formant a look of angry disdain, "we know 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; seizing a daughter with each hand, she hurried without a word from the spot.

But, Hook's most audacious piece of mischief was the Hoax planned and played off in 1810, upon one Mrs. Tottington, of No. 54, Berners-street, Oxford-street. It originated as follows:-Hook and a friend, (Mathews or Beazley,) were one day walking down Berners-street, when Theodore's attention was called to the particularly neat and modest appearance of No. 54. "I lay you a guinea," said Hook, "that in one week that nice quiet dwelling shall be the most famous in all London." The bet was taken, and in the course of four or five days, letters conveyed orders of every sort to tradesmen within the Bills of Mortality-all to be executed on one particular day, and, as nearly as possible, at one fixed hourfrom waggons of coals and potatoes, to books, prints, feathers, ices, jellies, and cranberry-tarts,-from scores of rival dealers, between Whitechapel and Paddington. At that time Oxfordroad was not approachable, either from Westminster or from the City, otherwise than through narrow lanes, so that the crash and jam, and tumult of the day were tremendous. Hook provided himself with a lodging, nearly opposite the ill-fated No. 54; and there, with two friends, watched the strange scene. In one of the newspapers of the next day, the house was described as beset by tradespeople at one time, with their various commodities, and from the confusion altogether such crowds had collected, as to render the street impassable. Waggons, laden with coals from the Paddington wharves, upholsterer's goods in cartloads, organs, pianofortes, linen, jewellery, and every description of furniture, were lodged as near as possible to the door of No. 54, with anxious tradespeople and a laughing mob. About this time, the Lord Mayor arrived in his carriage; his lordship's stay was short, and he was driven to Marlborough-street police-office, where his lordship informed the sitting magistrate that he

had received a note purporting to come from Mrs. Tottington, which stated that she had been summoned to appear before him, but that she was confined to her room by sickness, and requested his lordship would do her the honour to call on her. The officers of Marlborough-street were immediately sent to keep order. The first group witnessed by them was six stout men bearing an organ, surrounded by wine-porters with permits, barbers with wigs, manteau-makers with bandboxes, opticians with instruments, &c. . . . The street was not cleared at a late hour, as servants wanting places began to assemble at five o'clock. The hoax exceeded by far that in Bedford-street a few months since; for, besides a coffin which was brought to Mrs. Tottington's house, made to measure, agreeable to letter, 5 ft. 6 in. by 16 inches, there were accoucheurs, tooth-drawers, miniature-painters, and artists of every description.”

Hook, in his own theatrical world, was instantly suspected -but no sign escaped either him or his confidants. He, however, found it convenient, after the hoax, to be laid up for a week or two, and then promoted convalescence by a country tour. By-and-by the storm blew over, and the great unknown re-appeared in the green-room.

DR. MAGINN.

One of the finest humourists of our day was Dr. William Maginn, a native of Cork, who distinguished himself at Trinity College, Dublin; contributed to Blackwood's Magazine, almost from its commencement; and projected Frazer's Magazine, in association with Mr. Hugh Fraser.

He

Maginn first met with Mr. Blackwood in this manner. had already contributed to his Magazine several biting papers, which had excited a considerable ferment both in Edinburgh and Cork; but the intercourse between him and his publisher had as yet been wholly epistolary, the latter not even knowing the name of his correspondent. Determined now to have an interview with Mr. Blackwood, Maginn set out for Edinburgh, where he arrived on a Sunday evening, and on the ensuing forenoon he presented himself in the shop in Princes-street, where the following conversation took place. It must be observed, in passing, that Mr. Blackwood had received numerous furious communications, more especially

from Ireland, demanding the name of the writer of the obnoxious articles, and he now believed this was a visit from one of them to obtain redress in propriâ personâ.

"You are Mr. Blackwood, I presume?"

"I am."

"I have rather an unpleasant business, then, with you regarding some things which appeared in your magazine. They are so and so" (mentioning them); "would you be so kind as to give me the name of the author?"

"That requires consideration, and I must first be satisfied that".

"Your correspondent resides in Cork, doesn't he? You need not make any mystery about that."

"I decline at present giving any information on that head, before I know more of your business-of your purpose-and who you are.

"You are very shy, sir. I thought you corresponded with Mr. Scott of Cork" (the assumed name which he had used). "I beg to decline giving any information on that subject." "If you don't know him, then, perhaps you could know your own handwriting" (drawing forth a bundle of letters from his pocket). "You need not deny your correspondence with that gentleman-I am that gentleman."

It is not generally known that Dr. Maginn wrote for Knight and Lacy, the publishers in Paternoster-row, a novel embodying the strange story of the Polstead Murder of 1828, under the title of the Red Barn, by which the publishers cleared many hundreds of pounds.

Dr. Maginn, it is to be regretted, died at an early age, of consumption. The following epitaph, written for him by his friend, John G. Lockhart, conveys a tolerably correct idea of his habits:

WALTON-ON-THAMES, AUGUST, 1842.

Here, early to bed, lies kind WILLIAM MAGINN,
Who, with genius, wit, learning, life's trophies to win,
Had neither great lord nor rich cit of his kin,

Nor discretion to set himself up as to tin;

So, his portion soon spent, like the poor heir of Lynn-
He turned author ere yet there was beard on his chin,
And, whoever was out, or whoever was in,
For your tories his fine Irish brains he would spin;
Who received prose and rhyme with a promising grin—
"Go ahead, you queer fish, and more power to your fin,"

But to save from starvation stirred never a pin.

Light for long was his heart, though his breeches were thin,
Else his acting, for certain was equal to Quin;
But at last he was beat, and sought help of the bin
(All the same to the doctor, from claret to gin),
Which led swiftly to jail, and consumption therein.
It was much, when the bones rattled loose in the skin,
He got leave to die here, out of Babylon's din.
Barring drink and the girls, I ne'er heard a sin:
Many worse, better few, than bright, broken Maginn.

DUEL OF MOORE WITH JEFFREY.

Francis Jeffrey having, in 1806, attacked Thomas Moore's "Odes and Epistles," for their immorality, in the Edinburgh Review, the poet challenged the critic. Preliminaries were accordingly arranged for a hostile meeting at Chalk Farm. Moore borrowed his pistols from the Hon. William Robert Spencer, who sent the Bow-street officers to prevent the two little men from killing each other. The sequel is thus narrated by Moore in his Diary :

"I must have slept pretty well; for Hume, I remember, had to wake me in the morning, and the chaise being in readiness, we set off for Chalk Farm. Hume had also taken the precaution of providing a surgeon to be within call. On reaching the ground we found Jeffrey and his party already arrived. I say 'his party,' for although Horner only was with him, there were, as we afterwards found, two or three of his attached friends (and no man, I believe, could ever boast of a greater number), who, in their anxiety for his safety, had accompanied him and were hovering about the spot. And then was it that, for the first time, my excellent friend Jeffrey and I met face to face. He was standing with the bag which contained the pistols in his hand, while Horner was looking anxiously around. It was agreed that the spot where we found them, which was screened on one side by large trees, would be as good for our purpose as any we could select; and Horner, after expressing some anxiety respecting some men whom he had seen suspiciously hovering about, but who now appeared to have departed, retired with Hume behind the trees, for the purpose of loading the pistols, leaving Jeffrey and myself together. All this had occupied but a very few minutes. We, of course, had bowed to each other at meeting; but the first words I recollect to