happened during that husband's whole life, which he had the good fortune to end in a few years after. The disconsolate widow soon pitched upon a very agreeable successor, whom she very prudently designed to govern by the same method. This man knew her little arts, and resolved to break through all tenderness, and be absolute master as soon as occasion offered. One day it happened that a discourse arose about furniture; he was very glad of the occasion, and fell into an invective against china, protesting, that he "would never let five pounds more of his money be laid out that way as long as he breathed." She immediately fainted. He starts up as amazed, and calls for help. The maids run to the closet. He chafes her face, bends her forward, and beats the palms of her hands; her convulsions increase; and down she stumbles on the floor, where she lies quite dead, in spite of what the whole family, from the nursery to the kitchen, could do for her relief.

While every servant was there helping or lamenting their mistress, he, fixing his cheek to hers, seemed to be following in a trance of sorrow; but secretly whispers her, "My dear, this will never do: what is within my power and fortune you may always command; but none of your artifices; you are quite in other hands than those you passed these pretty passions upon." This made her almost in the condition she pretended; her convulsions now came thicker, nor was she to be held down. The kind man doubles his care, helps the servants to throw water in her face by full quarts; and when the sinking part of the fit came again, "Well, my dear," said he, "I applaud your actions; but I must take my leave of you till you are more sincere with me; farewell forever; you shall always know where to hear of me, and want for nothing." With that he ordered her maids to keep plying her with hartshorn, while he went for a physician; he was scarce

at the stair-head when she followed, and pulling him into a closet, thanked him for her cure; which was so absolute, that she gave me this relation herself, to be communicated for the benefit of all the voluntary invalids of her sex.

Clubs of Steele and Goldsmith.

THE primary signification of the word Club, in its sense of a meeting of companions, appears to be derived from the same root as that of the massy stick, and means a consolidated body of persons large enough to amount to something substantial; something more than accidental and of no account.

A club appears formerly to have meant any such body organized for a common object. It may now be defined to be a set of persons associated for companionable enjoyment, at stated times and with a division of expenses.

Clubs of this kind are thought to be of very modern origin. We suspect they are as old as flourishing communities. Traces of them are discernible in the literature of Greece and Rome, and the East, especially in bacchanalian poetry. Indeed it would be strange if such had not been the case, considering in how many respects men are alike in all ages, and that where good cheer is to be found, they naturally flock together. We are not aware, however, of any ascertained instance of a club, earlier than the famous one at the Devil Tavern, for which Ben Jonson wrote his Latin rules; and perhaps the name, in the modern sense, is hardly appropriate even to this. It is not certain that the rules applied to an organized body of contributors to the expense, in contradistinction to a permitted range of payers. Clubs thickened in the time of the Commonwealth, and exhibited their undoubted modern character in that of Steele and Addison. The meeting of wits in Dryden's time appears to have taken place in the open coffee-room. It is in the clubs of the Tatler and Spectator, that we

first meet with all the characteristics of the modern club-its closed doors, regular members, and "creature comforts."

"Supper and friends expect me at the Rose."

Addison, whose home was not happy, and whose blood required a stimulus to set his wit flowing, found his greatest enjoyment in the tavern-room; Steele was born for one; and except wit, ladies, gallants, and good morals, there is nothing you hear more of in their periodicals, than clubs. The circumstances which brought people together in this kind of society, were often of so fantastic a nature, that it is not easy to distinguish the real from the imaginary sort in the pages of these writers; but some of the names are historical. There is, in the first place, the Spectator's own club, with immortal Sir Roger de Coverley, and Will Honeycomb. Then come the Fat Club, the Thin Club, the Club of Kings (that is to say, of people of the name of King); the St. George's Club, who swore "Before George" (which would seem to be Jacobitical, if they had not met on St. George's day); Street Clubs (composed of members residing in the same street); the Hum-Drum and Mum Clubs (who ingeniously smoked and held their tongues); the Duellists (famous for being killed and "hung"); the Kit-Cat (the great Whig Club, whose name originated in tarts made by Christopher Katt); the Beef-Steak (founded by Estcourt the comedian); the October (a club of Tory country-gentlemen and beer-drinkers); the Ugly Club; the Sighing or Amorous Club; the Fringe-Glove Club (a set of fops); the Hebdomadal (a set of quidnuncs); the Everlasting (some of whom were always sitting); the Club of She-Romps, who once a month "demolished a prude" (this looks like a foundation of Steele's acquaintance, Lady Mary Wortley Montague); the Mohochs, who demolished windows and watchmen, and ran their swords through sedan-chairs (really); the Little or Short Club (an invention of Pope's); the Tall (an invention of Addison's); the Terrible (Steele's); the Silent, who had loud wives, and whose motto was, Talking spoils company" (an invention of Zachary Pearce's, bishop of Rochester); and last not least, the Club at the Trumpet, in Shire Lane, of which more anon. These, we believe, are all the Clubs mentioned in the Tatler, Spectator, and Guardian. Brookes's, and (we think) White's, which are still places of meeting for the wits, politicians, and gamblers of high life, arose before the

dissolution of some of them. Then there is the second Beef-Steak Club (founded by Rich the harlequin); the famous Literary Club (originating with Dr. Johnson); the Club of Monks at Medmenham Abbey (a profligate mistake); the King of Clubs (Bobus Smith's, "himself a club," brother of Sydney); and the high quality club entitled Nulli Secundus, or Second to None (which a metaphysical wag might translate, Worse than Nothing). Endless would be the enumeration, even if they could be discovered, of the Freemason and other clubs, which have attained a minor celebrity, and imitations of which branch off through all the gradations of tavern and publichouse, and are to be found all over the kingdom,-such as Odd Fellows, Merry Fellows, Eccentrics, Free and Easys, Lords and Commons, &c. &c., illustrious at Cheshire Cheeses, and Holes in the Wall; and often better than best for comfort. We must not forget one, however, of which we have read somewhere, called the Livers, which had bottles shaped like inverted cones, so that the wine would "stand" with nobody, but was forced to be always in circulation. The reader will not be surprised to hear, that these "Livers" were famous for dying before their time.

Johnson said, that a tavern chair was the "throne of human felicity." That to him it was, we have no doubt; and with admirable wit and sense he filled it. Yet the word "throne" betrays a defect in the right club notion. His felicity consisted in laying down the law, and having the best of the argument. There was too much in it of his illustrious namesake the poet. We suspect, however, that although Johnson was greatest among his great friends, he was pleasantest among his least. He had to make the most of them in his turn, and to set them a good example. He has the merit of having invented the word "clubable." Boswell, said he, is a "clubable man." He meant intelligent, social, and good tempered. These are the three great requisites for a clubbist; and it is better to miss the intelligence than the sociality, and the sociality than the good temper. The great end of a club is the refreshment to the spirits, after the cares of business or of home, whether those cares be of a bad or a good sort; and though intellect may be everything with some, and sociality with others, better is the merest puff of a tobacco-pipe with peace, than Johnson himself or Burke without it. We are for the Hum-Drums in preference to the Duellists; for a little noise with good fellowship to the Hum-Drums; for good fellowship and wit without the noise to