sacrificed his all upon the société's altar
and who now lives at free charges, upon
the terms of his showing himself about the
grounds, and rehearsing his little history to
strangers. What pointing of a moral the
company may have in view in such policy it would
not be easy to say. It would seem natural that
the gentleman ought to serve as warning,
or wholesome moral scarecrow for the
unthinking—bidding them take heed lest they
also come to this grief. But the Bank is wise
in its generation, and has abundant
opportunity of studying human character. There
may be a sort of sweet encouragement behind
this show figure—this walking affiche—as if
the société were calling softly to all comers,
Cast down abundantly into our bosoms your
gold and your silver, your Friedrichs d'or,
your soiled thaler notes, your Naps, and
your English guineas. And when lightened
of all, who knows but we may take such
gentle care of you, as we have done of him?
Perhaps some luckless player—now
unpapering his last rouleau—may have such Will
o' the Wisp floating before him—thinking
that if all comes to the worst, he, too, may
be wandering about the grounds, and telling
strangers what the noble société have done
for him.

It is certainly hard to associate the bright
country aspect of such places, lying—like Spa,
for instance—in the midst of green hunting-
grounds and hills thickly wooded—or, like
Homburg, at the foot of a great mountain—
with the heat and glare of the rooms of play,
and the worn, sallow countenances of players,
sick at heart, and wandering chevaliers
d'industrie. Such Babylonian accompaniment is
not in keeping with the fresh, open country
air, and the honest exercise of Le Sport as
provided at Spa. They are more in harmony
with the crush and awful mysteries of great
cities.

Those must have been famous days in the
gay city of Paris, when play was authorised
publicly under the laisser faire Bourbon rule.
Such tolerations, of course, bore fruit in duels,
murders, and crowded morgue—only to be
stayed by the stoical ordinance of the
"Republic, which went forth on the twenty-first
Messidor An. Sept—utterly extinguishing all
such houses of entertainment. But crafty
Fouché, when casting about for means of
perfecting his new police system, revived them
once more. Sagaciously enjoining the formation
of a stranger's club, or circle. The
patent was farmed to one Perriu, who paid no
regular sum; but it was whispered among
exempts and mouchards that fifty Louis d'or
found their way every morning to the Minister's
table. This Stranger's Club, or Cercle
des Etrangers was in the Eue Grand
Batelliere, and was the most fashionable resort of
all. Three noble presidents—all marquises
—watched over its welfare, each drawing for
his services a small pot de vin of two
thousand pounds per annum. Exquisite suppers
were set forth there every night of the week
—and their bal masqués were the choicest
entertainment of the Paris season. Madame
Tallien and other exalted dames were to be
often seen there; and it was even whispered
that the great Napoleon, shrouded closely
in his mask and domino, and leaning on
Duroc's arm, had more than once wandered
through the rooms.

There were six of these licensed tables,
including the celebrated Maison de Livry, better
known as Frascati's, which the stranger
might find at number one hundred and
eighty Rue Richelieu. There was besides a
swarm of such institutions under the arcades
of the Palais Royal—nicely graduated
according to the purses of all comers. These
were found convenient; passing bourgeoisie
and gaping provincials, fresh from the country,
during the last days of Play Régime rushed
to the tables and were ruined together in
happy equality.

Even these licensed houses were scarcely
found sufficient for the wants of the Parisian
world. Certain ambassadors, availing
themselves of their high privileges, threw open
their rooms for the mysteries of Pharaoh—
which game was likewise rumoured to be in
high favour at the Å’il de Boeuf—being
infinitely relished by Queen Antoinette and her
court. Ladies of quality too, whose means
were a little straitened, were gratified with
powers to open a sort of tripot in their salons;
and, after paying the night's expenses, and
suitable bonus to the unseen protector, a
very handsome sum was sure to remain for
madame's profit. The internal economy of
all maisons de jeu was pretty much the
same. In number one hundred and thirteen,
under the Palais-Royal Arcade, a stake so
low as ten sous was permitted. The lowest
gamin therefore, or begrimed charbonuier,
was sorely tempted to try what fortune had
in store for him. But, a few doors further
on, at number one hundred and fifty-four,
only gold might be laid down. At the door
all visitors had to give up their hats, which
curious rule was rigidly enforced in every
house, only a few distinguished strangers
being privileged to take theirs in. Such
slender refreshment as beer and eau sucrée,
were served round gratuitously. But, at
Frascati's, wines and costly refection were to
be had for the asking. The servants, who
were spoken of respectfully as Messieurs de
La Chambre, were important personages in
their own way. They usually lent small
sums on personal property—such as watches,
jewellery, and even wearing apparel; in
first-class houses they accommodated
distressed players with handsome loans, taking
no receipt, and being content with only a
small bonus. It has always been the policy
of such institutions to dazzle with grand and
liberal treatment; after whom walk closely
West End clothiers, so heedless on the score
of small figures, time, and credit.