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wrong card, to take it up and play another. These rienced, of playing alone ;-above all, the overinsufferable triflers are the curse of a table. One powering attractions of a Sans Prendre Vole,-to of these flies will spoil a whole pot. Of such it the triumph of which there is certainly nothing may be said, that they do not play at cards, but parallel or approaching, in the contingencies of only play at playing at them.

whist:—all these, she would say, make quadrille Sarah Battle was none of that breed. She de- a game of captivation to the young and enthusitested them, as I do, from her heart and soul; and astic. But whist was the solider game: that was would not, save upon a striking emergency, wil- her word. It was a long meal; not, like quadrille, lingly seat herself at the same table with them. a feast of snatches. One or two rubbers migh coShe loved a thorough-paced partner, a determined extend in duration with an evening. They gave time enemy. She took, and gave, no concessions. She to form rooted friendships, to cultivate steady enhated favours. She never made a revoke, nor ever mities. She despised the chance-started, capricious, passed it over in her adversary without exacting the and ever-fluctuating alliances of the other. The utmost forfeiture. She fought a good fight cut and skirmishes of quadrille, she would say, reminded thrust. She held not her good sword (her cards) her of the petty ephemeral embroilments of the little “ like a dancer.” She sat bolt upright; and nei- Italian states, depicted by Machiavel; perpetually ther showed you her cards, nor desired to see changing postures and connexions; bitter foes yours. All people have their blind side—their to-day, sugared darlings to-morrow; kissing and superstitions; and I have heard her declare, under scratching in a breath ;-but the wars of whist the rose, that Hearts was her favourite suit. were comparable to the long, steady, deep-rooted,

I never in my life and I knew Sarah Battle rational antipathies of the great French and Engmany of the best years of it-saw her take out her lish nations. snuff-box when it was her turn to play; or snuff a A grave simplicity was what she chiefly admired candle in the middle of a game; or ring for a ser- in her favourite game. There was nothing silly in vant, till it was fairly over. She never introduced, it, like the nob in cribbage-nothing superfluous. or connived at, miscellaneous conversation during No flushes—that most irrational of all pleas that a its process. As she emphatically observed, cards reasonable being can set up;—that any one should were cards : and if I ever saw unmingled distaste claim four by virtue of holding cards of the same in her fine last-century countenance, it was at the mark and color, without reference to the playing of airs of a young gentleman of a literary turn, who the game, or the individual worth or pretensions of had been with difficulty persuaded to take a hand; the cards themselves! She held this to be a soleand who, in his excess of candor, declared that he cism; as pitiful an ambition at cards as alliterathought there was no harm in unbending the mind tion is in authorship. She despised superficiality, now and then, after serious studies, in recreations and looked deeper than the colours of things. Suits of that kind! She could not bear to have her were soldiers, she would say, and must have a noble occupation, to which she wound up her fac- uniformity of array to distinguish them: but what ulties, considered in that light. It was her busi- should we say to a foolish squire, who should claim ness, her duty, the thing she came into the world a merit from dressing up his tenantry in red jackto do,-and she did it. She unbent her mind af- ets, that never were to be marshalled-never to terwards-over a book.

take the field ?-She even wished that whist were Pope was her favourite author: his Rape of the more simple than it is; and, in my mind, would Lock her favourite work. She once did me the have stripped it of some appendages, which, in the favour to play over with me (with the cards) his state of human frailty, may be venially, and even celebrated game of Ombre in that poem ; and to commendably allowed of. She saw no reason for explain to me how far it agreed with, and in what the deciding of the trump by the turn of the card. points it would be found to differ from, tradrille. Why not one suit always trumps ?-_Why two Her illustrations were apposite and poignant; and colors, when the mark of the suits would have sufI had the pleasure of sending the substance of ficiently distinguished them without it?them to Mr. Bowles : but I suppose they came too “But the eye, my dear Madam, is agreeably late to be inserted among his ingenious notes upon refreshed with the variety. Man is not a creature that author.

