III

Former popularity of dice—The race game in Paris—Description of hazard—Jack Mytton's success at it—Anecdotes—French hazard—Major Baggs, a celebrated gamester of the past—Anecdotes of his career—London gaming-houses—Ways and methods of their proprietors—Ephraim Bond and his henchman Burge—"The Athenæum"—West-End Hells—Crockford's—Opinion of Mr. Crockford regarding play—The Act of 1845—Betting-houses—Nefarious tactics of their owners—Suppression in 1853.

The most popular gambling game of the eighteenth century, at which great sums were lost and won, was "hazard," which emptied the pockets of multitudes in the West End, and proved the ruin of many a country squire fresh to the allurements of town.

Before 1716 itinerant vendors usually carried dice with them, and customers, even children, were encouraged to throw for fruit, nuts, or sweets; and when the floors of the Middle Temple Hall were taken up nearly a hundred sets of dice which had fallen through the chinks in the flooring were found. Dice have been out of fashion for many years in the modern world, though quite recently they have begun to enjoy some slight popularity in France in connection with an elaborated form of the race game which at one time was a favourite amusement in English country houses. Two Clubs, the Racing Plomb Club and the Pur Plomb Club, now exist in Paris, the members of which declare that the movements of little leaden horses over a course, in accordance with the throw of the dice, are more amusing and exciting than roulette or baccarat. The little metal steeds used at this game are named after prominent race-horses on the French Turf. The races, called after events like the Grand Steeplechase and Grand Prix, are begun with three or four dice, continued with two, and end with one, the courses of Auteuil and Longchamps being realistically reproduced on the race-boards. A leaden horse which wins a certain number of races is accorded some advantage over the rest. For instance, a winner, say of stakes amounting to one hundred francs, advances seven points instead of six on the board when its owner throws a six, and so on in proportion, whilst if it has won sixteen hundred points a throw of six advances it eleven points. This racing game, which, however, is played rather for amusement than mere gambling, was revived by M. Fernand Vandéreux, who has brought it into popularity in Parisian literary and artistic circles.

Hazard, which is now practically obsolete, seems to have made an irresistible appeal to the gaming instincts of former generations, and the financial ravages for which it was responsible eventually provoked such scandals that the game was rendered illegal in 1845. It was a somewhat complicated form of gambling, and in these days, when so many easy forms of speculation exist, would in all probability have died a natural death even without the intervention of the law.

The following is an account of the game as played some fifty years ago, when it still enjoyed some popularity amongst racing men.

The players assembled round a circular table, a space being reserved for the "groom-porter" (the term applied to the croupier), who occupied a somewhat elevated position, and whose duty it was to call the odds and see that the game was played according to rule. Two dice were used and the player who took the box placed as much money as he wished to risk in the centre of the table, where it was covered with an equal amount, either by some individual speculator, or by the contributions of several. The player (technically called the "caster") then proceeded to call a "main," that is to say, any number from 5 to 9; of these he would mentally select the one which either chance or superstition might suggest, call it aloud, then shake the box, and deliver the dice. If he threw the exact number he called, he "nicked" it, as the term went, and won; if he threw any other number (with a few exceptions, which will be mentioned), he neither won nor lost. The number, however, which he threw became his "chance," and if he could succeed in repeating it before he threw what was his main, he won; if not, he lost. In other words, having completely failed to throw his main in the first instance, he should have lost, but did not in consequence of the equitable interference of his newly-made acquaintance, which constituted itself his chance. If a player threw two aces (commonly called "crabs") he lost his stake. For example, suppose the caster "set"—that is, placed on the table—a stake of £10, and it was covered by an equal amount, and he then called 7 in as his main and threw 5; the groom-porter would at once call out "5 to 7"—meaning that 5 was the number to win and 7 the number to lose. The player then continued throwing until the event was determined by the turning up of either the main or the chance. Meanwhile, however, a most important feature in the game came into operation—the laying and taking of the odds caused by the relative proportions of the main and the chance. These, as has been said, were calculated with mathematical nicety, never varied, and were proclaimed by the groom-porter. In the instance given, as the caster stood to win with 5 and to lose with 7, the odds were declared to be 3 to 2 against him, inasmuch as there are three ways of throwing 7, and only two of throwing 5. If a player should "throw out" once, the box passed on to the next person on his left, who at once took up the play. He could, however, "throw in" without interruption, and if he was able to do this half a dozen times and back his luck, his gains would amount to a large sum, sixty to one being the odds against it.

The choice of a main was quite optional: many preferred 7 in because they might make a coup at once by throwing that number, or by throwing 11, which is a "nick" to 7, but to 7 only. Many shrewd players, however, preferred some other main, with the view of having a more favourable chance to depend upon of winning both stake and odds. For example, let us reverse the case given above, and suppose the caster called 5 and threw 7; he would then have 7 as his chance to win odds of 3 to 2 in his favour.

Such was the game of English hazard, at which large fortunes were lost. Cheating could only be effected by the use of loaded dice, which were called "dispatches," or by high and low dice having only certain numbers. Sharpers often carried these and also "cramped" boxes to make the dice fall in a particular way. So popular were dice with the gamesters of old that one of them left an injunction in his will that his bones should be made into dice and his skin into coverings for dice-boxes.

The round table on which English hazard was played had a deeply bevelled edge, intended to prevent the dice from landing on the floor, which rendered a throw void. If either of the dice, after having left the box, should strike any object on the table, such as a man's elbow or stick, except money, it was also no throw. Every player had the right of "calling dice," even when the dice were being thrown. This, of course, nullified the throw, another set being handed to the caster by the groom-porter. Many a lucky coup was destroyed by some captious player having exercised this privilege—with most irritating effects to the disappointed caster on finding that he had "nicked" his main. When one of the dice remained in the box after the other had been landed, the caster might either throw it quickly, or gently coax it from the box. If one die landed on the top of another, it was removed by the groom-porter and declared a throw. Dice were known as the "ivories."

At a Westminster election, the keeper of a notorious gambling-house in St. Anne's parish, on being about to give his vote, was asked in the usual way what his trade was; when after a little hesitation, he replied, "I am an ivory turner."

