectual family.

James Hood, however, died at an early age, a victim to consumption, which ultimately carried off his mother and two sisters. After the sudden death of the father, the widow and her children were left rather slenderly provided for. My father, the only remaining son, preferred the drudgery of an engraver's desk to encroaching upon the small family store. He was articled to his uncle, Mr. Sands, and subsequently was transferred to one of the Le Keux. He was a most devoted and excellent son to his mother, and the last days of her widowhood and decline were soothed by his tender care and affection. Her death was, I have often heard him say, a terrible blow to him. I have now in my possession a little sketch of his, of his mother's face as she lay in her coffin. His sister Anne did not survive her very long,* but I cannot ascertain the date of either of their deaths.

An opening that offered more congenial employment presented itself at last, when he was about the age of twenty-one. By the death of Mr. John Scott, the editor of the " London Magazine," who was killed in a duel, that periodical passed into other hands, and became the property of my father's friends, Messrs. Taylor and Hessey. The new proprietors soon sent for him, and he became a sort of sub-editor to the magazine.

I am exceedingly indebted to the kindness and courtesy of Messrs. Taylor and Hessey (who have both survived almost all their contributors) for several particulars relating to my father's eai'ly life. From the latter gentleman's letter on the subject I have ventured to quote largely.

" I remember," he says, " often having seen the late

* The lines entitled "The Death-Bed," (in the "Englishman's Magazine,") and commencing,

" We watched her breathing through the night," \vere written at the time of her death. The poem has been frequently quoted, without the name of the author, and so, with several others of my ftxther's writings, is not generally known to be his. Shortly after my father's death, when " The Serious Poems " were published, a Latin translation of " The Death-Bed '" appeared in the " Times." — T. H.

Mr. Hood when he was a mere boy at the house of his father, whom I had the pleasure of knowing intimately for many years. He was, as far as I can recollect, a singular child, silent and retired, with much quiet humour, and apparently delicate in health. He way, I believe, educated at a school in the neighbourhood of London,* and at the age of fifteen or sixteen was articled to his uncle, Mr. Sands, as an engraver. His health, however, beginning to suffer from confinement, it was found necessary to put an end to that engagement, and he was sent to a relation in Scotland,! where he remained some years with great benefit. He returned to town about the beginning of the year 1821. In that year the

* This school was either at Clapham or Camberwell. I can remember my father's pointing it out to me, while we were living at the latter place. At that time it was converted into a naval school, I think. Of many schoolboy tricks and adventures, related by him, I reo-ret that I can recal only very faint recollections, for they were very laughable, and might go among the exempla minora to prove the rule " the child is father to the man." Amongst other anecdotes, I remember one in which he was the instigator of a purely homoeopathic revenge upon the footman, who was permitted to vend nuts, parliament, and marbles to the pupils. Monopoly of trade induced the man to raise the price above the " outside " standard, whereon characteristic retaliation was inflicted by raising the articles (that is the desk in which they were kept) by four cords to the schoolhouse ceiling. When the charges were lowered, the desk was permitted to follow their example. — T. H.

t According to his own ' Literary Reminiscences,' he was clerk in a merchant's office. But I doubt this, as most probably a "mischievous invention" for committing puns. He was two years in Scotland, and made his first appearance in print there — first in tlie Dundee paper in a letter, and afterwards in a local m.agazine. He did not, however, he says, adopt literature as a profession till long after. — T. H.

' London Magazine ' came into the hands of Mr. Taylor and myself, after the death of the editor, Mr. John Scott ; and Mr. Hood was engaged to assist the editor in correcting the press, and in looking over papers sent for insertion. This was his first introduction to the literary world ; and here he first amused himself by concocting humorous notices and answers to correspondents in the ' Lion's Head.' * His first original paper appeared in the number for July, 1821, vol. iv. p. 85, in some verses 'To Hope.' I find nothing more of his until November of the same year, when his humorous ' Ode to Dr. Kitchener ' appeared in the ' Lion's Head ' of that month ; a poem, ' The Departure of Summer,' in the body of the number, p. 493 ; and ' A Sentimental Journey from Islington to Waterloo Bridge,' in the same number, p. 508. From that time he became a regular contributor, and as many as twenty-four more papers of various kinds ap-

* " The Echo," in Hood's Magazine, was a continuation of this idea. Some of the replies to imaginary letters wei-e very quaint. I append a few, extracted at random, because the magazine is not so well known or so often met with now, as to render me liable to the charge of quoting what every one knows.

"Verity. It is better to have an enlarged heart than a contracted one, and even such a hoemorrhage as mine than a spitting of spite."

" ' A Chapter on Bustles ' is under consideration for one of our Back-numbers."

" N. N. The most characteristic ' Mysteries of London ' are those which have lately prevailed on the land and the river, attended by collisions of vessels, robberies, assaults, accidents, and other features of Metropolitan interest. If N. N. be ambitious of competing with the writer, whom he names, let him try his hand at a genuine, solid, yellow November fog. It is dirty, dangerous, smoky, stinking, obscure, unwholesome, and favorable to vice and violence." — T. H.

g MEMORIALS OF THOMAS HOOD.

peared, the last being ' Lines to a Cold Beauty,' in June, 1823, after which time I find no further production of his pen.

" Mr. Hood's connection with the ' London Magazine ' led to his introduction to our friend Mr. Reynolds (and through him to his sister) and to the various contributors to the work, — Charles Lamb, Allan Cunningham, Hazlitt, Horace Smith, Judge Talfourd, Barry Cornwall, the Rev. H. F. Carey, Sir Charles A. Elton, Charles Phillips, Dr. Bowring, John Clare, Thomas De Quincey, G«eorge Darley, the Rev. Charles Strong, Wainwright, Hartley Coleridge, Bernard Barton, Richard Ayton, the Rev. Mr. Crowe, Rev. Julius Hare, Rev. Dr. Bliss, John Poole, Esq., &c. &c.