Offley's, long ago demolished, was a noted tavern in its day, and, according to Timbs, enjoyed great and deserved celebrity, though short-lived. It was situated at No. 23 Henrietta Street, Covent Garden, and its fame rested on Burton ale and the largest supper-room in the neighbourhood. It had a certain dignity about it, and eschewed "pictures, placards, paper-hangings, or vulgar coffee-room finery," in order that its customers should not be disturbed in their relish of the good things provided. Of these good things may be mentioned Offley's chop, which was thick and substantial. The House of Commons chop was small and thin, and Honourable Members sometimes ate a dozen at a sitting. "Offley's chop was served with shalots shred and warmed in gravy, and accompanied by nips of Burton ale, and was a delicious after-theatre supper." There was a large room upstairs with wines really worth drinking, and withal Offley's presented a sort of quakerly plainness, but solid comfort. There was singing by amateurs one day a week, and, to prevent the chorus waking the dead in their cerements in St. Paul's churchyard opposite, the coffee-room window was double. Upon other evenings, there came to a large round table (a sort of privileged place) a few well-to-do, substantial tradesmen from the neighbourhood, and this was the little coterie to which Dickens refers. The Rainbow, also mentioned in the quotation above, was the second house in London to sell coffee and was at one time kept by a Mr. Farr, who was prosecuted for the nuisance caused by the odious smell in the roasting of the berry. In later years (about 1780) the tavern was kept by Alexander Moncrieff, grandfather of the author of "Tom and Jerry," and was known as the Rainbow Coffee-House. In those days the coffee-room had a lofty bay-window at the south end, looking into the Temple; the room was separated from the kitchen only by a glazed partition. In the bay was a table for the elders, amongst whom doubtless were the "grand old boys" Dickens speaks of as being always there, puffing and drinking away in great state. Everybody knew them, and it was supposed by some people that they were both "immortal." In the chapter "Making a Night of It," we learn that Mr. Potter, in his "rough blue coat with wooden buttons, made upon the fireman's principle, in which, with the addition of a low-crowned, flower-pot, saucer-shaped hat," created no inconsiderable sensation at the Albion in Little Russell Street, and divers other places of public and fashionable resort. "Making a Night of It" is no doubt mainly reminiscent of a merry evening in the business life of Dickens, and possibly the Albion was one of the favourite resorts of his, and of his co-clerk, Potter. In their day, the Albion was favoured by the theatrical profession and all those associated with things theatrical, and also by those young men who hung on the skirts of actors.