The Early Closing Act of 1872 had a disastrous effect upon the old London supper-houses. What Mr. John Hollingshead never tired of calling the "slap-me-and-put-me-to-bed law" rang the knell of many a licensed tavern, well-conducted, where plain, well-cooked food and sound liquor were to be obtained by men who would have astonished their respective couches had they sought them before the small hours. _Evans's._ The "Cave of Harmony" of Thackeray was a different place to the "Evans's" of my youthful days. Like the younger Newcome, I was taken there in the first instance, by the author of my being. But Captain Costigan was conspicuous by his absence; and "Sam Hall" was _non est_. I noted well the abnormal size of the broiled kidneys, and in my ignorance of anatomy, imagined that Evans's sheep must be subjected to somewhat the same process--the "ordeal by fire"--as the Strasbourg geese. And the potatoes--zounds, sirs! What potatoes! "Shall I turn it out, sir?" inquired the attentive waiter; and, as he seized the tuber, enveloped in the snow-white napkin, broke it in two, and ejected a floury pyramid upon my plate, I would, had I known of such a decoration in those days, have gladly recommended that attendant for the Distinguished Service order. In the course of many visits I never saw any supper commodity served here besides chops, steaks, kidneys, welsh-rarebits, poached eggs, and (I think) sausages; and the earliest impression made upon a youthful memory was the air of extreme confidence which pervaded the place. We certainly "remembered" the waiter; but not even a potato was paid for until we encountered the head functionary at the exit door; and his peculiar ideas of arithmetic would have given Bishop Colenso a succession of fits. Who "Evans" was, we neither knew nor cared. "Paddy" Green, with his chronic smile, was enough for us; as he proffered his ever-ready snuff-box, inquired after our relatives--"Paddy," like "Spanky" at Eton, knew everybody--and implored silence whilst the quintette _Integer Vitæ_ was being sung by the choir. We used to venerate that quintette far more than any music we ever heard in church, and I am certain "Paddy" Green would have backed his little pack of choristers--who, according to the general belief, passed the hours of daylight in waking the echoes of St. Paul's Cathedral, or Westminster Abbey, and therefore, at Evans's, always looked a bit stale and sleepy--against any choir in the world. As for Harry Sidney, the fat, jolly-looking gentleman who was wont to string together the topics of the day and reproduce them, fresh as rolls, set to music, we could never hear enough of him; and I wish I had now some of the half-crowns which in the past were bestowed upon Herr Von Joel, the indifferent _siffleur_, who was "permanently retained upon the premises," and who was always going to take a benefit the following week.