“Mr. Earringford, I have this morning received the ‘Old Cock’ Tavern tankard. Will you give my best thanks to Messrs. Spiers and Pond for their present, and tell them that I shall keep it as an heirloom in my family, as a memorial not only of the old vanished tavern, but also of their kindness.--Yours faithfully, “TENNYSON.” On the site of the old Tavern, where was the fish shop, etc., the Bank of England has just reared a splendid and imposing Italian edifice, which harmonizes well with the Law Courts. The proprietor has moved to the other side of the street, taking with him all his properties--the old mahogany boxes, fireplace, tankards, etc.--reconstructing a sort of ghostly “Cock.” Even the gilt bird, a very spirited piece of work, even if _not_ Grinling’s, flourishes away over the door. But it is not the same thing--can never be.[18] There were two other taverns almost _vis-à-vis_, and each with antique claims. One, “The Rainbow,” which boasts a remote pedigree. But though you enter in the favourite Fleet Street style, through a narrow passage, the place itself has undergone much restoration. “Dicks’” the other, was down one of the Temple lanes, dark and grimed, and somewhat rudely appointed, as though it wished to rest its claims entirely upon its “chops and steaks,” and upon nothing else. “Dicks’” used to be labelled outside “Ben Jonson’s Noted House,” and boasted of having enjoyed the custom of that eminent man. “Dicks’” however, has gone. It has fallen into the hands of Germans, who hold a table d’hôte. The art and science of cooking chops is not nearly so highly esteemed as it used to be in the last century, when noblemen and gentlemen frequented taverns, and clubs did not exist, save at taverns. The history of the lately revived Beefsteak Club is familiar; its huge gridiron is still to be seen in its old feasting room at the Lyceum Theatre, with its admirable motto, “If it were done when ’tis done,” etc. The greatest chop and steak eater of his day, and patron of this club, was the Duke of Norfolk, a gross and coarse feeder, who often astounded visitors by his consumption of successive steaks brought in “hot and hot,” and consumed voraciously. Fleet Street, interesting in so many ways, is remarkable for the curious little courts and passages into which you make entry, under small archways. These are “Johnson’s Court,” “Bolt Court,” “Racquet Court,” and the like. Indeed, it is evident that the strange little passage which led to the “Cock” must have been originally an entrance to one of these courts on which the tavern gradually encroached. Much the same are found in the Borough, only these lead into greater courts and inn yards. But in Fleet Street there is one that is specially interesting. We can fancy the Doctor tramping up to his favourite tavern, the “Cheshire Cheese.”