Sixty years ago the fact of club membership implied some social position or distinction on the part of the individual. White’s, Brooks’s, Boodle’s, Arthur’s, and a few other establishments, constituted really exclusive clubland, and to be elected to them was a matter of no little difficulty. A man of obscure birth, or one unknown to the committee, would have been sure of being blackballed. Clubs were then filled by those who belonged either to the same political party or the same fashionable coterie, the members of which were all more or less known to each other. The Tory patrician belonged to White’s; the Whig politician of old family was a member of Brooks’s; the country gentleman put his name down at Boodle’s or Arthur’s; the distinguished lawyer, divine, or man of letters, became a member of the Athenæum; and the soldier, who was a field officer, of the United Service. The membership of such clubs constituted an exclusive circle. A club was a place in which men wrote letters and met their friends. Beyond being a comfortable lounge, it was of little service to its members. Many tacitly recognized conventions prevailed in connection with club-life. For instance, it was not then at all the thing to raise one’s hat to a lady whom one knew, should she pass the club window. A great many members lunched in the coffee-room with their hats on, whilst in certain clubs evening dress at dinner was obligatory. Some clubs, including Boodle’s, even to-day set aside a small apartment, separate from the regular dining-room, for members who prefer to dine in day clothes. Formerly, it should be added, hats were far more generally worn in clubs than is now the case. In some it was the traditional custom to wear them at all times and in all parts of the house. At the old “Rag,” the practice was said to have survived from the time when the club-house was so cheerless and the funds so limited that the management economized coals, for which reason the members were at great pains to keep themselves warm. In his own club a man used to be considered as having entirely cut himself off from communication with the outside world, and acknowledging people from the windows by a bow or nod was then quite contrary to club usage, which prescribed an Olympian stare. At certain of the older clubs a few customs, dating back to the eighteenth century, were up to quite recently still in vogue. At Arthur’s, Boodle’s, White’s,[5] and, I think, Brooks’s, for instance, change was given in washed silver. The money was first plunged in hot water and cleaned, after which it was placed in a wash-leather bag; this was whirled round in the air at the end of a short cord till all the coins contained in it were dry. Footnote 5: The water from the old well in the courtyard here was supposed to be particularly excellent and healthy, and many members made a daily practice of drinking a glass of it.