much of the
news he so happily narrates, and holding pleasant discourse with many
notable men. It was in a coffee-house he encountered Major Waters, "a
deaf and most amorous melancholy gentleman, who is under a despayer in
love, which makes him bad company, though a most good-natured man."
And in such a place he listened to "some simple discourse about quakers
being charmed by a string about their wrists;" and saw a certain
merchant named Hill "that is a master of most sorts of musique and other
things, the universal character, art of memory, counterfeiting of hands,
and other most excellent discourses."

In days before newspapers came into universal circulation, and general
meetings were known, coffee-houses became recognised centres for
exchange of thought and advocacy of political action. Aware of this, the
government, under leadership of Danby, not desiring to have its motives
too freely canvassed, in 1675 issued an order that such "places of
resort for idle and disaffected persons" should be closed. Alarmed by
this command, the keepers of such houses petitioned for its withdrawal,
at the same time faithfully promising libels should not be read under
their roofs. They were therefore permitted to carry on their business by
license.

Next in point of interest to coffee-houses were taverns where men came
to make merry, in an age when simplicity and good fellowship largely
obtained. As in coffee-houses, gossip was the order of the day in
such places, each tavern being in itself "a broacher of more news than
hogsheads, and more jests than news." Those of good standing and fair
renown could boast rows of bright flagons ranged on shelves round
panelled walls; of hosts, rotund in person and genial in manner; and
of civil drawers, who could claim good breeding. The Bear, at the
bridge-foot, situated at the Southwark side, was well known to men of
gallantry and women of pleasure; and was, moreover, famous as the spot
where the Duke of Richmond awaited Mistress Stuart on her escape from
Whitehall. The Boar's Head, in Eastcheap, which gained pleasant mention
in the plays of William Shakespeare, when rebuilt, after the great fire,
became a famous resort. The Three Cranes, in the Vintry, was sacred to
the shade of rare Ben Jonson. The White Bear's Head, in Abchurch Lane,
where French dinners were served from five shillings a head "to a
guinea, or what sum you pleased," was the resort of cavaliers, The Rose
Tavern, in the Poult