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Out of her raging womb, and from the wrack Of smoking villages and fiery track

Of ruin a benighted people fly.

War on the mountains, and no succour nigh!
Can Umbrian hunters check the fierce career
Of Gaulish inroad? on the Nomad spear
Picenian peasants rush? Etruria, what
Of thy proud state remains? hast thou forgot
Ancestral virtue? sleeps it in the urns
Of thy Mæonian kings? Voltumna turns
A mournful look upon the ruined fane,
Where sounded once the patriot's lofty strain,
Now echoing to a foreign chief's harangue,
His cymbals, and barbaric trumpet-clang.
Her voice no more the willing muster calls
From Volaterræ and from Clusium's walls;
Swept by Massylian horsemen she must see
Ciminian glades and nymph-loved Fæsulæ.
But the Saturnian Queen will not forsake
Her tombs of Veii and her Alban lake.
A Gallic tumult threatens! in that word
Are centuries of triumph; it hath stirred
A people's mighty heart. Flaminius, flushed
With youthful glory, lion-like hath rushed
To meet the hunter; lion-like, but blind,
Into the toils he plunges, and shall find
A Caudium there, the goal of his renown.
Alas! him never more in palmy gown
Resplendent shall the car of victory bear,
While crowds with jubilees that rend the air
Follow the haughty pomp to Jove's high seat
Ascending. Ignominious defeat

Crushes the fond aspirant, where he weens
To reap victorious bays: in Thrasymene's
Cold valley, gashed by many a wound, he lies,
And pitying foes perform his obsequies.

Family Club-Life in England.

THERE has never been published, I believe, any account of our club at Belair. There has been a not unreasonable anxiety to hide our small candle under a bushel; not from any love of darkness, but to keep it from being blown out. That Englishmen are shy, sensitive to ridicule, and afraid of gossip, is generally understood. In short, there were many reasons why we have all considered that our little experiment of clublife for the family should be very quietly conducted. Even now I hesitate to give the precise name and the exact locality; but the reader may understand that it is one of the finest situations within ten miles of Charing Cross, and that Belair would not be an inappropriate designation.

The first thing we did after establishing our club association with limited liability was to secure a desirable property, in respect to situation, air, water, drainage, and accessibility. Land is dear, of course, at any moderate distance from the centres of business; but we have taken a long lease; and it would be difficult to find fifty acres better suited to our requirements. There are plenty of fine trees; and a tree which has been two hundred years growing cannot always be had where it is wanted. There is also a large supply of soft sweet water. A railway is not farther off than it should be, and there is a choice of good roads.

I will not describe the progress of the undertaking-the solemn survey of the grounds, the reports and plans of architects, and the chaos and confusion which precede order and beauty. Of course there were drains to be dug, excavations to be made, bricks to be burnt, and timber, lime, slate, and all kinds of building-materials to be gathered upon the ground in immense quantities. It is better that I should try to give an idea of the place as it stands.

At the summit of a sloping lawn, well screened by ancient trees, is a symmetrical yet picturesque building, forming a hollow oblong square of about three hundred feet on its longest side. The front and sides, or wings, which are connected, are five stories high. The disconnected rear building is four stories. Within the enclosed square is a carriagedrive and a beautiful garden, with a conservatory, or winter-garden, in the centre. The principal building—that is, the front and wings-is divided into suites of apartments; each suite consisting of a drawing-room, from one to three bedrooms, dressing-rooms, bathrooms, and all suitable conveniences on the same floor. There is gas in every room, which is also supplied to small fireplaces, though the whole building is heated by steam, and no fire is ever needed by any but very chilly people. Water, hot or cold, also comes to every apartment. These apartments open pleasantly upon light balconies, which run round the court, and overlook

the garden. Each one, large or small, whether adapted to a family, or only for a cosy little bachelor's nest, is as independent as a detached villa with high walls and broken bottles.

What may be called the rear, but which is more properly a central, building, running across the farther end of the enclosed court or garden, is a very important one. It is connected with the sides or wings by light iron bridges from the balconies, under which are carriage-ways. In the basement of this edifice are the stores of provisions, a bakery with all the modern improvements, a model laundry, and such a kitchen as can scarcely be found elsewhere. Close by are the steam-boilers that furnish the heat, and do a large portion of the work of the whole establishment.

On the first floor is a suite of dining-rooms, high, airy, and beautiful, where you can dine, either at a table-d'hôte, or with a small party, or in solitude; and where every article is of the best, and at the lowest wholesale price. There is no fear of adulteration or fraud. The design of club-life-the best living at the lowest price, and all the economising of the large scale-is very thoroughly realised. The story above the dining-rooms contains a hall or concert-room, a large reading-room, smoking-room, and billiard-rooms. There are also very nicely-arranged Turkish baths for both sexes. The steam-boiler-house supplies heat, hot water, and cold water to the whole establishment, and furnishes power to the engine, which does all the heavy work of kitchen, laundry, bakery, &c.; which also polishes the knives and boots, makes the ices, roasts and grinds the coffee, and performs many other important services which fire and steam do better than human nerve and muscle.

Having glanced at the economies of this very important portion of our establishment, I must invite the reader to accompany me to a plain cluster of buildings still farther back, and which are not without their importance; we reach them through a large and very productive vegetable-garden. Here is a stable of thirty horses and ponies, and a cowhouse of as many cows; with the lodgings of their care-takers in close proximity. Here may be seen a model dairy, which supplies us with the purest and richest of milk and cream.

