family, these four great branches of the
Hearts, Spades, Diamonds, and Clubs, Diana, fresh from the bath, never
looked so enticing to the eager eyes of a losing player as their
Brobdignagian dames, nor Apollo himself so beautiful as the ugly mugs of
their lumbering kings. The Baroness Bernstein would bend her old back
over the table to greet their wall-eyed monarchs, and forget young Harry
was by; and little Nell's grandfather would bow beneath the midnight
candle to caress those greasy Gorgons, while she, sweet little girl, was
waiting his return in loneliness. All the other crowned heads of
Christendom are titled nobodies beside these mighty potentates. The
General of the Jesuits wields, they say, wonderful power; but his
sceptre is a bulrush beside the truncheon which these kings of the earth
hold in their grasp. And here, yes, here in Republican America, the
thousands who scout Napoleon, frown on Victoria, and pity the Pope, do
nightly homage to this mighty dynasty, and find grace and loveliness in
their bottle noses and crooked legs. And--must I confess it, Madam?--do
not I, democratic Asmodeus, when I play my quiet rubber at so much a
corner, look chopfallen at the deuces and treys which I despondently
arrange in numerical order, and welcome, with beating heart, those same
crowned heads, as they lift themselves before me? Oh, it is not
gambling, Madam. Only something to make it interesting, so that the
Major and I shall keep our minds on the game.

And do we not all play our little game in the world,--sometimes with all
that makes it bright to us at stake? What is the paltry sum beside me to
that which we all of us hold in our hands, to be decided by the deal of
Fortune? You don't play whist. And yet, Madam, I have seen you at a game
of chance, in which you have risked your peace, your happiness, your
future, upon what another should deal out to you. You don't understand
me? In the great game of life, Frank offered you his hand, and you took
it. I hope it held court-cards. We are all players. The lean and
sanctified bigot, who looks in holy horror on this printed pasteboard,
as though it were the legitimate offspring of the Devil and Dr. Faustus,
plays his own pious game at winning souls, and risks--charity. The
griping money-catcher, who shudders at the thought of losing gold in
spendthrift play, takes his own close and cunning game at winning
wealth, and risks--esteem. The ambitious aspirant, who scorns such empt