The scene into which he was admitted certainly wanted no feature of liveliness. The room was long and low pitched, with two immense grates in it, and wooden mantelpieces carved into all kinds of quaint embodiments of Greek and Roman mythology. Common brass sconces were affixed to the walls with a couple of candles in each. Around were pictures of fighting and theatrical celebrities of that and an earlier day; Humphreys and Mendoza, stripped to the waist, and working into each other’s eyes in wonderful style, watched by a distant and pensive crowd in hats of the Tom and Jerry school, uncomfortably tight breeches, and coat collars above their ears; Kemble in furs; Incledon dressed as a sailor; Braham, as little Isaac, in the “Duenna;” and Dicky Suett, with a thing like a balloon coming out of his mouth, and “Oh la!” written upon it. At the head of a long table sat a stout man in a striped yellow waistcoat, a bottle green coat, and a white neckcloth; several black bottles, steaming jugs, and a plate of lemons were in front of him. And down the table on either side were seated a number of individuals, some of them dressed in extravagant style, a few clad soberly, and most of them smoking cigars, or rapping snuff-boxes, laughing, talking, and drinking from fat one-legged tumblers. As Holdsworth entered, either a speech, a song, or a sentiment had just been delivered, for there was a great hammering going on, mingled with cries of “Bravo!” The “cheer,” who was the promoter of, and the sole gainer by these Wednesday festivities, bowed to Holdsworth, and getting on to his legs, came round and bade him welcome in the name of all the good fellows there and then assembled, and gave him the sign, which Holdsworth, not having been made, did not take. He then led him to a vacant chair between two of the more soberly clad of the company, and having received and transmitted his commands to the waiter with a host-like and hospitable air, as though such a low arrangement as a reckoning had no existence, resumed his place at the head of the table, knocked loudly with his knuckles, and called upon Mr. Harris for a song. On this, up started a thin young man with a yellow beard, and, leaning on his hands, gazed slowly around him with a leering and perfectly self-possessed bloodshot eye. Whereat there was a laugh. “Gentleman!” he began. “Order! silence!” cried the landlord. “Mr. ’Arris has your ear!” “And I wish I could say ladies: I am asked to sing a song, and I’ll do so with the greatest of pleasure. But before I begin, permit me to make an observation; as I don’t want to wound any gentleman’s feelings, though no fear of that kind will prevent me from expressing my sentiments, which are those of a Briton and a reformer, who has no opinion of the present, looks upon the past with contempt, and only lives for the future.” “Hear!” from several reformers.