“As he entered the room my first impression was that of slight disappointment. I had not then seen any portrait of him, and my imagination had depicted a man of the under size, with a humorous and mobile mouth, and with sharp, twinkling, and investigating eyes. When, therefore, a rather tall and attenuated figure presented itself before me, with grave aspect and dressed in black, and when, after scrutinising his features, I noticed those dark, sad eyes set in that pale and pain-worn yet tranquil face, and saw the expression of that suffering mouth, telling how sickness with its stern plough had driven its silent share through that slender frame, all the long train of quaint and curious fancies, ludicrous imageries, oddly-combined contrasts, humorous distortions, strange and uncouth associations, myriad word-twistings, ridiculous miseries, grave trifles, and trifling gravities—all these came before me like the rushing event of a dream, and I asked myself, ‘Can this be the man that has so often made me roll with laughter at his humour, chuckle at his wit, and wonder while I threaded the maze of his inexhaustible puns?’ When he began to converse in bland and placid tones about Germany, where he had for some time lived, I became more reconciled to him.”

“In person Hood was of middle height, slender and sickly-looking, of sallow complexion and pale features, quiet in expression, and very rarely excited so as to give indication of either the pathos or the humour that must ever have been working in his soul. His was, indeed, a countenance rather of melancholy than mirth; there was something calm, even to solemnity, in the upper portion of the face, seldom relieved, in society, by the eloquent play of the mouth, or the sparkle of an observant eye. In conversation he was by no means brilliant. When inclined to pun, which was not often, it seemed as if his wit was the issue of thought, and not an instinctive produce, such as I have noticed in other men who have thus become famous, who are admirable in crowds, whose animation is like that of the sounding-board, which makes a great noise at a small touch, when listeners are many and applause is sure.”

“The face of Hood is best known by two busts and an oil-portrait, which have both been engraved from. It is the sort of face to which apparently a bust does more than justice, yet less than right,—the features, being mostly by no means bad ones, look better when thus reduced to the more simple and abstract contour than they probably showed in reality, for no one supposed Hood to be a fine-looking man; on the other hand, the value of the face must have been in its shifting expression—keen, playful, or subtle—and this can be but barely suggested by the sculptor. The poet’s visage was pallid, his figure slight, his voice feeble; he always dressed in black, and is generally spoken of as presenting a generally clerical appearance.”