John Buncle, a widower-volume, with "eyes closed," mourns his ravished mate. One justice I must do my friend, that if hę sometimes, like the sea, sweeps away a treasure, at another time, sea-like, he throws up as rich an equivalent to match it. I have a small under-collection of this nature (my friend's gatherings in his various calls), picked up, he has forgotten at what odd places, and deposited with as little memory at mine. I take in these orphans, the twice-deserted. These proselytes of the gate are welcome as the true Hebrews.2 There they stand in conjunction; natives, and naturalized. The latter seem as little disposed to inquire out their true lineage as I am. I charge no warehouse-room for these deodands, nor shall ever put myself to the ungentlemanly trouble of advertising a sale of them to pay expenses. To lose a volume to C. carries some sense and meaning in it. You are sure that he will make one hearty meal on your viands, if he can give no account of the platter after it. But what moved thee, wayward, spiteful K., to be so importunate to carry off with thee, in spite of tears and adjurations to thee to forbear, the Letters of that princely woman, the thrice noble Margaret Newcastle?-knowing at the time, and knowing that I knew also, thou most assuredly wouldst never turn over one leaf of the illustrious folio:-what but the mere spirit of contradiction, and childish love of getting the better of thy friend?-Then, worst cut of all to transport it with thee to the Gallican land Unworthy land to harbor such a sweetness, her sex's wonder! 1A reference to the statement of John Buncle, the hero of the book, that when one of his wives died he remained four days with his eyes shut. 2 That is, the books which Lamb bad purchased. Proselytes were converts to Judaism, who were not governed by such strict religious laws as were the true Hebrews. See Leviticus, 19: 33-34. 3 things given or forfeited James Kenney (1780-1849), a dramatist. The stage literally, the dressing room behind the scenes. 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 bear away, in kindly token of remembering us, than the works of Fulke Greville, Lord Brooke of which no Frenchman, nor woman of France, Italy, or England, was ever by nature constituted to comprehend a tittle! Was there not Zimmerman on Solitude? Reader, if haply thou art blessed with a moderate collection, be shy of showing it; or if thy heart overfloweth to lend them, lend thy books; but let it be to such a one as S. T. C.1-he will return them (generally anticipating the time appointed) with usury; enriched with annotations, tripling their value. I have had experience. Many are these precious MSS. of his— (in matter oftentimes, and almost in quantity not unfrequently vying with the originals)-in no very clerkly hand-legible in my Daniel; in old Burton; in Sir Thomas Browne; and those abstruser cogitations of the Greville, now, alas! wandering in Pagan lands.-I counsel thee, shut not thy heart, nor thy library, against S. T. C. MRS. BATTLE'S OPINIONS ON WHIST 1821 "A clear fire, a clean hearth,2 and the rigor of the game." This was the celebrated wish of old Sarah Battle (now with God) who, next to her devotions, loved a good game at whist. She was none of your lukewarm gamesters, your half-and-half players, who have no objection to take a hand, if you want one to make up a rubber; who affirm that they have no pleasure in winning; that they like to win one game, and lose another; that they can while away an hour very agreeably at a card-table, but are indifferent whether they play or no; and will desire an adversary, who has slipt a wrong card, to take it up and play another. These insufferable triflers are the curse of a table. One of these flies will spoil a whole pot. Of such it may be said, that they do not play' at cards, but only play at playing at them. Sarah Battle was none of that breed. She detested them, as I do, from her heart and soul; and would not, save upon a striking emergency, willingly seat herself at the same table with them. She loved a thorough-paced partner, a determined enemy. 1 Samuel Taylor Coleridge. "This was before the introduction of rugs, reader. You must remember the intolerable crash of the unswept cinders betwixt your foot and the marble."-Lamb. "As if a sportsman should tell you he liked t kill a fox one day and lose him the next.”— Lamb. She took, and gave, no concessions. She hated favors. She never made a revoke,1 nor ever passed it over in her adversary without exacting the utmost forfeiture. She fought a good fight:2 cut and thrust. She held not her good sword (her cards) "like a dancer. She sat bolt upright; and neither showed you her cards, nor desired to see yours. All people have their blind side their superstitions; and I have heard her declare, under the rose, that Hearts was her favorite suit. 113 I never in my life-and I knew Sarah Battle many of the best years of it-saw her take out her snuff-box when it was her turn to play; or snuff a candle in the middle of a game; or ring for a servant, till it was fairly over. She never introduced, or connived at, miscellaneous conversation during its process. As she emphatically observed, cards were cards: and if I ever saw unmingled distaste in her fine last-century countenance, it was at the airs of a young gentleman of a literary turn, who had been with difficulty persuaded to take a hand; and who, in his excess of candor, declared that he thought there was no harm in unbending the mind now and then, after serious studies, in recreations of that kind! She could not bear to have her noble occupation, to which she wound up her faculties, considered in that light. It was her business, her duty, the thing she came into the world to do, and she did