of pure reason-he must have his senses delightQuadrille, she has often told me, was her first fully appealed to. We see it in Roman Catholic love; but whist had engaged her maturer esteem. countries, where the music and the paintings draw The former, she said, was showy and specious, and in many to worship, whom your quaker spirit of likely to allure young persons. The uncertainty unsensualizing would have kept out. You, yourand quick shifting of partners—a thing which the self, have a pretty collection of paintings—but conconstancy of whist abhors ;—the dazzling supre- fess to me, whether, walking in your gallery at macy and regal investiture of Spadille-absurd as Sandham, among those clear Vandykes, or among she justly observed, in the pure aristocracy of the Paul Potters in the ante-room, you ever felt whist, where his crown and garter give him no your bosom glow with an elegant delight, at all proper power above his brother nobility of the comparable to that you have it in your power to

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assortment of the court cards ?--the pretty antic or for your play. Three are still worse; a mere habits, like heralds in a procession—the gay

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naked war of every man against every man, as in umph-assuring scarlets—the contrasting deadly- cribbage, without league or alliance; or a rotation killing sables-the 'hoary majesty of spades! of petty and contradictory interests, a succession Pam in all his glory!-

of heartless leagues, and not much more hearty “All these might be dispensed with; and, with infractions of them, as in tradrille. But in square their naked names upon the drab paste-board, the games (she meant whist) all that is possible to be game might go on very well, pictureless. But the attained in card-playing is accomplished. There beauty of cards would be extinguished for ever. are the incentives of profit with honour, common to Stripped of all that is imaginative in them, they every species—though the latter can be but very must degenerate into mere gambling. Imagine a imperfectly enjoyed in those other games, where dull deal-board, or drum-head, to spread them on, the spectator is only feebly a participator. But the instead of that nice verdant carpet, (next to na- parties in whist are spectators and principals too. ture's,) fittest arena for those courtly combatants | They are a theatre to themselves, and a looker-on to play their gallant jousts and turneys in !-Ex- is not wanted. He is rather worse than nothing, change those delicately-turned ivory markers, and an impertinence. Whist abhors neutrality, (work of Chinese artist, unconscious of their sym- or interests beyond its sphere. You glory in bol,—or as profanely slighting their true applica- some surprising stroke of skill or fortune, not betion as the arrantest Ephesian journeyman that cause a cold-or even an interested-by-stander turned out those little shrines for the goddess) witnesses it, but because your partner sympathises exchange them for little bits of leather (our ances- in the contingency. You win for two. You tritors' money) or chalk and a slate !"

umph for two. Two are exalted. Two again are The old lady, with a smile, confessed the sound- mortified; which divides their disgrace, as the conness of my logic; and to her approbation of my junction doubles (by taking off the invidiousness) arguments on her favourite topic that evening, I your glories. Two losing to two are better reconhave always fancied myself indebted for the legacy ciled, than one to one in that close butchery. The of a curious cribbage-board, made of the finest hostile feeling is weakened by multiplying the Sienna marble, which her maternal uncle (old channels. War becomes a civil game. By such Walter Plumer, whom I have elsewhere celebrated) reasonings as these the old lady was accustomed brought with him from Florence;this, and a to defend her favourite pastime. trifle of five hundred pounds, came to me at her No inducement could ever prevail upon her to death.

play at any game, where chance entered into the The former bequest (which I do not least value) composition, for nothing. Chance, she would argue I have kept with religious care; though she her--and here again, admire the subtlety of her conself, to confess a truth, was never greatly taken clusion!—chance is nothing, but where something with cribbage. It was an essentially vulgar game, else depends upon it. It is obvious, that cannot be I have heard her say,—disputing with her uncle, glory. What rational cause of exultation could it who was very partial to it. She could never hear- give to a man to turn up size-ace a hundred times tily bring her mouth to pronounce "go”-orthat's together by himself; or before spectators, where no a go.” She called it an ungrammatical game. The stake was depending ?–Make a lottery of a hunpegging teased her. I once knew her to forfeit a dred thousand tickets with but one fortunate numrubber, (a five dollar stake,) because she would ber—and what possible principle of our nature, not take advantage of the turn-up knave, which except stupid wonderment, could it gratify to gain would have given it her, but which she must have that number as many times successively, without claimed by the disgraceful tenure of declaring a prize ?—therefore she disliked the mixture of “ two for his heels.” There is something extremely chance in backgammon, where it was not played genteel in this sort of self-denial. Sarah Battle was for money. She called it foolish, and those people a gentlewoman born.

