Records of The Tuesday Club of Annapolis, 1745-56

Happy, thrice happy in these times of Innocence and Simplicity were the Longstanding members of this here ancient and honorable Club, for then, without molestation could they Sit with their legs accross, loll upon a table or an Elbow Chair, Smoke their pipes, kiss the bowl or Glass in their turns, converse upon Clubical matters, either grave or facetious, drink toasts either loyal or amorous, Crack Jokes, frame puns or Conundrums, and Should their Stomachs call for a whet, without ceremony or trowble to themselves or fellow members, they might rise up, go to the Side board, and after taking their Sliver of gammon, or Slice of Cheese, Standing, return again to their Compotation, Jocosity and Clubical Conversation. How Charming, how regular, and how much like the Simple frugality of the golden age was this, and how different from the present Luxury and profuseness, that prevails in most Clubs, where the whole apparatus of a formal table is Introduced, the Club room is pestered with the passing and repassing of Servants, the hobnails of whose Shoes make [463] a miserable clumping on the planks, and when this is over, it proves only a prologue to the Confusion and needless Ceremony that Succeeds, for as Soon as the High Steward gives the Signal that Supper waits, there is hawling of chairs, Crossing over, casting off, figuring in, right and left, Galloping up, and back to back like people at a Country dance, there is, Pray Gentlemen, take your places—as the high Steward’s prologue— There is grace to be Said, of which not one word Can be heard for talking and laughing, then follow Sharp rebukes from the Chaplain, and grumblings from the offending members, next it is—pray take a Seat—pray Sit here Sir—here’s room  enough—excuse me Sir—I eat no Suppers—I Seldom Sup a nights, Sir, for my part, I never Sup Sir—Then Comes the Table Conversation—here boy, Some bread—pray Shove that dish this way—who carves best—what do you chuse Sir—pray gi’me leave to help you—Shall I help you to this—Shall I help you to that—Sir, your most humble—any part good Sir, ’tis all the Same to me—pray Sir help yourself, and please your self—hold good Sir—here’s enough—Shall I help you to Some Sauce—please to hand me that mustard—please to Shove the vinegar cruet this way—a clean plate there—Coming Sir!—This is fine veal—that’s delicious mutton—these apples are well baked—Pho! I have burnt my mouth with that damn’d apple pie—’tis damnation hot—come away—come away, what have we got here—These cheese cakes are not done—of all things commend me to pudding, do you love cold pudding Sir—not I Sir, my love is Settled—a knife and fork there—Nan, Sir!—yes Sir—pray Sir, eat tother Custard—boy, Some Small beer,—a glass of wine you—this minute Sir!—Sir, my humble Service—Sir your health—yours Sir—and yours Sir—and yours Sir—your most obedient humble Servant, pledge you Sir—fill me a glass of claret there ho!—avast! you Son of a bitch, none of your bumpers, damn you—well, come away, let’s have at this turkey and these oisters—my Stars and Garters, what a twist of the under Jaw you have—I play a good knife and fork, Thanks be prais’d— here—take away and So they get up one by one, and fall to picking their teeth, Sauntering about the room, or Standing with their bums to the fire. I would ask, what pleasure there can be in all this, except only that of eating and drinking, which, as it is a pleasure, we enjoy in common with the brutes and often employ to baser purposes, the destruction of health and Constitution, we ought to glory but little in, as the pious Mr. Dods, the Reverend Mr. Doolittle, and Several other learned divines tell us. As for the table conversation [on these occasions], have I not given you a Specimen of it. Is it any thing but mere balderdash, So confused, and So noisy, that I defy the wisest head in Christendom to methodize it, and after all Impediments are removed, and the Club forms itself again round the great table to Smoke and drink, how dull, how Sleepy are the members, when their Stomachs are overcharged, how flat, how low the Conversation, what yawning! what gaping! what Streching of limbs! what [464] nodding! what Sleeping! what Snoring! or rather driving of hogs! oh! oh! ’tis lamentable to behold. How much better to have Spent this time in witty conversation, Such as punning, framing of quaint Conundrums, cracking Sly Jokes, telling Comical Stories, Singing old catches, or composing quaint Rhimes, but alas, all this is only preaching to the wind and beating the air in vain, for one may preach to eternity and never reform the manners of Clubs, nay more, the manners of mankind in general tll the example of great men and presidents Shows them the way.