THERE is nothing in the world easier than the affectation of morality. One half of the reputable people, says some French philosopher, acquire their good name, not by the practice of virtue, but by the condemnation of vice. As it is in morals, so it is in religion. A good Protestant is known by the vehemence with which he denounces the errors of the Catholic church -a Dissenter by his repudiation of hierarchies, and ecclesiastical domination-and a Roman Catholic by the zeal with which he persecutes the heresies of both. This is the true way to stand well with society: and hence it is that when a man's faultswhatever they may be-are fairly discovered and exposed, his good-natured friends seize eagerly upon the tempting opportunity of building up their own fame by pulling his down.

The recent development of certain improper practices at Graham's club afforded a favourable occasion for the exercise of this admirable negative quality. When Lord de Ros was charged with cheating at cards, the whole circle of card-players shrugged their shoulders, looked unutterable things, wondered how a gentleman could sacrifice his honour, &c., and protested that they would never sit at table with any individual who had been detected in unfair play. Much of the moral of their protest lay in the word detected. So long as the unfairness was not detected, it was all fair enough; but it would not suit them to throw off their respect for appearances. The "outward seeming" of integrity is essential to success in a club-room. Gentlemen may play night, noon, and inorningthere is nothing disreputable in that they may subsist by play, clear 35,0007. in the course of a few years, and even keep banks at Newmarket, without compromising their characters, provided they have never been detected in a fraud. The guilt lies, not in gambling, but in the betrayal of its secrets: for, we presume, it will not be denied that those who devote their lives to play must possess that sort of advantage over the inexperienced, which, whether it amounts to direct cheating, or merely to an indirect certainty of winning, takes them out of the

class of persons who play merely for amusement. If any professed player, therefore, desires to establish his credit with society, he has nothing to do but to exhibit strong indignation at the conduct of Lord de Ros. What matters it if he be a member of that respectable fraternity which possesses no "visible means" of existence: he dresses well, keeps the best company, drives a curricle, lives in the clubs, and is to be distinguished by his style at the races. He abhors convicted improprieties, and must consequently prize his character above his life.

It is not very sure, however, that some of the persons who contributed to the exposure of his lordship's inexplicable tricks have done themselves much service after all in the estimation of the more sober section of the fashionable world. The very habits, to which they unhesitatingly confessed, are in themselves matters which it is not wise to drag into daylight. A man may be a roué with impunity, while he has the grace to disavow that honourable distinction: but when he once acknowledges it, and exhibits the utmost nonchalance about public opinion, he cannot expect to be any longer received with that tone of deference to which he had been previously accustomed. He becomes a mark for licensed familiarity—the waiter may smile in his presence, and laugh at his jokes-his profession is known-he cannot aspire to equality with those more prudent gentlemen who have not yet forfeited their pretensions to independence—and he must be content to submit to many humiliations which men of sensitive honour could not survive. To be sure, no fraudulent acts have been proved against him; but there are degrees of degradation. He is not actually banished from society; he is only reduced to a lower rank, and instead of being allowed to associate with gentlemen upon equal terms, he is kept at what is satirically called a civil distance.

It was to be anticipated that the disclosures made in the case of Lord de Ros, would be converted into an accusation against the whole aristocracy; and that when one peer of the realm had subjected

himself to such disgraceful imputations, the morality of the noblest persons in the kingdom would be assailed by vulgar and malevolent calumniators. But the English peerage need not be rescued from the conclusions of these crooked logicians, who, in contravention of common sense, judge the whole by a part. The chivalry of the land is unstained, let what may become of the premier baron: nor does the affair prove anything more than that which .every body knew, that the hangers-on upon nobility, its remote connections and dependants, the pretenders who cling to its train, and flutter in its wake, are not the most scrupulous persons in the world; that they preserve their elevation above the common level of the middle orders by taking undue advantage of their position, at the expense of the parvenus they condescend to patronize; and that their shifts to maintain appearances too frequently plunge them into devices that are not very creditable to their reputation. But how is the peerage of England damaged by these licentious scions of its name? Look throughout the whole of Europe, and where shall you find a class of gentlemen so high-minded, so pure, so impressed with the responsibility of high station, exhibiting such a front of dignity, and exercising so refining an influence over society? Not certainly in the profligate coteries of France, whose ancient noblesse is nearly extinct; not amongst the half-caste aristocracy of Germany; the pompous, but starveling and degraded grandees of Spain; or the skeleton counts of Italy.

