led him a clubbable
man, and so he had for those days which dreamed not of vast caravanserai
calling themselves clubs and having thousands of members on their roll,
the majority of whom do not know more than perhaps ten of their fellow
members from Adam. In the sense that Dr. Johnson meant, all these wits
and beaux whom our Whartons have gathered together were eminently
clubbable. If some such necromancer could come to us as he who in
Tourguenieff's story conjures up the shade of Julius Caesar; and if in an
obliging way he could make these wits and beaux greet us: if such a
spiritualistic society as that described by Mr. Stockton in one of his
diverting stories could materialise them all for our benefit: then one
might count with confidence upon some very delightful company and some
very delightful talk. For the people whom the Whartons have been good
enough to group together are people of the most fascinating variety.
They have wit in common and goodfellowship, they were famous
entertainers in their time; they add to the gaiety of nations still. The
Whartons have given what would in America be called a "Stag Party". If
we join it we shall find much entertainment thereat.

Do people read Theodore Hook much nowadays? Does the generation which
loves to follow the trail with Allan Quatermain, and to ride with a
Splendid Spur, does it call at all for the humours of the days of the
Regency? Do those who have laughed over "The Wrong Box," ever laugh over
Jack Brag? Do the students of Mr. Rudyard Kipling know anything of
"Gilbert Gurney?" Somebody started the theory some time ago, that this
was not a laughter-loving generation, that it lacked high spirits. It
has been maintained that if a writer appeared now, with the rollicking
good spirits, and reckless abandon of a Lever, he would scarcely win a
warm welcome. We may be permitted to doubt this conclusion; we are as
fond of laughter as ever, as ready to laugh if somebody will set us
going. Mr. Stevenson prefers of late to be thought grim in his fiction,
but he has set the sides shaking, both over that "Wrong Box" which we
spoke of, and in earlier days. We are ready to laugh with Stockton from
overseas, with our own Anstey, with anybody who has the heart to be
merry, and the wit to make his mirth communicable. But, it may be
doubted if we read our Lever quite as much as a wise doctor, who
happened also to be a wise man of letters, would recommend. And we may
well fancy that su