it is, when one comes to consider the matter, that a man should decline to receive instruction on a technical subject from those who have eminently distinguished themselves in it, and have systematised for the benefit of others the results of the experience of a lifetime!  With books or no books, it is quite true, however, that some men, otherwise of great intelligence, can never be taught whist; they may have had every opportunity of learning it—­have been born, as it were, with the ace of spades in their mouth instead of a silver spoon—­but the gift of understanding is denied them; and though it is ungallant to say so, I have never known a lady to play whist well.

In the case of the fair sex, however, it may be urged that they have not the same chances; they have no whist clubs, and the majority of them entertain the extraordinary delusion that it is wrong to play at whist in the afternoon.  One may talk scandal over kettle-drums, and go to morning performances at the theatre, but one may not play at cards till after dinner.  There is even quite a large set of male persons who, ‘on principle,’ do not play at whist in the afternoon.  In seasons of great adversity, when fortune has not given me my ‘fair chance’ for many days, I have sometimes ‘gone on strike,’ as it is termed, and joined them; but anything more deplorable than such a state of affairs it is impossible to imagine.  After their day’s work is over, these good people can’t conceive what to do with themselves, and, between ourselves, it is my experience, drawn from these occasional ’intervals of business,’ that this practice of not playing whist in the afternoon generally leads to dissipation.

It is sometimes advanced by this unhappy class, by way of apology, that they play at night; which may very possibly be the case, but they don’t play well.  There is no such thing, except in the sense in which after-dinner speaking is called ‘good,’ as good whist after dinner.  It may seem otherwise, even to the spectators; but having themselves dined like the rest, they are not in a position to give an opinion.  The keenness of observation is blunted by food and wine; the delicate perceptions are gone; and what is left of the intelligence is generally devoted to finding faults in your partner’s play.  The consciousness of mistakes on your own part, which he is in no condition to discern, instead of suggesting charity, induces irritation, and you are persuaded, till you get the next man, that you are mated with the worst player in all Christendom.  Moreover, that ‘one more rubber’ with which you propose to finish is generally elastic (Indian rubber), and you sit up into the small hours and find them disagree with you.  If I ever write that new series of the ‘Chesterfield Letters’ which I have long had in my mind, and for which I feel myself eminently qualified, my most earnest advice to young gentlemen of fashion will be found in the golden rule, ‘Never sit down to whist after dinner;’ it is a mistake, and almost an immorality.  If they must play cards, let them play Napoleon.