are you?"
A little disconcerted at the extreme gravity of the other, the
Proctor held out his ample sleeve--"You see this, sir?"
"Ah," returned Hook, having examined the fabric with great
earnestness for a few seconds, "yes; I perceive--Manchester
velvet--and may I take the liberty, sir, of inquiring how much you
might have paid per yard for the article?"
The quiet imperturbability of manner with which this was uttered
was more than the Rev. gentleman could stand; and, muttering
something about "supposing it was a mistake," he effected a retreat,
amid shouts of laughter from Hook's companions, in which the
other occupants of the coffee-room, the waiters, and even his own
"bull-dogs" were constrained to join.--_Barham._
SUMMARY PROCEEDINGS OF WINTER.
Of Hook's improvisations, while at the Mauritius, a stanza of one,
in which the names of the company seem to have furnished, each, the
subject of an epigram, is extant; it runs as follows:--
"We have next Mr. Winter, assessor of taxes,
I'd advise you to pay him whatever he _axes_,
Or you'll find, and I say it without any flummery,
Tho' his name may be Winter, his actions are _summary_."
"SOMETHING WRONG IN THE CHEST."
At St. Helena, Hook encountered the late Lord Charles Somerset, on
his way to assume the governorship of the Cape. Lord Charles, who had
met him in London occasionally, and knew nothing of his arrest, said,
"I hope you are not going home for your health, Mr. Hook." "Why,"
said Theodore, "I am sorry to say, they think there is something
wrong in the _chest_."--_Quarterly Review_, vol. lxxiii., p. 73.
WARREN'S BLACKING.
In the art of punning, whatever be its merits or de-merits, Hook
had few rivals, and but one superior, if indeed one--we mean Mr.
Thomas Hood. Among the innumerable "Theodores" on record, it will
be difficult, of course, to pick out the best; but what he himself
considered to be such, was addressed to the late unfortunate
Mr. F----, an artist, who subsequently committed suicide at the
"Salopian" coffee-house for love, as it is said, of a popular
actress. They were walking in the neighbourhood of Kensington, when
the latter pointing out on a dead wall an incomplete or half-effaced
inscription, running "Warren's B----," was puzzled at the moment for
the want of the context.
"'Tis _lacking_ that should follow," observed Hook, in explanation.
Nearly as good was his remark on the Duke of Darmstadt's brass band.
"They well-nigh stun one," said he, in reference to a morning
concert, "with those terrible wind instruments, which roar away in
defiance of all rule, except that which Hoyle addresses to young
whist-players when in doubt--_trump it!_"
THE WINE-CELLAR AND THE BOOK-SELLER.
Theodore Hook's saying to some man with whom a bibliopolist dined
the other day, and got extremely drunk, "Why, you appear to me to
have emptied your _wine_-cellar into your _book_-seller."--_Moore's
Diary_, Feb., 1836.
SIR ROBERT PEEL'S ANECDOTES OF THEODORE HOOK.
The late Sir Robert Peel was strongly impressed with Hook's
conversational powers and the genuine readiness of his wit; in
illustration of this, he used to relate, among others, the following
anecdote:--One morning, at Drayton Manor, where Hook was staying
as a guest, some one after breakfast happened to read out from the
newspaper a paragraph, in which a well-known coroner was charged
with having had a corpse unnecessarily disinterred. The ladies were
very severe in condemnation of such unfeeling conduct; a gallant
captain, however, who was present, took up the cudgels in behalf of
the accused, maintaining that he was a very kind-hearted man, and
incapable of doing anything without strong reasons, calculated to
annoy the friends of the deceased. The contest waxed warm: "Come,"
said Captain ----, at length, turning to Hook, who was poring over
the _Times_ in a corner of the room, and who had taken no part in the
discussion, "you know W----, what do you think of him? Is he not a
good-tempered, good-natured fellow?"
"Indeed he is," replied Hook, laying aside his paper, "I should say
he was just the very man to _give a body a lift_."
On the same authority, we may repeat a pun made at the expense of the
Duke of Rutland. There was a grand entertainment at Belvoir Castle,
on the occasion of the coming of age of the Marquis of Granby; the
company were going out to see the fireworks, when Hook came, in great
tribulation, to the Duke, who was standing near Sir Robert, and said,
"Now isn't this provoking! I've lost my hat--what can I do?" "Why the
deuce," returned his grace, "did you part with your hat?--I never
do!" "Yes," rejoined Theodore, "but you have especially good reasons
for sticking to your _Beaver_."[78]
A RECEIPT AGAINST NIGHT AIR.
