tions are but few-hospitality and good cheer reign supreme. How well the Royal Society Club has set this good example let Admiral Smyth relate:

The hospitality of the Royal Society Club has been of material utility to the well-working of the whole machine which wisdom called up, at a time when knowledge was quitting scholastic niceties for the truths of experimental philosophy. This is proved by the number of men of note, both in ability and station, who have there congregated previously to repairing to the evening meeting of the body at large; and many a qualified person who went thither a guest, has returned a candidate. Besides inviting our own princes, dukes, marquises, earls, ministers of state, and nobles of all grades, to the table; numerous foreign grandees, prelates, ambassadors, and persons of distinction, from the King of Poland, and Baron Munchausen, down to the smart little abbé and a 'gentleman unknown,' are found upon the club records. Not that the amenities of the fraternity were confined to these classes, or that in the clubbian sense they form the most important order; for bishops, deacons, archdeacons, and clergymen in general astronomers, mathematicians, sailors, soldiers, engineers, medical practitioners, poets, artists, travellers, musicians, opticians, and men of repute in every requirement, were, and ever will be welcome guests. In a word, the names and callings of the visitors offer a type of the philosophical discordia concors;

and among those guests possessed of that knowledge without which genius is almost useless, we find in goodly array such choice names as Benjamin Franklin, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Gibbon, Cortara, Bryant, Dalton, Watt, Bolton, Tennant, Wedgwood, Abyssinian Bruce, Attwood, Boswell, Brinkley, Rigaud, Brydone, Ivory, Jenner, John Hunter, Brunel, Lysons, Weston, Cramer, Kippis, Westmacott, Corbould, Sir Thomas Lawrence, Turner, De la Beche, et hoc genus omne.

Enterprising members of the United Services have always been most cordially received, even to the formation of very useful friendships-friendships which by promoting intercourse and mutual aid, have consequently proved to be highly beneficial to the public interests.

Here

the chivalrous Sir Sidney Smith described the atrocities of Djezza Pasha; and here that cheerful baronet, Admiral Sir Isaac Coffin, by relating the result of his going in a jolly-boat to attack a whale, and in narrating the advantages specified in his

proposed patent for fattening fowls, kept the table in a roar. At this board also, our famous circumnavigators and Oriental voyagers met with countenance and fellowship-as Cook, Furneaux, Clerke, King, Bounty Bligh, Vancouver, Revir, Flinders, Broughton, Lestock Wilson, Huddart, Bass, Tuckey, Horsburgh, &c.; while the Polar explorers, from the Hon. Constantine Phipps, in 1773, down to Sir Leopold M'Clintock, in 1860, were severally and individually welcomed as guests. But besides our sterling sea worthies, we find in ranging through the documents that some rather outlandish visitors were introduced through their means, as Chet Quan, and Wanga Tong, Chinese; Ejutak, and Tucklivina, Esquimaux; Thayen-danega, the Mohawk chief; while Omai of Ularetea, the cele brated and popular savage of Cock's voyages, was so frequently invited that he is latterly entered on the club papers simply as Mr. Omai."

We must now part from Admiral Smyth, whose editorial labours have produced a very interesting volume. Those who have the good fortune to meet with this privately printed book will probably be disappointed by not finding the pages sparkling with piquant and racy anecdotes. Doubtless, however, the gallant editor honours Plutarch's golden rule of club reticence, and was apprehensive of treading on the ashes of fires not entirely extinct. This reticence must have been somewhat trying to the Admiral, for it would be easy to adduce evidence to show that the members do not meet to discuss transcendental metaphysics only, but often wisely letting