Many curious incidents occurred at hazard. On one occasion when two gamesters had deposited a very large stake to be won by him who threw the lowest throw with the dice, one of them, who had thrown three aces, thought himself secure of success.

"Wait for my throw," cried his opponent.

He threw, and with such dexterity, that by lodging one of the dice on the other, he showed only one ace on the uppermost of them. He was allowed by the company to have won the stakes.

It used to be said that at hazard, men under the influence of wine were invariably more fortunate than those who played with cooler heads or more collected judgments. Of this, perhaps the most remarkable instance ever known was the notorious spendthrift and sportsman Jack Mytton, of whom the Hell-keepers used to say, "there was no use playing against the Squire when he was drunk."

Mytton was indeed rather a formidable figure at the hazard-table, where he was supposed to have won more than he lost. When heated with wine and full of courage he was the dread of the proprietors of the minor gambling-tables at country race meetings, whose banks he was given to breaking in more ways than one—it being his practice to demolish all their gambling apparatus if he observed the slightest suspicion of foul play. At Warwick races in 1824, for instance, Mytton and some friends not only smashed a rouge-et-noir table to atoms, but soundly thrashed the proprietor and his gang.

On another occasion he showed considerable presence of mind when surprised by the Mayor of Chester during a raid on a hazard Hell one Sunday. In the confusion which ensued the Squire of Halston, who was a winner, deftly put his gains in his hat, which he quite coolly placed upon his head, and walked out unnoticed. He was not so careful, however, on one occasion after a great run of luck in London when, having broken the banks of two well-known London Hells, he went off with the money—a large sum in notes—to Doncaster. On his return from the races in a post-chaise he set to work to count his winnings, the windows of the carriage being open. He soon fell asleep, and when he awoke, the night being far advanced, found that notes to the value of several thousand pounds had been blown out of the window. Truly a case of "light come, light go!"

light come

Some thirty-six years ago hazard used to be played at Doncaster during the race week, an excellent account of the scenes which used to take place there being given by Sir George Chetwynd in his Recollections.

French hazard was less rough-and-ready than the English game. Every stake that was "set" was covered by the bank, so that the player ran no risk of losing a large amount, though, if successful, he could win but a trifling one; on the other hand, the scale of odds was so altered as to operate most prejudicially against the player. An equal rate of odds between main and chance was never laid by the French "banker" as was insisted on by the English groom-porter; while, again, "direct nicks" alone were recognised by the former. Most extraordinary runs of luck have occurred at hazard, a player having sometimes thrown five, seven, and even eleven mains in a single hand. In cases of runs like this the peculiar feature in the French game became valuable, the bank being prepared to pay all winnings, while, generally speaking, a hand of six or seven mains at English hazard would exhaust all the funds of the players, and leave the caster in the position of "setting the table" and finding the stakes totally unnoticed or only partially covered.

To show what sums changed hands at hazard in the eighteenth century, it may be mentioned that a celebrated gambler. Major Baggs by name, once won £17,000 at hazard, by throwing in, as it is called, fourteen successive mains. This Major Baggs was an extraordinary character who went to the East Indies in 1780 on a gaming speculation; but not finding it answer, he returned home overland, encountering many adventures. At Cairo he narrowly avoided death by escaping in a Turkish dress to Smyrna. A companion of his was seized, and sent prisoner to Constantinople, where he was at length released by the interference of Sir Robert Anstie, the English ambassador. Baggs once won £6000 of a young gentleman at Spa, and immediately came to England to get the money from the peer (Lord Onslow) who was the father of the young man. Terms of accommodation were proposed by his lordship in presence of a well-known banker whose respectability and consequence were well known. The peer offered him a thousand guineas and a note for the remainder at a distant period. Baggs, however, wanted the whole to be paid down, and some altercation ensued, in the course of which the banker observed that he thought his lordship had offered very handsome terms. "Sirrah," said Baggs in a passion, "hold your tongue; the laws of commerce you may be acquainted with, but the laws of honour you can know nothing about."

Major Baggs at one time in his life was worth more than £100,000. He had fought eleven duels, and was allowed to be very skilful with the sword. He was a man of a determined mind, great penetration, and considerable literary culture; and when play was out of the case, could be an agreeable, gentlemanlike, and instructive companion. He was very generous to people whom he liked; and a certain naval lord, highly respected, when in rather a distressed situation at Paris, found a never-failing resource in the purse of the Major, who was open-handed enough at times. For several years he lived at Paris in the greatest splendour, and during a stay at Avignon, frequently gave splendid suppers to the Duke and Duchess of Cumberland and their friends, whom he followed to Naples, getting introduced to the King's private parties, and winning £1500 of His Majesty.

Major Baggs eventually fell a victim to gaming, dying of a chill produced by a night passed in a round-house, having been locked up with other frequenters of a gaming-house which was raided by the police.

Numbers of such places existed in the London of that day, which were the constant resort of those who, like the Major, found access to Clubs somewhat difficult.

From about 1780 to 1845 the West End was full of gambling-hells, the most popular of which were generally in the parish of St. James's, and St. George's, Hanover Square. Others also existed in St. Martin's-in-the-Fields, Piccadilly, St James's Street, Pall Mall, St. James's Square, Jermyn Street, Bury Street, Charles Street, King Street, Duke Street, Bennett Street, and the neighbourhood of the Quadrant. The games principally played, besides English and French hazard, were rouge-et-noir, roulette, and une-deux-cinque. The principal proprietors of these houses were Bond, Oldfield, Goodwin, Bennet, Smith, Russell, Phillips, Rougeir, Burge, Carlos, Humphries, Fielden, Taylor, Bird, Morgan, Kerby, Aldridge, Barnet, and many others, amongst whom, of course, the celebrated Crockford stood forth in almost regal splendour.

Nevertheless there was a crusade against gambling and betting always carried on by the section of the population which were known as the "Methodists," some of whose preachers were very clever and apt.

"Ah, my brethren," once said one of these, addressing a congregation into which several sporting men had strolled, "why waste your lives thinking so much of what you call 'flimsies.' These, my friends," turning over the leaves of his Bible, "are God's bank-notes, and when you carry them to heaven, he will cash them at sight!"

