h regard to Captain Walker that he would have treated a
friend in want exactly as he when in want was treated. There was only
his lady who was in the least afflicted by his captivity; and as for the
club, that went on, we are bound to say, exactly as it did on the day
previous to his disappearance.

By the way, about clubs--could we not, but for fear of detaining the
fair reader too long, enter into a wholesome dissertation here on the
manner of friendship established in those institutions, and the noble
feeling of selfishness which they are likely to encourage in the male
race? I put out of the question the stale topics of complaint, such as
leaving home, encouraging gormandising and luxurious habits, etc.; but
look also at the dealings of club-men with one another. Look at the rush
for the evening paper! See how Shiverton orders a fire in the dog-days,
and Swettenham opens the windows in February. See how Cramley takes
the whole breast of the turkey on his plate, and how many times Jenkins
sends away his beggarly half-pint of sherry! Clubbery is organised
egotism. Club intimacy is carefully and wonderfully removed from
friendship. You meet Smith for twenty years, exchange the day's news
with him, laugh with him over the last joke, grow as well acquainted as
two men may be together--and one day, at the end of the list of members
of the club, you read in a little paragraph by itself, with all the
honours,

MEMBER DECEASED.
Smith, John, Esq.;

or he, on the other hand, has the advantage of reading your own name
selected for a similar typographical distinction. There it is, that
abominable little exclusive list at the end of every club-catalogue--you
can't avoid it. I belong to eight clubs myself, and know that one year
Fitz-Boodle, George Savage, Esq. (unless it should please fate to remove
my brother and his six sons, when of course it would be Fitz-Boodle, Sir
George Savage, Bart.), will appear in the dismal category. There is that
list; down I must go in it:--the day will come, and I shan't be seen in
the bow-window, someone else will be sitting in the vacant armchair:
the rubber will begin as usual, and yet somehow Fitz will not be there.
"Where's Fitz?" says Trumpington, just arrived from the Rhine. "Don't
you know?" says Punter, turning down his thumb to the carpet. "You led
the club, I think?" says Ruff to his partner (the OTHER partner!), and
the waiter snuffs the candles.

****