But it would be a sorry waste of time to vindicate our nobility from such paltry and shadowy insinuations. We here have to do with legerdemain, which is a much livelier and pleasanter topic.

Let no one look wisely at this sentence, and predicate a cunning defence of sleight of hand. We might, with a desirable show of gravity, imitate the speciousness of Joseph Surface, and beginning with a "The man who-" run on into an axiom, cut and dried, against all tricks upon cards as well as upon travellers. But we despise affectation. Tricks upon cards-provided they really be tricks upon cards, and not upon purses are recreations which a much greater number of people would be glad to enjoy, but that they have not sufficient dexterity to practise them. A supple hand, flexible fingers, a quick eye, self-posses

sion, steady nerves, confidence in success, and a ready eloquence in small words, are essential to the performance of these little miracles of expertness. What wonders we have seen in this way! and how wonder grew upon itself with each new deception, which at last almost justified the suspicion that it was not all mere manual ingenuity, but that it was the result of a confederacy with that nameless potentate, who, from the beginning of time, has contrived to busy himself in the most trifling, as well as the most solemn, concerns of this trusting world! Name your chosen card; let there be no previous concert of any kind; let the card selected be buried in the centre of the pack-and hey, presto! at the touch of the enchanting word it flies out, and with the tenactiy of the gum-footed spider, behold it overhead clinging to the ceiling! Or, choose a card, replace it yourself where you please, shuffle to your heart's content, (and even then you shall be out-shuffled by the trickster), and, perhaps, in the next moment, you shall find the self-same card deposited in the close folds of your fan, your reticule, or your hair. Again, think of one card in a number that are exhibited before you in the outspread pack; you have not uttered the name of that card even to yourself; how can any body penetrate your thoughts? Be patient for a few seconds; mix the cards as much as you please, and then when you have completely deranged their previous order so as to enhance the difficulty, you are required to take any card you like out of the pack, which is presented to you with the faces downwards. Look at that card; do not be startled, nor turn away with a trembling pulse-it is the identical card you thought of, and which it was clearly impossible any other individual could have known. But this is not all. Take another card, examine it attentively, hold it tightly between those slender, silken fingers-watch every motion of the player, he asks you to breathe upon the card, that aromatic atmosphere has a magical influence-now look at the card again-it is changed-perhaps into the queen of hearts! Suspend your surprise yet a little longer; be resolved to defeat these illusive practices upon your innocence, and watch the next trick still more closely than the last. You select another card; hide it from all eyes but your own, tear it into fragments, drop it into the fire, observe it narrowly until you see it fairly burnt

into ashes. You are then requested to try once more-shocking! it is the same card, revived, like the Phoenix, from its own embers!

It is evident that these tricks depend solely upon the skill of the exhibitor: they are not the results of confederacy, nor, unlike the deceptions with which the ancients used to be entertained, do they owe any portion of their success to the credulity or imagination of the spectators. Mr. Lane, in his recent work upon Egypt, describes the extraordinary power of the travelling jugglers in producing certain appearances in a basin of water; but, unfathomable as the act of these consummate cheats must be admitted to be, it is possible to guess at it by supposing the imagination of a stranger to be so affected by the mysterious preparations and accurate descriptions of the juggler as to fancy a sight that did not really exist. In these tricks on the cards, however, no such illusion can be discovered, for the audience, instead of being thus persuaded out of their senses, exercise all the penetration they can bring to bear upon them, in order to detect the machinery by which they are accomplished. But the more the uninitiated dwell upon them, the more they will be perplexed. Once obtain a clue to any single trick of mere legerdemain, and all the difficulties vanish. Nothing can be more simple; the puzzle is entirely on the surface. You wonder how it is that you draw a particular card out of the pack. You are not aware that the trick-player forces you to draw that card, that he engages your attention at the instant, and actually puts the card into your hand, while you fancy that you are selecting it at your own will and pleasure. It is the adroitness with which he executes this very obvious cheat which deceives you.

But these devices-which require space, and above all, auxiliary helps in the way of conversation to divert the attention, and action to carry off the eyes-are literally impracticable at a card-table. The cleverest of all the jugglers could not cheat at play by pure legerdemain, except to a very limited extent. They may certainly command the turn-up card, and perhaps occasionally succeed in distributing the honours between two hands-but that is all. They cannot influence the game any farther. Of course, by marking the cards they are enabled to ascertain the strength of their VOL. X.-NO. III.-MARCH, 1837.

adversaries' hands, as well as their partner's, and to play accordingly; but in the short time allowed for dealing, and the caution that is exercised in counter-shuffling, it is almost impossible to control, as some people believe, the ultimate destiny of the game.

