And in the above-named _Memoirs_, we read that "this spot has been signalized for many years as the emporium of wit, the seat of criticism, and the standard of taste.--Names of those who frequented the house:--Foote, Mr. Fielding, Mr. Woodward, Mr. Leone, Mr. Murphy, Mopsy, Dr. Arne. Dr. Arne was the only man in a suit of velvet in the dog-days." Stacie kept the Bedford when John and Henry Fielding, Hogarth, Churchill, Woodward, Lloyd, Dr. Goldsmith, and many others met there and held a gossiping shilling rubber club. Henry Fielding was a very merry fellow. The _Inspector_ appears to have given rise to this reign of the Bedford, when there was placed here the Lion from Button's, which proved so serviceable to Steele, and once more fixed the dominion of wit in Covent Garden. The reign of wit and pleasantry did not, however, cease at the Bedford at the demise of the _Inspector_. A race of punsters next succeeded. A particular box was allotted to this occasion, out of the hearing of the lady at the bar, that the _double entendres_, which were sometimes very indelicate, might not offend her. The Bedford was beset with scandalous nuisances, of which the following letter, from Arthur Murphy to Garrick, April 10, 1769, presents a pretty picture: "Tiger Roach (who used to bully at the Bedford Coffee-house because his name was Roach) is set up by Wilkes's friends to burlesque Luttrel and his pretensions. I own I do not know a more ridiculous circumstance than to be a joint candidate with the Tiger. O'Brien used to take him off very pleasantly, and perhaps you may, from his representation, have some idea of this important wight. He used to sit with a half-starved look, a black patch upon his cheek, pale with the idea of murder, or with rank cowardice, a quivering lip, and a downcast eye. In that manner he used to sit at a 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 do you, Dominick!--D--n my s--l, 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 brandished a whip over his head, and stood in a menacing attitude, commanding him to ask pardon directly. The Tiger shrank from the danger, and with a faint voice pronounced--'Hut! what signifies it between you and me? Well! well! I