Hook, however, was not long in coming very prominently before the public in another capacity.  Of all stories told about him, none are more common or more popular than those which relate to his practical jokes and hoaxes.  Thank heaven, the world no longer sees amusement in the misery of others, and the fashion of such clever performance is gone out.  It is fair, however, to premise, that while the cleverest of Hook’s hoaxes were of a victimizing character, a large number were just the reverse, and his admirers affirm, not without some reason, that when he had got a dinner out of a person whom he did not know, by an ingenious lie, admirably supported, he fully paid for it in the amusement he afforded his host and the ringing metal of his wit.  As we have all been boys—­except those that were girls—­and not all of us very good boys, we can appreciate that passion for robbery which began with orchards and passed on to knockers.  It is difficult to sober middle-age to imagine what entertainment there can be in that breach of the eighth commandment, which is generally regarded as innocent.  As Sheridan swindled in fun, so Hook, as a young man, robbed in fun, as hundreds of medical students and others have done before and since.  Hook, however, was a proficient in the art, and would have made a successful ‘cracksman’ had he been born in the Seven Dials.  He collected a complete museum of knockers, bell-pulls, wooden Highlanders, barbers’ poles, and shop signs of all sorts.  On one occasion he devoted a whole fortnight to the abstraction of a golden eagle over a shop window, by means of a lasso.  A fellow dilettante in the art had confidentially informed him of its whereabouts, adding that he himself despaired of ever obtaining it.  At length Hook invited his friend to dinner, and on the removal of the cover of what was supposed to be the joint, the work of art appeared served up and appropriately garnished.  Theodore was radiant with triumph; but the friend, probably thinking that there ought to be honour among thieves, was highly indignant at being thus surpassed.

Another achievement of this kind was the robbery of a life-sized Highlander, who graced the door of some unsuspecting tobacconist.  There was little difficulty in the mere displacement of the figure; the troublesome part of the business was to get the bare legged Celt home to the museum, where probably many a Lilliputian of his race was already awaiting him.  A cloak, a hat, and Hook’s ready wit effected the transfer.  The first was thrown over him, the second set upon his bonneted head, and a passing hackney coach hailed by his captor, who before the unsuspecting driver could descend, had opened the door, pushed in the prize, and whispered to Jehu, ’My friend—­very respectable man but rather tipsy.’  How he managed to get him out again at the end of the journey we are not told.

Hook was soon a successful and valuable writer of light pieces for the stage.  But farces do not live, and few of Hook’s are now favourites with a public which is always athirst for something new.  The incidents of most of the pieces—­many of them borrowed from the French—­excited laughter by their very improbability; but the wit which enlivened them was not of a high order, and Hook, though so much more recent than Sheridan, has disappeared before him.