"Theodore Hook," writes a friend, "had a receipt of his own to
prevent invalids from being exposed to the night air. I remember his
once taking me home from a party in his cab, between four and five
o'clock on a brilliant morning in July. I made some remark, soon
after we had passed Hyde Park Corner, about the reviving quality
of the air after the heated rooms we had been in. 'Ah,' said Hook,
'you may depend on it, my dear fellow, that there is nothing more
injurious to health than the night air. I was very ill some months
ago, and my doctor gave me particular orders not to expose myself
to it.' 'I hope,' said I, 'you attended to them?' 'O yes!' said he,
'strictly; I came up every day to Crockford's or some other place
to dinner, and I made it a rule on no account to go home again till
about this hour in the morning.'"
PUNTING.
"In the course of our fishing, we had been punted down the river
opposite to Lord ----'s house, and while seated in front of it, he
remarked that he used to be on very friendly terms with the noble
owner; but that a coolness had lately sprung up between them, in
consequence of his lordship having taken umbrage at the epitaph
(pointed with a clever but objectionable pun) he had composed for
his late brother, so unhappily notorious for the charges brought
against him of false play at whist. On seeing the present Peer out on
the river fishing, Hook had received from him, instead of his usual
courteous greeting, a very stiff, ceremonious bow; but, determined
not to notice it, he only replied:--
"'What, my lord, following the family occupation, eh?--_punting_, I
see--punting!'"
An impromptu of Hook's on the same subject, ran the round of the
club-houses. It will be remembered that the nobleman alluded to
brought an action for defamation against certain of his accusers,
which, however, he thought proper to abandon at the last moment.
EPIGRAM.
"Cease your humming,
The case is 'on;'
Defendant's _Cumming_;
Plaintiff's--gone!"
"LIST" SHOES.
The Duke of B----, who was to have been one of the knights at the
Eglinton Tournament, was lamenting that he was obliged to excuse
himself, on the ground of an attack of the gout.
"How," said he, "could I ever get my poor puffed legs into those
abominable iron boots?"
"It will be quite as appropriate," replied Hook, "if your Grace goes
in your _list_ shoes."
"THE ABATTOIR."
When Messrs. Abbott and Egerton, in 1836, took the old Coburg Theatre
(the Victoria), for the purpose of bringing forward the legitimate
drama, the former gentleman asked Hook if he could suggest a new
name, the old being too much identified with blue fire and broad
swords to suit the proposed change of performance. "Why," said
Theodore, "as, of course, you will butcher everything you attempt,
suppose you call it the _Abattoir_."
PUTNEY BRIDGE.
Hook's residence at Putney afforded occasion for the delivery of one
of the best of his best _bon-mots_. A friend, viewing Putney bridge
from the little terrace that overhung the Thames, observed that he
had been informed that it was a very good investment, and, turning
to his host, inquired "if such was the case--if the bridge really
answered?"
"I don't know," said Theodore, "but you have only to cross it, and
you are sure to be _tolled_."
"MR. THOMPSON IS TIRED."
Some years ago an ingenious representation of the destruction of
a Swiss village by an avalanche was exhibited at the Diorama in
the Regent's Park, the effect of which was greatly increased by a
clever vocal imitation of the dreary winter wind whistling through
the mountains; but this sound ceasing whilst the exigencies of
the scene still demanded its continuance, Theodore Hook, who was
present, exclaimed, "_Bless me, Mr. Thompson is tired_," which set
the spectators laughing, nor could they at all resume the awe-struck
gravity with which they had previously witnessed the tragic
picture.--_Edinburgh Review_, July, 1859.
THE ORIGINAL "PAUL PRY."
Tom Hill, the real original "Paul Pry," was reported to be of great
age; and Theodore Hook circulated the apology that his baptismal
register could not be found, because it was burnt in the Tower of
London.--_Henry Crabb Robinson's Diary._
Mr. Hill died aged not more than eighty-three--though Hook and all
his friends always affected to consider him as quite a Methuselah.
James Smith once said that it was impossible to discover his age,
for the parish register had been burnt in the fire of London; but
Hook capped this: "Pooh pooh! he's one of the Little Hills that are
spoken of as skipping in the Psalms." As a mere octogenarian he was
wonderful enough. No human being would, from his appearance, gait,
or habits, have guessed him to be sixty. Till within three months
of his death, he rose at five usually, and brought the materials
of his breakfast home with him to the Adelphi from a walk to
Billingsgate; and at dinner he would eat and drink like an adjutant
of five-and-twenty. One secret was that a "banyan day" uniformly
followed a festivity. He then nursed himself most carefully on tea
and dry toast, tasted neither meat nor wine, and went to bed by eight
o'clock. But perhaps the grand secret was, the easy, imperturbable
serenity of his temper. He had been kind and generous in the day
of his wealth, and, though his evening was comparatively poor, his
cheerful heart kept its even beat.
