Part 3

A theoretical amateur, with much real genius for the game, is often beaten by a fourth-rate player at a chess club, who has become from constant practice thoroughly acquainted with all the technicalities of it, and quietly builds up a wall for the other to run his head against. The loser in this case may _perhaps_ eventually become the better player of the two; but he is not so at present.

XXIV.

A person sometimes tells you that he played the other day, for the first time, with Mr. Such-a-one, (a very celebrated player,) who won the game, with great difficulty, after a very hard fight. Your friend probably deceives himself greatly in supposing this to be the case. A player who has a reputation to lose, always plays very cautiously against a person whose strength he does not yet know: he runs no risks, and does not attempt to do more than win the game, which is all that he undertook to do.

XXV.

When you receive the odds of a piece from a better player than yourself, remember he sees everything which you see, and probably much more. Be very careful how you attack him. You must act in the early part of the game entirely on the defensive, or probably you will not live long enough to enjoy the advantage which has been given you. Even though you may still have the advantage of a piece more, when the game is far advanced, you must not feel too sure of victory. Take all his pawns quietly, _if you can_, and see your way clearly before you attempt to check-mate him. You will thus perhaps be longer about it, but winning is very agreeable work.

XXVI.

Many persons advise you, when you receive the odds of a rook, _always_ to make exchanges as often as you can, in order to maintain the numerical superiority with which you began. This is very cunning; but you will probably find that "_Master is Yorkshire too_," and that he will not allow you to make exchanges early in the game, except under circumstances which lead you into a ruinous inferiority of position.

XXVII.

You will never improve by playing only with players of your own strength. In order to play well, you must toil through the humiliating task of being frequently beaten by those who can give you odds. These odds, when you have fairly mastered them, may be gradually diminished as your strength increases. Do not, however, deceive yourself by imagining, that if you cannot win from one of the _great players_ when he gives you the odds of a rook, you would stand a better chance with the odds of a knight. This is a very common error. It is true that, when a knight is given, the attack made upon you is not so sudden and so violent, as it usually is when you receive a rook--but your ultimate defeat is much more certain. If, in the one case, you are quickly killed, in the other you will die in lingering torments.

XXVIII.

When you hear of a man from the country, who has beaten every body whom he has ever played with, do not suppose, as a matter of course, that he is a truly good player. He may be only a "Triton of the Minnows." All his fame depends upon the skill of the parties with whom he has hitherto contended; and provincial Philidors seldom prove to be very good players, when their strength is fairly measured at the London Chess Club, particularly such of them as come there with the reputation of having never been beaten.

XXIX.

An elderly gentleman, lately returned from India, is apt to suppose that his skill has been much impaired by the change of climate, or some other cause, when he finds, to his great surprise, that his style of play does not produce such an alarming effect in the Chess Clubs of London or Paris, as it used to do at Rumbarabad.

XXX.

When you can decidedly win, at the odds of a rook given by a first-rate player, you will rank among the chosen few. It would be very difficult to name twenty-five persons in London to whom Mr. Lewis could not fairly give these odds, although there are many hundreds who would be much offended at its being supposed to be possible that any one could give them a knight.

XXXI.

A first-rate player, who is to give large odds to a stranger, derives great advantage from seeing him first play a game, or two, with other persons. His style of play is thus shown, and the class of risks which may be ventured on is nicely calculated. That which, before, might have been difficult, thus becomes comparatively easy.

XXXII.

There is as much difference between playing a game well, by correspondence, and playing one well over the board, as there is between writing a good essay, and making a good speech.

XXXIII.

No advantages of person and voice will enable a man to become a good orator if he does not understand the grammatical construction of the language in which he speaks: nor will the highest degree of ingenuity make any man a good chess player, unless his preparations for the exercise of that ingenuity are made upon the soundest principles of the game.

XXXIV.

Every game perfectly played throughout on both sides would be by its nature drawn. Since, then, in matches between the most celebrated players and clubs of the day some of the games have been won and lost, it seems to follow that there _might_ be better players than have been hitherto known to exist.

XXXV.

Most of the persons who occasionally "play at Chess" know little more than the moves and a few of the general rules of the game. Of those who have had more practice, some have acquired a partial insight into the endless variety of the combinations which may be formed, and their beautiful intricacy:--a few play moderately well; but, however small the number of good players may be, it would be difficult to find any one who, after having played a few hundred games, would not think it an imputation on his good sense to be considered a very bad player;--and this is the universal feeling, although it is well known that men of the highest attainments have studied Chess without great success; and that the most celebrated players have not always been men of distinguished talents.

