From the Dublin University Magazine. THE LATE THOMAS HOOD. We rejoice that Hood's verses have been collected. The collection, the short pre-quick-glancing fancies of a bright-eyed face to these volumes informs us, "is made in fulfilment of his own desire; it was among his last instructions to those who were dearest to him." The injunction only showed a just sense of the rights of his own remarkable and original genius. There is a phrase which seems to have been blown upon by Cockneysim, till one is nervous about using it, and yet, if Cockneyism would have let it alone, it is a pretty and expressive phrase enough; Hood's verses are "refreshing"-specially refreshing to us professional employers of poetical common-place-refreshing as rural breezes to one "long in populous city pent," who draws his easy and invigorated breath upon the slope of some heaven-kissing Wicklow hill after days and weeks of Sackville-street and Merrion-square in July. We wis "Poor Tom Hood!" For Hood was a universal favorite-a pet of the public. Men would as little have thought of sternly taking Hood to task, as of rebuking the thoughtful child. He was one of those whom most of us who had never beheld his face in the flesh, knew, by a sort of indirect intellectual intimacy better than common acquaintanceship. How often he came to us "as a pleasant thought, when such are wanted!" How often did the carewrinkled forehead smooth under the passing influence of one of his incomparable fragments of humor, caught in the Poet's Corner of some country newspaper, where the smiling little violet modestly blossomed in the midst of thorny brakes-of pastorals (not of Theocritus, but) of Doctor MacHale, of speeches of Mr. Joseph Hume, and dissertations on railroads, and infallible receipts for the bite of a mad dog! And there is something peculiarly pathetic about the death of a humorist-of a humorwe had a half-sovereign (for ist true-hearted and blameless as Hood was. moderate and reasonable) Shakspeare has embodied and immortalized individual who, opening the feelings of us all in the Yorick scene Le volumes, will give in Hamlet. Death-grim and ghastly his thoughts in the Death-what business had the old scythesghty monosyllables- | man, his crapes and his cross-bones-with From the Dublin University Magazine. THE LATE THOMAS HOOD. We rejoice that Hood's verses have been collected. The collection, the short preface to these volumes informs us, " is made in fulfilment of his own desire; it was among his last instructions to those who were dearest to him." The injunction only showed a just sense of the rights of his own remarkable and original genius. There is a phrase which seems to have been blown upon by Cockneysim, till one is nervous about using it, and yet, if Cockneyism would have let it alone, it is a pretty and expressive phrase enough; Hood's verses are "refresh "Poor Tom Hood!" For Hood was a universal favorite-a pet of the public. Men would as little have thought of sternly taking Hood to task, as of rebuking the quick-glancing fancies of a bright-eyed thoughtful child. He was one of those whom most of us who had never beheld his face in the flesh, knew, by a sort of indirect intellectual intimacy better than common acquaintanceship. How often he came to us "as a pleasant thought, when such are wanted!" How often did the carewrinkled forehead smooth under the passing influence of one of his incomparable fragments of humor, caught in the Poet's Corner of some country newspaper, where ing"-specially refreshing to us profession- the smiling little violet modestly blossomed al employers of poetical common-place-re- in the midst of thorny brakes-of pastorals freshing as rural breezes to one long in populous city pent," who draws his easy and invigorated breath upon the slope of some heaven-kissing Wicklow hill after days and weeks of Sackville-street and Merrion-square in July. We wish we had a half-sovereign (for our desires are moderate and reasonable) (not of Theocritus, but) of Doctor MacHale, of speeches of Mr. Joseph Hume, and dissertations on railroads, and infallible receipts for the bite of a mad dog! And there is something peculiarly pathetic about the death of a humorist-of a humorist true-hearted and blameless as Hood was. Shakspeare has embodied and immortalized for every single individual who, opening the feelings of us all in the Yorick scene these two neat little volumes, will give in Hamlet. Death-grim and ghastly the first utterance to his thoughts in the Death-what business had the old scythesthree simple but weighty monosyllables-man, his crapes and his cross-bones-with VOL. III.-No. III. 55 |