But a few days since, while traversing the intricate passages of the Tavistock in company of its kindly manager, Mr. Charles Taylor (who, by the way, is as much part and parcel of the hotel as any beam, staple, or wall within it), he took us into a low-ceilinged, dimly-lighted apartment, with a mantelpiece which our friend, the artist, said was French, of the period

Such little incidents of bygone days can be well supported by satisfactory evidence in respect of the Tavistock's affairs. There was John, the waiter aforesaid, for forty years; Smith, his successor, for twentythree years; there is Lewis (still living, and hale and hearty as ever), hall-porter now for a period of thirtyfive years; there is Samuel, of the hall, his comrade, whose length of service extends to thirty years; George, chamberlain since 1855: who does not know George and those who share with him the duties of waiting? There is his colleague of the chambers, Henry, with a service of twenty years; and the overseers of the cellars have been employed among " mag-

Mr. George Robins, who came into "the Garden" in 1780, a few years later leased a portion of his place to Mr. Harrison. This part became, in 1787, the Tavistock Breakfast Rooms, where, " besides the

The dining-room of most London taverns originally differed (except as to size), very little from the common room of a village inn. Sometimes it was partitioned off into stiff-backed boxes, topped by red curtains, sometimes not. The seats were not too comfortable, though of sufficient space to accommodate four, or perhaps five, on each side of the table; the floor was uncarpeted and sprinkled with sand, for the better removal of dirt. In an outer apartment was the bar, usually shut in, save as to that central part reserved to the booking and filing of customers' orders, by a circular glass window. In the passage, where most

The better class of taverns had more spacious dining-rooms, well-upholstered, and displaying a good

The Piazza Tavern (originally the Piazza Coffeehouse, where Macklin-" a strange character, an Irishman of rough humour, a good fives player, and a very promising actor"-had an academy of Belles Conent Garden.

As the "Shakespear's" fame began to wane, the

A little bill which falls under our eye reminds us of

" The noise Of worldly fame is but a blast of wind, That blows from diverse points, and shifts its name Shifting the point it blows from. Shalt thou more Live in the mouths of mankind, if thy flesh Part shrivell'd from thee, than if thou hadst died Before the coral and the pap were left?"

Who were "the Astronomicals" that held such famous feasts in "the noble Phoenix Room," who there dined together once a month, and took each his bottle like a man? Were they legendary "astronomicals," gentlemen who studied the stars at midnight in the neighbourhood of the Haymarket, having well polished their wits with wine, or were they real " astronomicals," professors of the science who loved to discuss the flight of comets over a bottle laid down in a comet year? But sherry appears to have been the favourite tipple of these worthies, though port makes a fair show in the bill. Thirty bottles of wine among twenty gentlemen is not so bad! Then there were "the Auctioneers " great diners in their day; "our esteemed and distinguished" Mr. Edward Robins in the chair. "The Auctioneers" also took their bottle per man; and what's more, something in the nature of cooling beverages afterwards. Their little account for " eleven dinners " includes six bottles of sherry, two of port, three of very special ditto, two Clicquot's champagne, a bottle of brandy, and (Lud! what stomachs these gentlemen must have enjoyed)

Between the " Shakespear" and " Piazza " taverns stood the "Bedford Coffee-house," later tavern and hotel. We are inclined to think that the "Shakespear" ultimately became part of it, for the Lion's Head (its mouth still open for the reception of such intelligence as shall be thrown into it) passed into possession of the proprietor of the " Bedford," by whom it was sold to Richardson, who leased the hotel which subsequently became Evans's. From Richardson's it went to Woburn Abbey, being bought by the Duke of Bedford. Few modern chroniclers of London make mention of the "Shakespear," but it was a place of great repute in its day. The waiters there dressed smartly in ruffles and knee breeches, and it was thought a bad week if each man had not made his pound a day. The Beefsteak Club, driven out of Covent Garden Theatre, took refuge for a time at the "Shakespear " and later at the " Bedford." The history of that club is well known. Among its members were the Prince of Wales, the Duke of Norfolk, the Duke of Sussex, Lord Grantley, Sir J. Scott, Mr.

