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and spectators; but I could get a view of the former only by standing on tiptoe, and peeping over the shoulders of the bystanders. There was a vast variety of physiognomies, some of which merited a second glance; but my attention was at once arrested by a pair of yellow gloves-buff gloves would be more correct, but the French call them gants jauneswhich covered with the nicest precision two small hands resting on the table immediately in front of me, in close proximity to two piles, one of gold, and the other of five-franc pieces. I looked down, and beheld a very neat, but at the same time extremely elegant little Leghorn bonnet, trimmed with a ribbon of the same colour; but the wearer was sitting with her back to me, and I could not see her face, so I moved round to the other side of the table to take a view of her.

'Can you tell me who that lady is?' I said to an Englishman who stood beside me.

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'No, I cannot,' said he; we call her the pretty little Dutchwoman; but I really don't know whether she is Dutch or not. I rather think she is from Paris.'

'She looks Parisian,' I answered. She is dressed to perfection, and si bien gantée!'

Yes,' he said; it is quite a pleasure to watch those pretty little hands and well-fitting gloves as she plays; and whether she wins or loses, her countenance never changes. She plays high, too, and with very bad luck.'

I watched her for some time; and when she rose from the table-a considerable loser, by the by-the attraction was gone, and I left the room.

I found, when I got back to the hotel, that the rest of my party had been equally interested in this fair stranger; and that to their inquiries of who she was, they had received the same answer as myself.

For several days-though we saw her every evening at the table, always in a new pair of admirably fitting gloves, playing high, and generally losing-we obtained no more information about her: no one, indeed, seemed to be able to give any, though she still remained an object of general interest; and everybody exclaimed: 'Elle est charmante cette petite femme, et toujours si bien gantée!'

We lodged that year at the Grand Hôtel Britannique, which we selected because it had a garden in which a little child that was with us could run about, and we soon observed that she had found two playmates of nearly her own age. They were French children, and we understood that they belonged to a lady and gentleman who were lodging in the hotel, but whom we had not happened to see. The eldest of these children was a beautiful little girl between six and seven years of age; the other was a boy, called Adolphe; a fine child, but not pretty, nor particularly attractive. I thought he bore marks of his Dutch origin: he looked rather heavy.

We lodged in a pavilion in the garden, and the door being always open, the children and their maid, Louise, used often to come into the apartment occupied by our child; and one day Louise brought a request that Mademoiselle Edith might be permitted to accompany Mademoiselle Eugénie et Monsieur Adolphe, who were going to take a ride on a donkey. We consented; and so the intimacy increased from day to day; but still we had never chanced to have a near view of the parents, till one morning at breakfast, the garçon inquired whether we had any objection to dine at five o'clock instead of four, because there was a lady and gentleman in the hotel who would join the table d'hôte on that condition; but they at present ate in private, because four was too early an hour for them. We made no difficulties; and accordingly, when the dinner-bell rang, the lady and gentleman appeared, accompanied by Mademoiselle Eugénie and Monsieur Adolphe, who, young as they were, according to French usage, always

dined with their parents, for such we found these strangers were. But this was not the only interest they had for us: in the lady, we recognised the 'pretty little Dutchwoman;' and in the gentleman, a fairhaired, phlegmatic-looking man, whom we had often seen playing high also, but seldom at the same time as his wife.

As the guests at table were very few, we inevitably formed a sort of acquaintance; and when we strolled into the garden to take our coffee after dinner, Monsieur and Madame V— accompanied us; and this being our custom every afternoon, we naturally grew tolerably intimate. We clubbed together for carriages to go to the balls, and she frequently took country drives, and invited me to accompany her. On these occasions, she always took Eugénie with her, who was evidently her mother's darling; and in addition to her beauty, was dressed à ravir, and very expensively. 'Que c'est charmant,' she exclaimed to me one day, while looking at the child with adoration, d'avoir une jolie petite enfant gatée comme celle là!' The boy she was much less enthusiastic about; and as we frequently heard cries and screams issuing from their apartments, which we were informed proceeded from Monsieur Adolphe, who was naughty, we were inclined to think that his peccadilloes were looked on with a less indulgent eye than his sister's. The father, however, was very fond of him, and did all he could to make amends for any coldness that might exist on the part of the mother and nurse.

