In a corner of the Athenæum library the late Cardinal Manning, who had been elected at a time when he was attending the Vatican Council, used to sit quietly reading. At one time he used the club a good deal, as did another venerable ecclesiastic, Dr. Tatham, noted for eccentricity and long sermons. Yet another divine well known at the Athenæum was the nonagenarian Bishop Durnford, of Chichester. Bishops have always been more or less abundant at this club, for which reason, when an unusually large number were collected together for Convocation, Abraham Hayward is said to have grumbled out: “I see the Bishops are beginning to swarm: the atmosphere is alive with them; every moment I expect to find one dropping into my soup.” There was a great storm amongst the Bishops when Bishop Colenso visited England, and, as can be imagined, his admission to the Athenæum as an honorary member was violently opposed. Samuel Wilberforce, Lord Lytton the novelist, Abraham Hayward (the Vernon Tuft of Samuel Warren’s “Ten Thousand a Year,” still remembered by some), and many other celebrated characters, were frequenters of this peaceful room. Here, too, Theodore Hook dashed off much brilliant work. This spontaneous and volatile wit at one time used the club a great deal. He it was who wrote the lines: “There’s first the Athenæum Club, so wise, there’s not a man of it That has not sense enough for six (in fact, that is the plan of it); The very waiters answer you with eloquence Socratical, And always place the knives and forks in order mathematical.” Hook dined much at the Athenæum—often, it was said, “not wisely, but too well.” The name of his favourite spot in the dining-room—“Temperance Corner”—is still preserved. Here he used to call for toast-and-water and lemonade, which the waiters quite understood was his humorous way of indicating the various alcoholic beverages of which he was so fond. Hook loved to sit long over his meals, in which respect it is interesting to remember he was quite unlike Dickens, who often lunched standing, off sandwiches. It was at the foot of the Athenæum staircase that the author of “Pickwick” ended his unfortunate estrangement from Thackeray, being intercepted by the latter and forced to shake hands. Intellect rather than love of comfort formerly distinguished most members of the club, and for this reason, perhaps, the Athenæum has never been noted for its cooking. “Asiatic Sundays” was the name given to the Sabbaths, on which curry and rice always appeared on the bill of fare. Another Athenæum dinner was known for its marrow-bones and jam roly-poly puddings. Sir Edwin Landseer once denounced an Athenæum beefsteak in a terse manner: “They say there’s nothing like leather; this beefsteak is.” A boar’s head on the sideboard was described by a witty member as the head of a certain member who had at last met with the thoroughly deserved fate of decapitation.