IN twelve years one general principle has been faintly upheld, while
three have been stretched on the rack and distorted till their own
mothers would scarcely know them.
If poor Mathews were to revisit the glimpses of the moon, and to come
across that _improved_ edition of Clay, could he ever guess that the
ricketty abortion in the preface had ever been his own healthy and
intelligent bantling?
Whist-players of every degree, from Deschapelles to Mrs. Juggins, are
now all supposed to lead the same card—I know they try; for, after
much anxious thought, I have often seen the penultimate led from king,
queen and three small cards—and with such a hand as this: ace, king,
queen, knave of diamonds; two, three, four, five, six and seven of
hearts; two and three of clubs; and the deuce of spades (trumps),
whatever the score, if Deschapelles were to lead the king of diamonds,
and Mrs. Juggins the four of hearts, according to our latest teaching,
the old woman would receive the gold medal for scientific play, while
Deschapelles would not be in it.
More than that, although while Mrs. Juggins was making futile attempts
to establish her long suit, and to explain she held originally six,
several diamonds would probably be discarded, and she would be in
danger of never making a trick at all; the apparent end of conventions,
philosophy and American leads being not to make tricks, but to enable
the table to count your hand, the award would be right.
Twelve years has the mountain been in labour, and, as Miss Squeers
remarked, with ungrammatical emphasis, “this is