it. She unbent her mind afterwards-over a book. Pope was her favorite author: his Rape of the Lock her favorite work. She once did me the favor to play over with me (with the cards) his celebrated game of ombre in that poem; and to explain to me how far it agreed with, and in what points it would be found to differ from, tradrille. Her illustrations were apposite and poignant; and I had the pleasure of sending the substance of them to Mr. Bowles, but I suppose they came too late to be inserted among his ingenious notes upon that author. Quadrille, she has often told me, was her first love; but whist had engaged her maturer esteem. The former, she said, was showy and specious, and likely to allure young persons. The uncertainty and quick shifting of partners-a thing which the constancy of whist abhors;-the dazzling supremacy and regal investiture of Spa 1 never failed to follow suit when able 2 See 2 Timothy, 4:7. Antony and Cleopatra, III, 11, 36. in confidence 'ombre played by four persons 5 15 dille1-absurd, as she justly observed, in the pure aristocracy of whist, where his crown and garter gave him no proper power above his brother-nobility of the Aces;-the giddy vanity, so taking to the inexperienced, of playing alone:-above all, the overpowering attractions of a Sans Prendre Vole,2to the triumph of which there is certainly nothing parallel or approaching, in the 10 contingencies of whist;-all these, she would say, make quadrille a game of captivation to the young and enthusiastic. But whist was the solider game: that was her word. It was a long meal; not, like quadrille, a feast of snatches. One or two rubbers might co-extend in duration with an evening. They gave time to form rooted friendships, to cultivate steady enmities. despised the chance-started, capricious, and ever fluctuating alliances of the other. The skirmishes of quadrille, she would say, reminded her of the petty ephemeral embroilments of the little Italian states, depicted by Machiavel; perpetually changing postures and connections; bitter foes today, sugared darling tomorrow; kissing and scratching in a breath;-but the wars of whist were comparable to the long, steady, deep-rooted, rational antipathies of the great French and English nations. 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 She A grave simplicity was what she chiefly admired in her favorite game. There was nothing silly in it, like the nob1 in cribbage -nothing superfluous. No flushes-that most irrational of all pleas that a reasonable being can set up:-that any one should claim four by virtue of holding cards of the same mark and color, without reference to the playing of the game, or the individual worth or pretensions of the cards themselves! She held this to be a solecism; as pitiful an ambition at cards as alliteration is in authorship. She despised superficiality, and looked deeper than the colors of things,-Suits were soldiers, she would say, and must have a uniformity of array to distinguish them: but what should we say to a foolish squire, who should claim a merit from dressing up his tenantry in red jackets, that never were to be marshallednever to take the field?-She even wished that whist were more simple than it is; and, in my mind, would have stript it of some appendages, which, in the state of human frailty, may be venially, and even com 1 The ace of spades. winning all the tricks single-handed 3 In his Florentine History. The knave of the same suit as the card turned up, counting one for the holder. mendably allowed of. She saw no reason for the deciding of the trump by the turn of the card. Why not one suit always trumps-Why two colors, when the mark of the suits would have sufficiently distinguished them without it?— But the eye, my dear Madam, is agreeably refreshed with the variety. Man is not a creature of pure reason-he must have his senses delightfully appealed to. We see it in Roman Catholic countries, where the music and the paintings draw in many to worship, whom your quaker spirit of unsensualizing would have kept out.You, yourself, have a pretty collection of paintings-but confess to me, whether, walking in your gallery at Sandham, among those clear Vandykes, or among the Paul Potters in the ante-room, you ever felt your bosom glow with an elegant delight, at all comparable to that you have it in your power to experience most evenings over a well-arranged assortment of the court cards? -the pretty antic habits, like heralds in a procession-the gay triumph-assuring scarlets-the contrasting deadly-killing sables -the 'hoary majesty of spades," Pam2 in all his glory! 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 "All these might be dispensed with; and, with their naked names upon the drab pasteboard, the game might go on very well, picture-less. But the beauty of cards would be extinguished forever. Stripped of all that is imaginative in them, they must degenerate into mere gambling.-Imagine a dull deal board, or drum head, to spread them on, instead of that nice verdant carpet (next to nature's), fittest arena for those courtly combatants to play their gallant jousts and turneys in!-Exchange those 40 delicately-turned ivory markers-(work of Chinese artist, unconscious of their symbol, -or as profanely slighting their true application as the arrantest Ephesian journeyman that turned out those little shrines for the goddess5)-exchange them for little bits of leather (our ancestors' money) or chalk and a slate!" The old lady, with a smile, confessed the soundness of my logic; and to her approbation of my arguments on her favorite topic that evening, I have always fancied myself indebted for the legacy of a curious cribbage board, made of the finest Sienna marble, which her maternal uncle (old Wal 1 Pope, The Rape of the Lock, 3, 56. 