HOOK AND TOM HILL.
Notwithstanding the real affection he felt for him, Hook was
sometimes led, as is the case with spoiled children, whether of
larger or lesser growth, to trespass overmuch upon the good nature
of his friend--almost worshipper--and to allow himself liberties
which no degree of intimacy could justify. An instance of the kind
occurred at Sydenham, when Hook, resenting the introduction of a
comparative stranger to their saturnalia, chose to assume all sorts
of extraordinary and offensive airs, to the great discomfiture of his
host, who, with the warmest desire to "see everybody comfortable,"
had not always, perhaps, tact commensurate with his benevolence.
Having completely mystified the unwelcome guest during the hour or
two before dinner, when that meal was served Mr. Hook was not to be
found; search was made throughout the house, but in vain. The garden
was scoured and a peep taken into the pond, but no Hook! The party
at length sat down, and a servant soon after informed them that he
had discovered the lost one--in bed! Hook now thought fit to make his
appearance, which he did in strange guise, with his long black hair
plastered over his face, and his whole head and shoulders dripping
with water. "Feeling a little fatigued," he said, "he had retired to
rest; and, by way of thoroughly arousing himself, had just taken a
plunge in the water-butt;" at the same moment, and before he had time
to partake of any of the good things before him, Mr. Hook's carriage
was announced; and merely observing that he had recollected an
engagement to dine that day in town he bowed and quitted the company.
HOOK'S POLITENESS.
Hook was once observed, during dinner, nodding like a Chinese
mandarin in a tea-shop. On being asked the reason, he replied, "Why,
when no one else asks me to take champagne, I take sherry with the
épergne and bow to the flowers."--_Mark Lemon's Jest Book._
A BISCUIT AND A GLASS OF SHERRY.
Mr. Price was an American by birth, and a proficient, it is said, in
the national accomplishment--duelling; in this country he was more
favourably known as a _bon vivant_ of taste, and a giver of bachelor
dinners of a high order; he was, moreover, the first promulgator of
one of those Transatlantic beverages, which are justly the admiration
of the curious. It is a species of punch, in which gin, maraschino,
and iced soda-water are blended in a certain occult and scientific
way, and is esteemed of sovereign worth in very hot weather, or
in cases where an obstinate and unaccountable thirst has somehow
survived the repeated efforts made to quench it the preceding day.
Hook, one afternoon succeeding a banquet at the Freemasons' Tavern,
where the port had been particularly fiery, or the salmon had
disagreed with him, happened to drop in at "the Club," and found the
mighty master with an amphora of his potent elixir before him: the
former was with some difficulty--probably no great deal--induced
to give an opinion as to its merits; but it was a matter not to be
decided lightly, and some half-dozen pints of the beguiling compound
were discussed ere the authoritative "_imbibatur_" went forth. In the
evening, at Lord Canterbury's, Hook was observed to eat even less
than usual, and, on being asked whether he was unwell, replied--
"Oh no, not exactly; but my stomach won't bear trifling with, and I
was foolish enough to take a biscuit and a glass of sherry by way of
luncheon."
MUCH ALIKE.
Two silly brothers, twins, were very much about town in Hook's time;
and they took every pains, by dressing alike, to deceive their
friends as to their identity. Tom Hill was expatiating upon these
modern Dromios, at which Hook grew impatient. "Well," said Hill, "you
will admit that they resemble each other wonderfully: they are as
like as two peas." "They are," retorted Hook, "and quite as green!"
PRIVATE MEDICAL PRACTICE.
Hook, in "Cousin William," calls the aunt and uncle bold
_Buchan_-eers, from their fondness for rash domestic medical
practice, and doctoring themselves from Buchan. In describing the
original of this aunt, at the Garrick, one morning, he declared that
the old lady was so delighted with everything pertaining to physic,
that she drank wine every six hours out of _dose-glasses_, and filled
her gold-fish globes with leeches, the evolutions of which she
watched by the hour.
HOOK'S STREET FUN.
Hook's street fun was irrepressible. We read of his walking up
to a pompous person in the _trottoir_ in the Strand, and saying
to him, "I beg your pardon, sir, but may I ask, _Are you anybody
particular?_?"--but he did not wait for the answer of the magnifico.
A MISNOMER.
Hook said the title of Bentley's new magazine was ominous:
"Miss-sell-any;" but his prophecy was not borne out by the event.
