Sometimes a member turned sulky when made to do penance. On one occasion an individual of a touchy disposition was put into the white sheet and brought before the President, who admonished him as a parent would a child—a Beefsteak sermon without its usual bathos. The recipient listened to the harangue without moving a muscle of his face. The lecture done, he resumed his seat, but at the next meeting sent in his resignation. Saturday was the day on which the dinners were held. Each member was allowed to bring one visitor. If he brought a second, he had to borrow a name; in default of obtaining it, the visitor was doomed to retire. Visitors, unlike members, were not subjected to any humorous penalties, but were most ceremoniously treated. They were never unduly urged to drink more than might be agreeable to them; one bumper in the evening was alone imperative, but it might be drunk in water. They were never pressed, though always asked, to sing. A “suggestion” to sing was the adopted word. The only call to which it was imperative for the visitor to respond was “a toast.” If he hesitated too long, he was, perhaps abruptly, told he might give anything the world produced—man, woman, or child, or any sentiment, social or otherwise. Sometimes it happened that such prompting was in vain, and the confused guest would nine times out of ten propose the only toast he was prohibited from giving—“The prosperity of the Sublime Society of Beefsteaks.” Members were responsible for their guests, who were made to understand that whatever passed within the walls of the S.S.B.S. was sacred. William Jerdan, Editor of the _Literary Gazette_, was a visitor, and at a late hour he was observed to take a note of a brilliant repartee that had been made. The President, by whose side he sat, pointed to the motto over the chimney-piece: “Ne fidos inter amicos Sit qui dicta foras eliminet.”[1] Footnote 1: Let none beyond this threshold bear away What friend to friend in confidence may say. “Jerdan,” he said, “you understand those words?” “I understand one,” said Jerdan, looking sharply round—“sit; and I mean to do it.” Authors, and dramatic authors in particular, were mercilessly chaffed when they dined with the Sublime Society. Cobb, whose farce “The First-Floor” achieved great popularity, used to accept the satire and raillery of members with great good-humour, generally silencing them one by one. Storace composed some of his finest music for Cobb’s comic operas, “The Haunted Tower” and “The Siege of Belgrade,” which achieved success. An Indian opera, “Ramah Drûg,” did not. Cobb was much chaffed about these operas, especially about the first-named.