It takes Beaumont a very long time to arrange his cards, which he does in a unique way, being goaded on by Mr. Moulton's impatient "Well!" He picks out all the cards of one suit and he lays them downward on the table in a pile; then he gathers them up and puts them between the third and fourth fingers of his left hand. With the next suit he does likewise, placing them between the second and third fingers, and so on, until the grand _finale,_ when the fingers loosen and the cards amalgamate. During this process his cards fall every few minutes on the floor, occasioning much delay, as they have all to be arranged again. It is my deal; I turn up a heart. The Countess is on my left. We wait with impatience for her to play, but she seems only to be contemplating her cards. "Well!" says Mr. Moulton, impatiently. We all say in unison, "Your play, Countess!" The Countess: "Oh, what dreadful cards! I can never play. Oh," with a sigh, "how dreadful!" We are all very sorry for her. She has evidently wretched cards. Long pause. "Your turn, Countess!" we all cry. "What are trumps?" she asks. We show her the trump card on the table and say together, "Hearts." Another long pause. She arranges her cards deliberately and then shuts them up like a fan. "Your play, partner," says Mr. Moulton, tired out with waiting. With a dismal wail, and looking about for sympathy, she plays the ace of clubs. Mr. Moulton gathers up the trick. She has no idea that she has taken anything, but is quietly adjusting her cards again. "Your turn, Countess!" "What, my turn again?" She expresses the greatest surprise. She: "What dreadful cards! Indeed, I cannot play." Poor thing! That was probably her only good card, and we expected her next would be the two of spades. But no. She pulls out, with the air of a martyr, the ace of spades. Mr. Moulton: "Well! that's not so bad." Great astonishment on her part. She can't believe that she has actually taken a trick. She had hoped some one else would have played. A long, fidgety silence follows. All: "Your play, Countess!" She plays the queen of hearts. This has no success, as I take it with my king. Mr. Moulton: "Why did you play trumps?" She: "Oh! was that trumps? I must take it back. Pray, let me take it back." We all recover our cards. (My partner takes this occasion to drop some of his on the floor. He picks them up and arranges them again in order.) "Your turn, Countess!" we cry, exhausted. She: "What, again! Why does some one else not play?" Then out comes the ace of diamonds. Some one said, "You have all the aces." She: "Oh! not all; I have not the ace of hearts." Her partner, aghast, begs her not to tell us what her other cards are, and so the game proceeds to the bitter end.