Not the least delightful characteristic of the “Cheese” is the persistency of its old customers. Those who once have been admitted to its charmed circle soon become wedded to its ways. It is not merely to the goodly cheer provided there that this loyalty is due, although, no doubt, to the viands and the wines a share of it is to be attributed. An anecdote of the late Mr. George Augustus Sala, the well-known writer, _Daily Telegraph_ special correspondent, and genial _bon vivant_ and gastronomist, is delightfully illustrative of the attractions of the place from the side of the creature comforts. The story is told by the London correspondent of the _Liverpool Courier_ (December 10, 1895) in recording Mr. Sala’s death. He writes: “Some years ago Mr. Sala went to Paris on behalf of the _Daily Telegraph_, to write on the subject of French cooking and French restaurants. Such praise of Parisian kickshaws was never lavished before, and the extollation, to the complete discomfiture of English cooks, lasted for fully six weeks. Everything in the cooking line in Paris was grand, everything in England in the same line was horrible. At the end of the six weeks Mr. Sala returned to London, went immediately to the Cheshire Cheese in Fleet Street and said to the head waiter—‘William, bring me a beefsteak, some potatoes in their jackets, and a pint of ale. I’ve had nothing to eat for six weeks.’” The sentimental attractions are equally strong, and their influence is felt even by the most occasional of guests whose situation in life, or whose distance from London, unfortunately precludes their being regular attendants at the hostelry. A fine acrostic sent to the landlord by the Rev. William Kerr-Smith, Vicar of Whiteby, Newcastle-on-Tyne, embodies some of the thoughts that naturally arise in the mind of the cultivated visitant: C hanged are the times and changed, alas, the guests! H ow changed from those who erst with gossip stored E ach day saw grouped about thy cheerful board! S till are their voices now, whose noisy jests H ave filled these rooms with laughter. Gathered here I n rare confusion Beau, and Wit and Sage, R ich, Poor and Spendthrift, Youth and fuller age E njoyed whilst yet they might thy festive cheer. C areless of censure each one told his tale, H eard the last scandal as he quaffed his ale. E ager to praise, they scrupled not to school, E njoyed the folly, but condemned the fool. S o lived they far removed from dulness dire, E schewed the commonplace and tuned the lyre.