Euclid rest, and Archimedes pause, they prefer making their club a conservatory of mirth, goodhumour, wit, and repartee; and just as Lord Brougham, when working as few men have worked on professional subjects, besides grazing largely' on the vast fields of science and literature, was a most excellent member of the 'sublime' Beefsteak Club-so Chantrey and Davy, Buckland and Herschel, Hallam and Macaulay, rested occasionally from their scientific and literary labours, to make evenings memorable at the Royal Society Club. Who that knew the late Botani

corum facile Princeps, Robert Brown, but remembers with what unction he used to relate racy anecdotes, many of a nature so personal as to lead to the belief that a club is not exactly the place where the Horatian maxim 'Quid de quoque viro, et cui dicas, sæpe caveto, is observed; and see by the following anecdote, recorded in the Life of Cavendish, how members of the Royal Society Club will sometimes tell stories of their brethren. It is related by a worthy F.R.S. now gathered to his fathers, and as bearing on the subject of club conviviality, even when a club is composed of philosophers, we reproduce it:

At a meeting of the Royal Society Club in the early part of this century, we observed a very pretty girl looking out from an upper window on the opposite side of the street watching the philosophers at dinner. She attracted notice, and one by one we got up and mustered round the window to admire the fair one. Cavendish, who thought we were looking at the moon, bustled up to us in his odd way, and when he saw the real object of our study, turned away with intense disgust, and grunted out, Pshaw !

Judge not too harshly the great Croesus of chemistry because he turned thus peevishly away from this 'fair one,' who might have been, for all he knew to the contrary, one of the redoubtable Widows' Club immortalized by Addison. For Cavendish was a social man among mankind -a member of the Cat and Bagpipes, a club famous for conviviality; and how greatly he enjoyed pleasant converse is apparent by the fact that he left Lord Bessborough a handsome legacy as acknowledgment of the pleasure he had derived from his lordship's conversation at the dinners of the Royal Society Club.

It has ever been a rule of this club not to confine membership to scientific men, but rather, as Admiral Smyth says, to make it a true hospitium publicum for labourers in the scientific vineyard, and an elegant resort for the more general admirers and patrons of human knowledge. Thus, looking at the

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long list of members, past and present, the names of well-known philosophers, wits, scholars, statesmen, lawyers, painters, and poets, meet the eye. Sir Joseph Banks, long at the head of the club, was accustomed to ask when a candidate was proposed, 'Is he a clubbable man and just as the Royal Society opens its doors to a Hallam, a Macaulay, or a Grote, so does the club welcome literary as well as scientific workers.

But this cosmopolitanism has not been approved by all philosophers; and accordingly in 1847, when a revision of the statutes of the Royal Society rendered the fellowship of the Society very much more difficult of attainment than it had been hitherto, certain Fellows established a new Royal Society Club, under the name of "The Philosophical Club,' based on exclusive principles. It consists of forty-seven members, in allusion to the year of its establishment, thirty-five of whom must live within ten miles of the Post-office. The purpose of this club is to promote as much as possible the scientific objects of the Royal Society, and, with the exception of the President of the Society for the time being, those only are eligible as members of the club who are Fellows of the Royal Society, and authors either of a paper published in the Transactions of one of the chartered societies established for the promotion of natural science, or of some work of original research in natural science. With the exception of scientific foreigners, no strangers are allowed to attend the meetings of this club.

It would be quite impossible within the limits of an article, to give even a sketch of the numerous clubs which now exist in London. We allude of course to clubs in their original sense, and not to the present splendid substitutes of the coffee houses of the eighteenth century. Modern clubs, being mere subscription establishments, where Harpagon's maxim, 'bonne chère avec peu d'argent,' is carried out to great perfection.

Were we writing a history of Clubs, we should be bound to

notice another club which was founded by certain bold and independent Fellows of the Royal Society, who set their President at defiance. We feel, however, the less regret in passing this club over in comparative silence, because its reputation was of a very questionable nature, and, though established by eminent men, it enjoyed but a brief existence.