Sir William Ingleby, in his evidence upon the late trial, stated that he had seen Lord de Ros perform the trick called sauter la coupe-jumping over the cut-at least fifty times, and he afforded no small amusement to the court by his awkward attempts to show how this ingenious sleight was performed. But this, of all tricks, is the most simple and palpable. Poor Sir William, as Mr. Thessiger observed, is plainly no conjuror. In the good days of George III., when the people were much more credulous than they are now, there flourished a scientific gentleman of the name of Ingleby, who used to astonish the lieges by his marvellous exploits in this way. Wherever he appeared, he attracted crowds, such as Mr. Love, the polyphonist, assures the public besiege his entertainments in the city. He was wont to issue bills, printed appropriately in blue and red ink, the colours of the lights that are said to blaze in the condemned world, in which he announced himself as the "Emperor of all the conjurors;" and he had a wife, and Mrs. Ingleby, who, if we recollect rightly, had a faculty for swallowing swords, for receiving dagger-wounds uninjured, in all parts of her body, and for catching bullets in the palm of her hand, was, of course, the Empress of all the conjurors.” How that worthy professor would have blushed at the unskilfulness and ignorance of his namesake-who is evidently not his successor. The Sieur Ingleby would have thought as little of sauter la coupe, or of making the whole pack jump out of the windows, as Sir William would think of cutting into a fresh rubber.

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There are several ways of doing the trick of sauter la coupe: but it appears that the most available is that of getting a sudden cough, and reversing the cut under the table. But that is the resource of clumsy hands. A trick, to be truly performed, ought to be done above board. There is nothing like open cheating, if we are to cheat at all. The easiest method is to replace the cards exactly in the same position as they were when they were delivered over to be cut; but it must be done dexterously, the dealer deceiving the eye by

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appearing to adopt the cut of his antagonist. Another mode is to adopt the cut, taking care to slide the bottom card, which would otherwise be deposited in the middle, to the bottom. This requires considerable experience in sleight of hand, and whistplayers may rest assured that it will seldom be attempted, in consequence of the great risk of detection. A third method is to take the cut, keeping the intended turn-up card, which will thus be placed in the midst, firmly designated by the thumb, and to shift it to the bottom in the course of the dealing, which can be accomplished by an adept without much difficulty. We are not sufficiently learned in legerdemain to know whether there are any other ways of effecting the fraud; but we recommend every player who, illuminated by these hints, may have the misfor

I HAVE the misfortune of being more finely wrought than my neighbours, and of possessing nerves of a more delicate conformation, or, as my maligners will have it, of being a little too prone to take fright at danger. But if they think the organ of cautiveness is too great with me, I can assure them, in requital, that I think they have the bump of combativeness to a most preposterous degree; and whether the said protuberance will lead to glory or a gallows is more than any one can say. Indeed, I never could see the merit of that stupid insensibility to danger which the world is pleased to call courage, and which to my thinking is only another name for ignorance, or deficient sensibility, or both united. And what, after all, is this courage good for, unless to betray the possessor of it into all manner of broils and difficulties, at one time curtailing him of his fair proportion, and leaving him minus some useful member, such as a leg or an arm, while at another it may chance to make him acquainted with the wholesome rigour of the law? Then, too, it is such a vulgar, common qualification: we have thousands, and tens of thousands of stupid dogs in the army and navy, who, knowing the exact value of

their own skulls, would at any time wager them against ball or bullet for the consideration of eighteen-pence a day. I can't say, however, that I much blame them for it; as, if they should happen to lose their lives they lose no such weighty matter. But it is far otherwise with men, like myself, of sense and reflection; when I consider how much trouble and expense it has cost to make me what I am, I can by no means reconcile myself to the idea of exposing the valuable result to any thing like the chance of damage.

Such being my sentiments, it will perhaps be a matter of surprise to you that I should trust myself to the countless hazards of a continental town, in which, not to speak of the chance of my being shipwrecked between Dover and Calais, I should also be liable to the daggers of banditti, and the fear of breaking my neck in crossing the Pyrenees. All these perils I had duly weighed, but then they were distant, and by no means certain; others had escaped them and so might I, but who ever escaped in a duel with Sir Phelim O'Connor? He had already killed his dozen, and, as he was pleased to inform me, with the air of one who was telling an exceedingly good joke,