Many curiously-named clubs existed in the past. Addison, for instance, speaking of the clubs of his time, mentions several the names of which were probably merely humorous exaggerations. Names such as the Mum Club, the Ugly Club, can hardly be considered to have been in actual use.
Real clubs were the Lying Club, for which untruthfulness was supposed to be an indispensable qualification; the Odd Fellows’ Club; the Humbugs2 (which met at the Blue Posts, in Covent Garden); the Samsonic Society; the Society of Bucks3; the Purl Drinkers; the Society of Pilgrims, held at the Woolpack, in the Kingsland Road; the Thespian4 Club; the Great Bottle Club; the Aristocratic “Je ne s?ai quoi” Club, held at the Star and Garter, in Pall5 Mall, of which the Prince of Wales and the Dukes of York, Clarence, Orleans, Norfolk, Bedford, and other notabilities, were members; the Sons of the Thames Society; the Blue Stocking Club; the “No Pay No Liquor” Club, held at the Queen and Artichoke, in the Hampstead Road, and of which the ceremony, on a new member’s introduction, was, after his paying a fee on entrance of one shilling, that he should wear a hat throughout 34the first evening of his membership, made in the shape of a quart pot, and drink to the health of his brother members in a gilt6 goblet7 of ale. At Camden Town met the “Social Villagers,” in a room at the Bedford Arms.
One of the first clubs was the October Club, composed of some hundred and fifty staunch Tories, chiefly country Members of Parliament. They met at the Bell, in King Street, Westminster—that street in which Spenser starved, and Dryden’s brother kept a grocer’s shop. A portrait of Queen Anne, by Dahl, hung in the club-room.
Another queer eighteenth-century institution was the Golden Fleece Club, the members of which assumed fancy names, such as Sir Timothy Addlepate, Sir Nimmy Sneer8, Sir Talkative Dolittle, Sir Skinny Fretwell, Sir Rumbus Rattle9, Sir Boozy Prate-all, Sir Nicholas Ninny Sip-all, Sir Gregory Growler, Sir Pay-little, and the like. The main object of this club seems to have been a very free conviviality10.
Perhaps the most eccentric club of all was “the Everlasting12,” which, like the modern Brook13 Club of New York, professed14 to go on for ever, its doors being kept open night and day throughout the year, whilst the members were divided into watches like sailors at sea.
The craze for queerly-named clubs lasted into the nineteenth century; for instance, the King of Clubs was the fanciful name of a society founded about 1801 by Bobus Smith. At first it consisted of a small knot of lawyers, whose clients were too few, or too civil, to molest15 their after-dinner 35recreations; a few literary characters; and a small number of visitors, generally introduced by those who took the chief part in conversation, and seemingly selected for the faculty16 of being good listeners.
The King of Clubs sat on the Saturday of each month in the Strand17, at the Crown and Anchor Tavern18, which at that time was a nest of boxes, each containing its club, and affording excellent cheer, though afterwards desecrated20 by indifferent dinners and very questionable21 wine. The object of the club was conversation. Everyone seemed anxious to bring his contribution of good sense or good-humour, and the members discussed books and authors and the prevalent topics of the day, except politics, which were excluded.
Rogers, the banker poet, was a member of the King of Clubs. His funereal22 appearance gained him the nickname of the Dug-up Dandy, and all sorts of jokes were made concerning him. Once, when Rogers had been at Spa, and was telling Ward19 (afterwards Lord Dudley) that the place was so full that he could not so much as find a bed to lie in, and that he was obliged on that account to leave it, “Dear me,” replied Ward, “was there no room in the churchyard?” At another time Murray was showing him a portrait of Rogers, observing that “it was done to the life.” “To the death, you mean,” replied Ward. Amongst other amusing sallies of the same kind was his asking Rogers: “Why don’t you keep your hearse, Rogers? You can well afford it.”
A good example of what most of the little old-fashioned clubs of other days were like is furnished 36by Pratt’s, which, though not of very great antiquity23, occupies curious old-world premises24 just off St. James’s Street. This quaint25 and agreeable little club, still a flourishing institution, appears to have been founded about 1841; the old manuscript records of elections still exist. Though Pratt’s has recently been reorganized, its distinctive26 features have not been impaired27, and the house remains28 much in its original condition—the kitchen downstairs, with its old-fashioned open fire, quaint dresser filled with salmon-fly plates, old-world furniture and prints, forming a delightful29 relic30 of the past. A curious niche31 in this room would seem to have once served as a receptacle for cards or dice32, in the days when the house was used for gambling33, and raids by the authorities were common.
Next the kitchen is the dining-room, in which is a long table; the walls here are hung with old prints of the time when the club was founded. Both this room and the kitchen have very curious mantelpieces, the upper portions of which are formed of classical friezes34 which would seem to have been brought here from some old mansion35. Throughout the quaint little building are cases of stuffed birds and fish, and the accessories and general appearance produce a singular effect not lacking in old-world charm.
Pratt’s formerly36 opened only late in the evening, but its hours now admit of members lunching; indeed, whilst great care has been taken to preserve the original spirit of the club, many modern improvements unobtrusively carried out make it a most comfortable resort, whilst the convenience of 37members has been studied by the addition of four bedrooms.
By far the most interesting of the old dining clubs was the Sublime38 Society of Beefsteaks, founded about 1735 by Rich, the famous harlequin and machinist of Covent Garden Theatre. At first it consisted of twenty-four members, but the number was afterwards increased. Hogarth, Wilkes, and many other celebrated39 men, were members of this society, which had many curious customs.
The meetings were originally held in a room at Covent Garden Theatre.
The President took his seat after dinner throughout the season, according to the order in which his name appeared on “the rota.”
He was invested with the badge of the society by the Boots. His duty was to give the chartered toasts in strict accordance with the list before him; to propose all resolutions that had been duly made and seconded; to observe all the ancient forms and customs of the society; and to enforce them on others. He had no sort of power inherent in his position; on the contrary, he was closely watched and sharply pulled up if he betrayed either ignorance or forgetfulness on the smallest matter of routine connected with his office. In fact, he was a target for all to shoot at.
A Beefeater’s hat and plume43 hung on the right-hand side of the chair behind him, and a three-cornered hat (erroneously believed to have belonged to Garrick) on the left. When putting a resolution, 38the President was bound to place the plumed44 hat on his head and instantly remove it. If he failed in one or the other act, he was equally reminded by being called to order in no silent terms. The most important obligation imposed on him was the necessity of singing, whether he could sing or not, the song of the day.
