Mr. ——, with a great mahogany case under his arm, made the jump, and quickly found himself at the house to which he had been directed: it was the abode of a very stiff-mannered, middle-aged maiden lady, not unknown to Hook; one, moreover, to whom he owed a grudge, a kind of debt he rarely failed to pay. The doctor was admitted, but on explaining the object of his visit, soon found it convenient to make a precipitate retreat from the claws of the infuriate spinster into the arms of the hackney-coachman, who deposited him in safety at his own door, which, however, he declined quitting without the full amount of his fare.
UNSUCCESSFUL HUNT FOR A DINNER.
Theodore Hook thus writes to Charles Mathews from the "Prince of Wales's Coffee House, 8 o'clock, September 21st, 1825:"—
"Dear Mat.,—I never went sporting for a dinner that I bagged my bird in my life. Broderip asked me to dine with him to-day, and went out and forgot it; so, I said to myself, says I, I want to ask Mat., or Mrs. Mat., two questions about Charles's 'Trip to Rome.' So on, says I, I'll go to Millfield Lane. I did. On my way I forgot why Broderip forgot his engagement;—natural enough—modern Aristophanes—beautiful view—charming grounds—pleasant company,—poor me, of course, rejected. Well, up I goes. Man with powder and an apron opens gate—expecting company—doesn't know whether Mr. Mathews is at home or no—goes to see—good butler, but cannot lie steadily; so out comes a woman. Satire on the sex to think they have more composure than man in a quandary.—Master not at home.—Novelty, says I, Mathews at Home, anybody can see: but, to see Mat. not at home, is not to be bought. 'Thank you, ma'am,' says I; and downhill I tumbled. At its foot, ex pede, I discovered (not Herculem) but the reason why you chose to deny yourself. Why didn't you come out and speak? I most ardently eschew your mutton, beef, veal, and ham. I only wanted three words of you.—That's your affair. Now, thinks I, Broderip has cut me, and Mathews has denied himself, I'll go and dine with Nash. Nash dined out, waiting for the great gentleman from Berkshire. I called upon Lyon (James), but, like his namesake, he had abdicated. Met Sir Hudson Lowe—did not ask me; called at Elliott's—they dined out; so I damned my fate, and ordered dinner at seven here, and here I am; and so I will punish your long legs with a threepenny. Write to me, or ask Mrs. Mat. to write, and tell me of the name of the tune of 'The Trip to Rome,' which it is essential to know; and, if she can furnish me with the second verse complete, I should be obliged, for Charles has sent only half the stanza.
"Despatch in all this is important: it is a very, very clever production, and Charles shall be, what I am sure he will, an honour and a blessing to you both; and so I, in the dumps as I am, pray he may."
HOOK AT LORD MELVILLE'S TRIAL.
On the occasion of Lord Melville's trial, Theodore Hook was present with a friend.
They went early, and were engaged in conversation when the Peers began to enter. At this moment a country-looking lady, whom he afterwards found to be a resident at Rye, in Sussex, touched his arm, and said: "I beg your pardon, sir, but pray who are those gentlemen in red now coming in?" "Those, ma'am," returned Theodore, "are the Barons of England; in these cases the junior peers always come first." "Thank you, sir, much obliged to you. Louisa, my dear (turning to a girl about fourteen), tell Jane (about ten), those are the Barons of England; and the juniors (that's the youngest, you know,) always goes first. Tell her to be sure and remember that when we get home." "Dear me, ma!" said Louisa, "can that gentleman be one of the youngest? I am sure he looks very old." Human nature, added Hook, could not stand this; any one, though with no more mischief in him than a dove, must have been excited to a hoax. "And pray, sir," continued the lady, "what gentlemen are those?" pointing to the Bishops, who came next in order, in the dress which they wear on state occasions, viz., the scarlet and lawn sleeves over their doctors' robes. "Gentlemen, ma'am!" said Hook, "those are not gentlemen; those are ladies, elderly ladies—the Dowager Peeresses in their own right." The fair inquirer fixed a penetrating glance upon his countenance, saying, as plainly as an eye can say, "Are you quizzing me or no?" Not a muscle moved; till at last, tolerably satisfied with her scrutiny, she turned round and whispered, "Louisa, dear, the gentleman says that these are elderly ladies, and Dowager Peeresses in their own right; tell Jane not to forget that!" All went on smoothly till the Speaker of the House of Commons attracted her attention by the rich embroidery of his robes. "Pray, sir," said she, "and who is that fine-looking person opposite?" "That, madam," was the answer, "is Cardinal Wolsey!" "No, sir!" cried the lady, drawing herself up, and casting at her informant a look of angry disdain, "we knows a little better than that; Cardinal Wolsey has been dead many a good year!" "No such thing, my dear madam, I assure you," replied Hook, with a gravity that must have been almost preternatural; "it has been, I know, so reported in the country, but without the least foundation; in fact, those rascally newspapers will say anything." The good old gentlewoman appeared thunderstruck, opened her eyes to their full extent, and gasped like a dying carp; vox faucibus hæsit, seizing a daughter with each hand, she hurried without a word from the spot.—Ingoldsby Legends, 3rd series, p. 69.