* “This is to give notice to all Ladies and Gentlemen, at Spencer's original Breakfasting-Hut, between Sir Hugh Middleton's Head and St. John Street Road, by the New River side, fronting Sadler's Wells, may be had every morning, except Sundays, fine tea, sugar, bread, butter, and milk, at four-penee per head; coffee at threepence a dish. And in the afternoon, tea, sugar and milk, at threepence per head, with good attendance. Coaches may come up to the farthest gar- den-door next to the bridge in St. John Street Road, near Sadler's Wells back gate.--Note. Ladies, &c. are desired to take notice that there is another person set up in opposition to me, the next door, which is a brick-house, and faces the little gate by the Sir Hugh Middleton's, and therefore mistaken for mine; but mine is the _little boarded place_ by the river side, and my backdoor faces the same as usual; for I am not dead, I am not gone, Nor liquors do I sell; But, as at first, I still go on, Ladies, to use you well. No passage to my hut I have, The river runs before; Therefore your care I humbly crave, Pray don't mistake my door. “Yours to serve, Daily Advertiser, May 6, 1745. “S. Spencer.” where every morning, “except Sundays, fine tea, sugar, bread, butter, and milk,” might be had at fourpence per head, and coffee “at three halfpence a dish.'” And as a walk in summer was an excellent recruit to the spirits after reasonable toil, the friendly hand that lifted the latch in the morning repeated the kind office at evening tide, and spread before him those refreshing elements that “cheer, but not inebriate;” with the harmless addition of music and dancing. Ale, wine, and punch, were subsequently included in the bill of fare, and dramatic representations. But of latter years the town has walked into the country, and the citizen can just espy at a considerable distance a patch of flowery turf, and a green hill, when his leisure and strength are exhausted, and it is time to turn homeward. The north side of London was famous for suburban houses of entertainment. Midway down Gray's Inn Lane stands Town's End Lane (so called in the old maps), or Elm Street, which takes its name from some elms that once grew there. To the right is Mount Pleasant, and on its summit is planted a little hostelrie, which commanded a delightful prospect of fields, that are now annihilated; their site and our sight being profaned by the House of Correction and the Treadmill! Farther on, to the right, is Warner Street, which the lover of old English ballad poetry and music will never pass without a sigh; for there, while the town were applauding his dramatic drolleries,--and his beautiful songs charmed alike the humble and the refined,--their author, Henry Carey, in a fit of melancholy destroyed himself. *