The Vice was the oldest member of the society present, and had to carry out the President’s directions without responsibility.
The most important official of all was the Recorder. He had to rebuke46 everybody for offences, real or imaginary, and with him lay the duty of delivering “the charge” to each newly-elected member, which was a burlesque47 function.
The Boots was the last elected of the members, and there was a grave responsibility attached to his office. He was the fag of the brotherhood48, and had to arrive before the dinner-hour, not only to decant49 the wine, but to fetch it from the cellar. This latter custom was persevered50 in until the destruction of the old Lyceum by fire, and was only then abandoned by reason of the inaccessibility51 of the cellar, when the society returned to the new theatre, the rebuilt Lyceum, in 1838. No one was exempted52 from this ordeal53, and woe54 to him who shirked or neglected it. The greatest enjoyment55 seemed to be afforded, both to members and guests, by summoning Boots to decant a fresh bottle of port at the moment when a hot plate and a fresh steak were placed before him.
ORIGINAL BADGE OF THE SUBLIME SOCIETY.
LATER BADGE.
RING.
BADGE OF THE AD LIBITUM CLUB.
REVERSE OF AD LIBITUM BADGE.
The Duke of Sussex was Boots from the date of 39his election (April, 1808) to April, 1809, when a vacancy56 occurred, and Mr. Arnold senior was elected, releasing His Royal Highness from the post. Indeed, until the society ceased to exist, the Duke of Leinster, who had duly served his apprenticeship57 (although he drank nothing stronger than water himself), constantly usurped58 the legitimate59 duties of the Boots by arriving before him and performing the accustomed, but not forgotten, services of the day.
When any Boots showed signs of temper, or any member was unruly or infringed60 the rules of the society, a punishment was in store for him. It was moved and seconded that such delinquent61 should be put in the white sheet and reprimanded by the Recorder; and if the “Ayes had it” (and they always did have it), the sentence was carried out.
The offending party was taken from the room by two members bearing halberds, preceded by a third carrying the sword, and was brought back again in the garb62 of penitence63 (the tablecloth). Then, after a lecture from the Recorder, severe or humorous according to the nature of his offence, he was allowed to resume his place at the table.
It happened that Brother the Duke of Sussex was put in the white sheet under the following circumstances: His Royal Highness had come to the “Steaks” with Brother Hallett, and on the road the watch-chain belonging to the latter had been cut and his bunch of seals stolen. The cloth removed, Hallett addressed the President, recounted the loss he had sustained, and charged the Duke as the perpetrator of the robbery. The case was tried 40on the spot; and the evidence having clearly established the criminality of the accused (to a Beefsteak jury), it was moved and resolved that His Royal Highness should forthwith be put into the white sheet and reprimanded for an act which might have been considered a fault had the victim been a stranger, but which became a crime when that victim was a Brother. There was no appeal. His Royal Highness reluctantly rose, was taken out in custody65, brought before the Recorder (Brother Richards), and received a witty66 but unsparing admonition for the offence of which he had been unanimously found guilty. For a wonder, His Royal Highness took it ill. He resumed his seat, but remained silent and reserved. No wit could make him smile, no bantering67 could rouse him, and at an unusually early hour he ordered his carriage and went away.
The next day Mr. Arnold, who had been the mover of the resolution, went to the palace to smooth the ruffled68 plumes69 of his royal confrère, and took his son with him. In those days the Duke rode on horseback, and as they turned out of the gate leading from the gardens to the portico70 his horse was at the door and His Royal Highness in the act of coming out. By the time they neared the entrance his foot was in the stirrup, and he saw them approaching. Without a moment’s hesitation71 he withdrew his foot, released the bridle72, and, with both his enormous hands extended, advanced three or four steps to meet Mr. Arnold.
“I know what you’ve come about,” he called loudly out in his accustomed note (probably B flat), 41and wringing73 both Mr. Arnold’s hands until he winced74 with pain—“I know what you’ve come about! I made a fool of myself last night. You were quite right, and I quite wrong, so I shall come next Saturday and do penance75 again for my bad temper.”
Sometimes a member turned sulky when made to do penance. On one occasion an individual of a touchy76 disposition77 was put into the white sheet and brought before the President, who admonished78 him as a parent would a child—a Beefsteak sermon without its usual bathos. The recipient79 listened to the harangue80 without moving a muscle of his face. The lecture done, he resumed his seat, but at the next meeting sent in his resignation.
Saturday was the day on which the dinners were held. Each member was allowed to bring one visitor. If he brought a second, he had to borrow a name; in default of obtaining it, the visitor was doomed81 to retire.
Visitors, unlike members, were not subjected to any humorous penalties, but were most ceremoniously treated. They were never unduly82 urged to drink more than might be agreeable to them; one bumper83 in the evening was alone imperative84, but it might be drunk in water. They were never pressed, though always asked, to sing. A “suggestion” to sing was the adopted word.
The only call to which it was imperative for the visitor to respond was “a toast.” If he hesitated too long, he was, perhaps abruptly85, told he might give anything the world produced—man, woman, or child, or any sentiment, social or otherwise. Sometimes 42it happened that such prompting was in vain, and the confused guest would nine times out of ten propose the only toast he was prohibited from giving—“The prosperity of the Sublime Society of Beefsteaks.”
Members were responsible for their guests, who were made to understand that whatever passed within the walls of the S.S.B.S. was sacred. William Jerdan, Editor of the Literary Gazette, was a visitor, and at a late hour he was observed to take a note of a brilliant repartee86 that had been made.
Sit qui dicta foras eliminet.”[1]
1.
Let none beyond this threshold bear away
What friend to friend in confidence may say.
“Jerdan,” he said, “you understand those words?”
“I understand one,” said Jerdan, looking sharply round—“sit; and I mean to do it.”
Authors, and dramatic authors in particular, were mercilessly chaffed when they dined with the Sublime Society. Cobb, whose farce88 “The First-Floor” achieved great popularity, used to accept the satire89 and raillery of members with great good-humour, generally silencing them one by one. Storace composed some of his finest music for Cobb’s comic operas, “The Haunted Tower” and “The Siege of Belgrade,” which achieved success. An Indian opera, “Ramah Dr?g,” did not. Cobb was much chaffed about these operas, especially about the first-named.