XXXVI.

He who after much practice with fine players remains for a long time without taking his station amongst them, will find at last that there is a point which he cannot pass. He is obliged to confess his incurable inferiority to players of the higher order, and he must be content with easy victories over a large majority of those whom he meets with in society.

CONCLUSION.

Chess holds forth to the philosopher relaxation from his severer studies,--to the disappointed man, relief from unavailing regret,--and to the rich and idle, an inexhaustible source of amusement and occupation. It has, however, been frequently urged as an objection to the study of the game, that no man can pursue it, with a fair prospect of becoming a good player, without devoting to it much time and attention which might be more beneficially employed.

Although it may perhaps be true in the abstract, that even a high degree of skill is not _per se_ worth the time and trouble which it must have cost, it should be remembered that on this "mimic stage" of life much besides chess may be seen and studied with advantage. The real character of a man's mind may, almost always, be known by his behaviour under the varying circumstances of this most interesting game. The triumph of the winner, and the vexation of the loser, are often coarsely displayed amongst inferior players; and, although good players very rarely give way to this degrading weakness, still, the good breeding of some of them, towards the end of a difficult match, is not always quite perfect.

The temper of the student cannot fail to derive very material benefit from the severe discipline to which it will be subjected. When he begins to play well he will find that he has learnt to submit patiently to contradiction; and that he has become convinced of the necessity of abandoning his most favourite schemes, whenever he sees that from a change of circumstances they can be no longer pursued with safety.--He will have felt the full value of using caution and circumspection, when called upon to exercise his judgment in cases of complicated difficulty, and he will have acquired the faculty of fixing his undivided attention on the business in which he is engaged.

If such qualities of the mind are called forth and strengthened in the pursuit of a harmless and delightful recreation, the time cannot have been wholly wasted, although the professed object of study may have been only the art of giving CHECK-MATE.

R. P.

_Whitehall, March, 1839._

FOOTNOTE:

[F] _Infandum Regina jubes renovare dolorem._

MAXIMS AND HINTS

ON

SHOOTING

AND

OTHER MATTERS.

MAXIMS AND HINTS

ON

SHOOTING,

_&c. &c._

I.

LET the person to whose care a young dog is intrusted for education be furnished with an instrument like a short trumpet, which produces a few harsh and discordant notes; and whenever it may be necessary to correct the dog, in order to enforce obedience, let such correction be accompanied by the noise of this instrument rather than by "the thundering voice and threatening mien" usually employed on such occasions. When the dog's education has been properly completed under this system, although you may be comparatively a stranger to him on first taking him into the field, you will find that by carrying with you a duplicate of the _un_musical instrument you will have his master's voice in your pocket, and you will be able at once to make a very commanding impression upon him, by sounding a few of the harsh and discordant tones which he has been taught to fear and obey.

II.

You must not insist upon its being admitted without dispute, that the man who made _your_ gun is the best maker in London. This town is a very large place, and it contains a great many gunmakers. You must also remember that it "stands within the prospect of belief" that there may be other persons who think themselves as competent to select a good gun, and to shoot well with it afterwards as you are.

III.

In like manner, although you may prefer using one kind of wadding to another, or may perhaps like to wear shoes and gaiters rather than trousers and laced boots, you must not suppose that every man who takes the liberty of forming a different opinion from yours on these subjects is a mere bungler.

IV.

However steady your pointer may be, remember that he is but a dog. If you encourage him to run after one hare because it has been wounded by yourself, you must not be angry with him for chasing another which may be shot at by your friend. Canine flesh and blood cannot bear this.

V.

Although you may be a very agreeable gentleman, generally speaking, you will choose an unlucky moment for making yourself particularly so, if you should on some fine morning after breakfast volunteer to accompany two of your friends who are preparing to leave the house for a day's partridge-shooting without any expectation of being joined by a third person.

VI.

When you are obliged to walk on the left-hand side of a man who carries the muzzle of his gun too low, do not be so very polite as to take no notice of this dangerous habit. He will, perhaps, appear quite offended when you venture to question your perfect safety. But be that as it may, your position was so awfully unpleasant whilst you were constantly stared at by the eyes of a double-barrelled gun that your friend's looking rather cross at you is a matter of much less consequence.

VII.

When a long search amongst high turnips has been made, at your particular request, for a bird which you erroneously suppose that you have brought down, and which (naturally enough under such circumstances) cannot be found, you must not say that your friend's retriever has a very bad nose, or fancy that "poor old Trigger, if he had been still alive, could have easily found the bird."

