Of———Street, London, and one hundred
and fifty thousand pounds a year to keep
it up. I see a distingué gentlemanly man,
with the true air of high breeding about his
hands, &c., and he proves to be an
impostor who was turned out of the Arlington
for cheating at whist. With all I have
learnt, and all I have seen, I own myself
at times quite at fault. The women are
shabby, second-hand things; creatures of
whom we heard such strange stories ten
years ago, reappear here with stories
stranger still. There is Captain Darling,
whom every one knew as the possessor of
a good estate in Scotland, a "club man," a
"racing man," and for a time member of
parliament and director of companies. He
is now reduced to these places, and makes a
few florins "out of the tables." Over on that
sofa I see what has amused me and many
more, going on. That little piquant widow,
Mrs. Dyaper, rosy and dark eyed, and
about whom "there were such stories,"
two years ago. She has come out as the
domestic, almost bereaved, lady, doing
worsted knitting on a chair in a corner,
but not alone; for to the delight of friends
and lookers-on, she has entangled a grave,
even mouldy, doctor of fifty, in large practice
in London, one of those elderly dry
"professional" men, who are about as
fitted for going into love as for going on
the stage. This is really a dismal business
to watch, especially the stages in beautifying
himself—- one day a pair of canary kid
gloves, brighter linen, and brighter boots. It
will all end in wreck. It is likely he has
sisters at home to whom he will return,
altered, savage, perhaps, and bent in carrying
out his scheme.

And yet as I looked on at this infatuation
and its victim, one thing occurred to
me, that the gambler's dulness and want
of instinct was on a par with their
infatuation. They seemed to go to work in
the wildest and most spasmodic manner.
A few minutes' superficial study of the
game, showed me at once that it must be
subject to certain rude laws, not of course
to be brought under control, or calculation,
but certainly valuable as a sort of
rough guide.

Again I go in, for a short study. It is
curious to see how often zero begins to
come up. The ordinary doctrine of chances
would be that the colours should come up
alternately, and I do observe that they
virtually observe that law, that is, come up
in short batches. Of course, I could see
there were what were called runs, which
set in suddenly and defied all management
or calculation; but this was abnormal
and unnatural, and must be passed
by. Again for half an hour I tested
this little system, putting down, in
imagination, on the colour I had worked out,
and it almost invariably came up, and I
won, in imagination luckily. Here was I,
a mere novice, hitting on something like
the secret of this devil's mystery, and yet
so dull and blinded were the victims that
not one of them could see his way to
success, and by some fiendish provision seemed
tempted to lay his money on precisely what
was certain to lose. What a scene, what a
life! Is there anything anywhere among
the drunkards, spendthrifts, what not, like
this cold, desperate, leisurely progress down
the steep hill of ruin? It is a pass,
along which only one can walk, and down
which the victim is driven slowly backward
until he gets to the edge, when he
must go over. The croupiers are a study in
themselves. There are such varied patterns,
young and old, some middle-aged, one or
two very handsome, most of them stout,
and full about the neck. All, however,
have that wary, questing, roving eye (and
some of them very fine ones) that looks
out of the corners sharply. Some are far
more prompt and skilful than the others;
one or two are absolutely stupid, make
mistakes in counting, &c., and on a crowded
board, are tedious in paying off claims;
others send out the money clumsily and in
a rude indistinct way, the pieces getting
confused with others; some are prompt and
unerring, sending forth the shower with
the nicest aim, taking exactly the right aim,
and pouring them out with precision; one is
a dismal ascetic looking fellow who sings
his "faites le jeu," in the most lugubrious
key, as if it was "Voi ch' intrate," &c., or
"Come and be killed, gentlemen!" Another
has a venomous twinkle in his eye, and
sends the ball spinning with quite a savage
rapidity, as who should say, "Make an end
of this." He proclaims the result with
enjoyment and rakes in the money sharply,
and with a lurch. Even in the tones in
which they proclaim the result, I notice
different favorite keys. Twenty-one seeming
to be announced slowly and sadly,
"Vaint-ay-orne;" on the contrary, "eight"
comes out, short and sharp like the snapping
cap: "Whit!" "Oonze" is a gloomy
song; "Trente-cinq," and "Vin-cat" cheerful
and hilarious. One man likes to check
the state of the board as he sweeps in, and
says to himself, "one florin on manque,"