“Why ever,” one night said Arnold, “did you 43call your opera by such a name? There was no spirit in it from beginning to end!” “Anyhow,” exclaimed another inveterate91 punster, “‘Ramah Dr?g’ was the most appropriate title possible, for it was literally92 ramming93 a drug down the public throat.” “True,” rejoined Cobb; “but it was a drug that evinced considerable power, for it operated on the public twenty nights in succession.” “My good friend,” said Arnold triumphantly94, “that was a proof of its weakness, if it took so long in working.” “You are right, Arnold, in that respect,” retorted Cobb. “Your play” (Arnold had brought out a play, which did not survive the first night) “had the advantage of mine, for it was so powerful a drug as to be thrown up as soon as it was taken!”
The first and last Saturdays of the season, and the Saturday in Easter week, were “private.”
On these days no visitors were invited. The accounts were gone into, and the amount of the “whip” to regulate the past or accruing95 expenses decided96, the qualifications of such candidates as were anxious, on the occasion of a vacancy, to join the society discussed, and other matters connected with its well-being97 debated.
Each member paid 5s. for his dinner, and 10s. 6d. for his guest. The entrance fee was ￡26 5s. until 1849, when it was reduced to ￡10 10s., and there were generally two annual whips of ￡5 each.
After the destruction of Covent Garden Theatre, where it had met for seventy years, the Sublime Society of Beefsteaks migrated to the Bedford Coffee-house, where it remained till the building of the Lyceum Theatre in 1809, in a special room 44of which it took up its abode98 till 1830, when the Lyceum also was burnt down.
After this it adjourned99 to the Lyceum Tavern, in the Strand, and thence returned to the Bedford Coffee-house, where it remained until 1838, when a suite100 of rooms was built for it under the new roof of the Lyceum. The original gridiron, dug out of the ruins of Covent Garden and the Lyceum, formed the centre ornament101 of the dining-room ceiling. The entire room and ceiling were in Gothic architecture, and the walls were hung with paintings and engravings of past and present members, the former the work of Brother Lonsdale. Folding-doors, the entire width of the room, connected it with an anteroom. When the doors were opened on the announcement of dinner, an enormous grating in the form of a gridiron, through which the fire was seen and the steaks handed, afforded members a view of the kitchen.
There was no blackballing, but every would-be member had to be invited at least twice as a guest, in order that his qualifications might be ascertained103, and then, if he were put up, he was certain to be elected. As a matter of fact, the formality of a ballot104 was gone through, though there were no rejections105.
When a new member was initiated106, he and the visitors were requested after dinner to withdraw to an anteroom, where port and punch were provided for them.
The newly-elected member was then brought in blindfolded107, accompanied on his right by the Bishop with his mitre on, and holding the volume in which the oath of allegiance to the rules of the society 45was inscribed108, while on his left stood some other member holding the sword of state. Behind were the halberdiers. These were all decked out in the most incongruous and absurd dresses—in all probability originally obtained from Covent Garden Theatre.
“The charge” was then delivered by the Recorder. In it he dwelt on the solemnity of the obligations the new member was about to take on himself. He was made to understand, in tones alternately serious and gay, the true brotherly spirit of the Sublime Society of Beefsteaks; that while a perfect equality existed among the Brethren, such equality never should be permitted to degenerate109 into undue110 familiarity; that while badinage111 was encouraged in the freest sense of the word, such badinage must never approach to a personality; and that good fellowship must be united with good breeding. Above all, attention was drawn112 to the Horatian motto over the chimney-piece, and the aspirant113 was warned that ignominious114 expulsion was the fate of him who carried beyond those walls words uttered there in friendship’s confidence.
That done, the following oath, dating from the origin of the society, was administered:
OATH.
YOU SHALL ATTEND DULY,
VOTE IMPARTIALLY115,
AND CONFORM TO OUR LAWS AND ORDERS OBEDIENTLY.
YOU SHALL SUPPORT OUR DIGNITY,
PROMOTE OUR WELFARE, AND AT ALL TIMES
SO BEEF AND LIBERTY BE YOUR REWARD.
46This was read aloud, clause by clause, by the Bishop, and repeated by the candidate; at the end the book was rapidly exchanged by the cook, who was called the Serjeant, for the bone of beef that had served for the day’s dinner, carefully protected by a napkin, and after the words
“SO BEEF AND LIBERTY BE MY REWARD”
he was desired to kiss the book. Instead of this he kissed its substitute, and by reason of a friendly downward pressure from behind he generally did so most devoutly117.
The bandage was then removed from his eyes; the book on which he had sworn the oath was still before him; and amid the laughter and congratulations of his Brethren he again took his seat as a member of the Sublime Society, and the excluded guests were readmitted.
The Serjeant was a very important figure at the meetings of the Sublime Society, and the office was well filled by Heardson, the cook, whose picture was engraved118 by J. R. Smith (the print hangs in the modern Beefsteak). So great was his affection for the “Society” that one of his last requests was to be carried into the club-room to take a farewell glance at the familiar scene, and this he was allowed to do.
A great supporter of the Beefsteak Society was the old Duke of Norfolk, and when he dined there he would be ceremoniously ushered119 to the chair after dinner, and invested with an orange-coloured ribbon, to which a silver medal, in the form of a gridiron, was suspended. In the chair he comported120 himself with great urbanity and good-humour.
47Above all things, this Duke of Norfolk loved long sittings, during which he would consume prodigious121 quantities of wine, which seemed to affect him but very little. Occasionally, however, towards the close of the evening, the Duke, without exhibiting any symptom of inebriety122, became immovable in his chair, as if deprived of all muscular volition123. When at his own house he had an especial method of obviating124 the inconveniences of such a state, and would ask someone to ring the bell three times. This was the signal for bringing in a kind of easy litter, consisting of four equidistant belts, fastened together by a transverse one, which four domestics placed under him, and thus removed his enormous bulk, with a gentle swinging motion, up to his apartment. Upon these occasions the Duke would say nothing, but the whole thing was managed with great system and in perfect silence.
Another prominent member was Charles Morris, who greatly enlivened the dinners by his wit, high spirits, and singing. When he was in town nothing kept him away, even when he was nearly eighty years of age.
“Die when you will, Charles,” said Curran, “you’ll die in your youth.” And his words were verified, for his spirits remained unquenched till within a few days of his death. Morris wrote many songs which he would sing himself. The following is a specimen125 of his talents in that direction:
“Let them rail who think fit, at my ways or my wit;
‘Heaven bade me be gay—to enjoy’s to obey,
And mirth is my prayer of thanksgiving.’