That long, low, dimly lighted, and badly ventilated coffee-room of the old " Bedford " (now doing service as a fruiterer's store) has a curious history

There was a famous bully at the " Bedford " in the time when Sheridan was in truth young Mr. Sheridan, called Tiger Roach. " He used to sit with a halfstarved look, a black patch upon his cheek, pale with the idea of murder, or with rank cowardice, a quivering look, and a downcast eye. In that manner he used to sit at table all alone and his soliloquy interrupted now and then with faint attempts to throw off a little saliva was to the following effect :-' Hut! hut ! a mercer's 'prentice with a bag-wig: d-n my s-l if I would not skiver a dozen of them like larks ! Hut ! hut! I don't understand such airs ! I'd cudgel him, back, breast, and belly for three skips of a louse! How do you do, Pat ! Hut ! hut ! God's blood- Larry, I'm glad to see you !-'Prentices-a fine thing indeed ! Hut! hut! how d'ye do, Dominick ! D-n my s-1, what's here to do?' These were the meditations of this agreeable youth. From one of these reveries he started up one night when I was there, called a Mr. Bagnell out of the room, and most heroically stabbed him in the dark, the other having no weapon to defend himself with. In this career the 'Tiger' persisted, till at length a Mr. Lennard bran-

The new and old Hummums hotels in the southwestern Piazza (both have been pulled down within recent times, and a new building and flower-market have taken their place) were quiet, old-fashioned places, whereat some unusual facilities appear to have been afforded in Dr. Johnson's time for taking the warm bath. The old Hummums was the first, and for many years, the only lodging-house within

Not a few of us remember Evans's and maybe look back upon the evenings spent in the supper rooms, twenty-five years ago, with less of self-reproach than on some other evenings spent elsewhere. Ah me ! we are young but once, and when we remember that time of youth we are still young. We confess

As we remember " Evans's Supper-room," it was a hall capable of holding comfortably about eight hundred eaters of suppers. A number of ordinary restaurant tables, set about in rows, ran the length of the hall, four chairs to each. The upper portion was separated from the lower by a row of four Corinthian columns very elaborately gilded; and in this part the walls displayed a number of portraits of leading English actors and actresses, from Nell Gwynne's time downwards. At the extreme upper end was a small unadorned stage, destitute of anything in the shape of scenery, the only articles of furniture upon it being a piano and harmonium. To the right, a little above the stage, let into the wall so as to communicate with

The refreshments served consisted of what are know as " grills "-chops, steaks, broiled kidneys, poached eggs and bacon, "devilled" bones, Welsh rarebits, anchovy toasts, and potatoes baked in their jackets. 'The entertainment provided was singing. Old English glees and madrigals were sung by a choir of men and boys, this part of the evening's entertainment being varied occasionally by a little tumbling and juggling-brass rings and balancing-rod business --and by the performances of Herr von Joel on the penny tin whistle. Herr von Joel handed about his cigar-box during the early part of the evening, and drank a good deal of what was offered him by convivial young gentlemen, and then went upon the stage and played his penny whistle. " Evans's" was the

No one knew the old Covent Garden taverns better than Thackeray, a man who relished their snugness and hospitality as much as did his learned predecessor Dr. J ohnson, the vates sacer of taverns. Most respected and virtuous Reader, who loves the writings of the Master as we do, William Makepeace Thackeray was not always the circumspect, prudent, stately, greyhaired gentleman of the old Court suburb and the clubs as we remember him. He had been merry and young like the most of us. He had lost his way in Bohemia, as many another traveller has done going

Thomas Walker ("original" Walker), the Lambeth police magistrate, who some twenty years after preached the virtue of a simple style in respect of dining, has left on record his ideas of English dinners. "If I might have my choice I should adopt the simple English style [of cookery] for my regular diet, diversifying it only occasionally with the French. I like, as a rule, to abstain from much variety at the same meal." Here are some of his examples of a wholesome, albeit epicurean, English dinner: No. I. Turtle, followed by no other fish but whitebait (with abundance of brown bread and butter), which is to be followed by no other meat but grouse, succeeded by simple apple fritters and jelly, an ice, a cup of coffee and one glass of liqueur. The wines, punch, champagne and claret. No. 2 (for Christmas). Crimped cod, woodcocks, and plum-pudding. Wines, champagne, and, after dinner, mulled claret. No. 3. Spring soup, turbot, "with first-rate lobster sauce," cucumber, and new potatoes; ribs of beef, French beans, and salad; next

A more recent authority has given us his views in respect of an English dinner-a real English dinner, in the simple English style. Mr. Robert, most amusing and instructive of City officials (everyone, of course, has read Mr. Robert's Diary, published by Messrs. Bradbury, Agnew, and Co.; if not, let everyone take our advice and at once buy a copy): Mr. Robert has given us his notions, and very pleasant notions they are, of an English dinner. It was served to four foreign gentlemen at their very particular request, Mr. Robert himself having carte blanche in arranging the bill of fare. Here it is: Real turtle soup; a lovely turbot; a real English rumpsteak ("such as no Frenchman ever seed in his own country," if the London correspondent of the Paris Figaro will pardon our presumption in transcribing Mr. Robert's own opinion), with three dozen native oysters done in butter; and lots of

The " simple English style " was, beyond question, an uncommonly good style, and we may take it that Major Arthur Pendennis, who was a grand master of the mode, practised it whenever he condescended to favour Mr. Harrison, of the Piazza Tavern, with his commands.