idiots, who were taken with a lucky hit under such Piquet she held the best game at cards for two circumstances. Games of pure skill were as little persons, though she would ridicule the pedan- to her fancy. Played for a stake, they were a mere try of the terms such as pique-repique—the system of overreaching. Played for glory, they capot—they savoured (she thought) of affectation. were a mere setting of one man's wit,-his memBut games for two, or even three, she never greatly ory, or combination-faculty rather-against ancared for. She loved the quadrate, or square. She other's; like a mock-engagement at a review, would argue thus:--Cards are warfare; the ends bloodless and profitless. She could not conceive a are gain, with glory. But cards are war, in dis-game wanting the spritely infusion of chance,-the guise of a sport: when single adversaries encoun- handsome excuses of good fortune. Two people ter, the ends proposed are too palpable. By them- playing at chess in a corner of a room, whilst selves, it is too close a fight; with spectators, it is whist was stirring in the centre, would inspire her not much bettered. No looker-on can be interested, with insufferable horror and ennui. Those wellexcept for a bet; and then it is a mere affair of cut similitudes of Castles, and Knights, the imag

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this case justly,) were entirely misplaced and sense- pendages, hanging ornaments, and (architectuless. Those hard-headed contests can in no in- rally speaking) handsome volutes to the human stance ally with the fancy. They reject form and capital. Better my mother had never borne me. colour. A pencil and dry slate (she used to say) I am, I think, rather delicately than copiously prowere the proper arena for such combatants. vided with those conduits; and I feel no disposi

To those puny objectors against cards, as nur- tion to envy the mule for his plenty, or the mole turing the bad passions, she would retort, that for her exactness, in those ingenious labyrinthine man is a gaming animal. He must be always inlets--those indispensable side-intelligencers. trying to get the better in something or other: that Neither have I incurred, or done any thing to this passion can scarcely be more safely expended incur, with Defoe, that hideous disfigurement, than upon a game at cards: that cards are a tem- which constrained him to draw upon assurance to porary illusion; in truth, a mere drama; feel “quite unabashed,” and at ease upon that ardo but play at being mightily concerned, where a ticle. I was never, I thank my stars, in the pillory; few idle shillings are at stake, yet during the nor, if I read them aright, is it within the compass illusion, we are as mightily concerned as those of my destiny, that I ever should be. whose stake is crowns and kingdoms. They are When therefore I say that I have no ear, you a sort of dream-fighting; much ado; great battling, will understand me to mean-for music. To say and little bloodshed; mighty means for dispropor- that this heart never melted at the concourse of tioned ends; quite as diverting, and a great deal sweet sounds, would be a foul self-libel.

Water more innoxious, than many of those more serious parted from the sea” never fails to move it strangely. games of life, which men play, without esteeming So does “ In infancy.” But they were used to be them to be such.

sung at her harpsichord (the old-fashioned instruWith great deference to the old lady's judgment in vogue in those days) by a gentlewoman ment on these matters, I think I have experienced -the gentlest, sure, that ever merited the appellasome moments in my life, when playing at cards tion—the sweetest—why should I hesitate to name for nothing has even been agreeable. When I am Mrs. S once the blooming Fanny Wetheral of in sickness, or not in the best spirits, I sometimes the Temple—who had power to thrill the soul of call for the cards, and play a game at piquet for Elia, small imp as he was, even in his long coats; love with my cousin Bridget-Bridget Elia. and to make him glow, tremble, and blush with a

I grant there is something sneaking in it; but passion, that not faintly indicated the day-spring with a toothache, or a sprained ancle,—when you of that absorbing sentiment, which was afterwards are subdued and humble, -you are glad to put up destined to overwhelm and subdue his nature with an inferior spring of action.

