_For the Table Book._
By a standing law of this “ugly club,” their club-room must always be
the ugliest room in the ugliest house of the town. The only furniture
allowed in this room is a number of chairs, contrived with the worst
taste imaginable; a round table made by a back-woodsman; and a Dutch
looking-glass, full of veins, which at one glance would make even a
handsome man look a perfect “fright.” This glass is frequently sent to
such gentlemen as doubt their qualifications, and neglect or decline to
take up their freedom in the club.
When an ill-favoured gentleman first arrives in the city, he is waited
upon, in a civil and familiar manner, by some of the members of the
club, who inform him that they would be glad of his company on the next
evening of their meeting; and the gentleman commonly thanks the
deputation for the attention of the club, to one so unworthy as himself,
and promises to consider the matter.
It sometimes happens, that several days elapse, and the “strange”
gentleman thinks no more of the club. He has perhaps repeatedly looked
into his own glass, and wondered what, in the name of sense, the club
could have seen in his face, that should entitle him to the distinction
they would confer on him.
He is, however, waited upon a second time by the most respectable
members of the whole body, with a message from the president, requesting
him not to be diffident of his qualifications, and earnestly desiring
“that he will not fail to attend the club the very next evening--the
members will feel themselves highly honoured by the presence of one
whose appearance has already attracted the notice of the whole society.”
“Zounds!” he says to himself on perusing the billet, “what do they mean
by teasing me in this manner? I am surely not so ugly,” (walking to his
glass,) “as to attract the notice of the whole town on first setting my
foot upon the wharf!”
“Your nose is very long,” cries the spokesman of the deputation.
“Noses,” says the strange gentleman, “are no criterion of ugliness: it’s
true, the tip-end of mine would form an acute angle with a base line
drawn horizontally from my under lip; but I defy the whole club to
prove, that acute angles were ever reckoned ugly, from the days of
Euclid down to this moment, except by themselves.”
“Ah, sir,” answers the messenger, “how liberal has nature been in
bestowing upon you so elegant a pair of lantern jaws! believe me, sir,
you will be a lasting honour to the club.”
“My jaws,” says the ugly man in a pet, “are such as nature made them:
and Aristotle has asserted, that all her works are beautiful.”
The conversation ends for the present. The deputation leaves the strange
gentleman to his reflections, with wishes and hopes that he will
consider further.
Another fortnight elapses, and the strange gentleman, presuming the club
have forgotten him, employs the time in assuming _petit-maître_ airs,
and probably makes advances to young ladies of fortune and beauty. At
the expiration of this period, he receives a letter from a pretended
female, (contrived by the club,) to the following purport:--
“My dear sir,
“There is such a congeniality between your countenance and mine, that I
cannot help thinking you and I were destined for each other. I am
unmarried, and have a considerable fortune in pine-barren land, which,
with myself, I wish to bestow upon some deserving man; and from seeing
you pass several times by my window, I know of no one better entitled to
both than yourself. I am now almost two years beyond my grand
climacteric, and am four feet four inches in height, rather less in
circumference, a little dropsical, have lovely red hair and a fair
complexion, and, if the doctor do not deceive me, I may hold out twenty
years longer. My nose is, like yours, rather longer than common; but
then to compensate, I am universally allowed to have charming eyes. They
somewhat incline to each other, but the sun himself looks obliquely in
winter, and cheers the earth with his glances. Wait upon me, dear sir,
to-morrow evening.
“Yours till death, &c.
“M. M.”
“What does all this mean?” cries the ugly gentleman, “was ever man
tormented in this manner! Ugly clubs, ugly women! imps and fiends, all
in combination to persecute me, and make my life miserable! I am to be
ugly, it seems, whether I will or not.”
At this critical juncture, the president of the club, who is the very
pink of ugliness itself, waits upon the strange gentleman, and takes him
by the hand. “My dear sir,” says he, “you may as well walk with me to
the club as not. Nature has designed you for us, and us for you. We are
a set of men who have resolution enough to dare to be ugly; and have
long let the world know, that we can pass the evening, and eat and drink
together with as much social glee and real good humour as the handsomest
of them. Look into this Dutch glass, sir, and be convinced that we
cannot do without you.”
“If it must be so, it must,” cries the ugly gentleman, “there seems to
be no alternative; I will even do as you say!”
It appears from a paper in “The American Museum” of 1790, that by this
mode the “ugly club” of Charleston has increased, is increasing, and
cannot be diminished. According to the last accounts, “strange”
gentlemen who do not comply with invitations to join the club in person
are elected “honorary” members, and their names enrolled _nolens
volens_.