Another preacher, whilst painting a vivid picture of the tortures which awaited gamesters in a future life, declared that the apartments of Satan were filled with cards and dice, and that Hoyle was the only book in his library. Nevertheless, the denunciations of the "godly" effected little, and though from time to time the authorities organised raids upon the more scandalous resorts, gaming continued to flourish.

As late as the early 'thirties of the last century, the West End of London was full of Hells, a number of them in the Quadrant. Hazard was the principal game played. The lowest gaming-houses were generally located in obscure courts or other places not much exposed to public observation. As a rule they were kept shut up as if unoccupied, or else some appearance of a trade was carried on to prevent suspicion. It used to be said that at one or two of these Hells individuals were kept on the premises whose sole duty lay in being able to swallow the dice in case of a raid by the authorities. Whether this was the case or not, it is certain that there was usually some convenient receptacle contrived in the shutters or elsewhere into which the implements of gaming could be speedily thrown. A house containing a back room sufficiently large to contain forty or fifty people, was the ideal of the proprietors of such places. The man who acted as croupier was, as has been said, known as the "groom-porter," an appellation dating from the eighteenth century, when the Court was, on occasion, wont to gamble at the Groom-Porter's in the Palace of St. James.

The profits of the house were supposed to be derived from a tax levied on successful players, any one winning three times running being expected to pay a certain sum of money to the table or "cagnotte." A player doing this was called a "box hand," the amount of his contribution varying from a shilling to half a crown according to the rules and standing of the house.

hell

The main profits of these Hells, however, were in the majority of instances derived from shady practices, many of the proprietors being in league with sharks of various kinds who preyed upon the more credulous or foolish players.

The least important gambling-houses were generally kept by retired prize-fighters and bullies, who hectored their weaker clients out of such sums as they might chance to win.

In the higher class of Hells, silver counters, representing certain fractions of a pound, were used; these were called pieces, and one of them was the amount of the tax levied on a "box hand."

When a gentleman first appeared at these Hells, the Hellites and the players were curious to learn who and what he was, especially the former, to calculate the rich or poor harvest to be reaped by him, and they regulated their conduct accordingly. Should he be introduced by a broken player, and lose a good sum, his introducer seized the opportunity to borrow a few pounds of the Hellites. But if the gentleman was successful, "a few pounds to give his kind friend a chance" was not refused. If the visitor proved unlucky the Hellites ventured, after he had lost hundreds, to lend him twenty or thirty pounds, for which his cheque was demanded and given. Generally they not only knew his name, but soon ascertained, by underhand inquiries at his bankers, the extent of his account, his connections and resources. Upon this knowledge, if his account was good, they would cash him cheques to within a hundred pounds of the balance. Instances have been known, after cheques have been cashed and paid in this way, to large amounts, and the balance drawing to a close, that when a cheque for a small amount has been wanted, cashed by the very same parties, it has been refused, the Hellite actually telling the party, within a few pounds, the amount he had left at his banker's. One gentleman was once told within five pounds of what he had there.

A number of Hells masqueraded as Clubs, and made some show of only admitting regular members to the delights of play.

The following prospectus, issued in the 'twenties of the last century, is a fair sample of those used by the proprietors of gaming-houses in London to attract clients. The house in question was under the superintendence of Weare, who was murdered by Thurtell.

A party of gentlemen, having formed the design of instituting a Select Club, to be composed of those gentlemen only whose habits and circumstances entitle them to an uncontrolled but proper indulgence in the current amusements of the day, adopt this mode of submitting the project to consideration, and of inviting those who may approve of it, to an early concurrence and co-operation in the design. To attain this object the more speedily, and render it worthy the attention and support it lays claim to, it may be only necessary to mention that the plan is founded on the basis of liberality, security, and respectability, combining with the essential requisites of a select and respectable association, peculiar advantages to the members conceded by no similar institution in town. Further particulars may be learned on personal application between the hours of twelve and two at 55 Pall Mall.

In 1831 a gaming-house called the Athenæum was a public scandal. This gaming-hell was situated at the upper end of St. James's Street, on the same side as White's. It was owned by three brothers named Bond, one of whom only, Ephraim, was publicly recognised as the proprietor.

This man Bond had had many vicissitudes. Once, when quite at the end of his tether, a gentleman came into a house where he was looking on at the play, and having no confidence in his own judgment or good fortune, commissioned Bond to make his bets for him, and, being very successful, the gentleman, who was a member of the House of Commons, presented him with fifty pounds. This became the nucleus of his future fortune.

After working his fifty pounds for some time in various advantageous gaming speculations, he became a small partner in a Bury Street house and subsequently in gaming-houses in Bennett Street, Pall Mall, and Piccadilly, until, as before stated, he located all his machinery and performers in the Athenæum, in St. James's Street, near Nos. 50 and 51.

Burge, an individual closely connected with Bond, was another well-known figure in the gambling world of those days.

The "Subject," as this man was nicknamed, in consequence of his wretched and cadaverous appearance, was born at Glastonbury, in Somersetshire, where he was brought up a tailor. Shortly after the termination of his apprenticeship he married, but finding business not answer his expectations he removed to London, where he commenced business in a little way, but in about two years became a bankrupt. At this period of his life, when distressed in pocket and harassed in mind, he was introduced into a shilling table hazard-house kept at that time by the celebrated J.D. Kelly and George Smith in Lisle Street, Leicester Square.