quite, for Alice WThere is such a thing in nature, I am convinced, I even think that sentimentally I am disposed to as sick whist.

harmony. But organically I am incapable of a I grant it is not the highest style of man—I de- tune. I have been practising “God save the King” precate the manes of Sarah Battle-she lives not, all my life; whistling and humming it over to alas! to whom I should apologise.

myself in solitary corners; and am not yet arAt such times, those terms which my old friend rived, they tell me, within many quavers of it. Yet objected to, come in as something admissible. I hath the loyalty of Elia never been impeached. love to get a tierce or a quatorze, though they mean I am not without suspicion, that I have an nothing. I am subdued to an inferior interest. undeveloped faculty of music within me. For, Those shadows of winning amuse me.

thrumming, in my wild way, on my friend A.'s That last game I had with my sweet cousin (I piano, the other morning, while he was engaged in capoted her)-(dare I tell thee, how foolish I an adjoining parlor,—on his return he was pleased am?)—I wished it might have lasted for ever, to say," he thought it could not be the maid!" On though we gained nothing, and lost nothing, his first surprise at hearing the keys touched in though it was a mere shade of play; I would be somewhat an airy and masterful way, not dreamcontent to go on in that idle folly for ever. The ing of me, his suspicions had lighted on Jenny. pipkin should be ever boiling that was to prepare But a grace, snatched from a superior refinement, the gentle lenitive to my foot, which Bridget was soon convinced him that some being,–techni. doomed to apply after the game was over: and, cally perhaps deficient, but higher informed from as I do not much relish appliances, there it should a principle common to all the fine arts-had ever bubble. Bridget and I should be ever playing. swayed the keys to a mnood which Jenny, with

all her (less cultivated) enthusiasm, could never have elicited from them. I mention this as a proof of my friend's penetration, and not with any view

of disparaging Jenny. A CHAPTER ON EARS.

Scientifically I could never be made to underI have no ear.

stand (yet have I taken some pains) what a note Mistake me not, reader,—nor imagine that I in music is; or how one note should differ from

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soprano from a tenor. Only sometimes the tho- honey, to an interminable tedious sweetness; to rough bass I contrive to guess at, from its being fill up sound with feeling, and strain ideas to keep supereminently harsh and disagreeable. I tremble, pace with it; to gaze on empty frames, and be however, for my misapplication of the simplest forced to make the pictures for yourself; to read a terms of that which I disclaim. While I profess book, all stops, and be obliged to supply the verbal my ignorance, I scarce know what to say I am matter; to invent extempore tragedies to answer ignorant of. I hate, perhaps, by misnomers. Sos to the vague gestures of an inexplicable rambling tenuto and adagio stand in the like relation of ob- mime--these are faint shadows of what I have scurity to me; and Sol, Fa, Mi, Re, is as conjuring undergone from a series of the ablest executed as Baralipton.

pieces of this empty instrumental music. It is hard to stand alone-in an age like this,- I deny not, that in the opening of a concert, I have (constituted to the quick and critical perception of experienced something vastly lulling and agreeaall harmonious combinations, I verily believe, be- ble:-afterwards followeth the languor, and the yond all preceding ages, since Jubal stumbled oppression. Like that disappointing book in Patupon the gamut)--to remain, as it were, singly mos; or, like the comings on of melancholy deunimpressible to the magic influences of an art, scribed by Burton, doth music make her first insinwhich is said to have such an especial stroke at uating approaches :—“Most pleasant it is to such soothing, elevating, and refining the passions. as are melancholy given, to walk alone in some Yet rather than break the candid current of my solitary grove, betwixt wood and water, by some confessions, I must avow to you, that I have re- brook side, and to meditate upon some delightceived a great deal more pain than pleasure from some and pleasant subject, which shall affect him this so cried-up faculty.