"CONTINGENCIES."
Theodore Hook used to describe contingencies as "things that never
happen."--_Life of Ingoldsby._
"THE WIDOW'S MITE."
After his marriage, Lord John Russell was christened by Hook "the
Widow's Mite."--_Ingoldsby._
HOOK'S EXTEMPORE VERSES.
Theodore Hook, in his twentieth year, gave evidence of the possession
of a talent, compared with which mimicry in its perfection, available
enough as an auxiliary, sinks into insignificance--that of the
improvisatore. Men of mark are found bearing testimony to the
inspirations of his genius; marvellous at the early age referred
to, but far surpassed by his later performances. Coleridge, for
example, at the termination of a somewhat prolonged revel held at
the cottage of Mr. Mansel Reynolds, is said to have proclaimed,
in his declamatory manner, that he had never met a man who could
bring such various and amazing resources of mind to bear on the
mere whim or folly of the moment; while the poet Campbell spoke of
him as "a wonderful creature," who sang extempore songs, "not to my
admiration, but to my astonishment." Those who have been in the habit
of attending public meetings, or have listened to the harangues,
so glibly "done into English" by next morning, of the orators
of St. Stephen's, cannot fail to have remarked how rarely even
respectable prose is delivered where opportunity for preparation has
been wanting. But in the art, if art it may be called, of pouring
forth extemporaneous poetry, music and words, rhyme and reason, all
impromptu, Hook stood alone--rival he had none; of course he had his
imitators:
"The charming extempore verses of Twiss's,"
for example, will not readily be forgotten; another gentleman,
also, found reason to remember his attempt at rivalry. Ambitious
of distinction, he took an opportunity of striking off into verse
immediately after one of Hook's happiest efforts. Theodore's bright
eye flashed, and fixed on the intruder, who soon began to flounder
in the meshes of his stanza, when he was put out of his misery at
once by the following couplet from the master, given, however, with a
good-humoured smile that robbed it of all offence:--
"I see, sir, I see, sir, what 'tis that you're hatching;
But mocking, you see, sir, is not _always_ catching."
There can be no doubt as to the perfect genuineness of these
marvellous efforts of the human intellect; the word was given and
the "numbers came," gushing fresh and sparkling from the fount. His
companions at the table, and the observations that had fallen from
them, afforded not unfrequently matter for his good-natured muse. But
as often a subject impossible in any way to have been anticipated,
was proposed by one of the company, generally the most incredulous,
and with scarce a moment's consideration, he would place himself at
the piano-forte, run over the keys, and break forth into a medley
of merriment, of which, unhappily, no idea can be conveyed, for the
benefit and conversion of the sceptic.
The names of those present were frequently woven into the rhyme,
or made to supply points to the verse. He is said once to have
encountered a pair of most unmanageable patronymics, those of Sir
Moses Ximenes, and Mr. Rosenagen, a young Dane; the line antiphonetic
to the former has escaped us; the latter, reserved till near the
conclusion, was thus played upon:--
"Yet more of my Muse is required,
Alas! I fear she is done;
But no! like a fiddler that's tired,
I'll _Rosen-agen_, and go on."
HOOK EXTEMPORISES A MELODRAMA.
Hook placed himself at the piano-forte, and gave a most extraordinary
display of his powers, both as a musician and an improvisatore. His
assumed object was to give a specimen of the burlettas formerly
produced at Sadler's Wells, and he went through the whole of one
which he composed upon the spot. He commenced with the tuning of the
instruments, the prompter's bell, the rapping of the fiddlestick by
the leader of the band, and the overture, till, the curtain being
supposed to rise, he proceeded to describe--
The first scene.--A country village--cottage, (O. P.)--church (P.
S.) Large tree near wing. Bridge over a river occupying the centre
of the background. Music.--Little men in red coats seen riding over
bridge. Enter--Gaffer from cottage, to the symphony usually played
on introducing old folks on such occasions. Gaffer, in recitative,
intimates that he is aware that the purpose of the Squire in thus
early--
"A crossing over the water,
Is to hunt not the stag, but my lovely daughter."
Sings a song and retires, to observe Squire's motions, expressing a
determination to balk his intentions:--
"For a peasant's a man, and a squire's no more,
And a father has feelings, though never so poor."
Enter Squire with his train.--Grand chorus of huntsmen--"Merry-toned
horn, Blithe is the morn," "Hark forward, away, Glorious Day,"
"Bright Phœbus," "Aurora," etc., etc.
