Here are a few experiences of Club-life. "There are many British lions in the coffee-room who have dined off a joint and beer, and have drunk a pint of port-wine afterwards, and whose bill is but 4_s._ 3_d._ One great luxury in a modern Club is that there is no temptation to ostentatious expense. At an hotel there is an inclination in some natures to be 'a good customer.' At a Club the best men are generally the most frugal--they are afraid of being thought like that little snob, Calicot, who is always surrounded by fine dishes and expensive wines (even when alone), and is always in loud talk with the butler, and in correspondence with the committee about the cook. Calicot is a rich man, with a large bottle-nose, and people black-ball his friends. "For a home, a man must have a large Club, where the members are recruited from a large class, where the funds are in a good state, where a large number every day breakfast and dine, and where a goodly number think it necessary to be on the books and pay their subscriptions, although they do not use the Club. Above all, your home Club should be a large Club, because, even if a Club be ever so select, the highest birth and most unexceptionable fashion do not prevent a man from being a _bore_. Every Club must have its bores; but in a large Club _you can get out of their way_."[24] "It is a vulgar error to regard a Club as the rich man's public-house: it bears no analogy to a public-house: it is as much the private property of its members as any ordinary dwelling-house is the property of the man who built it. "Our Clubs are thoroughly characteristic of us. We are a _proud_ people,--it is of no use denying it,--and have a horror of indiscriminate association; hence the exclusiveness of our Clubs. "We are an _economical_ people, and love to obtain the greatest possible amount of luxury at the least possible expense: hence, at our Clubs we dine at prime cost, and drink the finest wines at a price which we should have to pay for slow poison at a third-rate inn. "We are a _domestic_ people, and hence our Clubs afford us all the comforts of home, when we are away from home, or when we have none. Finally, we are a _quarrelsome_ people, and the Clubs are eminently adapted for the indulgence of that amiable taste. A book is kept constantly open to receive the outpourings of our ill-humour against all persons and things. The smokers quarrel with the non-smokers: the billiard-players wage war against those who don't play; and, in fact, an internecine war is constantly going on upon every conceivable trifle; and when we retire exhausted from the fray, sofas and _chaises longues_ are everywhere at hand, whereon to repose _in extenso_. The London Clubs are certainly the abodes of earthly bliss, yet the ladies won't think so."[25] FOOTNOTES: [23] _Times_ journal. [24] New Quarterly Review. THE UNION CLUB.