And if snarlers exclaim, ‘What’s this laughing fool’s name?’
And takes all good things in their season.
To this classic of joy, I became when a boy
And through life as a man, I’ve stuck fast to this plan,
In his eighty-sixth year Morris bade adieu to the Sublime Society in verse, but four years later, in 1835, he revisited it, and the members then presented him with a large silver bowl, appropriately inscribed, as a testimonial of their affectionate esteem134.
“When my spirits are low, for relief and delight,
I still place your splendid Memorial in sight;
‘Bring the Steaks to my Mem’ry, the Bowl to my view.’”
The bowl in question eventually passed into the hands of the present Beefsteak Club; most unfortunately, it was some years ago taken away by thieves, who managed to obtain access to the club premises, and it has never been recovered.
Charles Morris had very slender means to support his family, but owing to the generosity137 of the old Duke of Norfolk he was able to retire to a charming rural retreat near Dorking, embosomed amidst the undulating elevations139 of Surrey. Here, however, 49he seems not to have been entirely140 at ease, regretting no doubt the sweet, shady side of Pall Mall, of which he had so gracefully141 sung.
The Duke assisted Morris, owing, it was said, to the kindly143 suggestion of Kemble, the actor, who one night had been dining at Norfolk House when the Beefsteak bard144 had also formed one of the party. When the latter had gone, a few guests only remaining with the Duke, who liked late sittings, His Grace began to deplore145, somewhat pathetically, the smallness of the stipend146 upon which poor Charles was obliged to support his family, observing that it was a discredit147 to the age that a man who had so long gladdened the lives of so many titled and opulent associates should be left to struggle with the difficulties of an inadequate148 income at a time of life when he had no reasonable hope of augmenting149 it. Kemble, who had been listening attentively150, then broke out in peculiarly emphatic151 tones: “And does your Grace sincerely lament152 the destitute153 condition of your friend, with whom you have passed so many agreeable hours? Your Grace has described that condition most feelingly. But is it possible that the greatest peer of the realm, luxuriating amidst the prodigalities of fortune, should lament the distress154 which he does not relieve? The empty phrase of benevolence155, the mere1 breath and vapour of generous sentiment, become no man; they certainly are unworthy of your Grace. Providence156, my Lord Duke, has placed you in a station where the wish to do good and the doing it are the same thing. An annuity157 from your overflowing158 coffers, or a small nook of 50land clipped from your unbounded domains159, would scarcely be felt by your Grace; but you would be repaid with usury160, with tears of grateful joy, with prayers warm from a bosom138 which your bounty161 will have rendered happy.”
The Duke said nothing at the time, except stare with astonishment162 at so unexpected a lecture; but not a month elapsed before Charles Morris was snugly164 invested in a beautiful sequestered165 retreat surrounded by pretty grounds.
Captain Morris lived to the age of ninety-two, dying in July, 1838. He lies in Betchworth Churchyard, near the east end; his grave is simply marked by a head- and foot-stone, with an inscription166 of three or four lines; he who had sung the praises of so many choice spirits has not here a stanza167 to his own memory.
As time went on, the old customs and toasts of the Sublime Society became out of date, and, though certain modifications168 were attempted, it ceased to exist in 1869, when its effects were sold. The following is a list of the most important of them.
An oak dining-table with President’s cap, a mitre and a gridiron carved in three separate circular compartments169 at the top. This relic of past conviviality is now at White’s Club, having been purchased by the Hon. Algernon Bourke some years ago.
A carved oak President’s chair—now, I believe, at Sandringham—and a number of members’ chairs copied in oak from the Glastonbury Chair, the backs carved with the gridiron and the arms and initials of each member. A few of these chairs belong to a firm of brewers.
51Forty-seven engraved portraits of members, glazed170 in oak frames, on which were metal gridirons. One or two of these are in the possession of the present Beefsteak Club.
Other objets d’art and curiosities were—
The ribbon and badge of the President in the form of a silver gridiron, dated 1735.
A fine couteau de chasse, with engraved and pierced blade, the handle formed of a group of Mars, Venus, and Cupid, in silver, the mounting of the sheath of open-work silver, chased with arabesque172 figures, scrolls174, and flowers. The reputed work of Benvenuto Cellini; inscribed “Ex Dono Antonio Askew175, M.D.”
An oval ivory snuff-box, with a cameo of Dante on the lid and inscription inside: “Presented to the S.S.B.S. by B. G. B. [Dr. Babington], an honorary member. The cameo of Dante on the lid of this box was carved by its donor176, and its wood formed part of a mummy-case brought by him from Egypt in 1815; the surrounding ivory was turned by a friend”—in a leather case.
A circular snuff-box, formed of oak dug from the ruins of the old Lyceum Theatre, after its destruction by fire; a silver shield engraved with the gridiron on the lid.
A wooden punch-ladle, with open-work handle, and ten doilys.
A cigar-case, formed of a curious piece of oak.
A pair of halberds.
A large Oriental punch-bowl, enamelled with 52figures, butterflies, and flowers, inside and out, in a case. Presented by Lord Saltoun, K.G.
Another enamelled with figures and baskets of flowers in medallions, with red and gold scale borders. Presented by Baron178 Heath.
A ditto, enamelled with figures.
The mitre of the late Cardinal Gregorio, presented to the Sublime Society of the Beefsteaks by Brother W. Somerville, in silk case.
Facsimile of an agreement between Rich and C. Fleetwood, framed and glazed.
There was in addition to this a certain amount of plate, including cases of silver forks, engraved with members’ names. One of these cases now belongs to the Beefsteak Club.
At one time the members wore a uniform consisting of a blue coat and buff waistcoat, with brass182 buttons impressed with the gridiron and motto, “Beef and Liberty.”
They also wore rings bearing the same devices. One of these rings, presented within recent years by a member, is in the Beefsteak Club, which also possesses a number of badges and other relics183 connected with the Sublime Society and with the Ad Libitum Club, a kindred organization, of which Heardson also appears to have been the cook.
The device of the Ad Libitum was more ornate and graceful142 than that of the Sublime Society, with 53which it seems to have been closely connected, though membership of the one did not necessarily imply membership of the other. As far as can be ascertained, no records of the Ad Libitum have been preserved.
