cidental
effect, served as occasion for wit." Sheridan was astonished at his
extraordinary faculty, and declared that he could not have imagined such
power possible, had he not witnessed it.

People used to give him subjects the most unpromising to test his
powers. Thus, Campbell records that he once supplied him with a theme,
"Pepper and Salt," and that he amply seasoned the song with both.

I was present when this rare faculty was put to even a more severe test,
at a party at Mr. Jerdan's, at Grove House, Brompton,--a house long
since removed to make room for Ovington Square. It was a large
supper-party, and many men and women of mark were present: for the
"Literary Gazette" was then in the zenith of its power, worshipped by
all aspirants for fame, and courted even by those whose laurels had been
won. Its editor, be his shortcomings what they might, was then, as he
had ever been, ready with a helping hand for those who needed help: a
lenient critic, a generous sympathizer, who preferred pushing a dozen
forward to thrusting one back.

Hook, having been asked for his song, and, as usual, demanding a theme,
one of the guests, either facetiously or maliciously, called out, "Take
Yates's big nose." (Yates, the actor, was one of the party.) To any one
else such a subject would have been appalling: not so to Hook. He rose,
glanced once or twice round the table, and chanted (so to speak) a
series of verses perfect in rhythm and rhyme: the incapable theme being
dealt with in a spirit of fun, humor, serious comment, and absolute
philosophy, utterly inconceivable to those who had never heard the
marvellous improvisator,--each verse describing something which the
world considered great, but which became small, when placed in
comparison with

"Yates's big nose!"

It was the first time I had met Hook, and my astonishment was unbounded.
I found it impossible to believe the song was improvised; but I had
afterwards ample reason to know that so thorough a triumph over
difficulties was with him by no means rare.

I had once a jovial day with him on the Thames,--fishing in a punt on
the river opposite the Swan at Thames-Ditton. Hook was in good health
and good spirits, and brimful of mirth. He loved the angler's craft,
though he seldom followed it; and he spoke with something like affection
of a long-ago time, when bobbing for roach at the foot of Fulham Bridge,
the fisherman perpetually raising or lowering his float, accordi