“His (Dr. Johnson’s) frequent, nay, nightly visits here are matters of history, and have been vouched for on AUTHORITY BEYOND DISPUTE. The time is not so far distant when old frequenters to the house were to be found who had drunk and eaten with men whom Johnson had conversationally annihilated, and who recalled the circumstance with an extreme clearness of recollection. A recollection this which joined the record of two generations of the tavern’s great visitors. And the second generation offered names not unworthy to compare with the first, such notabilities as these figuring in the list: Dickens, Thackeray, Douglas Jerrold, Mark Lemon, Shirley Brooks, Tom Taylor, John Forster, Sir Alexander Cockburn, Professor Aytoun, Tom Hood, Andrew Halliday, and Charles Mathews.” Miss Sarah Morton, a special correspondent of the _Illustrated Buffalo Express_ (N.Y.), gives in her paper, February 15, 1891, an amusing report of her visit to the “Cheese.” “It was,” she says, “with slow and lingering steps that I emerged from a visit to the ghastly yet fascinating Tower of London, by the way of old St. Paul’s Churchyard into Fleet Street, towards the ‘Cheshire Cheese.’ ’Twas the night of the beefsteak pudding, a delicacy served only twice a week, and in precisely the same way that it has been served in this very place for 200 years. * * * * * “One feels just like sidling into an old-fashioned church pew, for the three tables on the left, each accommodating six persons, are provided with high-backed benches black with age. “‘Will you wait for the pudding?’ asks the Imposing Personage. “‘What time will it come on?’ I diffidently query. “‘Six o’clock to the minute,’ was the answer. “‘I will wait,’ I replied, and again I was left alone to continue my observations. “Over on the broad window seat is something under glass in a gilt frame. It is a most glowing description of the glories of ‘Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese,’ written by Jeems Pipes of Pipesville. “Every seat is occupied. “’Tis just six. “The door swings slowly open. A huge, round white ball is borne aloft, high above the head of The Personage, who enters with slow and stately tread, followed in single file by six serious-faced attendants. The salver is tenderly lowered, and rests upon the table. Every eye is fixed upon it. The room is pervaded with perfect hush. “The Personage solemnly receives a big spoon and knife from his first gentleman in waiting. The fateful moment has arrived. The pastry is broken. The gravy gently oozes over it. “The Personage gravely approaches me and apologises for not serving me first, but ‘really the middle portion will be safer for you,’ he explained.