The present Beefsteak Club—less convivial11 in its ways than the Sublime Society—was founded about 1876, and its original dining-place was a room in the building known till its demolition184, some years ago, as Toole’s Theatre. When this was pulled down, it migrated to premises specially90 built for it in Green Street, Leicester Square. The membership is small, and consists mostly of men well known in the political, theatrical185, and literary worlds. Opening only in the afternoon, it is used chiefly as a place for dining and supping amidst congenial and pleasant conversation.
The club consists of one long room, which has a high-pitched roof in the design of which gridirons are cleverly interposed. Here are hung a quantity of old prints, the majority of them after Hogarth. A number of etchings by Whistler (who was a member) are also to be seen. The Beefsteak owns a good deal of silver, much of which has been presented from time to time by members; the practice of giving plate being a usage of the club. The most valuable possession is a tankard of solid gold, on which are inscribed the names of those members who took part in the Boer War. This was purchased by subscription186 amongst the members. The example of the Sublime Society is followed in respect of there being one long 54table in the place of the separate small ones in use at other clubs.
There formerly existed a number of curious dining societies and clubs in the provinces, and some of these still survive, amongst the number of which is the Chelmsford Beefsteak Club, established in 1768. There does not appear to be any book older than 1781, but in the middle of a book which commences in 1829 is written a list of the members from February 5, 1768, to October 18, 1850; and as the whole is in the same handwriting, it is clear the earlier lists of members must have been copied from an older book, which has now disappeared.
The oldest book in the possession of the club is one for entering the attendances of members, and commences October 12, 1781. At that time the members appear to have dined together weekly.
At the monthly dinners of the club, the chairman proposes the following toasts:
(a) “Church and Queen.”
(b) “The Prince of Wales and the Rest of the Royal Family.”
(c) “Our Absent Members.”
(d) “Our Visitors, if any.”
No one is allowed to stand when proposing or replying to a toast.
Morning dress is worn at dinner.
One of the last of the old school of members of this club was Admiral Johnson, elected 1842, who was the midshipman who supported Nelson’s head as he lay dying in the cockpit of the Victory. It was no uncommon187 thing for the Admiral to have 55three bottles of port put before him at 8 o’clock, which he consumed by about 9.30. He was always called upon for a song, and he used to sing about fourteen verses of “On board the Arethusa.” His usual hour for retirement188 was about 10.30, when he would be escorted to his pony189, and would ride home to Baddow, three miles away. Admiral Johnson remembered the time when the fine for any member being unfortunate enough to be presented with twins by his wife was the presentation of a pair of buckskin breeches to each member of the club, and he boasted of still possessing a pair that Thomas W. Bramston, whilst member for the county, had to pay him.
At many old county dining clubs penalties of this sort were enforced: members were fined for marrying, for becoming a father, or for moving to another house; and such fines usually consisted of a certain number of bottles of wine. Other quaint usages included the forfeiture190 of some small sum for refusing to take the chair at dinner or for leaving it to ring the bell, for allowing a stranger to pay for anything consumed, and similar delinquencies.
Another Beefsteak Club was that at Cambridge, the members of which belonged to the University. This club, now for some years in abeyance191, was a quaint survival from the past, and exactly reproduced the dinner of eighteenth-century sportsmen. Twenty-five years ago, when it still flourished, it usually consisted of but four or five members, but guests could be invited. The dining costume was a blue cutaway coat with brass buttons, and buff 56waistcoat, the tie being secured with a bull’s head. The dinner was entirely composed of various dishes of beef, beer only being drunk; some curious old songs were sung, and the toasts, regulated by inflexible192 precedent193, were drunk in port from glasses of a size regulated by immemorial custom. Amongst these toasts was the health of the late Mr. Bowes, who, when he was an undergraduate at Cambridge, won the Derby with Mundig. This horse, after a tremendous struggle, beat Ascot, belonging to the present writer’s grandfather, by half a neck.
The dinners used to be held at the Red Lion Inn, the head-waiter of which hostelry, Dunn by name, was supposed to be the only individual alive accurately194 acquainted with the exact rules and traditions of the club. The proceedings196 were enlivened by music played on a fiddle197 by a well-known Cambridge character, White-headed Bob.
The Cambridge Beefsteak Club possessed198 a good deal of plate, valued at about ￡1,500. It had also an income of some ￡200 a year, arising from sums of money left to it by former members.
A somewhat similar Cambridge dining club was the True Blue, which also had few members. They met several times in a term, wearing eighteenth-century dress and white wigs199; as a matter of fact, the cost of this costume often deterred200 men from joining, as did the rule that a new member should drink off a bottle of claret at a draught201. This unpleasant custom, which might well have been modified, seems to have killed the club, for I fancy that, like the Cambridge Beefsteak, it has not met for many years.
57A remarkable202 little provincial203 club which flourished at Norwich at the beginning of the nineteenth century was the Hole-in-the-Wall Club, where a number of clever men used to meet. One of the principal figures here was Dr. Frank Sayers, a poet of no mean inspiration, a sound antiquary, an elegant scholar, and an accomplished204 gentleman. His accustomed chair was kept for him every Monday, and it would have been a profanation205 had any other occupant filled it. He was a man of admirable wit, and the characters around him, which no skill of selection could have got together in any other club or in any other town, afforded unfailing objects of his innocent and unwounding pleasantry.
Amongst other eccentric frequenters of the Hole-in-the-Wall was Ozias Lindley, a Minor206 Canon of the cathedral, and Sheridan’s brother-in-law. He was subject, beyond anyone living, to fits of absent-mindedness. He out-Parson-Adamized Parson Adams. One Sunday morning, as he was riding through the Close, on his way to serve his curacy, his horse threw off a shoe. A lady whom he had just passed, having remarked it, called out to him: “Sir, your horse has just cast one of his shoes.” “Thank you, madam,” returned Ozias; “will you, then, be kind enough to put it on?” In preaching, he often turned over two or three pages at once of his sermon; and when a universal titter and stare convinced him of the transition, he observed coolly, “I find I have omitted a considerable part of my sermon, but it is not worth going back for,” and then went on to the end.
58Hudson Gurney, at one time M.P. for Newport, Isle207 of Wight, was also a frequenter of the snug163 club-room of the Hole-in-the-Wall, and used to bask177 in the sunshine of Sayers’s festive208 conversation. His own heart, too, at that time beat high with frolic and hilarity209. Hudson’s was, from his earliest prime, a clear, distinguishing intellect. He was a well-read man, and his poetry, no fragment of which is in print, except his admirable translation of the Cupid and Psyche210 of Apuleius into English verse, was by no means of a secondary kind.