The majority of our metropolitan scientific societies have, as we have said, followed the example of the old society, by establishing clubs financially independent of the institutions they represent. One exceptional case is that of the Institution of Civil Engineers, which, instead of having given birth to a club, may be said to have sprung from one. This is the Smeatonian Club. This association, established by the celebrated Smeaton, met originally to discuss engineering matters over a Welsh rabbit and porter, the members being limited to this humble pabulum; but as engineering prospered and engineers became rich, the fare increased in abundance and excellence; and now a Smeatonian Club dinner ranks with the best of London club feasts, the Smeatonians being, we presume, desirous of impressing on their guests how engineering has flourished since the days of Smeaton and the Welsh rabbits. But while the members of this club are fully aware of the importance of Aristology, they have very properly retained some of the original features of their association. Thus the card of invitation to a club dinner is headed by these words'to order all things in measure and number and weight,' taken from the Apocryphal book of Wisdom; and the following quaint sentiment, attributed to Smeaton, is drunk with due ceremony at every club dinner-Dam the canals-sink the coal-pits-blast the minerals— consume the manufactures-disperse the commerce of Great Britain and Ireland.'

associations

Again, there are which combine the features of society and club. The Alpine Club is an example of this union. For though our French friends facetiously style this association the 'Club des Grimpeurs,' and declare that every member passes his life on frightful mountain peaks, amidst which he endeavours to break his neck-his motto being Excelsior, and his fare merely bread and cheese-we beg to assure the French nation that while the members of the Alpine Club do climb mountains, thereby acquiring strength and vigour which may be of great use should our Volunteers be called upon to aid in resisting an invader; at the same time, the club endeavours to turn the explorations of its members to good account, papers being read at periodical meetings on subjects of considerable interest and scientific importance. Other meetings are devoted to conviviality; and if opportunity offers, we hope to show some of our Paris friends that the members of the Alpine Club do occasionally dine on better fare than dry bread and cheese.

And this leads us to observe, in conclusion, that the costly and récherché pabulum of club dinners is the only feature in the constitution of these associations at all open to objection; for the stern moralist may contend that though a natural affinity probably exists between aldermen and turtle, the members of the Royal Society and other clubs would be wiser philosophers if they were satisfied with simpler and less costly dinners; bestowing, in short, more on science, literature, and art, and less on club entertainments. this, we are well aware, opens a nice and delicate question, which we have no inclination to argue, preferring rather to believe that scientific clubs are wholesome English institutions, serviceable alike to the sciences that they represent and to the individuals who belong to them.

But

1861.]

YOUR

OU drive out, let us suppose, upon a certain day. To your surprise and mortification, your horse, usually lively and frisky, is quite dull and sluggish. He does not get over the ground as he is wont to do. The slightest touch of whip-cord, on other days, suffices to make him dart forward with re

doubled speed; but upon this day, after two or three miles, he needs positive whipping, and he runs very sulkily with it all. By and bye his coat, usually smooth and glossy and dry through all reasonable work, begins to stream like a water-cart. This will not do. There is something wrong. You investigate; and you discover that your horse's work, though seemingly the same as usual, is in fact immensely greater. The blockheads who oiled your wheels yesterday have screwed up your patent axles too tightly; the friction is enormous; the hotter the metal gets, the greater grows the friction; your horse's work is quadrupled. You drive slowly home; and severely upbraid the blockheads.

There are many people who have to go through life at an analogous disadvantage. There is something in their constitution of body or mind; there is something in their circumstances; which adds incalculably to the exertion they must go through to attain their ends; and which holds them back from doing what they might otherwise have done. Very probably, that malign something exerted its influence unperceived by those around them. They did not get credit for the struggle they were making. No one knew what a brave fight they were making with a broken right arm; marked that they were running the race, and keeping a fair place in it too, with their legs tied together. All they do, they do at a disadvantage. It is as when a noble racehorse is beaten by a sorry hack; because the race-horse, as you might

no one re

see if you look at the list, is carrying twelve pounds additional. But such men, by a desperate effort, often made silently and sorrowfully, may (so to speak) run in the race; and do well in it; though you little think with how heavy a foot and how heavy a heart. There are others, who have no chance at all. They are like a horse set to run a race, tied by a strong rope to a tree; or weighted with ten tons of extra burden. That horse cannot run, even poorly. The difference between their case and that of the men who are placed at a disadvantage, is like the difference between setting a very near-sighted man to keep a sharp look-out, and setting a man who is quite blind to keep that sharp look-out. Many can do the work of life with difficulty; some cannot do it at all. In short, there are PEOPLE WHO CARRY WEIGHT IN LIFE; and there are

some WHO NEVER HAVE A CHANCE.

