for the sole purpose of mutual entertainment by interchange of thought.

Now, will any kind reader oblige me with a derivation of the word
'Club?' I doubt if it is easy to discover. But one thing is certain,
whatever its origin, it is, in its present sense, purely English in idea
and in existence. Dean Trench points this out, and, noting the fact that
no other nation (he might have excepted the Chinese) has any word to
express this kind of association, he has, with very pardonable natural
pride, but unpardonably bad logic, inferred that the English are the
most sociable people in the world. The contrary is true; nay, _was_
true, even in the days of Addison, Swift, Steele--even in the days of
Johnson, Walpole, Selwyn; ay, at all time since we have been a nation.
The fact is, we are not the most sociable, but the most associative
race; and the establishment of clubs is a proof of it. We cannot, and
never could, talk freely, comfortably, and generally, without a company
for talking. Conversation has always been with us as much a business as
railroad-making, or what not. It has always demanded certain
accessories, certain condiments, certain stimulants to work it up to the
proper pitch. 'We all know' we are the cleverest and wittiest people
under the sun; but then our wit has been stereotyped. France has no 'Joe
Miller;' for a bon-mot there, however good, is only appreciated
historically. Our wit is printed, not spoken; our best wits behind an
inkhorn have sometimes been the veriest logs in society. On the
Continent clubs were not called for, because society itself was the
arena of conversation. In this country, on the other hand, a man could
only chat when at his ease; could only be at his ease among those who
agreed with him on the main points of religion and politics, and even
then wanted the aid of a bottle to make him comfortable. Our want of
sociability was the cause of our clubbing, and therefore the word 'club'
is purely English.