Huron, a Pawnee, a Choctaw, or a Blackfoot
Indian might flourish his tomahawk when
decorated with his war-paint, and going forth
to meet his enemies. Then, in a voice
terribly like a war-whoop, he cried out,
"Viscount! Viscount Skaramboles! Where is he?
—where is he?—where is he, sir? Know the
Viscount? oh, yes (sarcastically). Where's
his friend, the marquis, eh?" I tried to
explain, mildly, that far from being able to
answer questions, I was myself seeking
information; whereupon with a parting yell
of " Viscount! Marquis! " and '' Seventy-
pounds! " the little man whirled his shears
over his head like a meteor, cut six, and
leaped into the high desk again. A large
ledger upon the top thereof was immediately
afterwards opened by unseen hands; and I
opined (though I may have been wrong)
that somebody was immediately debited
with a new, superfine, Saxony black dress
surtout, with fine silk velvet collar, rich
silk skirt and sleeve-linings, by way of
soothing the exacerbated feelings of the
little man with a bald head. I made my
escape from the shop as soon as I could; for
it was evident that the foreign aristocracy as
a body were distasteful to the man with the
shears, and I was fearful that he might take
me for a baron. It was many months before I
discovered the viscount again. I lighted upon
him at an hotel in that city of hotels—
Southampton, and there I learnt, indirectly—
through a private source, as the American
papers say—what had become of him during
his long absence.

He had found out the Dons, and how fond
they were of gambling; and it is a fact that
the Viscount de Carambolaro had been
travelling backwards and forwards in West
Indian and South American mail-steamers
for the last two years, fleecing the Dons. As
he had to pay something like a hundred
pounds passage-money every voyage, it may
be imagined that his profits were large. He
was a general in the service of Paraguay
now. He looked like one. He was one of
those men who, dressed in uniform, look as
though they had been born field-marshals;
and who very probably, underneath their
stars and embroidery, have the galley slaves'
brand on their shoulders, or the cat o' nine-
tails' scratch on their backs. The Emperor of
Brazil, he said (not to the Dons, though), had
given him the concession of a whole province
full of mines of gold, silver, and diamonds—to
say nothing of the less precious metals, mines
of which existed in profusion. He engaged a
simple draughtsman to plan him out from his
own sketches a map of this metalliferous
region, for the purpose of getting up a
company. The man said to me afterwards, with
uplifted eyes and hands, "Why, that
viscount's neither more nor less than a swindler,
sir. When I took him the map for approval,
he grumbled because there weren't more
diamond mines; and says he, ' Pop down three
more on that river and two more on that,
and a gold mine in the left-hand top corner.'
He's a do, sir." I tried to explain to the
draughtsman that Carambolaro was a great
man; but he persisted in considering him a
do, because he put down diamond mines
where no diamond mines existed.

The viscount, however, great as he was,
did not invent the system of fleecing the
Dons by travelling backwards and forwards
in mail-steamers. The honour of the invention
appertains, I believe, to the famous
Mr. William Cauty, a play-man of long
standing and first-rate abilities. A series of
misconceptions, however, relative to a cash-
box and the Westminster Bank, together
with an erroneous view taken of Mr. Cauty's
conduct by a jury of his countrymen, and
the palpable misdirection of a learned judge,
changed the venue of his nautical experiences
from the Spanish Main to the Southern
Pacific Ocean. In sober truth and sad earnest,
he was transported for life. Play, like science,
has had its martyrs.

These are some of the aspects of gambling.
If I be asked, how many more there be, I
require to be informed how many changes
of pattern can be counted in a kaleidoscope;
and, when I receive a reply, I will answer the
question.

NOTHING LIKE RUSSIA-LEATHER

WE will again call on M. Tourghenief * to
illustrate the social condition of Russia.

"Monsieur," said Ermolaï the huntsman,
one day, " let us go and shoot at Lgof. We
shall kill wild ducks by hundreds and
thousands." I assented to the proposition, and we
started together.

Lgof is a large village situated far away
from all communication, and possessing a
very ancient stone church with a single
cupola, and two watermills on the muddy
course of the river Rossota. Five versts
(about three miles) from Lgof, the Rossota is
converted into a vast pond, whose surface,
both in the centre and round the edges, is
enlivened by the verdure of thick beds of
rushes. The bays and creeks between those
rushes are tenanted by a population
composed of every species of duck in the world;
mallards, shovellers, pintails, widgeon, teal,
dun-birds and golden-eyes, to say nothing of
gulls, divers, and dabchicks. Little flocks are
constantly rising and flying backwards and
forwards over the surface of the water. If
you fire, there rise such clouds of birds that
the sportsman involuntarily lays his hand
on the crown of his cap, and makes with his
mouth a prolonged " trrrr! " Ermolaï and I
began by skirting the pond. We knew very
well that the wild duck is a bird which, on
the bank, is always on the alert, and never
remains long in one place; and that, even if

* See pages 108 and 227 of the present volume.