The Squire dismisses all save his confidant, to whom, in recitative,
he avows his design of carrying off the old man's daughter, then
sings under her window. The casement up one pair of stairs opens.
Susan appears at it and sings--asking whether the voice which has
been serenading her is that of her "true blue William, who, on the
seas,--is blown about by every breeze." The Squire, hiding behind
the tree, she descends to satisfy herself; is accosted by him,
and refuses his offer; he attempts force. The old man interferes,
lectures the Squire, locks up his daughter, and exit (P. S.). Squire
sings a song expressive of rage, and his determination to obtain the
girl, and exit (P. S.).
Whistle--Scene changes with a slap.--Public-house door; sailors
carousing, with long pig-tails, checked shirts, glazed hats, and blue
trousers. Chorus--"Jolly tars, Plough the main,--Kiss the girls, Sea
again." William, in recitative, states that he has been "With brave
Rodney," and has got "Gold galore;" tells his messmates he has heard
a landlubber means to run away with his sweetheart, and asks their
assistance. They promise it.
"Tip us your fin! We'll stick t'ye, my hearty,
And beat him! Haven't we beat Boneyparty?"
Solo, by William, "Girl of my heart, Never part." Chorus of
sailors--"Shiver my timbers," "Smoke and fire, d----n the Squire,"
etc., etc. (Whistle--scene closes--slap.)
Scene--the village as before. Enter Squire; reconnoitres in
recitative; beckons on gipsies, headed by confidant in red. Chorus
of Gipsies entering--"Hark? hark? Butcher's dogs bark! Bow, wow,
wow. Not now, not now." "Silence, hush! Behind the bush. Hush, hush,
hush!" "Bow, wow, wow." "Hush, hush." "Bow, wow." "Hush hush! hush!"
Enter Susan from cottage. Recitative,
"What can keep father so long at market?
The sun has set, altho' it's not quite dark yet.
--Butter and eggs,
--Weary legs."
Gipsies rush on and seize her; she screams; Squire comes forward.
Recitative Affettuoso--"She scornful, imploring, furious,
frightened!" Squire offers to seize her; True Blue rushes down and
interposes; music agitato; sailors in pigtails beat off gipsies;
confidant runs up the tree; True Blue collars Squire.
Enter Gaffer:--
"Hey-day! What's all this clatter?
William ashore?--Why, what's the matter?"
William releases Squire, turns to Sue; she screams and runs to
him; embrace; "Lovely Sue; Own True Blue;" faints; Gaffer goes
for gin; she recovers and refuses it; Gaffer winks, and drinks it
himself; Squire, recitative--"Never knew about True Blue, constant
Sue;" "Devilish glad; here, my lad; what says dad?" William,
recitative--"Thank ye, Squire; heart's desire; roam no more; moored
ashore." Squire joins lovers--"Take her hand; house, and bit of land;
my own ground;
"And for a portion, here's two hundred pound!"
Grand chorus; huntsmen, gipsies, and sailors with pigtails; Solo,
Susan--"Constant Sue; own True Blue." Chorus; Solo, William--"Dearest
wife, laid up for life." Chorus; Solo, Squire--"Happy lovers, truth
discovers." Chorus; Solo, Gaffer--"Curtain draws, your applause."
Grand chorus; huntsmen, gipsies, sailors in pigtails; William and
Susan in centre; Gaffer (O.P.), Squire (P.S.), retire singing--
"Blithe and gay--Hark away!
Merry, merry May;
Bill and Susan's wedding-day."
--_Diary of Thomas Ingoldsby (Rev. R. H. Barham),
November 6th, 1827._
"ASS-ASS-INATION."
"Ass-ass-ination," a sort of burlesque on Hamlet, was another of
Hook's extravaganzas, broad enough "for the meanest capacity," but
amusing withal, abounding in point and pun, as well as local hits,
and quite worthy the attention of any country manager, whether
amateur or professional, who may happen to be at a loss for Christmas
novelties. Take, by way of sample, the opening scene:--
_Enter_ Princess, _with a light_.
_Princess._ 'Tis midnight! Suspicion's gone to sleep. Credulity has
warmed the bed, and Dulness tucked him up. My father is not dead;
I've hoaxed the public; I've shut my regal daddy in the coal-hole,
and now am Regent. The dirty work is done, and I'll to bed! to bed!
to bed!
[_Exit on tiptoe_, P. S.
_Re-enter_, O. P. _and_ P. S., Amatavelli _and_ Mumptifoni,
_each peeping in_.
_Ama._ Have you been listening?
_Mum._ I have.
_Ama._ How like a courtier!--'tis well. Falalaria, our Princess
Regent, loves----