It was to the Tavistock Hotel Mr. Harry Foker was accustomed to go whenever he came to London, which was pretty frequently. Mr. Harry Foker, of St. Boniface College, Oxbridge, the lively son of Mr. Foker (Foker's Entire) and Lady Agnes Foker. Thither also went, in the days preceding the finding of Warrington in the Temple, and the founding of that wellknown journal written for gentlemen by gentlemen,

What used to take the gay young students of the Universities, and the more sedate old bucks of the clubs, and the Squire Hobnells of " the Warren," and the Mr. Sam Huxters, their rollicking friends, and the notable men of the Press, and the dramatists and artists, their confreres, and the leading men from Sheffield, Glasgow, Manchester, and the like : what used to take all these excellent fellows to the joyous neighbourhood of Covent Garden, and the welcome shelter of " the old Tavistock"? We think we may find a satisfactory answer. " The Tavistock " has been for many a long year to numberless travellers the most " clubable" hotel in London. The phrase is Johnsonian and signifies, as applied to man, sociableness and good comradeship. It has far more of the essential part of a good club than the considerable majority of modern London clubs, and possesses all their comforts without half their restrictions.

A few years ago, a barrister died who had occupied the same bedroom in the hotel for twenty-eight years. He had come in casually one night and stayed on till his death. Another old gentleman who, later, became his most intimate friend, " happened in " (as the Americans say) in the same casual way (having journeyed per "Ramchunder," East Indiaman, Captain Bragg, from Madras), and he occupied his bedroom, taken for one night, for fifteen years. The sympathy between these two old gentlemen grew to be such that the one was never at his ease without the other. If one did not appear at the proper hour in the coffee-room at breakfast, the other fidgetted about till he had ascertained the cause. If one was ill, the other was at his wit's end to make him well. By-and-by they quarrelled. They quarrelled and avoided each other's society for a fortnight. The two were thoroughly miserable. At length the offender growing weary of his offence, went to his room and wrote a letter of penance, which was duly delivered to the offendee, silently sipping his tea at breakfast. He hurried out of the coffee-room and, on its threshold, ran into the arms of his friend bent on a similar errand of instant reconciliation.

One day one of these old gentlemen did not come down to his customary breakfast in the coffee-room. " An hour or two passed and we grew concerned about him," said Mr. Taylor, relating this incident to us. "We finally opened his door; and when I went into his room I had a feeling that I was intruding. He was seated in his armchair. He had wound up his watch, the end of his cigar lay upon the edge of the table, and 'The Newcomes' had fallen from his hand upon the floor. He was as if in sleep, peaceful, and resting." Death had stolen in quietly to that chamber and beckoned him away. This old guest of "The Tavistock" had come from the land where Colonel Newcome spent the best years of his life; and of him he was no unworthy counterpart in respect of cherishing a high sense of honour and a punctilious observance

The domestic history of " The Tavistock " might furnish

The duties of the chamber are mostly done by chamberlains-personages of the sterner sex. Was it not a Judge of the Supreme Court, sitting on the Bench in open court, who not a great while ago asked leading counsel learned in the law to describe the functions of an hotel "chamberlain," thinking it but a pompous

Many an eccentric old gentleman has partaken of

How long have we now known this old English home in the joyous neighbourhood of Covent Garden ? We took our first cut of mutton there with a kindly Australian who had made his " pile " at Ballarat, in the month of October, 1854, being at that period of our history a lad of the Grey Friars' Monastery by Newgate: so that our experience of its comforts is not solely of to-day. We have said that in our opinion the popularity of " The Tavistock " is largely due to the fact that it is as much club as hotel. The black-ball has no force, and does not exclude; but if you go there, it is taken on trust that you are a gentleman. Each guest seems to be on terms of acquaintance with the other guests; a man meets his fellow there as if he were an honest fellow, and not a knave; and there gentlemen talk to each other without fear of being hurt or contaminated by the act of letting the mouth speak. If you should happen to ask of a stranger the way to the Dining-room, he does not turn his head over a Covent Garden.

