Tyrolese carvings, served by the theatrical Tyrolese
man and his family, each about as brown and
rude as their carvings; the sham young Turk,
with his sham Turkish gewgaws made at Lyons,
who sits "au sultan," as other sham Turks sit
in Regent-street and in the Rue de Rivoli—the
old pictures, as raw as if they were done in red
clay; and tiny eye-glasses—the "pincenez"—
without focus, and only to be used as a coquettish
instrument. These are necessary for
gambling life; for, as extravagance wins, so
extravagance must spend.

The lessons learnt at home about "throwing
away money" make the young traveller almost
start, as he sees gold and silver tossed about
here so recklessly across the Board of Green
Cloth. The croupiers seem to him calm and
superior beings, with all the finish of complete
gentlemen, with a dash of courteous chivalry, instead
of mere tradesmen and civil shopkeepers, which
many of them are. The players are all Russian
noblemen and gallant adventurers, with an air
of interest hanging about them, instead of being,
as they are, the "double extract" of vagabond
rascality and cracked character.

Respectable middle class ladies taking their
first glass of spa water on their first travels, become
so dazzled and flattered by the cheap courtesies
of those who sit next them, so elated with
winning a wretched one-and-eightpence for a night
or two in succession, that it is almost amusing
to watch how they are led on into sitting down
formally at the board, and grow into friendly
familiarity with the scrubby foreign scamps
about them. The simple husband looks on with
pride as he notes how admirable are the friendly
relations which foreign travel brings about, and
how stiffly and stupidly we manage things at
home. He, too, in his own department, has
staked his dwindled one-and-eightpence, and in
a fever of agitation has clutched his prize. He
has shown the precious coin to his wife, who
should share in all his triumphs. Their rest
that night is very sweet, for they have been
chuckling over the notion of paying all their
expenses with their winnings.

In a few days, however, all is changed; the
fatal "run" has come, all the mendicant silver
—won with such pains and fluttering of the heart
(enough to bring on confirmed palpitation)—
has drifted away, with much more. There are
anxious looks—sour looks—hostile looks—and
even unpleasant altercation. One had warned
the other, had clearly prophesied—do him that
justice at least—that all this would come to
pass. To which it is replied, what was the
use of that sort of thing now; it was enough
to have lost without being worried. There
is no such test of the true quality of temper
as a trifling reverse at this place, and we can
fancy a scarlet Mephistopheles standing by
with his head decorated with a cock's feather,
chuckling.

To stand by and see the wreck of "a system"
is one of the most dismal spectacles in the
world. The most marvellous thing is that the
ship goes to pieces in a few minutes. There is
a stout English gentleman, for instance, in a
rich brown wig, and a flowing white waistcoat,
who has discovered "a system," and has come to
play it. We may suspect that he has been a
good deal "knocked about," and has rubbed up
against all manner of characters: for he talks
in French and German with a fluency that more
respectable people do not attain. He has his fixed
place on the croupier's right; has a little volume
on gaming, beautifully scored in red and black
lines, and has, besides, a black crop-haired
twinkling-eyed aide-de-camp, whose duty it is to
do hurried arithmetic, and lay down the money.
Before the chief is to be seen a most inviting
and varied pile; two fat rouleaux, three heaps
of golden double Fredericks, and three or four
heaps of heavy double florins. Every morning
he comes, and a gaming menial secures his
place for him, according to the formula, by laying a
bit of silver on a card, and there he sits
from eleven until about two.

The system consists of beginning with a couple
of florins. If he win, the same sum and a little
more is put down on the other colour; if he
lose, double is put down on the first colour.
Generally he loses for, say three or four turns,
but then all would come right again. The
system flourished. People began to talk of
the burly Englishman and his system; and it
was known that he was winning steadily and
surely about forty Napoleons a day. It was
hard and severe work, but it was sure, and he
was content with small gains.

Once or twice came what fast men
pleasantly called "a squeak." Luck seemed to take
pleasure in "dodging" him, and, as often as he
changed his colour, it perversely changed too.
Gradually his arithmetic grew complicated—
the arithmetician aide-de-camp had to do
large sums, and at last reached five hundred
florins, which would be one thousand two
hundred and forty or so the next time. It really
did come to that, and the burly Englishman
gasped a little as he staked. But the right
colour came up, and he was saved.

It went on for a fortnight, when, one morning
I come in just as he has got into one of these
crises. It was eight hundred florins. It was
two thousand. The aide-de-camp is agitated.
The leader is white and red with agitation. He
has to visit a private bank in his breast-pocket,
and takes out rustling notes of a thousand
francs. He loses again. More notes, more
losses. He has to abandon the system in
confusion. The whole thing is over in ten minutes.
The ship goes to pieces—system, numbers,
calculations, aide-de-camp, everything is swept
under, and in a few seconds more is heard the fatal
shriek of the foot of the chair violently pushed
back upon the polished floor. The croupiers,
who have had infinite trouble during the last
fortnight announcing his calculations, grin and
chuckle as he goes; but I see their
superintendent stamp his foot angrily, and "gronder"
them through his teeth! The decencies must
be kept up, and we must respect misfortune.
The poor burly Englishman and his aide are seen