From the very moment that the "Subject" first saw a hazard-table his nature changed, and wife, children, home, and business were totally obliterated from his mind. The few shillings which from time to time he could scrape together from the charity of his own or his wife's friends were all carried to the table, although at this time he was still a perfect novice in all concerning play. He generally lost his money soon after he entered a gaming-house, but even when penniless he always remained until the table was broken up, generally some time before midnight, when he would make his way to a miserable home, only to sleep till the hour for witnessing play again arrived. This state of restlessness and perturbation brought on a serious fit of illness, whilst his wife was compelled to take in washing for the support of the family, who lived amidst scenes of acute misery. Nothing, however, diverted the "Subject" from the gaming-table; no sooner did he recover and was able to crawl out than he was at hazard again, though many were his quarrels with the table-keepers, who resented his presence in their rooms, as he so rarely brought a shilling to play with. Nothing, however, could overcome his infatuation, and had he been turned out for good he would have lain down at the door, and listened to the sound of the dice-box until he died of exposure to the weather. At length Smith, a gaming-house proprietor who had removed to Oxendon Street, Coventry Street, finding Burge determined, by some means or other, to be present during play, installed him as a permanent official in his rooms, with regular duties, the chief of which were to trim the lamps hanging over the hazard-table and to hand a glass of gin to the man who threw in six mains in succession, when he was allowed to say, "Remember the waiter, your honour." Subsequently, the groom-porter being indisposed, the "Subject" mounted the stool and called the main, continuing afterwards sometimes to act alternately in each capacity until the proprietor took the house in 71 Jermyn Street, when he got a rise in the world and was made a regular groom-porter in a crown-house.

The history of the so-called "Athenæum" run by Bond was curious.

At the time when the real Athenæum in Pall Mall was being established there was a swindler upon the town named William Earl. Although the son of a respectable bookseller, who formerly resided in Albemarle Street, Piccadilly, he committed some very flagrant acts of imposition upon the public. Among many other schemes he conceived the plan of pretending that he was the person deputed and authorised by the gentlemen composing the members of the true Athenæum Club, to take and fit up a house for their accommodation. The house in St. James's Street being to let at the time, he (Earl) took it on the residue of a lease having between two and three years to run, and, forthwith, when in possession, got tradesmen to fit it up in the most superb manner possible, making it a great favour to recommend them to so good a job, the Athenæum management promising that all the money shares should be paid down the moment the house was ready for the reception of the members. The furniture, however, as fast as it was brought into the house, disappeared, being taken away by Earl to dispose of for cash to put into his own pocket, preparatory to a final retreat from the scene of action. This being discovered before larger debts were contracted, the creditors, who were already minus about £1400, convened a meeting, at which, under a threat of a criminal prosecution, they compelled Earl to assign the premises and everything else to three gentlemen, Messrs. Baines, Vincent, and Laing, in trust for the benefit of the creditors. These gentlemen, subsequently representing the case of the creditors to the Lord Chamberlain, obtained a licence for music, the premises being designated and inserted in the licence as known by the name of the Athenæum; but this and a juggling speculation failing, it was at length let to Ephraim Bond, Esq., at a rental of £50 per month. This was in the early part of the year 1830, during which Earl was committed to Newgate for swindling a jeweller in St. Paul's Churchyard out of a gold chain and other property, being subsequently transported for the term of seven years. The notoriety of these circumstances, and the length of time Earl's name had been before the public, as being somehow connected with the institution described as the Athenæum Club in St. James's Street, led a vast number of thoughtless young men to visit the house. Certain is it, that not a few joined the place under a full impression that they were actually admitted into the real Athenæum Club: and to this confusion of names did the new proprietor, in a very large measure, owe the extraordinary run of play he had at his tables. Among the persons who were employed at this house were Kelly, Peck, Hancock, Mayne, and Thompson: the two latter were retained by Bond as waiters, after having been placed in the house under the following circumstances. Earl, as the spurious Athenæum progressed, advertised for waiters; when these men applied, he represented in forcible language the responsible nature of their situations, and the great trust which would be reposed in them, informing one that all the linen and glass would be placed in his hands, and the other that he would have charge of plate to the value of some thousands. By these means he induced one to deposit £150 and the other £100 as security before they entered upon the service of the Club. Bond thought that the ill-usage of these men gave them some claim upon the premises, and, therefore, installed them into the office which they originally came to fill, that is, as waiters.

At many of the gambling-houses the waiters reaped a rich harvest by lending money. At Crockford's one of these servants once received £500, nominally as a Christmas-box, but really as a recognition of timely financial assistance rendered to frequenters of the hazard-table; £100 of this sum was given to him by a nobleman who had in one week won £80,000 on a moderate sum which had been borrowed from the waiter in question.

About 1838 gaming-houses were kept open all day, the dice were scarcely ever idle, day or night. All the week, all the year round, persons were to be found in these places, losing their money, and up to 1844 there were no less than twelve gaming-houses in St. James's and St. George's. Before that the play was higher, but not so general.

The increase of gambling-houses was said to be owing to the existence of Crockford's. Such was the opinion of the Honourable Frederick Byng, as given before the Committee of the House of Commons. He declared "that the facility to gamble at Crockford's led to the establishment of other gambling-houses fitted up in a superior style, and attractive to gentlemen who never would have thought of going into them formerly." He added that in his older days gambling was very high, but the amusement of a very few. Mr. Byng also said he "could have named all the gamblers in his early days at the clubs. No person coming into a room where hazard was carried on would have been permitted to play for a small sum, and therefore poor people left it alone."

The gambling which was carried on in the private rooms of the wine and oyster houses, about 1840, was of the same character as that which had at the same time flourished in the vicinity of St James's. For this reason the blackguards frequenting the former attained the most profound knowledge of the art of robbing at the West-End Hells. They visited the saloons every night, in order to pick up new acquaintances amongst inexperienced youth. Well-dressed and polite, they carefully scanned every visitor on the look-out for pigeons to pluck, and having found one went soon to work to establish an acquaintance. Cards being proposed, the leader of the band provided a room, play ensuing, accompanied by the certainty of loss to the unfortunate guest. If the invitation was rejected, the pigeon was attacked through a passion of a different kind. The word being given to one of their female friends, she threw herself in the quarry's way, and prevailed upon him to accompany her to her house. In the morning the "gentleman," who in vain had solicited him to play at the saloon the night before, would call—as if to pay "a friendly visit." Cards would be again proposed, the "lady" offering to be the partner of her friend in the game. Numbers of young men were plundered by such schemes of thousands of pounds; and a good deal of demoralisation prevailed amongst small tradesmen and gentlemen's servants, numbers of whom frequented the low gambling-houses. If one of these could scrape together two or three hundred pounds he was able, with the assistance of the keeper of the Hell, to lend it to needy losers at sixty per cent.