When an hotel can boast of a record of unbroken prosperity for a hundred years, we may be very sure that the management has been personal, active, and painstaking. The original Mr. Thomas Harrison in due time gave place to his son, Mr. Frederick Burgoyne Harrison, whose tall, handsome presence and courteous bearing are still remembered at "The Tavistock." We have heard it said that it was reluctantly he took to the business of hotel-keeping. In America, to " run a

But if " The Tavistock " management is wise in respecting the traditions of the hotel (there is one thing about those traditions which is noteworthy:

In making the necessary excavations for the new wing the workmen came upon large quantities of human bones; and some very interesting ancient earthen jars and water-vessels. There was a law suit, C

These improvements were carried further (the Duke

Of all the good old London taverns of bygone days

Though Liberal in all other respects, we confess to a rigid, unbending conservatism in the matter of dining-places and dinners, tempered, however, to this extent, namely, that we prefer a comfortable, wellventilated, well-furnished dining-room, to a stuffy, uncomfortable and ill-kept one. To our thinking there were few pleasanter taverns than the old "Albion " in Russell Street, Covent Garden, as it was twenty-five years ago, when Ponsford ruled, and Taylor (with a staff of most civil and attentive waiters), was his aid. It

A correspondent has lately written to a London newspaper [2] -a little intolerantly, perhaps, but evidently after cogitating his own experiences-suggesting to hotel and restaurant proprietors to advertise if they employ English or foreign waiters, and as to whether their cuisine be English or foreign. " I am convinced," he writes, "the result would be in favour of those who adhere to the old English ways. A large company assembled here [at a Zurich hotel], unanimously expressed their dislike to foreign waiters and foreign food as compared with the food and waiters we used to have in England. I am convinced all-including

"The great majority of the guests, however, came to ' Bellamy's' to partake of hissing hot steaks and chops fresh from the gridiron. The most remarkable features of the place were, first, that the attendants and waiters were demure, soberly-clad, middle-aged women who never smiled; and, secondly, that the wines drunk were almost invariably port and Madeira.

What struck the writer's boyish fancy most was

The following verses may not inappropriately serve as appendix of our little book. If we have told in it little that is new, we have made amends in interesting the Reader (as we hope) in what is old. London of to-day is not so delightful a pleasure-ground to all of us, that we can afford to pass by any chance retreat that promises repose and somewhat of the pleasant hospitality of old times. Some of us are past the age when kicking the heels about in marble halls, and parading ourselves in drawing-rooms of almost regal magnificence, lends any charm to life. Like Christophero Sly, we like not all this splendour, and beg for a draught of small ale. If you would give us Covent Garden.

A BALLAD OF OLD INNS.

" Where shall I find them-the Inns that I dream about,

' Bushes,' ' Bell Savages,' ' Horses,' and ' Heads '?

Where seek the signboard that bragged from its beam about

Commonplace comforts, good cheer, and good beds ?

"Vainly-beguiled by traditions of Thackeray,

Etchings of Crowquill, and sketches by Boz-

Rove I 'mid London's new-fangled gimcrackery,

Searching 'Time is' for the haunts of 'Time was.'

"Vainly, through byway, through alley and rookery,

Vainly I hunger the hostel to find

Warranting hope of plain fare and plain cookery,

Rest for the body and peace for the mind.

* * * * *

" Gone are the surly ' twin heads of the Saracens,'

Blest for a Browdie, though sacred to Squeers;

Gone the ' White Hart,' where that prince of comparisons,

Weller, blacked boots in the prime of his years.

"Gone too the ' Slaughters,' that notable snuggery,

Where gentle Dobbin, the brave and the true,

Weary of uniform, pipe-clay, and puggaree,

Slighted his supper when hasting to woo.

"Where is ' mine hostess,' the buxom and motherly,

Warm in her welcome and apt in her jest ?

Where the head-waiter, half-lordly, half-brotherly,

Patron and slave to the oft-coming guest ?

" Where jolly Boniface, 'neath whose protectorate

Port was a proverb and Punch was a law ?

Gone-to make way for a phantom Directorate,

Shadows intangible, sovereigns of straw.

" Where are the signs, each a pun or a riddle, gone--

' Nobody,' ' Nowhere,' the ' Mouth,' and the ' Mail'?

Where, Piccadilly, have Puss and her Fiddle gone,

Mystical tribute to poor chat fidele?

" Where are they all ? 'Mid our 'Grands ' and our ' Avenues,'

Where the blest freedom from tumult and din ?

Where shall I find, in our six-storey parvenus,

Licence for taking 'mine ease in mine Inn' ?

" Lost in the limbo of popular fallacies,

Calm and tranquillity fade like a dream;

Ease yields to ornament, taverns turn palaces,

Stages en route to a social paralysis-

Plutus the postboy, his Pegasus steam."

[1] " The Adventures of Philip."

[2] The Daily News, Sept. 7, 1886.

[3] The Daily Telegraph, Sept. 13, 1886.