Passing into the dark alley known as “Wine Office Court,” we come to a narrow flagged passage, the house or wall on the other side quite close, and excluding the light. The “Cheese” looks, indeed, a sort of dark den, an inferior public-house, its grimed windows like those of a shop, which we can look in at from the passage. On entering, there is the little bar facing us, and always the essence of snugness and cosiness; to the right a small room, to the left a bigger one. This is the favourite tavern, with its dirty walls and sawdusted floor, a few benches put against the wall, and two or three plain tables of the rudest kind. The grill is heard hissing in some back region, where the chop or small steak is being prepared; and it may be said _en passant_, that the flavour and treatment of the chop and “small dinner steak”--are there breakfast and luncheon steaks also?--are quite different from those “done” on the more pretentious grills which have lately sprung up. On the wall is a testimonial portrait of a rather bloated waiter--Todd, I think, by name--quite suggestive of the late Mr. Liston. He is holding up his corkscrew of office to an expectant guest, either in a warning or exultant way, as if he had extracted the cork in a masterly style. Underneath is a boastful inscription that it was painted in 1812, to be hung up as an heirloom and handed down, having been executed under the reign of Dolamore, who then owned the place. Strange to say, the waiter of the “Cheshire Cheese” has been sung, like his brother at the “Cock,” but not by such a bard. There is a certain irreverence; but the parody is a good one:-- Waiter at the “Cheshire Cheese,” Uncertain, gruff, and hard to please, When “tuppence” smooths thy angry brow, A ministering angel thou! It has its regular habitués; and on Saturday or Friday there is a “famous rump-steak pie,” which draws a larger attendance; for it is considered that you may search the wide world round without matching that succulent delicacy. These great savoury meat pies do not kindle the ardour of many persons, being rather strong for the stomachs of babes.