A careful inspection was made of the visitor's appearance by a gaming-house keeper's spies, his dress being strictly scrutinised. He was obliged, before entering the saloon, to deposit his great-coat and cane, or anything else which might facilitate the introduction of some weapon; the value or elegance of these did not save him from the humiliation of having it taken from him at the door. The assaults which were sometimes made on the bankers led to such precautions.

The blame for the great increase of gambling in the West End was mostly attributed to Crockford, who presided over the most palatial gaming-house ever run in England.

William Crockford was the son of a small fishmonger who lived next door to Temple Bar. After his father's death the young man soon abandoned fish-selling for more exciting pursuits. He became a frequenter of the sporting-houses then abundant in the neighbourhood of St. James's, went racing, and, after setting up a successful hazard bank in Wattier's old Club-house,[4] became connected with a gaming-house in King Street, which, though it frequently got him into trouble with the authorities, put a very large sum of money into his pocket. At King Street, Crockford, together with his partner Gye, is said to have once won the very large sum of £100,000 from five well-known men-about-town, amongst whom were Lords Thanet and Granville and Mr. Ball Hughes.

With the capital amassed in the manner described Crockford founded the celebrated institution in St. James's Street which was sometimes jokingly called "Fishmonger's Hall."

It was opened at the end of the year 1827. There were about 1200 members, exclusive of ambassadors and foreigners of distinction; the annual subscription was £25. The Club-house was luxurious beyond anything which had been known up to that time. The decorations alone, it is said, cost £94,000, and a salary of £1200 a year was paid by Crockford to his cook, M. Eustache Ude.

The Club-house, which still exists in an altered form as the Devonshire Club, was decorated and upholstered in the somewhat gaudy style popular during the reign of George IV., the apartment known as the State Drawing-room being particularly gorgeous and florid in its general effect.

The gaming-room was comparatively small. Here were card-tables at which whist was occasionally played, whilst in the centre stood the hazard-table, the real raison d'être of the whole establishment.

The expenses of running this gambling-club were large, the dice alone costing some two thousand a year! Three new pairs at about a guinea each pair were provided at the commencement of every evening's play, and very often as many more were called for either by players or by Crockford himself in order to change the luck.

By the terms of his agreement Crockford was bound to put £5000 into a bank every night whilst Parliament was sitting; as long as any of this capital remained he was not allowed to end the play until an hour previously appointed.

During his first two seasons Crockford is said to have made about £300,000; he may, indeed, be said to have extracted nearly all the ready money from the pockets of the men of fashion of the day. So much so was this the case, that when Crockford retired in 1840 it was said that he resembled an Indian chief who retires from a hunting country when there is not game enough left for his tribe.

Mr. Crockford's private views as to the likelihood of any player at hazard increasing his fortune were certainly interesting. Being one day asked by a young man of his acquaintance what was the best main to call at the game, he solemnly replied: "I'll tell you what it is, young man. You may call mains at hazard till your hair grows out of your hat and your toes grow out of your boots. My advice to you is not to call any mains at all."

main

The first institution of this kind appears to have opened its doors in 1847, the proprietors being Messrs. Drummond and Greville. About 1850, about four hundred of these houses (the vast majority not very solvent), where regular lists of the prices were openly exhibited, flourished, and an epidemic of gambling was declared to have attacked even the poorest class, who were being offered facilities for risking their hard-earned sixpences and shillings. The rise and fall of the odds before any great race was eagerly watched by the keepers of the betting-houses, and scenes of wild excitement occasionally occurred. Many of the smaller betting-shops were simply traps for the unwary. The stock-in-trade needed was merely a few flyblown racing prints and some old ledgers. A room was soon hired, often in some derelict tobacconist's shop, and business then commenced. Most of these places existed in obscure and dirty thoroughfares; the neighbourhood of Drury Lane being especially affected by those indulging in this nefarious industry. Just before a big race meeting, such as the Derby or Ascot, numbers of these betting shops would burst into bloom for a short space of time. When the meetings ended, the crowd coming to get paid would find the proprietor gone and the place in charge of a boy, who, generally not at all disconcerted, would announce that his master had gone out on "'tickler bizness," and would not be back till late at night. His wife also had gone out of town for her health till the winter. "Will he be back to-morrow?" would cry the crowd. "No, he won't be here to-morrow 'cos it's Sunday, and he always goes to church on Sunday," a favourite reply which made even the losers laugh. "Will he be back on Monday, then?" "Monday," would say the boy, reflecting, "No, I don't think he'll be here on Monday—he's going to a sale on Monday." After further inquiries and replies of this sort the crowd would, for the time being, reluctantly disperse, murmuring something about a "sell" instead of a "sale," to return again time after time with the same ill-success, till eventually, realising that they had been duped, the bell-pull was torn out and the windows broken, the proprietor meanwhile doing a flourishing business in some other locality. Various subterfuges were employed by betting-shopkeepers to attract clients. One of these places grandiloquently styled itself "The Tradesmen's Moral Associative Betting Club." The circular issued by this beneficent organisation set forth that a number of persons in business, realising the robberies hourly inflicted upon the humbler portion of the sporting public by persons bankrupt alike in character and property, had banded themselves together to establish a club wherein their fellow tradesmen and the speculator of a few shillings might invest their money with the assured consciousness of meeting with fair and honourable treatment. In all probability the clients of the Moral Associative Club found that, like other institutions of the same sort, its idea was to receive the money of all and close its career by paying none.

A man named Dwyer, who kept a cigar shop and betting-house in St. Martin's Lane in 1851, was in the habit of laying a point or two more than the regular odds, and in consequence did the largest business of any list man in London. He was considered to be absolutely safe. It was his custom to pay the day following a big race, but when Miss Nancy won the Chester Cup, his doors were found to be closed; and the house being broken into by an enormous crowd of infuriated creditors, everything valuable was discovered to have been removed. Dwyer, as a matter of fact, had bolted with about £25,000 of the public's money. The occurrence of scandals such as this naturally caused a considerable outcry for the suppression of the betting-houses, which, it was declared, were demoralising the public, who, even when they were not swindled, were led into risking sums which they could not afford. A Bill for checking the evil was eventually drafted, and in July 1853 was passed an Act entitled "An Act for the Suppression of Betting-Houses," which inflicted on any one keeping or assisting to keep any house, office, room, or place for the purpose of betting, a penalty not exceeding one hundred pounds, or imprisonment with or without hard labour for any time not exceeding six calendar months.

