"Welcome all who lead or follow, Here he speaks out of his pottle, Hang up all the poor hop-drinkers, That sits watering with the Muses. And the poet's horse accounted; Cheers the brain, makes wit the quicker, "O RARE BEN JONSON!" The "Old Sim" mentioned in the above lines was Simon Wadloe, who at that time kept the Devil Tavern. So at least Whalley informs us, and his account is quoted by Gifford without any expression of doubt as to the assertion. Within the room were hung up the laws of the club, the celebrated Leges Convivales, drawn up by Ben Jonson in the purest and most elegant Latin. These we now give, with the old translation of them, which, however, is neither very faithful nor very remarkable for poetical merit. "LEGES CONVIVALES. "Quod felix faustumque convivis in Apolline sit. "1. Nemo Asymbolus, Nisi Umbra, Huc Venito. 3. Eruditi, Urbani, Hilares, Honesti, Adsciscuntor. 4. Nec Lectæ Fœminæ Repudiantor. 5. In Apparatu Quod Convivis Consuget Nares Nil Esto. 6. Epulæ Delectu Potius Quam Sumptu Parantor. 7. Obsonator Et Coquus Convivarum Gulæ Periti Sunto. 9. Ministri A Dapibus, Oculati Et Muti, A Poculis, Auriti Et Celeres Sunto. 10. Vina Puris Fontibus Ministrantor, Aut Vapulet Hospes. 12. At Fabulis Magis Quam Vino Velitatio Fiat. 13. Convivæ Nec Muti Nec Loquaces Sunto. 14. De Seriis Ac Sacris Poti Et Saturi Ne Disserunto. 15. Fidicen, Nisi Accersitus, Non Venito. 16. Admisso Risu, Tripudiis, Choris, Cantu, Salibus, 17. Joci Sine Felle Sunto. 18. Insipida Poemata Nulla Recitantor. 19. Versus Scribere Nullus Cogito. 20. Argumentationis Totus Strepitus Abesto. 21. Amatoriis Querelis Ac Suspiriis Liber Angulus Esto. Fenestras Excutere, Supellectilem Dilacerare, Nefas Esto. "FOCUS PERENNIS ESTO." "RULES FOR THE TAVERN ACADEMY; OR, LAWS FOR THE BEAUX ESPRITS. "From the Latin of Ben Jonson, engraven in Marble over the Chimney, in the Apollo of the Old Devil Tavern, at Temple Bar, that being his Club-room. "Non verbum reddere verbo. I. "1. As the fund of our pleasure let each pay his shot, Except some chance friend whom a member brings in. II. "3. Let the learned and witty, the jovial and gay, The generous and honest, compose our free state. III. "5. Let no scent offensive the chamber infest. 7. Let the caterer mind the taste of each guest, And the cook, in his dressing, comply with their wishes. IV. "8. Let's have no disturbance about taking places, To show your nice breeding, or out of vain pride. 9. Let the drawers be ready with wine and fresh glasses, Let the waiters have eyes, though their tongues must be tied. V. "10. Let our wines without mixture or stum be all fine, Or call up the master and break his dull noddle. 11. Let no sober bigot here think it a sin To push on the chirping and moderate bottle. VI. "12. Let the contests be rather of books than of wine. 13. Let the company be neither noisy nor mute. 14. Let none of things serious, much less of divine, When belly and head's full, profanely dispute. VII. "15. Let no saucy fiddler presume to intrude, Unless he is sent for to vary our bliss. 16. With mirth, wit, and dancing, and singing conclude, To regale every sense with delight in excess. VIII. "17. Let raillery be without malice or heat. IX. "20. Let argument bear no unmusical sound, Nor jars interpose sacred friendship to grieve. 21. For generous lovers let a corner be found, Where they in soft sighs may their passions relieve. X. "22. Like the old Lapithites with the goblets to fight, 66 XI. "23. Whoever shall publish what's said, or what's done, Be he banished for ever our assembly divine. 24. Let the freedom we take be perverted by none, To make any guilty by drinking good wine." From these "Leges Convivales" we may infer, with sufficient accuracy, the nature of clubs at their outset. They were associations for the purpose of good-fellowship, no doubt, but it was the fellowship of men of learning and genius, who met for the interchange of ideas over the social glass. The dull man and the ignoramus were to be excluded; the learned and the cheerful were to be invited to join the club; drunkenness was forbidden, yet the members were encouraged to challenge one another to the glass in moderation; the society of females was permitted, while mirth, singing, and pleasant conversation were enjoined; a snug corner was set apart for lovers to sigh in, and think upon their absent mistresses, no bad proof, by the by, of the gentle temper of him whom modern ignorance has designated as rough and surly; the discussion of sacred and serious things was also put under ban, the serious things including, it may be presumed, politics; there was to be no quarrelling, no breaking of glasses or windows by the way of frolic; nor was any one. to plague the company by reciting bad verses, or compelling others to extemporize; and finally, he who blabbed what was said or done was to be expelled. In many of these matters, as we shall see hereafter, the clubs of our own day have changed, and certainly not for the better. We have no means of tracing out the time when these celebrated societies actually became defunct; but we have no notice of their meetings in the time of Charles II. The probability is, that the great Revolution, which closed theatres, put down fairs, and in fact forbade everything in the shape of amusement as a sin against Heaven, dispersed also the clubs, the very essence of which was elegant enjoyment, and therefore in direct opposition to the gloomy spirit that had come over the age. But then in due time followed the Restoration, and the tide, which had ebbed so low, leaving as it were a dry and barren shore, now flowed back again with. a violence that swept everything before it, not excepting decency and morals. The hatred of the recent changes, and the rage for bringing back the ancient order of things, admitted of no exception, even where the thing to be destroyed was positively good. The Cavaliers, on finding themselves once again in their old quarters, were much in the condition of a man who should return after a lapse of years to the family mansion from which he had been ejected, and who would naturally enough fancy every change that had been made in his absence an innovation to be got rid of as speedily as possible. Hence it was to be expected that, among other revivals, so joyous an institution as that of the clubs would not be forgotten; and, accordingly, the traces of them, which are utterly lost to us in the time of the Commonwealth, now appear once again. The first of which any mention is made is the so-called Club of the Kings, and the name gives unmistakable evidence of the times which originated it. This association was formed a little after the return of Charles, and did not restrict admission to any quality or profession. All who had the good fortune to have inherited the name of King were entitled to this privilege, it being considered that such a designation was alone sufficient to prove the loyalty of the candidate. Another club, that arose about the same time, was called The Club of Ugly Faces. It was originally at Cambridge, and held its first dinner in Clare Hall, which, at the outset, it was feared would not be large enough to contain so numerous a body as would be fairly entitled to claim admission. The result, however, disappointed these very reasonable calculations. Few of those invited would allow that they had any right or title to a seat in the ugly assembly; and a very amusing account is given in the Spectator of the excuses put in and pleaded by the various recusants. How the authorities of the club proceeded with them is not said, the want of a president having brought the whole affair to a stand still. A chaplain had indeed been provided in the person of a merry fellow of King's College, commonly called Crab, from his sour look; but no one was found who would admit himself duly qualified for the presidency by superior ugliness. The affair, it is said, came to the ears of the merry monarch, then at Newcastle, and the whole chimed in so well with his humor, that he sent them a royal message, stating that "he could not be there himself, but he would send them a brace of bucks." Even this was a deviation, and a very material one, from |