his thin features and his uneasy sleep, took note that the instrument was fast decaying which gave forth the enchantment and the charm of all this mirthful and melancholy music.  Thus, in bodily pain, in bodily weakness even worse than pain, in pecuniary embarrassment worse than either, worst of all, often distressed in mind as to means of support for his family, he still persevered; his genius did not forsake him, nor did his goodness; the milk of human kindness did not grow sour, nor the sweet charities of human life turn into bitter irritations.  But what a tragedy the whole suggests, in its combination of gayety with grief, and in the thought of laughter that must be created at the cost of sighs, of merriment in which every grin has been purchased by a groan!

An anecdote which we once read, always, when we recall it, deeply affects us.  A favorite comic actor, on a certain evening, was hissed by the audience, who had always before applauded him.  He burst into tears.  He had been watching his dying wife, and had left her dead, as be came upon the stage.  This was his apology for imperfection in his part.  Poor Hood had also to unite comedy with tragedy,—­not for a night, or a day, or a week, but for months and years.  He had to give the comedy to the public, and keep the tragedy to himself; nor could he, if comedy failed him, plead with the public the tragedy of his circumstances. That was nothing to the public.  He must give pleasure to the public, and not explanations and excuses.  But genius, goodness, many friends, no enemy, the consciousness of imparting enjoyment to multitudes, and to no man wretchedness, a heart alive with all that is tender and gentle, and strong to manful and noble purpose and achievement,—­these are grand compensations,—­compensations for even more ills than Hood was heir to; and with such compensations Hood was largely blessed.  Though his funds were nothing to the bounty of his spirit, yet he did not refuse to himself the blessedness of giving.  Want, to his eye of charity, was neither native nor foreign, but human; and as human he pitied it always, and, as far as he could, relieved it.  While abroad, he was constantly doing acts of beneficence; and the burlesque style with which, in his correspondence, he tries to disguise his own goodness, while using the incidents as items to write about, is one of the most delightful peculiarities in his delightful letters.  The inimitable combination of humanity and humor in these passages renders them equal to the best things that Hood has anywhere written.  To crown all, Hood had happiness unalloyed in his children and his wife.  Mrs. Hood seems to have deserved to the utmost the abounding love which her husband lavished on her.  She was not only, as a devoted wife, a cheerer of his heart, but, as a woman of accomplishment and ability, she was a companion for his mind.  Her judgment was as clear and sure as her affection was warm and strong.  Her letters have often a grave tenderness and an insinuated humor hardly inferior to her husband’s.  But as she must write from fact and not from fancy, what she writes naturally bears the impression of her cares.  Here is a passage from one of her latest letters, which, half sadly, half amusingly, reminds us of Mrs. Primrose and her “I’ll-warrant” and “Between-ourselves” manner.