e. I
wonder what object there is, that two men can possibly agree in
desiring, and which it takes more than one to attain, for which an
association of some kind has not been formed at some time or other,
since first the swarthy savage learned that it was necessary to unite to
kill the lion which infested the neighbourhood! Alack for human nature!
I fear by far the larger proportion of the objects of associations would
be found rather evil than good, and, certes, nearly all of them might be
ranged under two heads, according as the passions of hate or desire
found a common object in several hearts. Gain on the one
hand--destruction on the other--have been the chief motives of clubbing
in all time.

A delightful exception is to be found, though--to wit, in associations
for the purpose of talking. I do not refer to parliaments and
philosophical academies, but to those companies which have been formed
for the sole purpose of mutual entertainment by interchange of thought.

Now, will any kind reader oblige me with a derivation of the word
'Club?' I doubt if it is easy to discover. But one thing is certain,
whatever its origin, it is, in its present sense, purely English in idea
and in existence. Dean Trench points this out, and, noting the fact that
no other nation (he might have excepted the Chinese) has any word to
express this kind of association, he has, with very pardonable natural
pride, but unpardonably bad logic, inferred that the English are the
most sociable people in the world. The contrary is true; nay, _was_
true, even in the days of Addison, Swift, Steele--even in the days of
Johnson, Walpole, Selwyn; ay, at all time since we have been a nation.
The fact is, we are not the most sociable, but the most associative
race; and the establishment of clubs is a proof of it. We cannot, and
never could, talk freely, comfortably, and generally, without a company
for talking. Conversation has always been with us as much a business as
railroad-making, or what not. It has always demanded certain
accessories, certain condiments, certain stimulants to work it up to the
proper pitch. 'We all know' we are the cleverest and wittiest people
under the sun; but then our wit has been stereotyped. France has no 'Joe
Miller;' for a bon-mot there, however good, is only appreciated
historically. Our wit is printed, not spoken; our best wits behind an
inkhorn have sometimes been the veriest logs in society. On the
Continent clubs were no