This feat accomplished, Mr. Peacock exclaimed triumphantly: "And now,
what say you, my lads, to a game at cards? Three of us,--whist and a
dummy; nothing better, eh?" As he spoke, he produced from his coat-
pocket a red silk handkerchief, a bunch of keys, a nightcap, a tooth-
brush, a piece of shaving-soap, four lumps of sugar, the remains of a
bun, a razor, and a pack of cards. Selecting the last, and returning
its motley accompaniments to the abyss whence they had emerged, he
turned up, with a jerk of his thumb and finger, the knave of clubs, and
placing it on the top of the rest, slapped the cards emphatically on the
table.

"You are very good, but I don't know whist," said I.

"Not know whist--not been to a play--not smoke! Then pray tell me,
young man," said he majestically, and with a frown, "what on earth you
do know."

Much consternated by this direct appeal, and greatly ashamed of my
ignorance of the cardinal points of erudition in Mr. Peacock's
estimation, I hung my head and looked down.

"That is right," renewed Mr. Peacock, more benignly; "you have the
ingenuous shame of youth. It is promising, sir; 'lowliness is young
ambition's ladder,' as the Swan says. Mount the first step, and learn
whist,--sixpenny points to begin with."

Notwithstanding any newness in actual life, I had had the good fortune
to learn a little of the way before me, by those much-slandered guides
called novels,--works which are often to the inner world what maps are