At length Monsieur V- informed us that he was under the necessity of going to Paris for a few days, and he requested my son and myself to pay his wife some little attention during his absence, which we willingly did; and though Lord NK objected to her that she was not grande dame, and Monsieur de L- remarked that it was wonderful to see how frequently the English, who are the most exclusive people in the world in their own country, will rush into intimacies abroad with strangers; still, nothing could be more discreet than Madame V's demeanour, or more quiet and elegant than her dress; and we continued to like our pretty little Dutchwoman, whom, by the by, we soon found had no claim to the appellation, for she was a Parisian. She laughed when we told her the name she generally went by in Spa, and she knew no more than ourselves why she was called so. I think it must have been a conclusion drawn from her husband's appearance, who looked more Dutch or German than French, being fair, heavyfeatured, and somewhat stolid.

When Monsieur V— returned, he confided to my son that he had been to Paris, where they resided, to fetch some money, as they had been so unfortunate at play that they had lost the whole sum destined for their summer excursion. This ill-luck, however, did not deter them from the gaming-table; on the contrary, they returned to it with additional gusto and revived hopes, but with no better fortune.

Shortly after this, we had a great influx of the Parisian literary and artistic world: Jules Janin, the fattest of the fat; Pousand; Charles Renaud; Rachel; Levi, the publisher, from the Rue Vivienne, and now publisher at Brussels, being banished from Paris, whose general air and manner realise fully the agreeable idea of a red republican, which he is. Pousand, the author of several celebrated plays, appeared to be a simple, unpretending man; but Charles Renaud I became intimate with, and liked exceedingly. He was about thirty years of age, with handsome features, good complexion, fine teeth, dark hair and beard, and large clear blue eyes, that looked full of truth and kindness. He was a popular poet in France, and was almost the only person I ever met with in my life who owned to being happy. Oui,' said he, when I expressed my surprise at the avowal.

'je suis heureux; j'ai une bonne santé, une petite fortune qui me suffit, une mère que j'aime et qui m'adore, mes compatriotes ont la complaisance d'agréer mes poésies-je ne suis pas plus mal qu'un autre (a modest allusion to his handsome person); enfin je suis heureux.' In ten days from that time he was dead! He left Spa in the highest health and spirits; caught cold on his arrival in Paris, and died of a pleurisy. How I pitied the poor lone mother who adored him!' He was very fond of travelling, and there was a poem of his commencing 'Loin de vous ma mère,' which he had written while in the east; but he said she had suffered so much during his absence, from a report of his death, that he should take no more long journeys while she survived. His body was conveyed to his native place in the south of France, attended by many of the most eminent literary persons from Paris.

To return to Madame V. We found she was acquainted with all these people; and after their arrival, she was much occupied with them; they frequently made excursions into the country, and formed apparently a very joyous society altogether.

At length the end of the season arrived, and we took leave of each other to go our different ways. Madame V gave me her address in the Champs Elysées, saying she hoped to see me, and that she had evening receptions twice a week; and Monsieur V-confided to my son that they had lost upwards of seven hundred pounds, and had scarcely money enough to take them back to Paris-in short, he borrowed two hundred francs, lest they should run short, which was faithfully returned by the earliest post after their arrival.

Three months afterwards, I was startled by the intelligence that Madame V- was dead-murdered by her husband in a fit of jealousy; and we learned that she had been an actrice, and that he, the son of a rich merchant of Marseille, had fallen in love with her. He took her from the stage, married her against the consent of his friends, and generously adopted the beautiful little Eugénie. Adolphe was the only fruit of the marriage.

Whether Monsieur V- had any legitimate cause for jealousy, does not seem clear; but the morning after one of his wife's receptions, at which he had not appeared, and on which occasion she had urged the company to remain to a late hour, alleging that she had not slept for several nights, and that if she went to bed she should not sleep now, he entered her boudoir, where she was occupied with her broderie, and demanded the key of her escritoire, which she contemptuously refusing to deliver, he suddenly stabbed her. Eugénie, who was present, ran out screaming to Louise, Papa tue mamma!' whilst the unfortunate man rushed forth to avow his crime, and give himself up to the police. The magistrate, who was well acquainted with him, considered the thing so improbable, that he concluded he had gone suddenly mad from losses on the Bourse, and was sending for a physician, when Monsieur V- said: "You don't believe me? Come and see!'

The officers accompanied him to the house, and found it too true. Madame V- lay dead on the hearth, weltering in her blood, which flowed from five wounds near the region of the heart.

