THE DECLINE AND FALL OF
WHIST.
IF we only live long enough we all pass through at least three stages—one authority says seven;—we grow, we attain our prime, we decay; and Whist, apparently, is not exempt from the common lot.
Somewhat obscure in its origin, it gradually developed, it arrived at its zenith, then began to go down hill, and became the piteous spectacle we now see, until, flying from the whist-room as from a pest-house, the players are betaking themselves in shoals to other and unholy games.
There is an opinion that Whist is at the present moment so exceedingly popular that it is fast becoming a serious rival to afternoon tea, and this, so far from being inconsistent with my original statement, rather strengthens it; for it is quite possible that a certain percentage of the more reputable refugees from the clubs, averse to gambling, may have sought—and I hope I may add, found—consolation in the family bosom and the domestic rubber.
The golden age of Whist lasted from the time when Cavendish arranged in a systematic form his selections from the wisdom of our ancestors, until the death of Mr. Clay, twelve years ago; then the age of wood began, and if the whole subsequent literature of Whist had been publicly burnt by the common hangman, including nostri farrago libelli, it would have been an unmixed boon; so greatly has the evil preponderated over the good.