'Yes,' replied Garrick; but yon forget, you ungrateful dog, that I offered you more than its value; for you might have had two manuscript farces in its stead.' This is the right paternity of an anecdote often told of Sheridan and other parties.

Jack Richards was never absent from The Steaks,' unless arrested by the 'fell sergeant,' gout. He was recorder, and had to pass sentence upon those who had offended against the rules and observances of the Society; when he put on Garrick's hat, and inflicted a long wordy harangue upon the culprit; nor was it possible to see when he meant to stop. He was a most exuberant talker; but would as soon adulterate his glass of port wine with water, as dash his talk with an ungenerous remark.

Mrs. Sheridan's brother, William Linley, often charmed the Society with his pure, simple, English song, to a melody of Arne's, or Jackson's of Exeter, or a simple air of his father's. He had written a novel in three volumes, which was so schooled by The Steaks' that he wrote no more. A member brought a volume of the work in his pocket, and read a passage from it aloud. Yet Linley never betrayed the irritable sulkiness of a wounded author, but bore with good humour the pleasantries that played around him, and used to exclaim

'This is no flattery; these are the counsellors That feelingly persuade me what I am.'

Dick Wilson, whose complexion had for many years been crimsoning over the port wine of the Society, was a solicitor, and long dignified as Lord Eldon's 'port-wine loving secretary.' He stood the fire of 'The Steaks' with good humour. Another good-natured butt was_Old Walsh, the Gentle Shepherd.' Rowland Stephenson, the banker, was another Beefsteaker;' as was William Joseph Denison, who sat many years in Parliament for Surrey, and died a millionaire. He was a man of cultivated tastes: we remember his lyrics in the 'Keepsake' annual.

The golden period of the Society is generally considered to be that when Bubb Dodington, Aaron Hill,

Hoadley (who wrote The Suspicious Husband'), Leonidas Glover, Bonnell Thornton, and Tickell were members. John Beard, the rich tenor, who sang in Handel's operas, was President of the Club in 1784. In 1785, when the Society had been instituted just fifty years, the Prince of Wales was admitted: there was no vacancy, but the number of members was increased from twentyfour to twenty-five. The Dukes of Clarence and Sussex were also of The Steaks: these princes were both much attached to the theatre -the former to one of its brightest ornaments, Dorothy Jordan.

Charles, Duke of Norfolk, was another celebrity of The Steaks,' and frequently met here the Prince of Wales. The Duke was a great gourmand, and used to eat his dish of fish at a neighbouring tavern, and then join The Steaks.' The Duke took the chair when the cloth was removed: it was a place of dignity, elevated some steps above the table, and decorated with the insignia of the Society. For the dinner, as the clock struck five, a curtain drew up, discovering the kitchen, in which the cooks were seen at work, through a sort of grating, with this inscription from Macbeth

'If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well

It were quickly done.'

His Grace of Norfolk would cat two or three steaks, fragrant from the gridiron; and when his labours were thought to be over, he might sometimes be seen rubbing a clean plate with a shalot, for the reception of another steak. The Duke was an enormous eater; he would often consume three or four pounds of steak, and after that take a Spanish onion and beetroot, chop them together, and eat them with oil and vinegar. After dinner he was ceremoniously ushered to the chair, and invested with an orangecoloured ribbon, to which a small silver gridiron was attached. At the sale of curiosities belonging to Mr. Harley, the comedian, in Gower Street, in November, 1858, a silver gridiron, which had been worn by

a member of 'The Steaks,' was sold for 1l. 38.*

In the chair the Duke of Norfolk comported himself with urbanity and good humour. Usually the President was the target at which the jests were fired, but moderately; for though a characteristic equality reigned at 'The Steaks,' the influence of rank and station were felt there. The Duke's conversation occasionally showed evidence of extensive reading, which was rarely impaired by the sturdy wine of the Society. Captain Morris, the laureate-lyrist of The Steaks,' usually sang one or two of his own songs. At nine o'clock the Duke quitted the chair, and was succeeded by Sir John Hippisley, who had a terrible time of it: no one spared him-even new members made their first essays upon the Baronet, than whom no man was more prompt to attack others. He quitted the Society in consequence of an odd adventure which really happened to him, and which being related by one of The Steaks' with malicious fidelity, raised such a shout of laughter at the Baronet's expense that he could no longer stand it.