VIII.

Should a farmer's boy come running to you with a partridge which he has lately picked up after seeing it fall in the next field, your companion in arms will perhaps assure you that this bird can be no other than that which _he_ shot at, as you may remember, immediately after you had both of you passed through the last hedge, and which he afterwards saw flying very low, and very badly wounded, exactly in the direction which the boy has come from. An _enfant trouve_ like this seldom waits long for a father to adopt it.

IX.

Sometimes towards the end of a fatiguing day, when you feel like an overloaded gun-brig, labouring against a heavy sea of turnips, you may perchance espy a large covey of partridges in the act of settling near a hedge a long way before you. Supposing in such case that your brother sportsman should be a much younger man than yourself, and yet should not have also seen these birds, it is not always quite prudent that you should announce the fact to him immediately. If you wish to have a shot at them, you would, perhaps, do well to say nothing about them till your weary limbs have borne you unhurried a little nearer to the hedge in question. The good old rule of _seniores priores_ is sometimes reversed in a large turnip-field.

X.

In the case of a double shot a gamekeeper never hesitates an instant in deciding whether the bird was killed by his master's gun or by another person's, fired at the same moment.

XI.

When you are making your way through a thick wood with too large a party, it is better that you should be scolded by some of your friends because you trouble them with very frequent notice of your individual locality, than that you should be shot by any of them because you do not.

XII.

On the day of a great battue, if one of the party (not you) should shoot much better than the others, and if this should by chance be talked of after dinner (as such matters sometimes are), do not say much about the very large number of hares and pheasants killed by you--on some other occasion.

XIII.

When you are shooting in a wood, if some hungry fox, in pursuit of his prey, should chance to cross your path, it depends entirely upon the "custom of the country" whether you ought to kill him or not. Bob Short says, in his Rules for Whist, "When in doubt, win the trick."

XIV.

Never ask beforehand whether or not you are to shoot hares in the cover into which you are going, but never shoot one after you have been told not to do so.

XV.

A singular species of optical delusion often takes place in the case of a man shooting at a woodcock in a thick cover. According to the impression said to be made upon the shooter's eye, the bird appears to fall dead more frequently than he can afterwards be found--so that the truth of this appearance must never be relied on when the evidence of the bird himself cannot be brought forward to support it.

XVI.

On a grand occasion you need not always trouble yourself to keep an account of the number of head killed by you, particularly if you do not dine with the party on that day; because, in your absence, the total number brought home may perhaps be accounted for after dinner, without any reference being made to the amount of your[G] performances.

XVII.

When you sit down (_horresco referens_) in a dentist's chair,[H] in order to have your teeth cleaned, and point out to him, with fear and trembling, one of them which you think must be drawn;--if he should tell you that the tooth can be easily stopped, and may still be of much service to you, do not immediately thereupon feel quite bold and very comfortable. After a moment's further inspection he may, perhaps, add very quietly, in a kind of whispering soliloquy, "Here are two others which must be removed."

XVIII.

If you should stop, with a tired horse, at the door of the "King's Head" anywhere, and should say to the bowing landlord thereof, that, unless you can find some other means of pursuing your journey, you shall be obliged to have a chaise immediately, you must not expect to be told by him that a very good coach, which is going your way, will change horses at the "Red Lion," nearly opposite, in less than ten minutes. Should this be the real state of the case, he will feel that he has no time to lose; and therefore, instantly seizing the handle of the hostler's bell, and ringing a louder peal than usual, he will at once show you into a back parlour, for fear that you should see the coach before a chaise can be got ready for you.

XIX.

Should it have been your fate to travel often, _more majorum_, on the box of a stage-coach, more than one coachman has probably told you a story, two miles long, about some mare so vicious and unmanageable that she had been rejected by every other coachman on the road, and that nobody but himself had ever been able to drive her, saying at the same time, "She is now, as you see, Sir, as quiet as a lamb." You must not believe all this, although it may perhaps be very true that the mare kicks sometimes, and that the man is not a bad coachman.

XX.

Although our friend the coachman is supposed to have been so very communicative to you on the last occasion, he may not perhaps be equally so on all others: for instance, if, when the roads are very bad, and the coach is heavily laden, he should, near the end of a difficult stage, pull up at some turnpike, and enter into a long talk apparently about a bad shilling or a lost parcel, he is very likely not to explain to you and the other passengers that his real reason for thus stopping is because his horses are so much distressed that they would otherwise be scarcely able to reach the end of their ground. The conference at the gate is held in order to facilitate the ratification of the treaty for fresh horses to be exchanged in the next town.