I believe he was found guilty, with extenuating circumstances;' and after a short imprisonment, he left France for the West Indies. Adolphe was adopted by his relations; but poor little Eugénie, so pretty and so friendless, we heard, was sent to a boarding-school. What a reverse for that enfant gûtée, the petted and the cherished! What a tragedy for the first chapter of her history!

And what memories for the husband, with that outwardly calm but inwardly passionate nature; for

he had loved, 'not wisely, but too well,' the woman he murdered! How her shadow must walk beside him by day, and stand by his bedside at night! And how true is the old saying, that Still waters run deep.

THE MONTH:

SCIENCE AND ARTS.

THE Art Treasures Exhibition at Manchester continues to be a principal subject of conversation among artists and amateurs, and the example set by running excursion-trains from places within an easy distance of Manchester, has at last been followed here, and now we have trains running from London at remarkably low fares, with the privilege of remaining four days, a week, or a month. Few who have any love for art will neglect this opportunity-a rare one-of viewing the best works of the greatest masters, brought together into close neighbourhood from their widely scattered homes, admitting of careful study and comparison, to say nothing of the pleasure. A visitor will not be long in discovering that the paintings are the chief object of attraction; and for him who wishes to observe critically, Dr Waagen's Guide, published by Mr Murray, is available; while for the working-classes there is What to See, and Where to See It, sold in the building for one penny. The completest part of the Exhibition is the engravings; in which the observer may trace the history of the engraver's art through a series as admirable as it is extensive.

The Metropolitan Board of Works have just made their required annual report to government concerning their proceedings for the past year. As regards the projects and proposals for new streets, clearing away incumbrances, and opening up continuous thoroughfares, it has a bearing on art, for architecture will come into play. The Thames embankment question -one of the noblest improvements the metropolis is capable of-has again been under consideration; and a special report has been laid before the board on the mighty question of sewage and drainage. The surveyors recommend that there should be an outfall on each side of the river, far down in the estuary of the Thames; that all the towns, villages, and hamlets along the route should drain into them, and bear a portion of the cost, which is estimated at five millions and a half.

The commission appointed to consider the question as to the site of the National Gallery, have decided that the present site is the best-a decision that will rejoice thousands, to whom the removal of the pictures to Kensington would have been a complete and lasting deprivation. To say nothing of the thousands of working-people, there is many a busy clerk or tradesman, who, while passing Trafalgar Square, spares a minute for the pictures, who would never see them were they miles away. Sir Charles Barry shews that by pulling down the present ugly building, and taking in ground from St Martin's Workhouse and the barracks in the rear, room would be gained for an edifice that would adorn the site, and contain all the paintings likely to be bought or bestowed for a hundred years to come.

The Archæological Institute have chosen Chester as their place of meeting for this summer-an excellent centre point for antiquarian research. The president, Lord Talbot de Malahide, made a few remarks in his opening address on the subject of treasure-trove, which we repeat here, as they are of importance to archæologists. "The meeting,' he said, 'were aware that, according to the present state of the law, any article of value composed of the precious metals found was the property of the crown, or the grantees of the crown. The consequence was, that in a great number of instances the most valuable articles discovered had found their way to the crucible instead of to the

British Museum, or to some local collection. This matter was felt to be a grievance elsewhere, as well as in England; so much so, that in Denmark, where there was one of the best museums in Europe, the law has been altered merely to meet the grievance. They give to the party finding a right to certain compensation, at the same time reserving to the state the right of pre-emption on giving such compensation.' His lordship added that a similar law was desirable in England, and that it could be made without violating the rights of property. We think so too.

An observer at San Francisco has recorded that sixteen earthquakes occurred in California in 1856, of which thirteen took place between sunrise and sunset. Only three of the shocks, however, were strong enough to arrest attention during the busy hours of the day. From other parts of the United States we hear that endeavours are being made to shew planters and agriculturists that a valuable resource is open to them in the cultivation of the Sorgho. The soil and climate of some of the southern and western states are eminently suitable for the plant, and there is good reason to believe that its introduction would afford another proof of the greater profit to be derived from free labour than from the labour of slaves.-In France, M. Dumas reports, after an official visit by authority to the silk-producing districts, that he found but little or no disease among the silkworms reared on hillsides open to a constant circulation of air, while in the valleys they have perished by thousands. One grower, whose estate covers a small hill in a generally low district, has all along had healthy worms and perfect eggs, to the astonishment and admiration of his less fortunate neighbours. Here, again, is evidence that disease is not fate, but may be controlled by circumstances.