At this club William Taylor smoked his evening pipe, and lost himself in the cloudier fumes211 of German metaphysics and German philology212. Taylor’s translation of Bürger’s “Leonore,” though apparently213 now forgotten, was said to be better than the original. While his erudition was unlimited214, however, it was principally concerned with books that were not readable by others. His most amusing quality (and it was that which kept an undying grin upon the laughter-loving face of Sayers) was his everlasting love of hypothesis, and it was impossible to withstand the imperturbable215 gravity with which he put forth64 his wild German paradoxes216. He proved, to the thorough dissatisfaction of those who knew not how to confute him, and to the unspeakable amusement of those who thought it not worth their while—and that, too, by a chemical analysis of colours, and the processes by which animal heat and organic structure affect them—that the first race of mankind was green! Green, he said, was the primal217 colour of vegetable existence—the first raiment in which Nature leaped 59into existence; the colour on which the eye loved to repose218; and, in the primeval state, the first quality that attracted man to man, and bound him up in the circles of those tender charities and affinities219 which kept the early societies of the race together.
At one time Edinburgh was celebrated for its quaint clubs, one of which was the Soaping Club, the motto of which was, that “Every man should soap his own beard”—that is, “indulge his own humour.” The Lawn-market Club was an association of dram-drinking, gossiping citizens, who met every morning early, and, after proceeding195 to the post-office to pick up letters and news, adjourned to the public-house to talk and drink. The Edinburgh, a “Viscera” club, flourished till quite a late date; the members of this were pledged to dine off food from the entrails of animals, such as kidneys, liver, and tripe220. This club seems to have rather resembled the more modern Haggis Club.
There were at one time a number of parochial clubs in London. That of the parish of St. Margaret’s, Westminster, which still exists, and which consists of “Past Overseers,” possesses a unique heirloom, which is at the same time an important chronological221 record of public events.
In 1713 a small fourpenny tobacco-box, bought at Horn Fair, Charlton, Kent, was presented by Mr. Monck, a member of the Society of Past Overseers, to his colleagues.
Seven years later, in 1720, the donor was commemorated222 by the addition of a silver lid to the box. In 1726 a silver side case and bottom were 60added. In 1740 an embossed border was placed upon the lid, and the under-part enriched with an emblem223 of Charity. In 1746 Hogarth engraved inside the lid a bust of the Duke of Cumberland, with allegorical figures and scroll173 commemorating224 the Battle of Culloden. In 1765 an interwoven scroll was added to the lid, enclosing a plate with the arms of the City of Westminster, and inscribed: “This Box to be delivered to every succeeding set of Overseers, on penalty of five guineas.”
The original Horn box being thus ornamented225, additional ornamentation in the shape of cases continued to be provided by the senior overseers for the time being. These were embellished226 with silver plates engraved with emblematical227 and historical subjects and busts228. Among the first are a view of the fireworks in St. James’s Park to celebrate the Peace of Aix-la-Chapelle, 1749; Admiral Keppel’s action off Ushant, and his acquittal after a court-martial; the Battle of the Nile; the repulse229 of Admiral Linois, 1804; the Battle of Trafalgar, 1805; the action between the San Fiorenzo and La Piémontaise, 1808; the Battle of Waterloo, 1815; the bombardment of Algiers, 1816; view of the House of Lords at the trial of Queen Caroline; the Coronation of George IV; and his visit to Scotland, 1822.
Features of great interest are: Portraits of John Wilkes, churchwarden in 1759; Nelson, Duncan, Howe, Vincent; Fox and Pitt, 1806; George IV as Prince Regent, 1811; the Princess Charlotte, 1817; and Queen Charlotte, 1818.
In 1813 a large silver plate was added to the outer 61case, with a portrait of the Duke of Wellington, commemorating the centenary of the agglomeration230 of the box. Local occurrences are also commemorated: The interior of Westminster Hall, with the Westminster Volunteers attending Divine service at the drumhead on the Fast Day, 1803; the Old Sessions House; a view of St. Margaret’s from the north-east; the west front tower; and the altar-piece. On the outside of the first case is a clever engraving102 of a cripple. The top of the second case represents the Governors of the Poor in their board-room. It bears this inscription: “The original Box and cases to be given to every succeeding set of Overseers, on penalty of fifty guineas, 1783.”
In 1785 Mr. Gilbert exhibited the box to some friends after dinner. That night thieves broke into his house, and carried off all the plate that had been in use; but the box had been removed beforehand to a bedchamber.
In 1793 Mr. Read, a Past Overseer, detained the box because his accounts were not passed. An action was brought for its recovery, which was long delayed, owing to two members of the society giving Read a release, which he successfully pleaded as a bar to the action. This rendered it necessary to take proceedings in equity231, and a bill was filed in Chancery against all three, Read being compelled to deposit the box with Master Leeds until the end of the suit. Three years of litigation ensued. Eventually the Chancellor232 directed the box to be restored to the Overseers’ Society, and Mr. Read paid in costs ￡300. The extra costs amounted to ￡76 13s. 11d., owing to the illegal proceedings of 62Mr. Read. The sum of ￡91 7s. was at once raised, and the surplus spent upon a third case of octagon shape. The top records the triumph: Justice trampling233 upon a prostrate234 man, from whose face a mask falls upon a writhing235 serpent. A second plate, on the outside of the fly-lid, represents the Lord Chancellor Loughborough pronouncing his decree for the restoration of the box, March 5, 1796.
On the fourth case is shown the anniversary meeting of the Past Overseers’ Society, with the churchwardens giving the charge previous to delivering the box to the succeeding overseer. He, on his side, is bound to produce it at certain parochial entertainments, with at least three pipes of tobacco, under the penalty of six bottles of claret, and to return the whole, with some addition, safe and sound, under a penalty of 200 guineas.
In more recent days additions to this box, forming records of various important public events, have from time to time been added. A tobacco-stopper of mother-of-pearl, with a silver chain, is enclosed within the box, and completes this unique memorial.