2 The knave of clubs. 3 A board of pine or fir. Demetrius. See Acts, 19:24-41. Diana. 45 50 55 ter Plumer, whom I have elsewhere celebrated1) brought with him from Florence: -this, and a trifle of five hundred pounds, came to me at her death. The former bequest (which I do not least value) I have kept with religious care; though she herself, to confess a truth, was never greatly taken with cribbage. It was an essentially vulgar game, I have heard her say,-disputing with her uncle, who was very partial to it. She could never heartily bring her mouth to pronounce "go"-or "that's a go.' She called it an ungrammatical game. The pegging teased her. I once knew her to forfeit a rubber (a five dollar stake), because she would not take advantage of the turn-up knave, which would have given it her, but which she must have claimed by the disgraceful tenure of declaring "two for his heels." There is something extremely genteel in this sort of self-denial. Sarah Battle was a gentlewoman born. Piquet she held the best game at the cards for two persons, though she would ridicule the pedantry of the terms-such as pique* -repique-the capot-they savored (she thought) of affectation. But games for two, or even three, she never greatly cared for. She loved the quadrate, or square. She would argue thus:-Cards are warfare: the ends are gain, with glory. But cards are war, in disguise of a sport: when single adversaries encounter, the ends proposed are too palpable. By themselves, it is too close a fight; with spectators, it is not much bettered. No looker-on can be interested, except for a bet, and then it is a mere affair of money; he cares not for your luck sympathetically, or for your play.-Three are still worse; a mere naked war of every man against every man, as in cribbage, without league or alliance; or a rotation of petty and contradictory interests, a succession of heartless leagues, and not much more hearty infractions of them, as in tradrille.-But in square games (she meant whist) all that is possible to be attained in card-playing is accomplished. There are the incentives of profit with honor, common to every species -though the latter can be but very imperfectly enjoyed in those other games, where the spectator is only feebly a participator. But the parties in whist are spectators and 1In The South Sea House (p. 930a, 35 ff.). 2 Terms used when the player is unable to play. 3 scoring by means of pegs scoring 30 points before the other player scores scoring 30 or more points before play begins, thereby counting 60 points additional 6 winning all the tricks, counting 40 principals too. They are a theatre to themselves, and a looker-on is not wanted. He is rather worse than nothing, and an impertinence. Whist abhors neutrality, or interests beyond its sphere. You glory in some surprising stroke of skill or fortune, not because a cold—or even an interested-bystander witnesses it, but because your partner sympathizes in the contingency. You win for two. You triumph for two. Two are exalted. Two again are mortified; which divides their disgrace, as the conjunction doubles (by taking off the invidiousness) your glories. Two losing to two are better reconciled, than one to one in that close butchery. The hostile feeling is weakened by multiplying the channels. War becomes a civil game.-By such reasonings as these the old lady was accustomed to defend her favorite pastime. No inducement could ever prevail upon her to play at any game, where chance entered into the composition, for nothing. Chance, she would argue-and here again, admire the subtlety of her conclusion!ehance is nothing, but where something else depends upon it. It is obvious, that cannot be glory. What rational cause of exultation could it give to a man to turn up size ace1 a hundred times together by himself? or before spectators, where no stake was depending?-Make a lottery of a hundred thousand tickets with but one fortunate number -and what possible principle of our nature, except stupid wonderment, could it gratify to gain that number as many times successively, without a prize?-Therefore she disliked the mixture of chance in backgammon, where it was not played for money. She called it foolish, and those people idiots, who were taken with a lucky hit under such circumstances. Games of pure skill were as little to her fancy. Played for a stake, they were a mere system of over-reaching. Played for glory, they were a mere setting of one man's wit,-his memory, or combination-faculty rather-against another's; like a mock-engagement at a review, bloodless and profitless.-She could not conceive a game wanting the spritely infusion of chance, the handsome excuses of good fortune. Two people playing at chess in a corner of a room, whilst whist was stirring in the centre, would inspire her with insufferable horror and ennui. Those well-cut similitudes of Castles, and Knights, the imagery of the board, she would argue 1 six and one (a lucky throw of dice in the game of backgammon) (and I think in this case justly), were entirely misplaced and senseless. Those hard head-contests can in no instance ally with the fancy. They reject form and color. 5 A pencil and dry slate (she used to say) were the proper arena for such combatants. 15 To those puny objectors against cards, as nurturing the bad passions, she would retort that man is a gaming animal. He 10 must be always trying to get the better in something or other:-that this passion can scarcely be more safely expended than upon a game at cards; that cards are a temporary illusion; in truth, a mere drama; for we do but play at being mightily concerned, where a few idle shillings are at stake, yet, during the illusion, we are as mightily concerned as those whose stake is crowns and · kingdoms. They are a sort of dream-fight20 ing; much ado; great battling, and little bloodshed; mighty means for disproportioned ends; quite as diverting, and a great deal more innoxious, than many of those more serious games of life, which men play, without esteeming them to be such. 