of a floating leaf, it flows off like a pool of quicksilver.'
This, however, is the fact as regards the upper surface
only. It has long been familiar to the natives, who
poetically liken the virtuous man among the wicked to
the lotus-leaf 'in the water, yet unwet by the water.'
'On examining carefully into the cause of this,'
continues the doctor, 'I found the lotus-leaf covered
with short microscopic papillæ, which entangle the air,
and establish an air-plate over the whole surface, with
which, in reality, the water never comes in contact at
all. Another peculiarity connected, but not necessarily
so, so far as I could discover, with this, was the sin-
gular respiratory pores of the lotus. The leaves, when
full-sized, are from twelve to sixteen inches in diameter:
on cutting off a leaf six inches broad, the stalk of
which was less than a third of an inch in diameter, I
was able to collect thirty-three cubic inches of air in
an hour, when the vital energies of the plant must
have been injured by its mutilation. At this rate, a
tank covered with lotus-leaves would produce daily an
atmosphere four feet in depth throughout its whole
surface.' The doctor believes that the same pheno-
menon as exhibited by water-fowl, is not due to the
presence of grease or oil, but to the presence of an air-
plate, so that the water never comes in contact with
the feathers at all. The trimming process, so carefully
performed by water-fowl, is probably an application of
oil or grease, with the object of separating or dressing
the little fibres of the feathers so as to produce an
arrangement fitted to entangle the air.

Then follows the suggestion: "Might not the manufacturers of waterproof cloth or clothes take a hint on this point from the economy of nature? Could they manage to produce a surface such as would entangle and retain a film of air, no India-rubber varnish or other water-tight material would be required; while the texture would permit the free transmission of respiration or moisture from the body, which Mackintosh's and other similar contrivances obstruct.'

Communications made to the Botanical Society of Edinburgh reveal certain curious facts, some of which appear worthy of general notice. Mr J. Lowe shews that the parasitic growth in Porrigo favosa is identical with a common species of fungus, Aspergillus glaucus; and a small piece of scab from a case of Porrigo iupinosa, placed in a solution of raw sugar, germinated and

More cotton-wider cultivation of cotton, is still the cry in the northern counties, growing more and more earnest; so that we may think something will come of it at last. What if increasing cultivation of this essential product should prove to be one of the beneficial influences in the ameliorations we shall have to introduce into India! In another respect, there are resources that may be developed with advantage to all concerned. Some of the good folk at Dundee are of opinion that India could supply us with enough, and more than enough, of fibrous material for our manufac-produced numerous species of the minute plants; 'with turing purposes quite independent of Russia. As yet, our knowledge of the wild plants which produce long and strong fibre is very imperfect; and as the best means of arriving at anything like certain or useful data, we would suggest the sending out of a competent person to explore parts of India and the Archipelago for fibrous plants especially. We all know that Mr Fortune was sent to explore the tea-countries of China by the Horticultural Society, and that good came of it. India is now a great political question: we have all along urged the necessity for dealing with that country on the most enlightened principles; and we trust that ere long those principles will prevail. And regarded in a scientific and commercial point of view, our eastern empire becomes to us of incalculable importance.

Dr Buist of Bombay has communicated to the Royal Society a short paper 'On the Causes and Phenomena of the Repulsion of Water from the Feathers of Waterfowl and the Leaves of Plants,' which, interesting in itself, embodies a suggestion which may perhaps be turned to account by practical men. Concerning the leaves of lilies and of the lotus, particularly the latter, growing abundantly in tanks near his residence, the doctor remarks: When the lotus-leaf is placed under water it reflects light like a mirror, so that the image of any object, if presented to it at a proper angle, is seen by the spectator as if the surface were one of polished metal. When water is thrown on the surface

a considerable number of other epizootic forms.'-And the same author, treating of the physiological effects attributed to darnel (Lolium temulentum), remarks that the virulence of the herb appears to depend on the place of its growth, varying according to locality. Darnel grown in the Botanic Garden (at Edinburgh) produced no effect when taken in doses of half an ounce. The observations of Professor Christison on the hemlock (Enanthe crocata), shew an analogous result, this plant being a virulent poison when grown in England, but innocuous in Scotland. A similar example is seen in the Cannabis indica, which only yields its gum-resin when grown in a hot climate.'

