Brooks’s possesses a good deal of silver plate, which taken in the aggregate is valued at some £4,000. The oldest piece is a marrow-spoon of 1793, whilst perhaps the most interesting part of the collection is a number of candlesticks, all Georgian.
There are in Brooks’s two snuff-boxes—an antique one of mother-of-pearl, and another of early Victorian date and design.
The tranquillity for which this club is noted has rarely been disturbed in recent times, but in 1886, when Mr. Gladstone introduced his Home Rule Bill, Brooks’s became much perturbed and troubled by discord quite out of keeping with the traditions of its sacred precincts. A member who had been in Mr. Gladstone’s Cabinet, and who, it was said, had many years before been himself “blackballed” when a candidate, was declared to have spoken contemptuously of the Liberal Unionists as he descended the stairs of the club, where he had been dining as a guest. The irate Liberal Unionists immediately discovered an easy way of revenge. As luck would have it, the son of the ex-Minister came up for election almost immediately after his father’s ill-timed outburst of eloquence, and was swiftly made to experience the same fate which had befallen his parent many years before. As a consequence of this the supporters of Mr. Gladstone, at the next opportunity, revenged themselves by treating the eldest son of a Whig Unionist peer in the same way. Feeling began to run high, and at each successive election the circle of carnage widened and widened, until it began to be whispered that it would soon be impossible for anybody to be elected to Brooks’s at all. Matters began to look very serious—one member even declared that the shade of Fox had been observed flitting about the passages; and though another member surmised that it was only the solid figure of an ancient servitor of the club with a bottle of port in his hand, which had been mistaken for the shade of the statesman, both agreed in acknowledging that the situation was becoming extremely grave. Happily, at this juncture Lord Granville came to the rescue, and at the next election made a speech which caused a general reconciliation. In a few well-chosen words he alluded to the antiquity of the club, and the previous divisions in the party which it had survived, and expressed a hope—using almost the words which Burke had employed in a slightly different connection—which he believed all present in their hearts really shared, that there should at least be one place left in London where a truce might be allowed to the divisions and animosities of mankind, and friends might still be allowed to meet one another on the same terms as of old.
Lord Granville’s speech produced a great effect, as the taking of the ballot proved; for all the candidates, irrespective of their shades of political opinion, were elected. Lord Granville afterwards declared that he had never felt so nervous in his life.
In the earlier days of its existence, Brooks’s, like so many other West End resorts, was the scene of much high gambling, and large sums often changed hands.
Samuel Wilberforce, when he first joined the club, took part (he afterwards declared) from mere shyness in a game of faro, George Selwyn in the bank. A friend, astonished, called out, “What, Wilberforce, is that you?” Selwyn quite resented the interference, and, turning to him, said in his most expressive tone: “Oh, sir, don’t interrupt Mr. Wilberforce; he could not be better employed.”
As a matter of fact, this was not the sole occasion upon which Wilberforce played, for he once kept the bank at Goosetree’s, which Pitt also frequented. Another member, Mr. Bankes, in the absence of a banker, playfully offered the philanthropist a guinea to do so.
Wilberforce, as it happened, was very lucky, and rose the winner of £600. He afterwards declared that the pain he felt at winning so much money from young men who could not afford to lose without inconvenience cured him of all partiality for play.
Goosetree’s consisted almost exclusively of budding orators and statesmen, but there was a good deal of gambling there.
One of the largest winners at Brooks’s in the days of high play was Alderman Combe, the brewer. One evening, whilst he was Lord Mayor, he chanced to be engaged at a hazard-table there, Beau Brummell being one of the party. “Come, Mash-tub,” said Brummell, who was the caster, “what do you set?” “Twenty-five guineas,” answered the Alderman. “Well, then,” returned the Beau, “have at the ‘mare’s’ pony.” He continued to throw until he drove home the brewer’s twelve ponies running; and then, getting up and making him a low bow, whilst pocketing the cash, he said: “Thank you, Alderman; for the future I shall never drink any porter but yours.” “I wish, sir,” replied the brewer, “that every other blackguard in London would tell me the same.”