Recreation for the Higher clergy.

My clergyman friend found life there dull.  The generals and the spinsters left to themselves might have played cards, but they thought of the poor bishops who would have had to look on envious.  The bishops and the spinsters might have sung ballads, but the British general after dinner does not care for ballads, and had mentioned it.  The bishops and the generals might have told each other stories, but could not before the ladies.  My clergyman friend stood the awful solemnity of three evenings, then cautiously felt his way towards revelry.  He started with an intellectual game called “Quotations.”  You write down quotations on a piece of paper, and the players have to add the author’s name.  It roped in four old ladies, and the youngest bishop.  One or two generals tried a round, but not being familiar with quotations voted the game slow.

The next night my friend tried “Consequences.”  “Saucy Miss A. met the gay General B. in”—most unlikely places.  “He said.”  Really it was fortunate that General B. remained too engrossed in the day before yesterday’s Standard to overhear, or Miss A. could never have again faced him.  “And she replied.”  The suppressed giggles excited the curiosity of the non-players.  Most of the bishops and half the generals asked to be allowed to join.  The giggles grew into roars.  Those standing out found that they could not read their papers in comfort.

From “Consequences” the descent was easy.  The tables and chairs were pushed against the walls, the bishops and the spinsters and the generals would sit in a ring upon the floor playing hunt the slipper.  Musical chairs made the two hours between bed and dinner the time of the day they all looked forward to: the steady trot with every nerve alert, the ear listening for the sudden stoppage of the music, the eye seeking with artfulness the likeliest chair, the volcanic silence, the mad scramble.

The generals felt themselves fighting their battles over again, the spinsters blushed and preened themselves, the bishops took interest in proving that even the Church could be prompt of decision and swift of movement.  Before the week was out they were playing Puss-in-the-corner; ladies feeling young again were archly beckoning to stout deans, to whom were returning all the sensations of a curate.  The swiftness with which the gouty generals found they could still hobble surprised even themselves.