"IT MUST BE TAUGHT IN DARKNESS AND IN PAIN, OR BY THE BOSOM OF A CHILD AGAIN :-(JAMES HOGG)

WHERE SHALL THE SPIRIT REST? WHERE SHALL IT GO?

A WITCH'S RIDE.

And when we came to the Lapland lone,

The fairies were all in array;
For all the genii of the North

Were keeping their holiday.

189

KNOWLEDGE OF ALL, AVAILS THE HUMAN KIND, FOR ALL BEYOND THE GRAVE ARE JOYS OF MIND."-HOGG.

["The genii of the North were keeping their holiday."]
The warlock men and the weird women,
And the fays of the wood and the steep,
And the phantom-hunters all were there,
And the mermaids of the deep.

And they washed us all with the witch-water
Distilled from the moorland dew,

While our beauty bloomed like the Lapland rose

That wild in the forest grew.

[From the wild romantic ballad of "The Witch of Fife;" a very characteristic specimen of Hogg's peculiar powers. It forms the Eighth Bard's Story in "The Queen's Wake;" but has been Anglicised here for the convenience of our readers.]

OR HOW ENJOY A BLISS IT DOES NOT KNOW?"-J. HOGG.

"GLOOMY IS THE HOUSE OF WOE, WHERE TEARS ARE FALLING WHILE THE BELL IS KNELLING,-(HOOD)

190

66 OH, VERY, VERY DREARY IS THE ROOM

THOMAS HOOD.

Thomas Hood.

[THOMAS HOOD was born in London in 1798. He was educated for the
counting-house, and, after leaving school, was placed in the establishment
of a London merchant. His health failing, he resided for awhile with some
relatives at Dundee, where he contributed to the local newspapers. Re-
turning to London, he served a brief apprenticeship to the trade of an en-
graver, but in 1821 adopted literature as a profession, and accepted the
sub-editorship of the London Magazine. In 1826 his "Whims and Od-
dities" brought his rich powers of wit and humour prominently before the
public. He commenced his "Comic Annual" in 1829, continuing it for
nine years, and following it up in 1838 by "Hood's Own." His novel of
"Tylney Hall" was published in 1831. In 1844 he started "Hood's Maga-
zine." His life was one of incessant activity, maintained in spite of con-
tinual ill-health; and it may truly be said of this fine humourist, true poet,
and amiable man, that he died in harness. His latest effusions, written on
his death-bed, were full of the old fire.

Thomas Hood died in May 1845. The breadth and richness of his comic
powers have done some injury to his fame as a poet; but, in truth, this gay
and facile punster, who seemed to see in everything a peg whereon to hang
a quip or jest, was able to sound the depths of human passion, and possessed
a complete mastery over the springs of emotion and feeling. In his serious
pieces he exhibits a fine and pregnant fancy, a sweet and sustained pathos,
and a remarkable command of musical diction. The "Song of the Shirt"
has obtained a world-wide reputation, and, in conjunction with the "Bridge
of Sighs," will undoubtedly be classed among the gems
"of purest ray
serene" of English literature. His most finished effort is the "Plea of the
Midsummer Fairies;" his most powerful, the "Dream of Eugene Aram."
In fine, Thomas Hood was a genuine poet, and we believe his reputation
will be greater with posterity than it is with us.]

THE SONG OF THE SHIRT.

ITH fingers weary and worn,
With eyelids heavy and red,

A woman sat, in unwomanly rags,
Plying her needle and thread-

Stitch! stitch! stitch!

In poverty, hunger, and dirt,
And still with a voice of dolorous pitch
She sang the "Song of the Shirt.”

WHERE LOVE NO LONGER NESTLES."-HOOD.

WITH ALL THE DARK SOLEMNITIES WHICH SHOW THAT DEATH IS IN THE DWELLING."-T. HOOD.

"WITH SWEET KIND NATURES, AS IN HONEYED CELLS, RELIGION LIVES."-THOMAS HOOD.

ALAS, FOR THE RARITY OF CHRISTIAN CHARITY!"- HOOD.

"THE BLUE, SIGNIFICANT FORGET-ME-NOT."-THOMAS HOOD.

"FAITH IS A KIND OF PARASITIC PLANT, THAT GRASPS THE NEAREST STEM."-T. HOOD.

"HOW SWEET THE SOUND OF VILLAGE BELLS, WHEN ON THE UNDULATING AIR THEY SWIM,

FAINT NOW, AS FAREWELLS, AND TREMBLING ALL ABOUT THE BREEZY DELLS."-T. HOOD.

"WITH SWEET KIND NATURES, RELIGION LIVES, AND FEELS HERSELF AT HOME-(T. HOOD)

"EVEN THE BRIGHT EXTREMES OF JOY-HOOD)

THE RELIGION OF NATURE.

193

"Oh, but for one short hour!

A respite, however brief!

No blessed leisure for Love or Hope,
But only time for Grief!

A little weeping would ease my heart,

But in their briny bed

My tears must stop, for every drop

Hinders needle and thread!"

With fingers weary and worn,
With eyelids heavy and red,
A woman sat, in unwomanly rags,
Plying her needle and thread-

Stitch! stitch! stitch!

In poverty, hunger, and dirt,

And still with a voice of dolorous pitch-
Would that its tone could reach the Rich!—

She sang this "Song of the Shirt."

[This pathetic poem first appeared in the columns of Punch, and immediately attracted the attention of the public. Its influence was so great that it led to the adoption of several measures for the amelioration of the condition of distressed seamstresses. Its power is mainly due to its sim

plicity.]

BUT ONLY ON A FORMAL VISIT DWELLS WHERE WASPS HAVE FORMED THE COMB."-T. HOOD.

THE RELIGION OF NATURE.

HRICE blessèd is the man with whom

The gracious prodigality of nature,

The balm, the bliss, the beauty, and the bloom,
The bounteous providence in every feature,
Recall the good Creator to his creature,
Making all earth a fane, all heaven its dome!
To his tuned spirit the wild heather-bells
Ring Sabbath knells;

BRING ON CONCLUSIONS OF DISGUST."-T. HOOD.