IV

Craze for eccentric wagers at end of eighteenth century—Lord Cobham's insulting freak and its results—Betting and gaming at White's—The Arms of the Club—The old betting-book and its quaint wagers—Tragedies of play—White's to-day—£180,000 lost at hazard at the Cocoa Tree—Brummell as a gambler—Gaming at Brooks's—Anecdotes—General Scott—Whist—Mr. Pratt—Wattier's Club—Scandal at Graham's—Modern gambling clubs—The Park Club case in 1884—Dangers of private play.

Towards the end of the eighteenth century a curious mania for making eccentric wagers seized hold of the bucks of the day. Unlike many another craze this was not imported from France, but had its rise and progress entirely in England. During the last illness of Louis XIV., Lord Stair laid a wager on his death, which rather astonished the French, who did not approve of such a form of speculation. At a subsequent period bets about the most trivial incidents became quite common in the West End of London. Not infrequently some thoughtless wager would lead to considerable trouble.

Lord Cobham, for instance, once foolishly bet Mr. Nugent a guinea that he would spit in Lord Bristol's hat without the latter, who had a reputation for effeminacy, resenting it. The wager itself was singularly lacking in refinement, and the moment chosen for carrying it out was quite in keeping.

Lord Bristol being one day at Lady Cobham's talking to some ladies, he chanced to lean over a chair holding his hat behind him, into which Lord Cobham deliberately spat, at the same time asking Mr. Nugent, who was present, for his guinea; after which he began to make the most profuse apologies to the victim of the outrage, who, remaining apparently quite unmoved, merely asked if his host had any further use for his hat, and then resumed his conversation, and every one considered the incident at an end. Lord Bristol being to all outward appearance absolutely unruffled.

The next morning, however, both Lord Cobham and Mr. Nugent received messages demanding satisfaction, to which they returned the most humble answers. The incident, they declared, was all merely a foolish joke, and they were quite ready to make all sorts of submissive apologies.

Lord Bristol, however, would only assent to condone the insult if the aggressors were ready to make a public apology in the Club-room at White's, where he was prepared to receive it, and here, amidst a crowd of members, Lord Cobham and Mr. Nugent publicly expressed their regret.

As the eighteenth century waned. White's Club developed into a great gambling centre; its members indeed professed a universal scepticism and decided everything by a wager. There was nothing, however trivial or ridiculous, which was not capable of producing a bet. Many pounds were lost upon the colour of a coach-horse, the birth of a child, the breaking off of a marriage, and even a change in the weather.

A favourite mode of speculation was backing one man against another, that is, betting that he would live the longest. People of all classes were made the subjects of such bets. An actor was pitted against a duke, an alderman against a bishop, a pimp against some member of the privy council. Scarcely a remarkable person existed upon whose life many thousand pounds did not depend. The various changes in the health of any one who was the subject of heavy betting naturally gave rise to many serious reflections in the minds of the people who had wagered large sums on his life or death. Some would closely watch all the stages of a total stranger's illness, more impatient for his death than the undertaker who expected to have the care of his funeral; others would be very solicitous about his recovery, and send every hour to know how his health progressed, taking as great care of him as any clergyman's wife who has no other fortune than the living of her husband. Great consternation was caused by an unexpected demise. Considerable odds were laid upon a man with the constitution of a porter, who was pitted against an individual expected to die every week. The porter, however, unexpectedly shot himself through the head, and the knowing ones were taken in.

The main supporters of gaming at White's at this time were George Selwyn, Lord March, Fox, and Lord Carlisle.

The latter was of a rather more serious disposition than the others, and had a wife and children to whom he was devoted. Though at times a high gambler himself, he wrote several letters to Selwyn, warning him of the dangers of hazard.

On one occasion Lord Carlisle won £13,000 from a peer, which he never seems to have got, and again indulged in some disastrous play in 1776, after which he wrote to George Selwyn to say that he had never lost so much at five different sittings as on this occasion in one night. A note by Selwyn in the letter puts the sum at £10,000. In after-life Lord Carlisle entirely abandoned gaming, and settled down into an exemplary country gentleman.

Another constant player for high stakes at White's was Sir Everard Fawkener, the writer's great-grandfather, who held an important office in connection with the Post Office. He played cards very badly, and George Selwyn used to say that playing with him was as bad as "robbing the mail."

In the hall of White's Club hangs a carved wooden copy of the whimsical old coat of arms of the Club—the original painting of which is at Arthur's. This was painted by Dick Edgecumbe after the design had been concocted one wet day at Strawberry Hill by the painter, George Selwyn, George (known as Gilly) Williams, and their host Horace Walpole, who had the arms engraved.

The original arms were as follows:—

"Vert (for a card-table); between three parolis, proper, on a chevron sable, two rouleaux in saltire between two dice, proper. In a canton sable, a ball (for election), argent. Supporters, an old knave of clubs on the dexter, a young knave on the sinister side; both accoutred proper. Crest, issuing out of an earl's coronet (Lord Darlington's) an arm shaking a dice-box, all proper. Motto alluding to the crest 'Cogit amor nummi'.[5] The arms encircled with a claret bottle ticket by way of order."

arms

The old betting-book at White's contains many curious entries, the first of which dates from 1743. A number of the earliest wagers are concerned with the probabilities of the birth of children to well-known ladies of the day, the duration of life to be enjoyed by certain individuals, and the like.

On 21st March 1746, Mr. John Jeffries bets Mr. Dayrolle five guineas that Lady Kildare has a child born alive before Lady Catherine Petersham. A note is appended "miscarriages go for nothing."

On the 8th of October in the same year Lord Montfort bets Mr. Greville one hundred guineas that Mr. Nash is alive on the same day four years to come.

The Lord Montfort in question was a typical gamester of the time. In the betting-book at White's no less than sixty wagers, amounting to £5500, are recorded against his name. Most of these were about births, marriages, and deaths. On sporting wagers, the nobleman in question seems to have been content to risk only small sums. A true gambler, he preferred to hazard his fortune, and, as it turned out, his life, on the unforeseen.