John Kemble was one of The Steaks' celebrities, and upon familiar terms with his Grace of Norfolk. One evening at Norfolk House, Captain Morris having left the table early, for the lyrist kept better hours than his ducal friend, it grew late, when Kemble ventured to suggest to the Duke some significant hints as to the improvement of Morris's fortune. His Grace grew generous over his wine, and promised: the realization came, and Morris lived to the age of ninety-three to enjoy it.

It has been remarked of 'The Steaks,' that there must have been originally a wise and simple code of laws, which could have held them together for so lengthened a period. Yet they have had, during the past sixty years, a migratory time of it. Covent Garden Theatre, in which

Club Life of Loudon,' vol. i. p. 142; to which work acknowledgment is due for certain of the anecdotes related in the present paper.

the first steak was broiled, was destroyed by fire in 1808; the first gridiron, which had long been enshrined as one of the Penates of the club, was saved; but the valuable stock of wine shared the fate of the building, and the archives of the Society perished. Herein it was customary to set down the good things said at The Steaks,' and register the names of the early members. After the fire at Covent Garden the 'Sublime Society' was re-established at the Bedford Hotel, until Mr. Arnold had fitted up apartments for their reception at the English Opera House. Here they continued to meet until the destruction of that theatre by fire, in 1830. Thus, twice burnt out, they returned to the Bedford; and their old friend Mr. Arnold, in rebuilding his theatre, the Lyceum, had a dining-room provided for them of a very characteristic order. Mr. Cunningham has appropriately termed it a little Escurial in itself.' The doors, wainscoting, and roof, of good old English oak, are studded with gridirons, as thick as Henry VIL's Chapel with the portcullis of the founder. Everything assumes the shape, or is distinguished by the representation, of the emblematic implement the gridiron. The cook is seen at his office through the bars of a spacious gridirou, and the original gridiron of the Society (the survivor of two terrific fires), holds a conspicuous position in the centre of the ceiling.'

The portraits of several worthies of the Sublime Society' have been painted. One brother hangs in chains,' as Arnoid remarked, in allu sion to the civic chain which he wears. His robe drew from Lord Brougham, one of The Steaks,' on being asked if the portrait was a likeness, the remark, that it could not fail of being like him, 'there was so much of the fur (thief) about him.'

We have spoken of the brotherhood equality of the Society, and may as well note that the junior member has a duty accordant with his station. Thus the noble and learned lord, whom we have just mentioned, has been seen emerging

from the cellar with half-a-dozen bottles in a basket! And the Duke of Leinster, who is now the president of the Society, has, in his turn, taken the same duty. Morris continued to be the laureate of 'The Steaks' (the other day he was irreverently called a poet by courtesy') until the year 1831, when he bade adieu to the Society. He was then in his eighty-sixth year.

Morris revisited the Society in 1835, when he was presented with a large silver bowl, affectionately inscribed. He then addressed the brotherhood. There was still another effusion on the treasured gift:

'And call to my Muse, when care strives to pursue,

"Bring the Steaks to my memory, the Bowl to my view."'

Morris was staid and grave in his general deportment. There is, in the collection in Evans's Music-room in Covent Garden, a portrait of the bard-a poor performance, but a likeness. A better portrait, from the family picture, is engraved as a frontispiece to Club Life of London.' Moore, in his Diary, tells us of Colman being at The Steaks,' 'quite drunk,' making extraordinary noise when Morris was singing, which much disconcerted the bard. Yet he could unbend. We remember to

have heard him strike a pianoforte at a music-seller's, and sing, The Girl I left behind Me?' he was then past his eightieth year. Curran said to him one day, Die when you will, Charles, you will die in your youth.'

