loftier than these--though even here it is not often that he utterly
forswears quaintness and oddity. The risible, the fantastic, was his
beacon-light; sometimes as delicate as a dell of glow-worms; sometimes
as uproarious as a bonfire; sometimes, it must be said (for he had to
be perpetually writing whether the inspiration came or not, or his
inspiration was too liable to come from the very platitudes and
pettinesses of everyday life), not much more brilliant than a
rush-light, and hardly more aromatic than the snuff of a tallow candle.

[Footnote 3: This "Tim, says he," is a perfect _gag_ in many of Hood's
letters. It is curious to learn what was the kind of joke which could
assume so powerful an ascendant over the mind and associations of this
great humorist. Here it is, as given in the Hood _Memorials_ from _Sir
Jonah Barrington's Memoirs_:--

"'Tim,' says he--
'Sir,' says he--
'Fetch me my hat, says he;
'That I may go,' says he,
'To Timahoe,' says he,
'And go to the fair,' says he,
'And see all that's there,' says he.--
'First pay what you owe,' says he;
'And then you may go,' says he,
'To Timahoe,' says he,
'And go to the fair,' says he,
'And see all that's there,' says he.--
'Now by this and by that,' says he,
'Tim, hang up my hat,' says he."]