On the 4th of November 1754, is entered the following: "Lord Montfort wagers Sir John Bland one hundred guineas that Mr. Nash outlives Mr. Cibber." This refers to two very old men, Colley Cibber, the actor, and Beau Nash, the "King of Bath." Below the entry in the betting-book, written in another handwriting, is the significant note: "Both Lord M. and Sir John Bland put an end to their own lives before the bet was decided."

The first of these tragedies took place on New Year's Day of 1755. Lord Montfort's death and the circumstances of it attracted great attention. He was considered one of the shrewdest men of his time, and, as Walpole said, "would have betted any man in England against himself for self-murder." Lord Montfort was of course eventually ruined—at White's alone he lost a fortune at hazard. As a last resource, he then eagerly applied (much to the surprise of the dilatory Duke of Newcastle) for the Governorship of Virginia or the Royal hounds. He got neither, and after spending the last evening of the year 1754 at White's, where he sat up at whist till one o'clock, went home in a strange mood, and shot himself next morning.

A tragic fate likewise befell Sir John Bland, who dissipated his entire fortune at hazard. At a single sitting he at one time lost as much as £32,000, though he recovered a portion of it before play was ended. Sir John shot himself on the road from Calais to Paris.

Some of the wagers chronicled in the betting-book are decidedly vague, the following for instance: "Mr. Talbot bets a certain gentleman a certain sum that a certain event does not take place within a certain time."

During the Napoleonic era several bets were made as to the chances of the Emperor getting back to Paris at the close of the Russian campaign, about ten to one being wagered on such an event happening.

A curious bet, dated February 14, 1813, is the following: "Lord Alvanley bets Sir Joseph Copley five guineas that a certain Baronet understood between them is very much embarrassed in his circumstances in three years from the date hereof; if one of his bills is dishonoured, or he is observed to borrow small change of the chairmen or waiters, Sir Joseph is to be reckoned to lose."

In 1797, hazard seems to have been allowed at White's, but it was expressly laid down that no member should be permitted to keep a faro bank. This rule was doubtless made to avoid the state of things which had lately prevailed across the way at Brooks's.

As time went on gambling became a thing of the past within the walls of White's, and the survivors of a reckless era in its history sobered down into grave and somewhat crotchety old men, who, from the stronghold of an accustomed seat, eyed younger members with a freezing gaze. When the question of smoking in the morning-room was raised their indignation knew no bounds, and even infirm old members—fossils who Alfred Montgomery declared had come from Kensal Green—tottered into the Club to oppose it. So given were these relics of the past to wrapping themselves in a cloak of exclusiveness that at one time the Club came almost to a standstill. Within recent years, however, White's has taken a new lease of life, and after an existence of one hundred and seventy-three years is now in as flourishing a state as ever. The Club-house has been enlarged and various alterations made—always, let it be said, with due regard for the traditions of the past. Unfortunately, in the course of time much connected with its former history has disappeared—it does not, for instance, possess a set of old gaming counters, which have a certain historic interest in these more sober days. The Club is particularly anxious to acquire any relics connected with its past, and also any representations of the Club-house (at the present time under repair) as it existed before the alterations of 1853, when a new façade replaced the old front.

Lower down St. James's Street, on the other side of the road, another Club, in old days notorious for high play, still exists. This is the Cocoa Tree, where very large sums once changed hands. During the year 1780 no less than £180,000 was lost here in a single week. In the same year Mr. O'Birne, an Irish gamester, won £100,000 at hazard of a young Mr. Harvey of Chigwell, a midshipman, who, by his elder brother's death, had suddenly come into a good estate. "You can never pay me," said O'Birne. "I will sell my estate to do so," replied the young man. "No," was the not ungenerous reply, "I will win ten thousand and you shall throw for the odd ninety." The dice were cast and Harvey won—still the evening cost him £10,000.

After Waterloo there appears to have been a revival of gaming in the West End, many officers returning to England with long arrears of pay at their command. This wave of gaming ruined Brummell. At first he was not particularly devoted to play, and had extraordinary luck when he indulged in it. At one sitting at whist at White's he won £10,000 from George Harley Drummond, the banker. It is said that this was the first game Drummond ever played at a Club; it was probably his last, for it led to his withdrawal from the banking business. But Brummell was not a man of large property, and when later he began to play habitually, a few reverses were sufficient to ruin a man of small means who matched his fortune against the much longer purses of his friends.

Brummell had no illusions as to the ultimate fate of a gambler, and once tied himself up against play, receiving a ten-pound note from Pemberton Mills on condition that he should forfeit a thousand if he played again at White's for a month. Nevertheless, a fortnight later he was playing again. His friend did not claim the thousand but merely said: "Well, Brummell, you may at least give me back my ten pounds." Playing at hazard one night with Alderman Combe, whom he playfully called "Mash-tub" because he was a brewer, the Beau, having won a considerable sum, said, pocketing the cash: "Thank you, Alderman; in future I shall never drink any porter but yours." "I wish, sir," was the reply, "that every blackguard in London would tell me the same."

In the end Brummell went under, owing, he declared, with all the superstition of a gambler, to the loss of a lucky sixpence with a hole in it, which he had picked up in the small hours of the morning in Berkeley Square. He gave it away, by mistake, to a cabman, and used to say that he supposed "that rascal Rothschild, or some of his set, had got hold of it."

One of the greatest gamblers in the early part of the nineteenth century was Lord Rivers, whose dashing play at Parisian tables had earned for him the name of "Le Wellington des Joueurs."

During a portion of his career this nobleman was said to have won nearly a hundred thousand pounds by gambling. As a card-player he was cool and skilful, whilst at the same time quick to seize the moment for exchanging caution for dash. At times, however, he was careless—he once lost £3400 at whist by not remembering that the seven of hearts was still in.

Crockford's eventually ruined him as it did many others—some it could not ruin. Lord Sefton, for instance, is said to have lost no less than £200,000 there. After his death the proprietor presented an acceptance for £40,000 to his son, which was paid. At the beginning of the nineteenth century young men-about-town were exposed to every sort of dangerous temptation.