most, amabilis insania and mentis gratissimus error. I am constitutionally susceptible of noises. A A most incomparable delight to build castles in carpenter's hammer, in a warm summer noon, will the air, to go smiling to themselves, acting an fret me into more than midsummer madness. But infinite variety of parts, which they suppose and those unconnected, unset sounds, are nothing to strongly imagine, they act, or that they see done. the mcasured malice of music. The car is passive So delightsome these toys at first, they could to those single strokes; willingly enduring stripes, spend whole days and nights without sleep, even while it hath no task to con. To music it cannot whole years in such contemplations, and fantastibe passive. It will strive-minc at least will — cal meditations, which are like so many dreams, 'spite of its inaptitude, to thrid the maze;

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and will hardly be drawn from them—winding and unskilled eye painfully poring upon hieroglyphics. unwinding themselves as so many clocks, and still I have sat through an Italian Opera, till, for sheer pleasing their humours, until at last the scene pain, and inexplicable anguish, I have rushed out TURNS UPON A SUDDEN, and they being now habited into the noisiest places of the crowded streets, to to such meditations and solitary places, can en solace myself with sounds which I was not obliged dure no company, can think of nothing but harsh to follow, and get rid of the distracting torment of and distasteful subjects. Fear, sorrow, suspicion, endless, fruitless, barren attention! I take refuge subrusticus pudor, discontent, cares, and weariin the unpretending assemblage of honest common- ness of life, surprise them on a sudden, and they life sounds ;--and the purgatory of the Enraged can think of nothing else: continually suspecting, Musician becomes my paradise.

no sooner are their eyes open, but this infernal I have sat at an Oratorio (that profanation of the plague of melancholy seizeth on them, and terrifies purposes of the cheerful playhouse) watching the their souls, representing some dismal object to their faces of the auditory in the pit, (what a contrast to minds: which now, by no means, no labour, no Hogarth's Laughing Audience,) immoveable, or persuasions they can avoid, they cannot be rid of affecting some faint emotion,-till (as some have it, they cannot resist.” said, that our occupations in the next world will Something like this "SCENE-TURNING” I have be but a shadow of what delighted us in this) I experienced at the evening parties at the house of have imagined myself in some cold Theatre in my good Catholic friend Nov; who, by the Hades, where some of the forms of the earthly aid of a capital organ, himself the most finished of one should be kept up, with none of the enjoyment ; players, converts his drawing-room into a chapel, or like that,

his week days into Sundays, and these latter into Party in a parlor,

minor heavens.* All silent, and all DAMNED !"

When

my friend commences upon one of those Above all, those insufferable concertos and

solemn anthems, which peradventure struck upon pieces of music, as they are called, do plague and my heedless ear rambling in the side aisles of imbitter my apprehension. Words are something; waking a new sense, and putting a soul of old re

the dim abbey, some five-and-thirty years since, but to be exposed to an endless battery of mere sounds ; to be longa dying; to lie stretched upon a

ligion into my young apprehension--(whether it be rack of roses; to keep up languor by unintermitted * I have been there, and still would go;

wrong card, to take it up and play another. These | rienced, of playing alone;-above all, the overinsufferable 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.

powering attractions of a Sans Prendre Vole,-to the triumph of which there is certainly nothing parallel or approaching, in the 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 migh coextend in duration with an evening. They gave time to form rooted friendships, to cultivate steady enmities. She 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 connexions; bitter foes to-day, sugared darlings to-morrow; 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.

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. She took, and gave, no concessions. She hated favours. She never made a revoke, nor ever passed it over in her adversary without exacting the utmost forfeiture. She fought a good fight 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 favourite suit.

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 favourite author: his Rape of the Lock her favourite work. She once did me the favour 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 Spadille-absurd as she justly observed, in the pure aristocracy of whist, where his crown and garter give him no proper power above his brother nobility of the

A grave simplicity was what she chiefly admired in her favourite game. There was nothing silly in it, like the nob 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 colours 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 marshalled-never to take the field?-She even wished that whist were more simple than it is; and, in my mind, would have stripped it of some appendages, which, in the state of human frailty, may be venially, and even commendably 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

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