Bucklersbury--a tortuous street, leading from Cheapside to Walbrook--abounds in dining-rooms, where for fifteen pence the “City man” can procure a meal somewhat on the “cheap and nasty” principle. There’s ten-pence for a plate of meat, cut off a joint--two-pence, a pint of porter--a penny, potatoes--a penny, bread--and a penny the waiter. The moment a person enters one of these establishments and seats himself at a table, a waiter with a dirty apron to his waist, and a ditto napkin over his arm, rushes up, and gabbles through the bill-of-fare, just in the same rapid and unintelligible manner as an oath is administered to a juryman or a witness in a court of justice. It was while the preceding scenes were taking place at the West End of London, that two gentlemen lounged into a dining-room in Bucklersbury, and took their places, facing each other, at one of the numerous little tables that were spread with dirty cloths and strewn in a random fashion with knives, forks, salt-sellars, pepper-boxes, and vinegar-cruets,--all in preparation for the afternoon’s process of “feeding.” Scarcely had the two gentlemen thus brought themselves to an anchor, when the waiter darted up to them as if the necessity of speed were a matter of life or death;--and, heedless whether the visitors were attending to him or not, the domestic functionary hurried over the list of delicacies at that moment in readiness in the kitchen. “Roast beef--biled beef--roast leg of pork--biled leg of pork and pease pudding--fillet of veal and ’am--beef steak pie--biled leg of mutton and caper sarse--greens--colliflowers--and taturs. Give your orders, gentle-_men_.” But were the rapidity of the waiter’s utterance properly represented in print, his repetition of the bill-of-fare would more properly stand thus:-- “Roast beef biled beef roast leg of pork biled leg of pork and pease pudding fillet of veal and ’am beefsteak pie biled leg of mutton and caper sarse greens colliflowers and taturs give your orders gentle-_men_!” “Well--what shall we have, old fellow?” said the younger gentleman of the two to his companion. “Be Jasus! ’an it’s afther boiled leg of por-r-rk and paze pudding that I am, my frind!” was the emphatic reply, delivered with a ferocious look at the waiter as much as to let that individual know that he had better not have any of his nonsense--although nothing was farther from the poor devil’s thoughts at the moment. “Very good, sir!” cried the waiter. “Biled pork and pease pudding!” he shouted out for the behoof of the young lady within the bar at the remote end of the room. “And the same for me,” said the Irishman’s companion. “Same for gentle-_man_!” bawled the waiter, again addressing himself to the young lady just alluded to. “Ale or stout, gentle-_men_?” “Porther--a pint!” exclaimed the ferocious Hibernian. “Pale ale for me,” intimated his friend.