XXI.

On arriving at the place where "the coach dines," walk to the nearest baker's shop, and there satisfy your hunger in a wholesome manner. At the dinner which is prepared for the passengers it frequently happens that if there should have been any cock-fighting in the town lately,[I] the winner and the loser of the last battle appear at the top of the table as a couple of boiled fowls; and whenever there is a roast goose at the bottom, it is probably some old gander, who, after having lived for many years in the parish, is at last become so poor that he is obliged to be "taken into the house."

XXII.

If you have children, who are clever, do not question them too closely in company. Supposing, for example, that at the close of a social meal in the country, you should be sitting at table with your guests, on the eve of their departure from your hospitable roof: if, under these circumstances, some nice little fellow, who has lately rushed into the room, and is now busily employed with a bunch of grapes, should be called upon by you to join in the general expression of regret that your friends are to leave you to-morrow, he may perhaps say, "Yes, papa, we shall have no grapes after dinner to-morrow."

XXIII.

If you are thought to excel in any particular game or sport, do not too often lead to it as a subject of conversation: your superiority, if real, will be duly felt by all your acquaintance, and acknowledged by some of them; and you may be sure that "a word" in your favour from another person will add more to your reputation than "a whole history" from yourself.

XXIV.

On seeing a new invention for the first time, do not instantly suggest a material alteration of it, as if you felt quite sure that this sudden thought of yours must be a very clever one. It may be reasonably supposed that the inventor did not hastily build up his work in its present form; and it would, therefore, be very unkind that you should bring the whole broadside of your intellectual guns to bear upon it in a moment. Besides, after all, it is just possible that the thing may be better as it is--without your improvement.

XXV.

The great merit of an important discovery frequently consists in the first application of some well-known principle of action to a class of objects to which it had not before been applied. When such discovery has been brought before the public in one instance, the application of the same principle to other nearly similar objects requires a much lower degree of inventive talent. A sub-inventor of this sort often views the result of his labour with all the pride of a mother, when he is only entitled to the praise due to an accoucheur.

XXVI.

When your friends congratulate you on your recovery from the effects of a serious accident, it is very proper that you should thank them sincerely for their kindness in so doing: but it is by no means necessary that you should give a very detailed description of all your sufferings, and of every symptom attending the gradual progress of your recovery; nor need you explain exactly what was at first said by Mr. Drugger, the apothecary, and what was afterwards the opinion of Sir Astley Cooper. You had better not do this; although some persons think that what the nurse occasionally said ought not, in a case like theirs, to be omitted.

XXVII.

On the same principle, if you should have lately been robbed, and should feel disposed to communicate the particulars of this sad affair, you really must not begin your account of it by telling us every thing which you were dreaming about just before you first heard the noise of thieves in your house on the eventful night of the robbery, adding always in conclusion, by way of appendix to your copious narrative, a correct list of the articles stolen. If you do this too often, you must not be surprised if some of your hearers should at last be almost tempted to regret that when you were robbed you were not murdered also.

XXVIII.

If it should be mentioned in conversation that a celebrated mare, belonging to Mr. Swindle, of Newmarket, has lately trotted sixteen miles within the hour, in harness, do not think it necessary to recount the wonderful performances of a famous gig-horse which you once had.

XXIX.

After having lost several games at billiards, when you are playing at a gentleman's house, it is not polite that you should attribute your failure to the inaccuracies of the table. These sundry defects of level are less likely to be complained of by the winner than by you; and he, therefore, stands less in need of this caution than you do.

XXX.

When the lord of the manor is showing the beauties of his house and grounds to you, and points out a very fine row of trees for your particular admiration, make no allusion to the magnificence of the avenue at Wimpole; and if he should afterwards show to you one of his pictures, which he values highly as the work of some celebrated master, remember that, although you may have been told privately, by a good authority, that the picture is not really what your friend supposes it to be, you are not called upon to display your borrowed knowledge as your own, and to make yourself odious by endeavouring to convince him that he has been deceived in the purchase.

XXXI.

Do not bestow extravagant praise upon every article lately bought by you, as if you considered that it had acquired increased value from having fallen into the hands of so distinguished a purchaser. Other persons will estimate the worth of it rather by its own merits than by yours.

XXXII.

It is quite unnecessary that you should always, in order to show the extent of your reading, claim a previous acquaintance with every expression which may be referred to in conversation as having been used by some celebrated author in one of his works. It is much easier for another person to quote lines which never were written than it would be for you to find them.[J]

XXXIII.