Note 31 — LECTURE VII. —— THE PETER AND ITS PECULIARITIES. ——

People do not seem at all agreed what a convention is. I used to be under the impression myself that it was an assembly of notables—a sort of liberal four hundred, or what is called in America a caucus. It is described by Childe Harold as a dwarfish demon that foiled the knights in Marialva’s dome, while I find in the Fortnightly Review, April, 1879, “Conventions are certain modes of play established by preconcerted arrangement;” by whom established, preconcerted, or arranged is not mentioned; and I am very much afraid that this definition leaves a loop-hole for winking at your partner when you want trumps led—of course “by preconcerted arrangement”—otherwise it would be unfair and (as he might mistake it for a nervous affection of the eyelid) absurd. At Whist you can call anybody or anything whatever you please; I have been told, but I scarcely believe it, that you can call the knave of hearts “Jakovarts.” Poets (also an irritable race) have the same licence, and for general purposes, according to Mr. Squeers, there is no Act of Parliament against your calling a house an island; but when you come to definitions, you must be more particular, or you will land in a hole.