And you, my friend, who are doing the work of life well and creditably: you who are running in the front rank, and likely to do so to the end; think kindly and charitably of those who have broken down in the race. Think kindly of him who, sadly overweighted, is struggling onwards away half-a-mile behind you; think more kindly yet, if that be possible, of him who, tethered to a ton of granite, is struggling hard and making no way at all; or who has even sat down and given up the struggle in dumb despair. You feel, I know, the weakness in yourself which would have made you break down if sorely tried like others. You know there is in your armour the unprotected place at which a well-aimed or a random blow would have gone home and brought you down. Yes, you are nearing the winning-post, and you are among the first; but six pounds more on your back, and you might have been nowhere. You feel, by your weak heart and

weary frame, that if you had been sent to the Crimea in that dreadful first winter, you would certainly have died. And you feel, too, by your lack of moral stamina, by your feebleness of resolution, that it has been your preservation from you know not what depths of shame and misery, that you never were pressed very hard by temptation. Do not range yourself with those who found fault with a certain great and good Teacher of former days, because he went to be guest with a man that was a sinner. As if He could have gone to be guest with any man who was not!

There is no reckoning up the manifold impedimenta by which human beings are weighted for the race of life; but all may be classified under the two heads of unfavourable influences arising out of the mental or physical nature of the human beings themselves, and unfavourable influences arising out of the circumstances in which the human beings are placed. You have known men who, setting out from a very humble position, have attained to a respectable standing; but who would have reached a very much higher place but for their being weighted with a vulgar, violent, wrong-headed, and rude-spoken wife. You have known men of lowly origin, who had in them the makings of gentlemen; but whom this single malign influence has condemned to coarse manners and a dirty repulsive home, for life. You have known many men whose powers are crippled and their nature soured by poverty; by the heavy necessity for calculating how far each shilling will go; by a certain sense of degradation that comes of sordid shifts. How can a poor parson write an eloquent or spirited sermon, when his mind all the while is running upon the thought how he is to pay the baker, or how he is to get shoes for his children? It will be but a dull discourse which, under that weight, will be produced even by a man who, favourably placed, could have done very considerable things. It is

only a great genius here and there, who can do great things, who can do his best, no matter at what disadvantage he may be placed; the great mass of ordinary men can make little headway with wind and tide dead against them. Not many trees would grow well, if watered daily (let us say) with vitriol. Yet a tree which would speedily die under that nurture, might do very fairly, might even do magnificently, if it had fair play, if it got its chance of common sunshine and shower. Some men, indeed, though always hampered by circumstances, have accomplished much; but then you cannot help thinking how much more they might have accomplished had they been placed more happily. Pugin, the great Gothic architect, designed various noble buildings; but I believe he complained that he never had fair play with his finest; that he was always weighted by considerations of expense, or by the nature of the ground he had to build on, or by the number of people it was essential the building should accommodate. And so he regarded his noblest edifices as no more than hints of what he could have done. He made grand running in the race; but oh what running he could have made if you had taken off those twelve additional pounds! I dare say you have known men who laboured to make a pretty country house on a site which had some one great drawback. They were always battling with that drawback, and trying to conquer it; but they never could quite succeed. And it remained a real worry and vexation. Their house was on the north side of a high hill, and never I could have its due share of sunshine. Or you could not reach it but by climbing a very steep ascent; or you could not in any way get water into the landscape. When Sir Walter was at length able to call his own a little estate on the banks of the Tweed he loved so well, it was the ugliest, bleakest, and least interesting spot upon the course of that beautiful river; and the public road ran within a few