The Book of Snobs

the grandmother wild with delight. Presently Fanny and Pump obligingly came to London, where the third was born.

It is known that Orpheus was torn to pieces by some justly indignant Thracian ladies for belonging to an Harmonic Lodge. “Let him go back to Eurydice,” they said, “whom he is pretend­ing to regret so.” But the history is given in Dr. Lempriere“s elegant dictionary in a manner much more forcible than any this feeble pen can attempt. At once, then, and without ver­biage, let us take up this subject-matter of Clubs.

Where should the middle-aged Jones be? At his time of life, he ought to be the father of a family. At such an hour – say, at nine o“clock at night – the nursery-bell should have just rung the children to bed. He and Mrs. J. ought to be, by rights, seat­ed on each side of the fi re by the dining-room table, a bottle of port-wine between them, not so full as it was an hour since. Mrs. J. has had two glasses; Mrs. Grumble (Jones“s mother-in­law) has had three; Jones himself has fi nished the rest, and dozes comfortably until bed-time.

And, ladies, think of men who do not merely frequent the dining-room and library, but who use other apartments of those horrible dens which it is my purpose to batter down; think of Cannon, the wretch, with his coat off, at his age and size, clattering the balls over the billiard-table all night, and making bets with that odious Captain Spot! – think of Pam in a dark room with Bob Trumper, Jack Deuceace, and Charley Vole, playing, the poor dear misguided wretch, guinea points and fi ve pounds on the rubber! – above all, think – oh, think of that den of abomination, which, I am told, has been established in SOME clubs, called THE SMOKING­ROOM, – think of the debauchees who congregate there, the quantities of reeking whisky-punch or more dangerous sherry-cobbler which they consume; – think of them com­ing home at cock-crow and letting themselves into the quiet house with the Chubb key; – think of them, the hypocrites, taking off their insidious boots before they slink upstairs, the children sleeping overhead, the wife of their bosom alone with the waning rushlight in the two-pair front – that cham­ber so soon to be rendered hateful by the smell of their stale cigars: I am not an advocate of violence; I am not, by nature, of an incendiary turn of mind: but if, my dear ladies, you are for assassinating Mr. Chubb and burning down Club-hous­es in St. James“s, there is ONE Snob at who will not think the worse of you.

The continual presence of these in a house cannot be thought, even by the most loving of wives, desirable. Say the girls are beginning to practise their music, which in an honourable English family, ought to occupy every young gentlewoman three hours; it would be rather hard to call upon poor papa to sit in the drawing-room all that time, and listen to the inter­minable discords and shrieks which are elicited from the mis­erable piano during the above necessary operation. A man with a good ear, especially, would go mad, if compelled dai­ly to submit to this horror.

Or suppose you have a fancy to go to the milliner“s, or to Howell and James“s, it is manifest, my dear Madam, that your husband is much better at the Club during these operations than by your side in the carriage, or perched in wonder upon one of the stools at Shawl and Gimcrack“s, whilst young coun­ter-dandies are displaying their wares.