Electricians are interested in a 'triple contact pile' invented by Professor Selmi of Turin, which has some special merits. It is, to quote the description, 'constructed on the principle that-given a pair of two different metals, of which the positive element is entirely submerged in the liquid, and the negative only half submerged, there results an absorption of the oxygen of the atmosphere on the line where the air, the liquid, and the negative element meet, which oxygen goes to depolarise this element, and performs the function of the nitric acid in Bunsen's pile, and of the sulphate of copper in Daniell's pile.'

The negative is formed of a spiral band of copper loosely twisted so as to present a large surface to the action of the liquid in a small space. A plate of zinc is used as the positive; but iron, lead, tin, or any

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oxidisable metal will answer the purpose. For zinc,
the liquid employed is a solution of sulphate of potash.
This pile is alike cheap and simple. It has been for
some time in use at the telegraph office in Turin, and
in the work of electro-plating. The zinc only is decom-
posed; the copper and liquid serve for a long time
without deterioration.

The ever-to-be-memorable Peace-fleet of war-
steamers has sailed to lay down the Atlantic cable.
The preliminary experimental trials went off satisfac-
torily; and before these lines appear in print, the
grand feat will perhaps be accomplished, and England
will be in telegraphic communication with America.

CLUBS AND CLUB-HOUSES.

IF that most amusing of antiquaries, Jonathan Old-
buck, of Monkbarns, had been requested to give an
explanation of the word club, he, in all probability,
would have said that it was a bludgeon, with which
the abbots of the olden time armed their tenants, and
thence the monkish vassals were termed kolb-kerles or
clavigeri. If the same query had been propounded to
a modern statesman, he might reply, using the semi-
slang, parliamentary phraseology of the day, that a
club was a fortuitous concourse of atoms; and, in
support of his explanation, quote, if he knew them,
the lines of Dryden :

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The grosser atoms, tumbling in the stream
Of fancy, meet, and club into a dream.

and cozy chimney-corner, mentally explore the most secret recesses of those forbidden regions. Ere we do so, however, let us cast a retrospective glance at the predecessors of the present clubs.

The most famous of the earlier London clubs was the Mermaid, said to have been founded by Sir Walter Raleigh, and attended by Shakspeare, Ben Jonson, Beaumont, Fletcher, Selden, Donne, and others, the elite of the Elizabethan era. Alas! there was neither a Pepys nor a Boswell at that time to hand down to us the crumbs of wit that fell from the table of those giants of old. We are merely tantalised by Beaumont thus alluding to them, when writing from the country to his friend and fellow-labourer, Fletcher:

What things have we seen

Done at the Mermaid! heard words that have been
So nimble and so full of subtle flame,

As if that every one from whom they came
Had meant to put his whole wit in a jest,
And had resolved to live a fool the rest
Of his dull life.

Another noted club, of nearly the same period, was held in the Apollo room of the Devil Tavern at Temple Bar, on the site now occupied by Childs' wellknown banking-house. Ben Jonson wrote in choice and elegant Latin the convivial rules (leges conviviales) for this assembly, which were engraved in letters of gold on a black board, and suspended over the fireplace. The board itself is still preserved by the Messrs Child. Over the door of the club-room was placed a bust of Jonson, and a number of verses, commencing

Welcome all who lead or follow,
To the oracle of Apollo;
Here he speaks out of his pottle,
Or the tripos his tower bottle:
All his answers are divine;
Truth itself doth flow in wine;
Hang up all the poor hop-drinkers,
Cries old Sim, the King of Skinkers.

Old Sim' was Simon Wardloe, the landlord of the tavern, and the original of Old Sir Simon the King, the favourite song of the boisterous Squire Western. The convulsive struggles of the civil war, and the Puritanic tendencies of the Protectorate, were alike unfavourable to the extension of the club-system. After the Restoration, however, clubs again came into Vogue, not as the resort of men of learning and genius, but the haunts of fiercely imbittered politicians; and, in many instances, were little more than vile hotbeds of riot and immorality. Men of letters-the wits as they were termed-then frequented the coffee-houses; and Dryden at Will's, and Addison at Button's, exercised a considerable influence on the taste, manners, and even fashion of the age.