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1
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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humbugs
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| 欺骗( humbug的名词复数 )； 虚伪； 骗子； 薄荷硬糖 | |
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3
bucks
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| n.雄鹿( buck的名词复数 )；钱；（英国十九世纪初的）花花公子；（用于某些表达方式）责任v.（马等）猛然弓背跃起( buck的第三人称单数 )；抵制；猛然震荡；马等尥起后蹄跳跃 | |
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4
thespian
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| adj.戏曲的；n.演员；悲剧演员 | |
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pall
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| v.覆盖，使平淡无味；n.柩衣，棺罩；棺材；帷幕 | |
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6
gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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goblet
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| n.高脚酒杯 | |
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sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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9
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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10
conviviality
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| n.欢宴，高兴，欢乐 | |
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convivial
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| adj.狂欢的，欢乐的 | |
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12
everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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13
brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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14
professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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15
molest
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| vt.骚扰，干扰，调戏 | |
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16
faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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18
tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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19
ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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20
desecrated
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| 毁坏或亵渎( desecrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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21
questionable
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| adj.可疑的，有问题的 | |
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22
funereal
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| adj.悲哀的；送葬的 | |
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23
antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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24
premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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25
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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26
distinctive
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| adj.特别的，有特色的，与众不同的 | |
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27
impaired
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| adj.受损的；出毛病的；有（身体或智力）缺陷的v.损害，削弱( impair的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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29
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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relic
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| n.神圣的遗物，遗迹，纪念物 | |
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niche
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| n.壁龛；合适的职务(环境、位置等) | |
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32
dice
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| n.骰子；vt.把（食物）切成小方块，冒险 | |
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33
gambling
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| n.赌博；投机 | |
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34
friezes
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| n.（柱顶过梁和挑檐间的）雕带，（墙顶的）饰带( frieze的名词复数 ) | |
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35
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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36
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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inter
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| v.埋葬 | |
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38
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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39
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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40
brat
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| n.孩子；顽童 | |
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41
vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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42
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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43
plume
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| n.羽毛；v.整理羽毛，骚首弄姿，用羽毛装饰 | |
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44
plumed
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| 饰有羽毛的 | |
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45
anthem
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| n.圣歌，赞美诗，颂歌 | |
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46
rebuke
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| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
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47
burlesque
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| v.嘲弄，戏仿；n.嘲弄，取笑，滑稽模仿 | |
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48
brotherhood
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| n.兄弟般的关系，手中情谊 | |
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49
decant
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| v.慢慢倒出 | |
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50
persevered
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| v.坚忍，坚持( persevere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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51
inaccessibility
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| n. 难接近, 难达到, 难达成 | |
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52
exempted
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| 使免除[豁免]( exempt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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53
ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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54
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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55
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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56
vacancy
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| n.（旅馆的）空位，空房，（职务的）空缺 | |
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57
apprenticeship
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| n.学徒身份；学徒期 | |
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58
usurped
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| 篡夺，霸占( usurp的过去式和过去分词 )； 盗用； 篡夺，篡权 | |
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59
legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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60
infringed
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| v.违反（规章等）( infringe的过去式和过去分词 )；侵犯（某人的权利）；侵害（某人的自由、权益等） | |
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61
delinquent
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| adj.犯法的，有过失的；n.违法者 | |
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62
garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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63
penitence
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| n.忏悔，赎罪；悔过 | |
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64
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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65
custody
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| n.监护，照看，羁押，拘留 | |
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66
witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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67
bantering
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| adj.嘲弄的v.开玩笑，说笑，逗乐( banter的现在分词 )；（善意地）取笑，逗弄 | |
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68
ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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69
plumes
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| 羽毛( plume的名词复数 )； 羽毛饰； 羽毛状物； 升上空中的羽状物 | |
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70
portico
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| n.柱廊，门廊 | |
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71
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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72
bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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73
wringing
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| 淋湿的，湿透的 | |
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74
winced
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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75
penance
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| n.（赎罪的）惩罪 | |
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76
touchy
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| adj.易怒的；棘手的 | |
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77
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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78
admonished
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| v.劝告( admonish的过去式和过去分词 )；训诫；（温和地）责备；轻责 | |
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79
recipient
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| a.接受的,感受性强的 n.接受者,感受者,容器 | |
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80
harangue
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| n.慷慨冗长的训话，言辞激烈的讲话 | |
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81
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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82
unduly
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| adv.过度地，不适当地 | |
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83
bumper
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| n.(汽车上的)保险杠；adj.特大的，丰盛的 | |
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84
imperative
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| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
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85
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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86
repartee
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| n.机敏的应答 | |
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87
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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88
farce
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| n.闹剧，笑剧，滑稽戏；胡闹 | |
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89
satire
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| n.讽刺，讽刺文学，讽刺作品 | |
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90
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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91
inveterate
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| adj.积习已深的，根深蒂固的 | |
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92
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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93
ramming
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| n.打结炉底v.夯实（土等）( ram的现在分词 )；猛撞；猛压；反复灌输 | |
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94
triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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95
accruing
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| v.增加( accrue的现在分词 )；（通过自然增长）产生；获得；（使钱款、债务）积累 | |
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96
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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97
well-being
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| n.安康，安乐，幸福 | |
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98
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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99
adjourned
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| （使）休会， （使）休庭( adjourn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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100
suite
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| n.一套(家具)；套房；随从人员 | |
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101
ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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102
engraving
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| n.版画；雕刻（作品）；雕刻艺术；镌版术v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的现在分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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103
ascertained
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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104
ballot
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| n.（不记名）投票，投票总数，投票权；vi.投票 | |
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105
rejections
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| 拒绝( rejection的名词复数 )； 摒弃； 剔除物； 排斥 | |
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106
initiated
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| n. 创始人 adj. 新加入的 vt. 开始，创始，启蒙，介绍加入 | |
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107
blindfolded
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| v.（尤指用布）挡住（某人）的视线( blindfold的过去式 )；蒙住（某人）的眼睛；使不理解；蒙骗 | |
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108
inscribed
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| v.写，刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；内接 | |
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109
degenerate
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| v.退步，堕落；adj.退步的，堕落的；n.堕落者 | |
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110
undue
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| adj.过分的；不适当的；未到期的 | |
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111
badinage
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| n.开玩笑，打趣 | |
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112
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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113
aspirant
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| n.热望者；adj.渴望的 | |
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114
ignominious
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| adj.可鄙的，不光彩的，耻辱的 | |
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115
impartially
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| adv.公平地，无私地 | |
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116
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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117
devoutly
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| adv.虔诚地，虔敬地，衷心地 | |
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118
engraved
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| v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的过去式和过去分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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119
ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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120
