In mine host’s parlour, or little snuggery, behind the bar—considered a sort of _sanctum sanctorum_, a house of lords to the fancy, where commoners never attempted to intrude upon the company—Gregson carried on a roaring trade. “Heavy wet,” or anything in the shape of it, except at meal-times, was entirely excluded from this “Repository of Choice Spirits,” where Champagne of the best quality was tossed off like ale, Madeira, Claret, Hock, and other choice wines, handed about, while Port and Sherry were the common drink of the snuggery. It might be invidious, if not improper, to mention the names of the visitors who spent an hour or two, on different occasions, in this little spot, famed for sporting, mirth, harmony, and good fellowship; let it suffice, and with truth, to observe, that persons of some consequence in the state were to be seen in it, independent of officers, noblemen, actors, artists, and other men of ability, connected with the “upper ten thousand.” John Emery, distinguished as a comedian on the boards of Covent Garden, and a man of immense talent in every point of view, spent many of his leisure hours in “the snuggery.” George Kent, the ring reporter, was also eminent here for keeping the game alive. He was of a gay disposition, fond of life in any shape; when perfectly sober one of the most peaceable men in the kingdom, and an excellent companion, but, when he got a little liquor in his noddle, a word and a blow were too often his failings, and which came first doubtful. The late Captain D——, connected with one of the most noble families in the kingdom, and one of the highest fanciers in the sporting world, in consequence of being six feet four inches and a half in height, was likewise a great frequenter of the “Repository of Choice Spirits.” Numerous others might be noted, but these three will be sufficient as a sample of the company to be met with in Bob Gregson’s snuggery—where there was wit at will, the parties sought out each other to please and be pleased, “Dull Care” could never obtain a seat, and fun to be had at all times. Sporting was the general theme, but not to the exclusion of the topics of the day. Heavy matches were made here; and certainly the period alluded to may be marked as the “Corinthian age of the Fancy.” The sun, for a time, shone brilliantly over this Temple of the Fancy; but poor Bob, like too many of his class, did not make hay while it was in his power. The scene changed, the clouds of misfortune overwhelmed him, and, in 1818, the Lancashire hero was compelled to take a voyage on board his Majesty’s “Fleet,” not only for the recovery of his health, but to obtain a certificate against future attacks of the enemy. Thus ended the reign of Bob Gregson, at the Castle Tavern, Holborn.