A card-player, in all likelihood, would give another
definition of the word; so we shall at once refer to
Dr Johnson, who tells us that a club is an assembly
of good fellows meeting under certain conditions.'
But what is a good fellow, according to the worthy
doctor's acceptation? It is, says the learned lexi-
cographer, a companionable, sociable, merry fellow.'
Now, this definition is scarcely satisfactory, for Gold-
smith speaks of a 'humdrum club:' surely there could
have been but little merriment, companionship, or
sociability in it; and during our own travels through
life, we have heard of 'sulky,' 'disagreeable,' and even
nasty' clubs. We would, then, briefly say, that a club
is an association of persons, subject to certain rules;
further, that the club, as a social institution, may
be traced in its progressive course, from an adven-
titious, free-and-easy, hail-fellow-well-met kind of an
assemblage, open to all comers of a certain station,
to a strictly exclusive society-from small convivial
meetings, in houses of public entertainment, where
respectable strangers had free access, to a second
phase, when, the clubbists taking sole possession of
the apartment, strangers were not admitted except
by the introduction of members; and from thence
downwards to the present day, when clubs, having
become large, wealthy, and influential associations,
The Beef-steak Club, composed principally of lite-
build houses, or rather palaces, for themselves alone, rary men, artists, and actors, was founded in the reign
from which, as a general rule, all strangers are rigor of Queen Anne. Its president was distinguished by
ously excluded. Still, though the modern club-system wearing a miniature golden gridiron attached to a
may, to a certain degree, have ministered to exclusive-green ribbon. Peg Woffington, the actress, was the
ness, it has at the same time weakened, if not in
many instances broken down, the barriers of caste;
while by substituting the economical and utilitarian
principle for the mere convivial, it has had an un-
doubtedly favourable effect on the general refinement
of society. It is to those metropolitan celestial empires
in parvo-those central, flowery lands of Pall-Mall, St
James's Street, and Waterloo Place, as yet untrodden
by the footsteps of outer barbarians, that we wish to
introduce the reader. True, we cannot pass together
beneath their lofty portals; but by invoking the dusky
haunter of the printer's chapel-the attendant imp of
the mighty press-the modern Asmodeus, a thousand
times more powerful than the crippled demon of Le
Sage-we may, without moving from the easy-chair

only female member; one Estcourt, a popular comedian
of the day, long held the responsible office of steak
provisor; and Dr King dedicated his once well-known
poem, The Art of Cookery, to this club.

He that of honour, mirth, and wit partakes,
May be a fit companion o'er beef-steaks;
His name may be to future times enrolled

In Estcourt's books, whose gridiron's framed of gold. There is still a beef-steak society of noblemen and gentlemen, having apartments in the Lyceum Theatre, who meet at five o'clock every Saturday, between November and July, to partake of a beef-steak dinner. Their dining-room is most appropriately fitted up; the doors, wainscotting, and oaken roof being carved with

innumerable representations of gridirons. Indeed, every piece of furniture in the room either assumes the shape or is adorned with the emblem of that useful culinary implement; while, suspended from the centre of the ceiling, hangs the original gridiron of the society, which, to say nothing of the many fires it withstood in its days of usefulness, is the survivor of two conflagrations. Twice has the building in which it was preserved been burned to the ground, and twice, like another phoenix, has the renowned gridiron and cherished relic been rescued from the ruins. This society, however, eschewing the appellation of a club, denominate themselves 'The Steaks,' and dedicate their meetings to 'Beef and Liberty.'

Three clubs, still in existence, started into being about the same time as the Kit-kat: these are White's, Brookes's, and Boodle's—so named from the tavern-keepers at whose houses they were first established. Politics and gambling were their principal bonds of union. White's was Tory; Brookes's, Whig; Boodle's, more a resort for quiet country gentlemen than active politicians. The latter is still the countrygentleman's club; to its committee are referred all disputes and misunderstandings connected with foxhunting, and the decision is considered final; while the two former are less distinctively political than in the olden time, and gambling has long since died out with the six-bottle men. It was in the reign of the second George that these clubs, taking the management of their respective establishments into their own hands, laid the foundation of the modern system. At that time, the literary wits of a previous era had either died out, or slunk back into the obscure insignificance of Grub Street, poets and pamphleteers being effectually excluded from the new clubs by the high terms of subscription, as well as by the ordeal of the ballotbox. One of the old rules of Brookes's is, that 'every person playing at the new quinze table do keep fifty guineas before him.' Gambling, however, was only one of the many vices of that immoral and unintellectual age-of the period when Beau Nash flourished, and the Duke of Cumberland was friend and patron of Figge the prize-fighter; when Quin's brutal personalities passed for wit; when Colley Cibber was poetlaureate; and when Samuel Johnson was glad to eat an eleemosynary plate of victuals behind the screen in Cave's back-shop.

