work in a more determined manner. And Jones, from
his tremendous castigation of Palmerston, or fierce diatribe against Lord
John, will sneak off quietly to his back garret in Pentonville, just as
we can imagine Diocletian abandoning an empire to plant cabbages at
Salone. It is clear some of the speakers are naturally good orators; but
the regular stagers have a seedy appearance, and that peculiar redness of
the nose or soddenness of the skin which indicates the drinker; and if
you go much, you will find a paper with five-shilling subscriptions, and
you will be asked to give your name, for the benefit of some prominent
debater whose affairs do not seem to have prospered, in spite of their
master's matchless powers of oratory. The truth is, the money has been
spent here in drink that was required elsewhere, and wife and children
have starved at home while the orator was declaiming against Despotism
abroad. I fear the only class benefited by these discussions are the
landlords, who point to their door and whisper in your ears; Admission
gratis. Yes, that is true; but the egress, ah, there's the rub! It is
that for which you must pay, and pay handsomely, too, as hundreds of poor
fellows have found to their cost.

THE CYDER CELLARS.

In the days of the gay and graceless Charles, Bow-street was the
Bond-street of London. In the taverns of that quarter were the true
homes and haunts of the British poets. That they were much better for
all their drinking and worship of the small hours, I more than doubt.
Pope tried the pace, but found it killing, and had the wisdom to go and
live at Twickenham, and cease to play the part of a man about town.
Describing Addison's life at this period, he says, "He usually studied
all the morning, then met his party at Button's, and dined there, and
stayed there five or six hours, and sometimes far into the night. I was
of the company for about a year, but found it too much for me. _I hurt
my health_, _and so I quitted it_." But the wits died off, and Tom's,
Will's, Button's became desolate, and in their place the Cyder Cellars
grew famous.

You know Maiden-lane, where an old hair-dresser had a son born to him,
who, under the name of Turner, won his way to the first rank amongst
English painters,--where Voltaire, "so witty, profligate, and thin,"
lodged at the house of a French peruke-maker, and corresponded with
Swift, and Pope, and the other literary men of the times,--where