n to the accommodation of the
society's house, and several of the inferior apartments are always
devoted to serve as dressing-rooms. It is clear, that a bachelor wants
nothing beyond this but a bed; if he chooses to live in this sort of
public privacy he may; and should he be only a sojourner in town, the
convenience of a resort of this kind wherein he may make his
appointments, receive and write his letters, see society, take his
dinner, spend his evening, if not otherwise engaged, over the books, the
newspapers, or a rubber of whist, and do all but sleep--a bed in the
neighbourhood may supply the article of repose.--Thus all physical
wants, and many social ones, are abundantly, and even luxuriously
supplied.--_London Magazine_.

[While upon "clubs," we may as well advert to the prospectus of "_The
Literary Club_," which has reached us since our last. It professes to be
"associated for the _assistance_ of men of letters, the development of
talent, and the furtherance of the interests of literature." It not only
aims at _charitable_ provision for the weaknesses and infirmities of
nature, but anticipates "harmony and friendship" among literary men, and
"as little as possible on any system of exclusion." This is as it should
be; but we fear the workings and conflicts of passion and interest are
still too strong to admit of such harmony among the sons of genius.
Authorship is becoming, if not already become, too much of a trade or
craft to admit of such a pacificatory scheme: but the object of the
association is one of the highest importance to literature, and we
heartily wish it success.--ED. MIRROR.]

* * * * *

ENGLISH AND FRENCH.

Why are the English so fond of clubs, corporate bodies, joint-stock
companies, and large associations of all kinds?--Because they are the
most unsociable set of people in the world; for being mostly at variance
with each other, they are glad to get any one else to join and be on
their side; having no spontaneous attraction, they are forced to fasten
themselves into the machine of society; and each holds out in his
individual shyness and reserve, till he is carried away by the crowd,
and borne with a violent, but welcome, shock against some other mass of
aggregate prejudice or self-interest. The English join together to get
rid of their sharp points and sense of uncomfortable peculiarity. Hence
their clubs, their mobs, their sects, their parties, their sp