came from the pockets of the tempted, of
the falling; it was stolen, perhaps, or
should have gone to the destitute or helpless;
some of the moisture of a frantic
agitation and despair still clings to it: and
you can stoop to accept from these men the
wretched four sous profit or so on each
pound, and chuckle over and talk of their
courtesy. No. For my little changings I
am content to pay the few sous, and be
under no obligations to this vice partnership.

It is really dramatic, the scene now
going on. Every one is busy. Servants
are under the table, with a lamp, raking up
every scrap of paper—the torn cards, flung
down in disgust and despair—the broken-
down systems, sifting them in the hope,
not often deferred, of coming on the stray
note or dropped louis. Most carefully do
they pry into the emptied rouleau case, for
very often at the bottom lurks the forgotten
piece. But they all watch each other.
Men are busy at the tables gathering up
large handfuls of the pure silver pieces, and
with amazing dexterity are covering the
whole table with squadrons and squares of
them—little heaps of five, and the heaps in
rows of five, and the rows of five in
squares of five. So with the gold—the
sovereigns in rows, the napoleons and
fredericks all in regiments and apart. The
notes are laid out in rows of five also.
Another is busy, not breaking up the
rouleaux, but weighing them one against the
other; and they are regularly laid out in
the same way. The banking cashing
gentlemen, with spectacles on, printed forms
before them, and pen in hand, are ready;
when, all being ready, the senior of the
place suddenly appears, and, taking a rake,
taps every square of silver, and counts
aloud as he goes on; in perhaps a minute
has totted up the whole. Down go the
figures in the forms, and then the hirelings
come with the strong boxes and vast
pocket-books for the notes, and shovel in
all the ill-gotten gains, which are locked
securely with three keys and borne away.
After a good day, the pinched-faced M. B.
goes out smiling and joking with his friend
and brother; and, later on, turning into
the superb billiard-rooms, I see him astride
on a chair watching his friends, full of
merry jests, and smoking a cigar. At
midnight, he will go home to his pretty
villa and placens uxor, who will ask him
how the bank fared to-day, and he will tell
her gleefully what the winnings were. Of
course he has a hundred or so of shares,
and gets his seventy and eighty per cent.
Think of that; think of all the villanies
by which money is swindled from one
man's pocket into another! The racing
and betting man gets it from those who
are as bad as he is, and who can afford it
as well; even the housebreaker chooses the
rich man's house for his swag; even the
bandit will let the poor man free; but
these wretches fatten on what produces the
widows' tears and fathers' and husbands'
curses. But I lose patience when I dwell
on this, which, too, I cannot cure. If I
was a zealous missionary at home, eager for
"my Master's work," as they call it, I
would not go out to the blacks, I would
come here; I would stand at the door of
this place; I would preach in the street, in
front of this red sandstone palace—charnel
house of infamy—and warn, dissuade, and
exhort, passionately, with my whole heart
and soul. There would be real saving of
souls. Their gendarmes and police—I
should have no fear of them. That good
bluff king looks on them with no favour,
arid gives them a respite grudgingly.
Utopian, some will say, of course, and
smile. Nothing of the kind. But they
would not have the courage. I solemnly
declare, if I were in that profession, it is
the thing I would do. One soul saved
from that den, stopped at the threshold,
would be worth all the blacks who ever
simulated Christianity for a musket or two
strings of glass beads. There are men in
England—honest, zealous, ardent ministers
—who would gladly seize on this idea: I
want no copyright in it.

Now ready,
THE COMPLETE SET
OF
TWENTY VOLUMES,

With GENERAL INDEX to the entire work from its
commencement in April, 1859. Each volume, with
its own Index, can also be bought separately as
heretofore.

Now ready, ALL THE CHRISTMAS STORIES,
bound together price 5s.; or, separately, price 4d. each.

The Right of Translating Articles from ALL THE YEAR ROUND is reserved by the Authors.