productive of the highest good. It is hardly to be expected, however, that so much purity of feeling, so much disinterestedness, so much unalloyed mutual benevolence should be universally found, and if the promoters of these institutions imagine they are to discover them in the majority of the members, they will, we fear, be disappointed. It seems to us they anticipate too much. If they hope to realise a little of what is laid down in the first clause of their programme, they will do well.
It is a trite proverb, and older than the days of Mrs. Glasse, “first catch your hare.” To us it seems that the main object should be to induce men to join. How can this be best effected? Unquestionably by offering the advantages which we have already pointed out; but if the working classes are to be bored with fine sentiments, or the noble aims of these institutions, they are likely rather to retire than come forward. It is well, indeed, that there should be instruction as well as games, that there should be the opportunities of reading as well as of lounging, of study as well as amusement, and that members should take a personal share in the administration of the clubs as well as enjoy their tea and coffee within its walls, but the ultimate drift of these institutions should be carefully veiled, and only the more alluring features put forward, the conditions of membership being as few as possible.
Many vital and interesting questions have, of course, arisen during the formation of these clubs. For instance, are games absolutely necessary, and do they not lead to gambling and quarrelling? Should beer and intoxicating drinks be sold in them? Should smoking be permitted? How is order to be maintained? What class of working men is likely to attend? and other queries of this kind. Games, it is needless to say, are essential to the success of these clubs; working men must have something to do, they will not sit hours together with their hands before them idle and listless; many, for whom the clubs are intended, can only read with difficulty and by spelling out the words slowly; few care to be instructed, whilst most have no fund of conversation. As a rule, beer is sipped simply for the mere pleasure of having something to do. Games, then, are essential; they employ the hand and recreate the mind. It has, however, been found by experience that the working man does not care, unless incited by drink or low companions, to lay stakes upon the play. He enjoys, and he enters into a love game with as much zeal as if money were laid upon the result. There is, however, as we have hinted, one instigator to betting and also to quarrelling, an enemy to order and sobriety, a dangerous comrade at all times, and that is John Barleycorn. For this reason he has been expelled from most of the clubs—if not from all. We are glad, however, that the claims of the “soothing” weed, which has just experienced the clement attentions of the Chancellor of the Exchequer, have been recognised. Tobacco in nearly every club is introduced; in fact, without it, we could hardly recognise the idea of the place being a working-man’s club at all.
How is order to be maintained? “Our first bye-law,” writes one of the indefatigable honorary secretaries of the admirable Workman’s Hall, in Southampton, “is, that every man must be his own policeman, and after six months’ experience we have never known this simple law broken. One or two of the executive committee attend every evening to sell tickets, &c., and we have a resident female superintendent at each hall. We exclude political discussion or handbills, and during our present contested election, the members have nobly kept their ground in this respect, however warmly they espoused party politics elsewhere.” To the same correspondent we may refer for an answer to another question. What class of working man generally attends? “On analysing the first 700 men enrolled,” he says, “we found that one fourth, or 172, were labourers, hawkers, porters, &c.; 109 bricklayers, masons, and carpenters, &c.; 103 boiler-makers and smiths, &c.; 61 shoemakers, carriers, &c.; 54 engineers and seamen; 99 painters, mechanics, &c.; 26 tailors; and the remainder shopmen, agents, carriers, &c.”
The outline which we have briefly given will convey a very fair idea of the nature and utility of these Working Men’s Clubs. Gratifying is it to know that they are rapidly extending throughout the kingdom. Whatever tends to draw away the labouring man from the stifling fumes and stupifying liquors of the tap-room must be welcomed universally; and if, having thus withdrawn him, we can introduce him to a better life—a life in which he will find amusement, recreation, and instruction, where he can enjoy the amiable pleasures of society, converse and smoke—we shall have achieved all that can be expected for the present. Had this been the aim of those who originally founded the Mechanics’ Institutes, we should not have witnessed the utter failure of those well-intentioned establishments. However, we learn by experience, and we may regard the Working Men’s Clubs as in a great measure emanating from this other great failure. It may be that we shall have much yet to learn even in the conduct and management of these supplementary institutes, but we believe they are based upon sound principles, that their aims are excellent, and that they constitute a movement in the right direction.
BANBURY CAKES AND BANBURY CROSS.
That the ancient town of Banbury, lying on the northern verge of the county of Oxford, has been, from time immemorial, famed for its rich cakes, should not excite our special wonder; seeing that the district has some of the richest pasture-land in the kingdom; a single cow being here known to produce upwards of 200 pounds of butter in a year! Butter, we need scarcely add, is the prime ingredient of the Banbury cake, giving it the richness and lightness of the finest puff paste; and to the paper in which the cakes are wrapped, the appearance of their having been packed up by bakers with well-buttered fingers.
The cause of this cake-fame must, however, be sought in a higher walk of history than in the annals of pastry-making. The Banbury folks went on rejoicing in the fatness of their cakes until the reign of Elizabeth; from which time to that of