Almost every tavern of note about town hath or had its club. The Mermaid Tavern is immortalized as the house resorted to by Shakspeare, Jonson, Fletcher, and Beaumont; the Devil—which, Pennant informs us, stood on the site of Child's-place, Temple Bar—was the scene of many a merry meeting of the choice spirits in old days; at Will's Coffee-house, in the Augustan age of English literature, societies were held to which Steele, and Pope, and Addison belonged; Doctor Johnson, Hawkesworth, the elder Salter, and Sir John Hawkins, were members of a club formerly held at the King's-head, in Ivy-lane; the notorious Dick England, Dennis O'Kelly, and Hull, with their associates, had, many years ago, a sporting-club at Munday's Coffee-house; the Three Jolly Pigeons, in Butcher-hall-lane, was formerly the gathering place of a set of old school bibliopoles, who styled themselves the Free and Easy Counsellors under the Cauliflower; stay-maker Hugh Kelly, Goldsmith, Ossian Macpherson, Garrick, Cumberland, and the Woodfalls, with several noted men of that day, were concerned in a club at the St. James's Coffee-house; the Kit-Cat, which took its name from one Christopher Cat, a pastry-cook, was held at a tavern in King-street, Westminster; Button's—but truly the task of enumerating the several clubs, of which we find notices "in the books," as the lawyers have it, would be endless.—Every Night Book.
CONVERSATION OF WOMEN.
The usual conversation of ordinary women very much cherishes the natural weakness of being taken with outside appearance. Talk of a new-married couple, and you immediately hear whether they keep their coach-and-six, or eat in plate. Mention the name of an absent lady, and it is ten to one but you learn something of her gown and petticoat. A ball is a great help to discourse, and a birthday furnishes conversation for a twelvemonth after. A furbelow of precious stones, a hat buttoned with a diamond, a brocade waistcoat or petticoat, are standing topics. —Addison.
BILDERDYK.
William Bilderdyk, admired as the first poet that modern Holland has produced, and not less distinguished by the brilliant qualities of his mind, did not, in his youth, seem to show any happy disposition for study. His father, who formed an unfavourable opinion of his talents, was much distressed, and frequently reproached him in severe terms for his inattention and idleness, to which young Bilderdyk did not appear to pay much attention. In 1776, the father, with a newspaper in his hand, came to stimulate him, by showing the advertisement of a prize offered by the Society of Leyden, and decreed to the author of a piece of poetry, signed with these words, "An Author 18 years old," who was invited to make himself known. "You ought to blush, idler," said old Bilderdyk to his son. "Here is a boy only of your age, and though so young, is the pride and happiness of his parents; and you——." "It is myself," answered young William, throwing himself into his father's arms.
SIR ANTHONY CARLISLE,
Who has often filled the anatomical chair at the Royal Academy, is no less abstruse and instructive than pleasant and amusing. His illustrative anecdotes are always excellent, and his way of telling them quite dramatic. We have found him even more agreeable as a private talker than as a lecturer; he is rich in the old lore of England—he will hunt a phrase through several reigns—propose derivations for words which are equally ingenious and learned—follow a proverb for generations back, and discuss on the origin of language as though he had never studied aught beside: he knows more than any other person we ever met with of the biography of talented individuals—in the philosophy of common life he is quite an adept—a capital chronologist—a man of fine mind and most excellent memory: his experience has, of course, been very great, and he has taken good advantage of it. We remember he once amused us for half a day by adducing instances of men who, although possessed of mean talents, had enabled themselves to effect wonders, by simply hoarding in their minds, and subsequently acting upon, an immense number of facts: from this subject we naturally enough fell into a discourse on the importance, in many cases and situations, of attending to trifles. As a proof of this, he mentioned a circumstance which occurred to an eminent surgeon within his own memory; it was as follows: A gentleman, residing about a post-stage from town, met with an accident which eventually rendered amputation of a limb indispensable. The surgeon alluded to was requested to perform the operation, and went from town with two pupils to the gentleman's house, on the day appointed, for that purpose. The usual preliminaries being arranged, he proceeded to operate; the tourniquet was applied, the flesh divided, and the bone laid bare, when, to his astonishment and horror, he discovered that his instrument-case was without the saw! Here was a situation! Luckily his presence of mind did not forsake him. Without apprising his patient of the terrible fact, he put one of his pupils into his carriage, and told the coachman to gallop to town. It was an hour and a half before the saw was obtained, and during all that time the patient lay suffering. The agony of the operator, though great, was scarcely a sufficient punishment for his neglect in not seeing that all his instruments were in the case before he started.
Basil Montagu, the water drinking barrister, who was present during the narration of this anecdote, and the previous discussion, mentioned another instance of the propriety of noticing those minor circumstances in life, which are usually suffered to pass unheeded by people in general. A man of talent was introduced into a company of strangers; he scarcely spoke after his first salutation until he wished the party good night. Almost every one dubbed him a fool; the lady hostess, who, be it remarked, had not been previously informed of the abilities of her new guest, was of a different opinion, "I am sure," said she, "that you are all wrong; for, though he said nothing, I remarked that he always laughed in the right place."—Every Night Book.