Hook’s letter, in a feigned hand, to Mr. Baylis upon this occasion ran thus:—
“Sir,—Circumstancis hoeing too the Fox hand wether in Lunnun as indered me of goen two Q. wherefor hif yew plese i ham reddy to cum to re-ersal two nite, in ten minnits hif yew wil lett the kal-boy hof yewer theeter bring me wud—if you kant reed mi riten ax Mister Kroften Kroker wich his a Hanty queerun like yewerself honly hee as bin longer hatit yewers two kommand,
“TEE HEE OOK.”
“Master Bailies hesquire,
Manger hof thee,
T.R.P.B. and halso Proper rioter thereof.”
On Saturday, Hook records in his ‘Diary’ his having refused his “firmest friend’s command” that he should dine with him—“because,” writes Hook, “I cannot on account of the things to be done at Pryor’s Bank.”
Of the memorable Monday, the 30th of December, Hook notes:—
“To-day, not to town, up and to Baylis’s; saw preparations. So, back, wrote a little, then to dinner, afterwards to dress; so to Pryor’s Bank, there much people,—Sir George and Lady Whitmore, Mrs. Stopford, Mrs. Nugent, the Bully’s, and various others, to the amount of 150. I acted the ‘Great Frost’ with considerable effect. Jerdan, Planché, Nichols, Holmes and wife, Lane, Crofton Croker, Giffard, Barrow. The Whitmore family sang beautifully; all went off well.”
The part of the Great Frost to which Hook alludes was in a masque, written for the occasion, and printed and sold in the rooms, for the benefit of the Royal Literary Fund; and among the record of miscellaneous benefactions to this most admirable charity are registered—“Christmas masquers and mummers at the Pryor’s Bank, Fulham, the seat of Thomas Baylis, Esq., F.S.A., and William Lechmere Whitmore, F.S.A. (1840), £3 12s. 6d.” Thus carrying out in deed as well as act the benevolent feelings of the season.
What little plot there was in this production had
reference to the season, the house in which it was performed, and temporary events. Egomet, an imp, most piquantly personified by Mr. John Barrow, opened the affair in a moralising strain prophetically applicable to the moment.
After stating who and what he was, he starts:—
“But I’m all over wonder.
Surely the kitchen must be somewhere under?
But where’s the room?—the matchless little chamber,
With its dark ceiling, and its light of amber—
That fairy den, by Price’s pencil drawn,
Enchantment’s dwelling-place? ’Tis gone—’Tis gone!
The times are changed, I said, and men grown frantic,
Some cross in steamboats o’er the vast Atlantic;
Some whirl on railroads, and some fools there are
Who book their places in the pendant car
Of the great Nassau—monstrous, big balloon!
Poor lunatics! they think they’ll reach the moon!
All onward rush in one perpetual ferment,
No rest for mortals till they find interment;
Old England is not what it once has been,
Dogs have their days, and we’ve had ours, I ween.
The country’s gone! cut up by cruel railroads,
They’ll prove to many nothing short of jail-roads.
The spirit vile of restless innovation
At Fulham e’en has taken up his station.
I landed here, on Father Thames’s banks,
To seek repose, and rest my wearied shanks;
Here, on the grass, where once I could recline,
Like a huge mushroom springs this mansion fine.
Astounding work! but yesterday ’twas building;
And now what armour, carving, painting, gilding!
Vexed as I am, yet loth to be uncivil,
I only wish the owner at the ---!”