In walking down Berners Street one day, his companion called Hook's attention to the particularly neat and modest appearance of a house, the residence, as appeared from the door-plate, of some decent shopkeeper's widow. "I'll lay you a guinea," said Theodore, "that in one week that nice modest dwelling shall be the most famous in all London." The bet was taken—in the course of four or five days Hook had written and despatched one thousand letters, conveying orders to tradesmen of every sort within the bills of mortality, all to be executed on one particular day, and as nearly as possible at one fixed hour. From waggons of coals and potatoes to books, prints, feathers, ices, jellies, and cranberry tarts—nothing in any way whatever available to any human being but was commanded from scores of rival dealers scattered over our "province of bricks," from Wapping to Lambeth, from Whitechapel to Paddington. In 1809 Oxford Road was not approachable either from Westminster, or Mayfair, or from the City, otherwise than through a complicated series of lanes. It may be feebly and afar off guessed what the crash and jam and tumult of that day was. Hook had provided himself with a lodging nearly opposite the fated No. ——; and there, with a couple of trusty allies, he watched the development of the mid-day melodrame. But some of the dramatis personæ were seldom if ever alluded to in later times. He had no objection to bodying forth the arrival of the lord mayor and his chaplain, invited to take the death-bed confession of a peculating common councilman; but he would rather have buried in oblivion that precisely the same sort of liberty was taken with the Governor of the Bank, the chairman of the East India Company, a lord chief justice, a Cabinet minister,—above all, with the Archbishop of Canterbury, and his Royal Highness the Commander-in-Chief. They all obeyed the summons—every pious and patriotic feeling had been most movingly appealed to; we are not sure that they all reached Berners Street: but the Duke of York's military punctuality and crimson liveries brought him to the point of attack before the poor widow's astonishment had risen to terror and despair. Perhaps no assassination, no conspiracy, no royal demise or ministerial revolution of recent times was a greater godsend to the newspapers than this audacious piece of mischief. In Hook's own theatrical world he was instantly suspected, but no sign escaped either him or his confidants. The affair was beyond that circle a serious one. Fierce were the growlings of the doctors and surgeons, scores of whom had been cheated of valuable hours. Attorneys, teachers of all kinds, male and female, hair-dressers, tailors, popular preachers, and parliamentary philanthropists, had been victimized in person, and were in their various notes vociferous. But the tangible material damage done was itself no joking matter. There had been an awful smashing of glass, china, harpsichords, and coach-panels. Many a horse had fallen never to rise again. Beer-barrels and wine-barrels had been overturned and exhausted with impunity amidst the press of countless multitudes. It had been a fine field-day for the pickpockets. There arose a fervent hue and cry for the detection of the wholesale deceiver and destroyer.
THE BERNERS STREET HOAX.
Mr. Theodore found it convenient to be laid up for a week or two by a severe fit of illness, and then promoted re-convalescence by a country tour. He is said to have on this occasion revisited Oxford, and professed an intention of at length commencing residence under the discipline of Alma Mater. But if this was so, it went no farther; by-and-by the storm blew over, as it would have done had Berners Street been burnt to the ground, and the Lord Mayor's coach blown up with all its cargo—and the Great Unknown re-appeared with tranquillity in the Green Room.
The gambol once shown, it was imitated ad nauseam in many English towns, and also in Paris, with numberless unmeritorious variations. Gilbert Gurney expresses high scorn of these plagiarists.
ROMEO COATES.
Some two or three years later Hook performed another hoax more limited in scale, but to our mind quite as inexcusable. The Regent gave a fête of surpassing magnificence at Carlton House, on the 17th of June. Romeo Coates was then in his glory—murdering Shakspeare at the Haymarket, and driving the bright pink cockle-shell with the life-large chanticleers in gilt brass about the streets and park. Theodore, who could imitate any handwriting, contrived to get one of the Chamberlain's tickets into his possession for an hour, and produced a facsimile commanding the presence of Signor Romeo. He then equipped himself in some scarlet uniform, and delivered in person the flattering missive. The delight of Romeo must be imagined. Hook was in attendance when the time for his sallying forth arrived, and had the satisfaction of seeing him swing into his chariot bedizened in all his finery, with a diamond-hilted sword and the air of Louis le Grand. The line of carriages being an Alexandrine, Theodore was also by the "care colonne" when the amateur's vehicle reached its point—saw him mount up the stair and enter the vestibule. The stranger, it is known, passed into the interior without remark or question; but when he had to show his ticket to the Private Secretary, that eye caught the imposture. Mr. Coates was politely informed that a mistake had occurred, and had to retrace his steps to the portico. The blazoned chariot had driven off: in wrath and confusion he must pick his steps as he might to the first stand of hackney-coaches. Hook was at his elbow, well muffled up. No such discomfiture since the Knight of the Woful Countenance was unhorsed by the Bachelor Sampson Carrasco. We must not omit to say that the Prince, when aware of what had occurred, signified extreme regret that any one of his household should have detected the trick, or acted on its detection. Mr. Coates was, as he said, an inoffensive gentleman, and his presence might have amused many of the guests, and could have done harm to no one. His Royal Highness sent his Secretary next morning to apologize in person, and to signify that as the arrangements and ornaments were still entire, he hoped Mr. Coates would come and look at them. And Romeo went. In this performance Hook had no confidant. To do him justice, he never told the story without some signs of compunction.