The reader has now, I hope, some idea of the general aspect of Belair; but there are several interesting features which I have not brought to view, and which I wish to postpone until I have given some notion of the organisation and life of our club or society. And first, in regard to the members. A society naturally grows from its germ, like a tree; and the germ is an idea in the mind of some individual. It is obviously as easy to construct a club-house for families as for bachelors. We have only to add a cluster of elegant lodgings, with the necessary service, to the ordinary arrangements of a club. It is as easy as building a factory, or steamship, or hotel. But the proper organisation of the personnel was a matter of more importance. It was done by a process of assimilation. The first projector communicated his idea to five or six persons whom

he considered best fitted to unite with him in the undertaking. These in turn proposed to others, and the circle gradually widened. Each new member was regularly proposed to and accepted by all the rest.

There were, of course, instances of exclusion or rejection, as must happen with every club or society. There was no reason why a man of uncertain income, or equivocal antecedents, or disreputable habits, should be accepted as a member of an experimental association. No doubt there were some rather delicate questions respecting domestic relations. It is possible that desirable men were passed over on account of their wives, and very certain that attractive women were lost to us on account of their husbands; but these things happen every where. On the whole, we gathered, on the principle of mutual attraction and assimilation, with very much less trouble than might have been anticipated. Of course there are repulsions as well as attractions, and we were obliged to reject as well as accept. We could not safely have persons of notoriously bad habits, or quarrelsome dispositions, or crotchety unpractical people, or fanatics, in such a community. Still, there was less trouble in the choice, and fewer to reject than any of us had anticipated. A person or a family accepted was, in a certain sense, introduced to the acquaintance of all the rest, and entitled to certain consideration and courtesy, but not necessarily to any intimacy. It is very much as in general society, where all the guests at a country mansion are known to each other, but not in a way to compromise their social freedom in the future.

The organisation of service, and the working of all the departments of commissariat, cuisine, and the details of daily life, was felt by all of us to be the chief difficulty of the enterprise. We canvassed various plans; we talked about boards and committees; but none of us, I believe, had any faith in them. Finally, we took a common-sense view of the subject. Every organisation should have a head, and that head should be single, and, though responsible, supreme in action. What we required was a manager, or superintendent, with a thorough knowledge of his business, a faculty for organisation, and the power of making people do as they ought. The Americans characterise a man of high and varied practical ability as "a man who can keep an hotel." We were fortunate enough to find such a man, and placed the whole management under his direction. He has a sufficient salary, and is responsible to the directors. He has a clerk, and his accounts are

scrutinised by two careful auditors.

The manager - when the edifices had been completed, and furnished, and made as perfect in regard to light, ventilation, warming, supply of water, &c., as possible in the present state of science -proceeded to organise the service, by engaging a chef de cuisine, a butler, and chiefs of the chambers, laundry, stables, dairy, &c., as competent as could be procured, who enlisted their assistants; and these were all placed in suitable liveries, distinctive yet harmonising with

each other. The service for the entire establishment, as perfect and thorough as one could expect it to be, is about one-fifth as large as it would be for the same number of persons living in separate families, with much less trouble, annoyance, waste, or any of the difficulties which beset domestic service. There is, I think I may say, a minimum of scolding and impudence, and no giving warnings. If there is any dissatisfaction, complaint is made to the superintendent. It is his business to see that every one employed does his duty. There are no vails, and no gratuities are expected or given. The wages are sufficient, and every one understands that he has no right to any more. This organisation of service in all its departments was really half the battle. I touch a bell-pull, and in a minute a page taps at my door. Whatever I require a cup of coffee, a book from the stock supplied by Mudie, or a saddle-horse-is forthcoming. I am served with zeal and dexterity, apparently from several motives. The page, groom, or waiter knows that he has a good place, good wages, and more comforts and a better society than is common to his class. His rights, duties, and privileges are well defined, and advancement depends upon his good conduct. He knows that he is liable for any fault to be reported to one who is responsible for his behaviour, and that at the third complaint he is sure to be discharged. I am certain, moreover, that the substitution of fixed wages for vails and gratuities is a great improver of the spirit and quality of the service.

I was afraid the children would be troublesome. They are noisy, of course, and ought to be; I would not restrain one outburst of their innocent hilarity. But they are very far from annoying. Their playground is large; they are friends with the cows and the ponies; a small guard of nurses takes care of a great many of them. There is a large covered playroom, a sort of gymnasium, for wet weather; and there are all sorts of out-door games in dry. There is also an admirable school on the short-time principle; and the children, with good caretakers and plenty of companionship, are as happy as their fond mothers could desire. "Punch" makes a weekly visit, and the bands and organgrinders are admitted, though kept at a proper distance.

How is it with us elders? Well, it is very much according to our capabilities. As to the men of affairs, they take their baths and breakfasts in good season, and are off to town, either by rail or in our own carriages or omnibuses. You can drive down in a brougham, if you choose to pay the moderate charge for its use. Order what you please, and it is down in your bill. We come home in time to dress for dinner, and that may be of any kind and in any fashion. You can order from a large bill-of-fare, and have a dinner served in your own parlour, at a specified hour. You can join a party of your friends; you can invite guests; you can dine at a fixed price or à la carte. We are all acquainted, more or less, and no more than we choose to be, because people having the opportunity of selection and choice seem naturally to

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