A stranger, when exploring that part of the west end of London which forms, as it were, a sort of neutral ground between the dwellings of the aristocracy on one side, and the more fashionable business streets on the other, cannot fail to be struck by the magnificence of some twenty large buildings, thickly scattered over a small compass of ground. If he inquires to whom these splendid palaces belong, he will be told that they are club-houses; and subsequent experience will inform him that the mansions of the highest nobility, even the palace of the Queen, are inferior, in point of architectural decoration, to many of these remarkable edifices. Further, when our stranger is told that these buildings were erected by private associations, not with any view of gain, but merely for social and economical purposes, he must candidly confess that they are such as no other city in the world can exhibit.

The internal arrangements and fittings of the London club-houses equal, if they do not surpass, in magnificence the architectural embellishments of the exterior. Though no two of these establishments are perfectly alike, yet they all possess a general similarity of arrangement, which we shall now endeavour to describe. A noble entrance-hall is approached from the street by a small and comparatively unornamented vestibule. A portly hall-porter, who receives all letters, and is attended by two or more liveried pages, to carry messages, is the presiding genius of this debatable

This

land, and jealously guards the sacred interior from the profane footsteps of unlicensed strangers. trusty janitor must know every member of the club, by eyesight at least, and is supposed to be able at all times, but with suitable tact and discretion, to answer all inquirers respecting the whereabouts of any individual clubbist. Thus, he will tell you whether a member be in the house-at what time he generally is there whether he be in the country, on the continent, or elsewhere. He does not, however, know the private addresses of all the members, these being required, by the rules of the club, to be given in confidence to the secretary only-many gentlemen, like the renowned Mulligan of Ballymulligan, so pleasantly described by Mr Thackeray, living 'there;' that is, in places differing very much as regards fashionable locality, style, and other obvious et ceteras, from the club-house, to which their letters are directed. Adjoining the vestibule, there generally is a small reception-room, where a stranger, who may happen to call upon a member, is permitted to wait, if his manner and semblance satisfy the experienced scrutiny of the lynx-eyed porter. There is a tribe of 'gents,' readily recognised by the initiated in London life, whose not over-clean linen, hands, and faces, sparkling jewellery, dark searching eyes, and largely developed nasal organs, unmistakably denote a certain class of the pure Caucasian race. These persons, on the strength of a legal fiction, connected with the well-known firm of Doe & Roe, manage to gain admission to most of the public and private places in England; but they might as well attempt to invade the harem of the sultan as the sacred recesses of a club-house. Indeed, a learned judge not long since declared, in his official capacity, that a clubhouse was a sanctuary inviolable by sheriff-officer, writ, summons, execution-in short, by the whole artillery and small-arms of legal procedure.

From the entrance-hall branch off the various apart. ments on the ground-floor: one is a spacious morning or lounging room, amply supplied with newspapers and writing materials for the free use of the members. Theodore Hook is said to have written several of his novels on club-paper in the morning-room of the Athenæum, and his favourite seat is still considered an object of interest by the members of that club. Adjoining this apartment is the coffee-room, differing in little, except its superior magnificence, from the coffee-room of a first-class tavern. Rows of small tables, projecting from the sides, leave a wide open space in the centre. These tables are laid for breakfast and luncheon, from about ten in the morning till four in the afternoon; then, like a scene in a pantomime, the whole is at once changed, and arrangements made for dinner. There are also smaller apartments, where members making up snug little parties can dine together, and freely discuss affairs of pleasure, politics, or business, unrestrained by the publicity of the coffee-room. Most clubs have a strangers' room, to which a member can invite a non-member friend to dine with him; the non-member, however, cannot go into any other part of the house; still, a club-dinner is no penance to him, though the eater is exclusively confined to the strangers' apartment.

On the basement, beneath the ground-floor, are situated the main vital organs of the establishmentthe kitchen and cellar. Our humble abilities are unequal to the task of describing these most important parts of club anatomy; nor is it necessary: the kitchen of the Reform, when under the command of the great 'gastronomic regenerator' himself, has already been described in this Journal-so we shall at once pass upwards.

From the hall, a grand staircase leads the way to the drawing-room, on the first floor. Though fitted up in a style of the most costly elegance, this spacious apartment ever has as 'lack-lustre' an appearance as

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