whisky. The divine looked on awhile, and then
politely invited the gentlemen present to attend
church next day and hear him preach. This
they agreed to do, and Sunday found them,
judge and lawyers, seated in the "amen
corner." The sermon over, the minister
announced: "Friends, the citizens of this town
have built a fine church. There is still fifteen
hundred dollars due. We propose to raise the
money by subscription to-day, and" (eyeing the
judge) "I go one hundred" (imitating the style
of the gamblers of last night). The judge, glancing
at the lawyers, slowly responded, "I see your
hundred." "Thank you, brother," said the
divine, "will any one raise it?" looking at the
same time at attorney number one. The lawyer
saw he was in for it, and quietly replied, "I go
a hundred blind," and so on through the list.
The divine raked down both the bar and their
money, until the scene closed by a sharp, shrill
voice announcing, "I see the last hundred, and
call you." The astonishment of the congregation
can be imagined. I venture, however, to
think that these lawyers will not soon invite the
divine to witness another social game of eucre,
when men "see" each other, "go it blind,"
and "call" the hand.

I can vouch myself for the exact truth of
that story; the next I tell from hearsay, and
don't answer for, but as I have seen something
very like it, I believe it may be true.

At a Far-Western court, the case of Smith v.
Jones was called up.

"Who's for the plaintiff?" inquired the
judge, impatiently.

"May it please the court," said a rising
member of the legal fraternity, "Pilkins is for
the plaintiff, but I left him just now over in the
tavern playing a game of poker. He's got a
sucker there, and he is sure to skin him, right
smart, if he has only time. He's got everything
all set to ring a 'cold deck,' in which case he'll
deal for himself four aces and his opponent four
queens, so that your honour will perceive that
he must 'rake the persimmons.'" *

* A Southern fruit, but here of course applied to
money. An expressive Western phrase is, "the
longest pole (poll) will knock down the persimmons"
—i.e. the longest head will win.

"Dear me!" said the judge, with a sigh;
"that's too bad! It happens at a very
unfortunate time! I am very anxious to get on
with this case."

A brown study followed, and at length a
happy idea struck the judge:

"Bill," said he, addressing the friend of the
absent Pilkins who had just spoken, "you
understand poker about as well as Pilkins.
Suppose you go over and play his hand!"

And Bill did it.

We have another phase of the gambling spirit
in the extraordinary bets which are now and
again recorded in the papers. An old Jew
miser in San Francisco, being irritated on one
occasion by jests at his love of money, proposed
that the man who was baiting him should go
with him in a boat into the middle of the bay,
where, for every twenty-dollar gold piece the
Jew should toss overboard, the other should
toss over five dollars, and let them see who
would be first to cry "Hold." Both being
excessively purse proud, the bet was accepted,
and the scene was witnessed by hundreds. The
Jew's opponent was the first to save his dollars.

The "Gridley sack of flour," which became
glorious about the time of the American Sanitary
Commission for the benefit of the wounded
soldiers in the army, was the effect of a bet, and
the story of its sale and re-sale is thoroughly
illustrative of this wild extravagance. There
were two candidates for the mayoralty of the
village of Austin, in Nevada—a "city" in the
wildest part of the desert, and not then two
years old, but with five thousand inhabitants.
Each candidate had agreed, if defeated, to carry
a sack of flour on his back from Austin to a
neighbouring village in broad day. Accordingly,
when Mr. R. G. Gridley lost his election,
he prepared to fulfil his engagement. Headed
by a band of music in a waggon, leading his
little boy, clad in the national uniform, by the
hand, and with the sack of flour on his back,
followed by a mongrel procession of miners and
citizens, Mr. Gridley took up his foot journey
to the appointed place. Arrived there, the
thought struck him that the gay spirits and
patriotic feelings of the crowd, which grew as he
travelled, might be turned to humane account.
He instantly proposed now to sell the sack of
flour, for the benefit of the sick and wounded in
the army, to the highest bidder. The humour
took. The sack was sold and sold again, netting
five thousand dollars. The amount realised fired
the ingenious Gridley with a resolve to make
the most of his lucky idea. Accordingly he
started for a journey of three hundred miles to
Virginia city, with the sack of flour in company.
Arriving on a Sunday, and finding a Sanitary
Commission meeting going on in the theatre,
he proceeded to the place, got admitted to the
stage, and there, telling his story to the audience,
sold the sack to the audience for five hundred
and eighty dollars. The next morning, having
procured a band of music, he proceeded to
make a tour of the neighbouring towns, Gold
Hill, Silver City, and Dayton, selling the sack
wherever he could find bidders, and adding the
price labelled on the face of this more than
Fortunatus purse. At Gold Hill the sack sold
for five thousand eight hundred and twenty-two
dollars fifty cents; at Silver City, for eight
hundred and thirty dollars; at Dayton, for
eight hundred and seventy-three dollars. Finally,
returning to Virginia city again, the sack, putting
forward all its attractions, won a prodigious
subscription of twelve thousand and twenty-five
dollars. Mr. Gridley, pursuing his successful
way, arrived at Sacramento just as a "Sanitary
Commission pic-nic" was in progress. In the
midst of the festivities he marched into the
crowd, a band of music leading the way, a
stalwart negro walking by his side carrying the
sack, and an extempore procession following