All this is introductory to the most astonishing example that could be conceived of the fallacy of what I may call expert opinion, on literary merit and public taste.
I am not sure of the precise date, but I think it was about 1848 or 1849 that Hood's "Song of the Shirt" appeared in Punch. There is, or was, a letter in existence from Hood to Mark Lemon, then editor of Punch, in which the writer tells his friend he has enclosed a poem that he may publish in Punch if he likes; but he "most likely won't like," and refuse it, as the publishers, one and all, to whom it has been offered, had done without hesitation. "In that case," said Hood, "tear it up, and put it in the waste-paper-basket; for I am sick of the sight of it." This was the "Song of the Shirt," one of the most powerful, touching, and pathetic poems in the English language.
My old friend, Willert Beale, whose recently-published "Light of Other Days" has charmed so many readers, sends me the following account of the introduction of the "Song of the Shirt" into Punch:
"Mark Lemon" (then editor of Punch) "was looking over the immense heap of Punch letters on his desk, when he opened one enclosing a poem, which the writer said had been rejected by three contemporaries, and if unavailable for Punch, he begged the editor, whom he knew but slightly, to consign the paper to his waste-basket, as he was sick of the sight of it. The poem was signed 'Tom Hood,' and entitled 'The Song of the Shirt,' now so famous among us all. Of a totally different character to anything that had previously appeared in the pages of Punch, most of the staff were dead set against the insertion of it; but Mark Lemon, whose quick appreciation of its merits made him unwilling to let so valuable a prize slip from his grasp, over-ruled all objections with quiet though firm determination, and brought it before the public through the medium of Punch. The insertion trebled the sale of the number. Mark Lemon was always very proud of this success, which was certainly attributable to his efforts.
"'Hood wants but one thing to make him famous,' he used to say, 'and that is death.'
"His words were verified, for in poverty and comparative obscurity died one of England's cleverest men."
In 1849 some very painful disclosures were made in the Metropolitan police-courts, when it appeared "that numbers of poor sempstresses were paid by the slop-sellers only three-halfpence for making a shirt, and in proportion for other articles of ready-made clothing." In all probability these disclosures suggested the "Song of the Shirt," as they assuredly did the charming designs by Leech, called "Pin-Money" and "Needle-Money." It seems to me almost an impertinence for a commentator on such admirable designs as these to point out the beauties so palpable to all who look at them. We sympathize with each of these classes of beings, for they are both the results of conditions that they have done nothing to create. It is certain that one of them is miserable, and it is by no means sure that the lovely girl's pin-money brings happiness with it.
There was everything in the shape of similarity of thought and feeling to have brought Leech and Hood into intimacy, but I doubt if they ever saw much of each other. Hood's comparatively premature death, preceded by much sickness and seclusion, took place while Leech was far from the position in public estimation that he afterwards reached. In proof of similarity of humour I give the following note from Hood to Dickens:
"17, Elm Tree Road, 1841,
Saturday."Dear Dickens,
"As you are going to America, and have kindly offered to execute any little commission for me, pray, if it be not too much trouble, try to get me an autograph of Sandy Hook's. I have Theodore's.
"Yours very truly,
"Thos. Hood.
"My boy does not wait for an answer."