d that at the end of all the statements you are puzzled to
know where the truth is at all. As time is of small importance to the
cheerful persons engaged in this sport, perhaps a good way of playing it
would be to spread it over a couple of years. Let the people who played
the game in '60 all meet and play it once more in '61, and each write
his story over again. Then bring out your original and compare notes.
Not only will the stories differ from each other, but the writers will
probably differ from themselves. In the course of the year the incidents
will grow or will dwindle strangely. The least authentic of the
statements will be so lively or so malicious, or so neatly put, that
it will appear most like the truth. I like these tales and sportive
exercises. I had begun a little print collection once. I had Addison in
his nightgown in bed at Holland House, requesting young Lord Warwick to
remark how a Christian should die. I had Cambronne clutching his cocked
hat and uttering the immortal la Garde meurt et ne se rend pas. I had
the "Vengeur" going down, and all the crew hurraying like madmen. I had
Alfred toasting the muffin; Curtius (Haydon) jumping into the gulf; with
extracts from Napoleon's bulletins, and a fine authentic portrait of
Baron Munchausen.

What man who has been before the public at all has not heard similar
wonderful anecdotes regarding himself and his own history? In these
humble essaykins I have taken leave to egotize. I cry out about the
shoes which pinch me, and, as I fancy, more naturally and pathetically
than if my neighbor's corns were trodden under foot. I prattle about
the dish which I love, the wine which I like, the talk I heard
yesterday--about Brown's absurd airs--Jones's ridiculous elation when
he thinks he has caught me in a blunder (a part of the fun, you see, is
that Jones will read this, and will perfectly well know that I mean him,
and that we shall meet and grin at each other with entire politeness.)
This is not the highest kind of speculation, I confess, but it is a
gossip which amuses some folks. A brisk and honest small-beer will
refresh those who do not care for the frothy outpourings of heavier
taps. A two of clubs may be a good, handy little card sometimes,
and able to tackle a king of diamonds, if it is a little trump. Some
philosophers get their wisdom with deep thought and out of ponderous
libraries; I pick up my small crumbs of cogitation at a dinner-table;
or from Mrs. Ma