which a stranger might have of the general character of the place, and the mise en scene differed in no essential feature from that presented in the typical chop-house one meets in the narrow streets and by-ways of “dear ol’ Lunnon!”

It is likely that Boyle’s has played in its quiet way a more important part in the history of the town than you might suppose.  It was here that the lawyers consulted with their clients during the noon luncheon hour; politicians came thither to confer one another and to devise those schemes by which parties were to be humbugged.  It was here that the painter and the actor discussed their respective arts; here, too, in the small hours of morning, the newspaper editor and reporters gathered together to dismiss professional cares and jealousies for the nonce, and to feed in the most amicable spirit from the same trough.  Jobs were put up, coups planned, reconciliations effected, schemes devised, combinations suggested, news exploited and scandals disseminated, friendships strengthened, acquaintances made—­all this at Billy Boyle’s—­so you see it would have been hard to find a better field in which to study human nature, for hither came people of every class and kind with their ambitions, hopes, purposes, and eccentricities.

The glory of the house of Boyle was the quality of viands served there, and nowhere else in the world was it possible to find finer steaks and chops.  These substantials were served with a liberality that would surely have astounded those who did not understand that the patrons of Billy Boyle’s were men blest with long appetites and robust digestions.  Spanish stew was one of the specialties; so were baked potatoes, and so were Spanish roasted onions.  It was the custom to sit and smoke after the meal had been disposed of, and the quality of the cigars sold in the place was the best; at night particularly—­say after the newspaper clans began to gather—­Boyle’s wore the aspect of a smoke-talk in full blast.  Harmony invariably prevailed.  If, perchance, any discordant note was sounded it was speedily hushed.  Charlie, the man behind the bar, had a way of his own of preserving the peace.  He was a gentleman of a few words, slow to anger, but sure of wrath.  Experience had taught him that the best persuasive to respectful and reverential order was a spoke of a wagon-wheel.  One of these weapons lay within reach, and it never failed to restore tranquillity when produced and wielded at the proper moment by Charlie.  The consequence was that Charlie inspired all good men with respect and all evil men with terror, and the result was harmony of the most enjoyable character.  Perhaps if Charlie had been on watch when that horrid sheriff arrived on his meddlesome errand, Billy Boyle’s might still be open to the rich and the poor who now meet together in that historic alley and bemoan the passing of their old point of rendezvous.  Perhaps—­but why indulge in surmises?