comported
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| v.表现( comport的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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121
prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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122
inebriety
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| n.醉，陶醉 | |
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123
volition
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| n.意志；决意 | |
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124
obviating
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| v.避免，消除（贫困、不方便等）( obviate的现在分词 ) | |
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125
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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126
foes
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| 敌人，仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
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127
crabbed
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| adj.脾气坏的；易怒的；（指字迹）难辨认的；（字迹等）难辨认的v.捕蟹( crab的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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128
dispel
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| vt.驱走，驱散，消除 | |
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129
ballad
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| n.歌谣，民谣，流行爱情歌曲 | |
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130
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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131
carouses
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| v.痛饮，闹饮欢宴( carouse的第三人称单数 ) | |
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132
ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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133
flirting
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| v.调情，打情骂俏( flirt的现在分词 ) | |
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134
esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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135
allude
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| v.提及，暗指 | |
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136
muse
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| n.缪斯（希腊神话中的女神），创作灵感 | |
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137
generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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138
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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139
elevations
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| （水平或数量）提高( elevation的名词复数 )； 高地； 海拔； 提升 | |
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140
entirely
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|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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141
gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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142
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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143
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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144
bard
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| n.吟游诗人 | |
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145
deplore
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| vt.哀叹，对...深感遗憾 | |
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146
stipend
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| n.薪贴；奖学金；养老金 | |
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147
discredit
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| vt.使不可置信；n.丧失信义；不信，怀疑 | |
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148
inadequate
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| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
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149
augmenting
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| 使扩张 | |
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150
attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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151
emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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152
lament
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| n.悲叹，悔恨，恸哭；v.哀悼，悔恨，悲叹 | |
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153
destitute
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| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
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154
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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155
benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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156
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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157
annuity
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| n.年金；养老金 | |
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158
overflowing
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| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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159
domains
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| n.范围( domain的名词复数 )；领域；版图；地产 | |
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160
usury
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| n.高利贷 | |
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161
bounty
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| n.慷慨的赠予物，奖金；慷慨，大方；施与 | |
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162
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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163
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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164
snugly
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| adv.紧贴地；贴身地；暖和舒适地；安适地 | |
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165
sequestered
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| adj.扣押的；隐退的；幽静的；偏僻的v.使隔绝，使隔离( sequester的过去式和过去分词 )；扣押 | |
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166
inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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167
stanza
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| n.（诗）节，段 | |
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168
modifications
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| n.缓和( modification的名词复数 )；限制；更改；改变 | |
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169
compartments
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| n.间隔( compartment的名词复数 )；（列车车厢的）隔间；（家具或设备等的）分隔间；隔层 | |
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170
glazed
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| adj.光滑的，像玻璃的；上过釉的；呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式)；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
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171
jugs
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| （有柄及小口的）水壶( jug的名词复数 ) | |
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172
arabesque
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| n.阿拉伯式花饰；adj.阿拉伯式图案的 | |
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173
scroll
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| n.卷轴，纸卷；(石刻上的)漩涡 | |
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174
scrolls
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| n.（常用于录写正式文件的）纸卷( scroll的名词复数 )；卷轴；涡卷形（装饰）；卷形花纹v.（电脑屏幕上）从上到下移动（资料等），卷页( scroll的第三人称单数 )；（似卷轴般）卷起；（像展开卷轴般地）将文字显示于屏幕 | |
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175
askew
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| adv.斜地；adj.歪斜的 | |
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176
donor
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| n.捐献者；赠送人；(组织、器官等的)供体 | |
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177
bask
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| vt.取暖，晒太阳，沐浴于 | |
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178
baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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179
fluted
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| a.有凹槽的 | |
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180
cardinal
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| n.(天主教的)红衣主教；adj.首要的，基本的 | |
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181
bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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182
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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183
relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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184
demolition
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| n.破坏,毁坏,毁坏之遗迹 | |
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185
theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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186
subscription
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| n.预订，预订费，亲笔签名，调配法，下标（处方） | |
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187
uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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188
retirement
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| n.退休，退职 | |
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189
pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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190
forfeiture
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| n.（名誉等）丧失 | |
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191
abeyance
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| n.搁置，缓办，中止，产权未定 | |
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192
inflexible
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| adj.不可改变的，不受影响的，不屈服的 | |
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193
precedent
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| n.先例，前例；惯例；adj.在前的，在先的 | |
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194
accurately
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| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
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195
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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196
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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197
fiddle
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| n.小提琴；vi.拉提琴；不停拨弄，乱动 | |
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198
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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199
wigs
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| n.假发，法官帽( wig的名词复数 ) | |
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200
deterred
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| v.阻止，制止( deter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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201
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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202
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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203
provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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204
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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205
profanation
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| n.亵渎 | |
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206
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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207
isle
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| n.小岛，岛 | |
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208
festive
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| adj.欢宴的，节日的 | |
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209
hilarity
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| n.欢乐；热闹 | |
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210
psyche
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| n.精神；灵魂 | |
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211
fumes
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| n.(强烈而刺激的)气味，气体 | |
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212
philology
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| n.语言学；语文学 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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214
unlimited
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| adj.无限的，不受控制的，无条件的 | |
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imperturbable
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| adj.镇静的 | |
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216
paradoxes
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| n.似非而是的隽语，看似矛盾而实际却可能正确的说法( paradox的名词复数 )；用于语言文学中的上述隽语；有矛盾特点的人[事物，情况] | |
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217
primal
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| adj.原始的；最重要的 | |
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218
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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219
affinities
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| n.密切关系( affinity的名词复数 )；亲近；（生性）喜爱；类同 | |
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220
tripe
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| n.废话，肚子, 内脏 | |
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221
chronological
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| adj.按年月顺序排列的，年代学的 | |
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222
commemorated
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| v.纪念，庆祝( commemorate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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emblem
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| n.象征，标志；徽章 | |
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commemorating
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| v.纪念，庆祝( commemorate的现在分词 ) | |
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225
ornamented
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| adj.花式字体的v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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226
embellished
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| v.美化( embellish的过去式和过去分词 )；装饰；修饰；润色 | |
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emblematical
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| adj.标志的，象征的，典型的 | |
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228
busts
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| 半身雕塑像( bust的名词复数 )； 妇女的胸部； 胸围； 突击搜捕 | |
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229
repulse
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| n.击退，拒绝；vt.逐退，击退，拒绝 | |
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230
agglomeration
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| n.结聚，一堆 | |
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231
equity
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| n.公正，公平，（无固定利息的）股票 | |
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chancellor
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| n.(英)大臣；法官；(德、奥)总理；大学校长 | |
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233
trampling
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| 踩( trample的现在分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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234
prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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