some account of william whiston.

“that boy is the brother of pam——.”—joseph andrews.

“william certainly is fond of whist!”

this was an admission drawn, or extracted, as cartwright would say, like a double tooth from the mouth of william’s mother; an amiable and excellent lady, who ever reluctantly

[pg 260]

confessed foibles in her family, and invariably endeavoured to exhibit to the world the sunny side of her children.

there can be no possibility of doubt that william was fond of whist. he doted on it. whist was his first passion—his first love; and in whist he experienced no disappointment. the two were made for each other.

cardy mums.

william was one of a large bunch of children, and he never grew up. on his seventh birthday a relation gave him a miniature pack of cards, and made him a whist-player for life. our bias dates much earlier than some natural philosophers suppose. i remember william, a mere child, being one day william of orange, and objecting to a st. michael’s because it had no pips.

at school he was a total failure; except in reckoning the odd

[pg 261]

tricks. he counted nothing by honours, and the schoolmaster said of his head what he has since said occasionally of his hand that “it held literally nothing.”

at sixteen, after a long maternal debate between the black and red suits, william was articled to an attorney: but instead of becoming a respectable land-shark, he played double-dummy with the common-law clerk, and was discharged on the 6th of november. the principal remonstrated with him on a breach of duty, and william imprudently answered that he was aware of his duty, like the ace of spades. mr. bitem immediately banged the door against him, and william, for the first time in his life—to use his own expression, “got a slam.”

william having served his time, and, as he calls it, followed suit for five years, was admitted as an attorney, and began to play at that finessing game, the law. short-hand he still studied and practised; though more in parlours than in court.

william at one period admired miss hunt, or miss creswick, or miss hardy, or miss reynolds; a daughter of one of the great card-makers, i forget which—and he cut for partners, but without “getting the lady.” his own explanation was that he “was discarded.” he then paid his addresses to a scotch girl, a miss macnab, but she professed religious scruples about cards, and he revoked. i have heard it said that she expected to match higher; indeed william used to say she “looked over his hand.”

william is short, and likes shorts. he likes nothing of longs, but the st. john of them: and he only takes to him, because that saint is partial to a rubber. whist seems to influence his face as well as form; it is like a knave of clubs. i sometimes fancy whist could not go on without william, and certainly william could not go on without whist. his whole conversation, except on cards, is wool-gathering; and on that subject is like wool—carded. he “speaks by the card,” and never gives equivocation a chance. at the olympic once

[pg 262]

he had a quarrel with a gentleman about the lead of madame vestris or miss sydney: he was required to give his card, and he gave the “deuce of hearts.” this was what he termed “calling out.”

of late years william only goes out like a bad rushlight, earlyish of a night, and quits every table that is not covered with green baize with absolute disgust. the fairies love by night to “gambol on the green,” and so does william, and he is constantly humming with great gusto,

“come unto these yellow sands,

 and then take hands.”

the only verses, by the way, he ever got by heart. he never cared to play much with the muses. they stick, he used to say, at nine.

william can sit longer—drink less—say as little—pay or receive as much—shuffle as well—and cut as deeply as any man on earth. you may leave him safely after dinner, and catch him at breakfast time without alteration of attitude or look. he is a small statue erected in honour of whist, and like eloquence, “holds his hand well up.” he is content to ring the changes on thirteen cards a long midsummer night; for he does not play at cards—he works at them, and considering the returns, for very low wages. william never was particularly lucky; but he bears the twos and threes with as much equanimity as any one, and seems, horticulturally speaking, to have grafted patience upon whist. i do not know whether it is the family motto, but he has upon his seal—with the great mogul for a crest—the inscription of “packs in bello.”

william is now getting old (nearly fifty-two), with an asthma; which he says makes him rather “weak in trumps.” he is preparing himself accordingly to “take down his score,” and has made his will, bequeathing all he has or has not, to a whist club. his funeral he directs to be quite private, and his grave

[pg 263]

stone a plain one, and especially “that there be no cherubims carved thereon, forasmuch,”—says this characteristic document, “that they never hold honours.”