Morris's ancient and rightful office at The Steaks' was to make the punch. One of the members describes him at his laboratory at the sideboard, stocked with the various ingredients. Then smacking an elementary glass or two, and

giving a significant nod, the fiat of its excellence; and what could exceed the ecstasy with which he filled the glasses that thronged round the bowl, joying over its mantling beauties, and distributing the fascinating draught

"That flames and dances in its crystal bound."'

He

Morris's allegiance to 'The Steaks’ was undivided. Neither hail, nor rain, nor snow-storm kept him away; no engagement, no invitation, seduced him from it. might be seen outwatching the bear' in his seventy-eighth year, when nature had given no signal of decay in frame or faculty.

"The Steaks' partake of a five o'clock dinner every Saturday, from November till the end of June. The Society consists of noblemen and gentlemen, twenty-four in number; every member has the power of inviting a friend.

With the enumeration of a few memorials, we conclude. Formerly the gridiron was a more prominent emblem of The Steaks' than at present. The table-cloths had gridirons in damask on them; the drinkingglasses were engraved with gridirons, as were the plates; just as the orchestra decorated the plates at Vauxhall Gardens.

Among the presents made to the Society are a punch-ladle from Barrington Bradshaw; six spoons from Sir John Boyd; a mustard-pot from John Trevanion, M.P.; two dozen water-plates and eight dishes, given by the Duke of Sussex; cruetstand, given by W. Bolland; vinegar-cruets, by Thomas Scott; Lord Suffolk has given a silver cheesetoaster-toasted or stewed cheese being the wind-up of The Steaks' dinner.*

*Club Life of London,' vol. i. p. 149. 1866.

MOST people who know anything

[OST people who know anything

amusements of the place, boating is the most absorbing, and the most keenly pursued. Not only on bright summer evenings, but through the damp mists of November, and the frost and sleet of February, the river from Folly Bridge to Iffley Lock is covered with craft of all descriptions, from the quiet dingey' to the stately 'eight.' Whatever be the attractions to be found elsewhere, whatever be the state of wind or weather, be it rain, hail, or snow, as long as boats can live, boats are launched, and the regular frequenters of the river pursue their daily recreation, or, rather, their daily business, for business it is; more or less absorbing with different men, but a business with all. Probably most people, who are connected either as friends or relatives with Oxford men, know thus much about Oxford boating; but few understand why its influence so widely pervades Oxford life, and its spirit so deeply enters into every Oxford man, whether he take part in it personally or no. Of course Jones's sisters are delighted to hear that he is going to row Bow of the 'Varsity' this year, and they like the excitement of getting up in the twilight to go and see the race; possibly they know what is meant by a 'bump,' and a 'stroke;' but why John should think so much of his VOL. XI.-NO. LXIV.

boat making a 'bump,' why he should speak of rowing in the Eight at Putney as preferable to any number of first-classes, they cannot understand. And Jones's father, from his oracular post on the hearthrug, says, 'Boating is a fine, manly exercise, but he hopes John will not allow it to interfere with his studies, and make a business of what should only be a pastime.' So that, on the whole, Jones feels that on the subject dearest to his heart he does not receive much sympathy in the domestic circle. Now this want of interest in a pursuit which engages much of the time and energies of young men of both our great universities, is surely to be regretted, and is, in fact, regretted by many. It is not, of course, to be expected that those who do not engage personally in a pursuit should feel an equal interest in it with those who do; but it seems both possible and desirable that they should understand how that interest arises, and is so constantly maintained among university men of every variety of taste and every degree of muscular development. I purpose, therefore, to attempt, in a few sketches of boating life and boating men, to illustrate without exaggeration, and sometimes by scenes from real life, the important position that boating holds at Oxford, to account for the enthusiasm it creates, and to mark the nature of its influence on the life of

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