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 With great deference to the old lady's judgment on these matters, I think I have experienced some moments in my life, when playing at cards for nothing has even been agreeable. When I am in sickness, or not in the best spirits, I sometimes call for the cards, and play a game at piquet for love with my cousin Bridget-Bridget Elia.1 I grant there is something sneaking in it; but with a tooth-ache, or a sprained ancle, -when you are subdued and humble,-you are glad to put up with an inferior spring of action. There is such a thing in nature, I am convinced, as sick whist. I grant it is not the highest style of man -I deprecate the manes2 of Sarah Battleshe lives not, alas! to whom I should apologize. At such times, those terms which my old friend objected to, come in as something admissible.-I love to get a tierce or a quatorze, though they mean nothing. I am subdued to an inferior interest. Those shadows of winning amuse me. That last game I had with my sweet cousin (I capotted her) (dare I tell thee, how foolish I am?)-I wished it might have lasted forever, though we gained nothing, and lost nothing, though it was a mere 1 Lamb's sister Mary. 2 shade; spirit 3 sequence of three cards of the same sult the four aces, kings, queens, knaves, or tens 5 won all the tricks from Bridget Elia has been my housekeeper for many a long year. I have obligations to Bridget, extending beyond the period of memory. We house together, old bachelor and maid, in a sort of double singleness; with such tolerable comfort, upon the whole, that I, for one, find in myself no sort of disposition to go out upon the mountains, with the rash king's offspring, to bewail my celibacy. We agree pretty well in our tastes and habits-yet so, as "with a difference. "We are generally in harmony, with occasional bickerings-as it should be among near relations. Our sympathies are rather understood, then expressed; and once, upon my dissembling a tone in my voice more kind than ordinary, my cousin burst into tears, and complained that I was altered. We are both great readers in different directions While I am hanging over (for the thousandth time) some passage in old Burton, or one of his strange contemporaries, she is abstracted in some modern tale, or adventure, whereof our common reading table is daily fed with assiduously fresh supplies. Narrative teases me. I have little concern in the progress of events. She must have a story-well, ill, or indifferently told --so there be life stirring in it, and plenty of good or evil accidents. The fluctuations of fortune in fiction-and almost in real lifehave ceased to interest, or operate but dully upon me. Out-of-the-way humors and opinions-heads with some diverting twist in them-the oddities of authorship please me most. My cousin has a native disrelish of anything that sounds odd or bizarre. Nothing goes down with her, that is quaint, irregular, or out of the road of common sympathy. She holds Nature more clever."'5 I can pardon her blindness to the beautiful obliquities of the Religio Medici; but she 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 must apologize to me for certain disrespectful insinuations, which she has been pleased to throw out latterly, touching the intellectuals of a dear favorite of mine, of the last century but one-the thrice noble, chaste, and virtuous, but again somewhat fantastical, and original-brain'd, generous Margaret Newcastle. It has been the lot of my cousin, oftener perhaps than I could have wished, to have had for her associates and mine, freethinkers-leaders, and disciples, of novel philosophies and systems; but she neither wrangles with, nor accepts, their opinions. That which was good and venerable to her, when a child, retains its authority over her mind still. She never juggles or plays tricks with her understanding. We are both of us inclined to be a little too positive; and I have observed the result of our disputes to be almost uniformly this, -that in matters of fact, dates, and circumstances, it turns out that I was in the right, and my cousin in the wrong. But where we have differed upon moral points; upon something proper to be done, or let alone; whatever heat of opposition, or steadiness of conviction, I set out with, I am sure always, in the long run, to be brought over to her way of thinking. I must touch upon the foibles of my kinswoman with a gentle hand, for Bridget does not like to be told of her faults. She hath an awkward trick (to say no worse of it) of reading in company: at which times she will answer yes or no to a question, without fully understanding its purport-which is provoking, and derogatory in the highest degree to the dignity of the putter of the said question. Her presence of mind is equal to the most pressing trials of life, but will sometimes desert her upon trifling occasions. When the purpose requires it, and is a thing of moment, she can speak to it greatly; but in matters which are not stuff of the conscience, she hath been known sometimes to let slip a word less seasonably. Her education in youth was not much attended to; and she happily missed all that train of female garniture, which passeth by the name of accomplishments. She was tumbled early, by accident or design, into a spacious closet of good old English reading, without much selection or prohibition, and browsed at will upon that fair and wholesome pasturage. Had I twenty girls, they |