In 1813 a youthful commoner, heir to large estates, was unpleasantly initiated into the mysteries of fashionable play by losing nearly £20,000 at hazard at a West-End Club, it being the first time he had ever played. His single antagonist was a noble Lord of considerable experience, who by mere chance held the box so luckily as to throw in seven times successively. A remark being made upon so extraordinary a run of the dice, his Lordship insisted upon having them cut up, to manifest that his success had been perfectly honourable—and the bones, on dissection, were found perfectly innocent.

Gambling flourished at all the fashionable clubs. Brooks's in particular was noted for unlimited gambling during the first forty years of its existence. The prevalence of gambling there is shown by one of the old rules, which prohibited "gaming in the 'eating-room' except tossing up for reckonings." The penalty for a breach of this regulation was paying the whole bill of the members present.

Though a rule existed which forbade the members to stake upon credit, it was more or less treated as a dead letter, Mr. Brooks being generally ready to make any advance which the members might desire. The result of such confidence in the solvency of his clientele appears to have been disappointing, for after eight years Mr. Brooks withdrew from the Mastership of the Club and died in very poor circumstances. All things considered this was not surprising, for he was a man

Who, nursed in clubs, disdains a vulgar trade,
Exults to trust, and blushes to be paid.

During the gaming period losses and winnings amounting to five, ten, or fifteen thousand pounds were not at all uncommon. Lord Stavordale, before he was of age, having lost £11,000 one night, struck a good run at hazard and got it all back. This, however, did not satisfy his Lordship, who swore a great oath, saying, "Now if I had been playing deep I might have won millions."

One member, Mr Thynne, retired in disgust in March 1772. According to a note written opposite his name in the Club books this was because he had "won only £12,000 during the last two months, and that he may never return is the ardent wish of members."

At Brooks's, Charles James Fox found himself amidst the most congenial facilities for ruin, and he did not let them pass. Fox, who joined Brooks's when he was sixteen, once sat in the Club playing at hazard for twenty-two hours in succession, when he lost £11,000. At twenty-five he was a ruined man, though his father had paid £140,000 for him out of his own property. In 1793 his friends raised £70,000 to pay his debts and buy him an annuity—a proof of the affection this curious character inspired.

It was at Brooks's that Lord Robert Spencer is said at one stroke to have recovered his considerable fortune lost at play. General Fitzpatrick and Lord Robert, having both come to their last shilling, contrived to raise a sufficient sum of money to keep a faro bank, which proved an extraordinarily lucky one. Lord Robert's share was no less than £100,000, with which he retired from the gambling-table for ever, and never played again.

Another well-known man of fashion lost at Brooks's £70,000 and everything else which he possessed, including his carriage and horses, which was his last stake. Charles Fox, who was present, and partook of the spoils, moved that an annuity of £50 per annum should be settled upon the unfortunate gentleman, to be paid out of the general fund, which motion was agreed to nem. con., and a resolution was entered into at the instance of the same gentleman, that every member who should be completely ruined in that house should be allowed a similar annuity out of the same fund, on condition that they are never to be admitted as sporting members; as in that case the society would be playing against their own money.

The old betting-book at Brooks's is a most curious record. A certain member, for instance, bets another five hundred guineas to ten that none of the Cabinet will be beheaded within the following three years. Another wagers fifty guineas that Mademoiselle Heinel will not dance at the opera next year. The whole volume is most characteristic of an age when all fashionable London lived in a vortex of speculation.

room

Faro, quinze, and macao were the favourite games at Brooks's, but at one time whist for high stakes came into great favour. Two of the best players at this were a couple of characters known as Tippoo Smith and "Neptune"—the latter an old gentleman who had gained his nickname owing to his having once thrown himself into the sea under the false impression that he could no longer keep his head above water.

At Brooks's are preserved a number of relics of the old gambling days, including the faro table at which Fox played. This has a portion cut away, in order, it is said, to give room for his portly form. A complete set of the old gaming counters—the highest inscribed 500 guineas—is also here, whilst several prints and pictures (one of them reproduced in these pages by the courtesy of the Committee) give a good idea of a vanished day.

Brooks's was much frequented by a famous whist-player, General Scott, the father-in-law of George Canning and the Duke of Portland, who is said to have won about £200,000 at the game, of which he was a past master.

The General, indeed, was a very shrewd man where all forms of speculation were concerned, and once won a large wager at Newmarket in the following way. Just as his horse was about to start for a sweepstake, Mr. Panton called out to him, "General, I'll lay you a thousand pounds your horse is neither first nor last." The General accepted the bet and immediately gave directions to his rider; his horse came in last, and he claimed the money. Mr. Panton objected to payment, because the General had spoken to his rider; but the Jockey Club held that the bet was laid not upon the chance of the place in which the horse would come, if the rider was uninformed of it, but upon the opinion, that he had not speed enough to be first, nor tractability enough to be brought in last.

Nevertheless, the General, like most gamblers, had his moments of generosity. He was playing one evening with the Count d'Artois and the Duc de Chartres, at Paris, when a petition was brought up from the widow of a French officer, stating her various misfortunes, and praying relief. A plate was handed round, and each put in one, two, or three louis d'or, but when it was held to the General, who was going to throw for a stake of five hundred louis d'or, he said, "Stop a moment, if you please, sir: here goes for the widow!" The throw was successful, and he instantly swept the whole into the plate, and sent it down to her.

General Scott was an excellent whist-player, and lived in a most careful manner, which gave him a great advantage over his contemporaries, many of whom were reckless to a degree, tossing their money about in all directions, and borrowing from any one when short of cash.

General Scott followed a regime which assisted him to keep all his faculties in the very best condition for getting the most out of his cards. His dinner usually consisted of a boiled chicken, washed down with toast and water. His memory, coolness, and judgment were remarkable. With players such as these, whist became almost a religious function of a singularly profitable kind.

At the present day, when whist has fallen from its ancient high estate, and rendered practically obsolete owing to the popularity of bridge, it is difficult to realise the place which the game held in the estimation of many of our forefathers.

At the beginning of the nineteenth century almost as large sums were lost and won at whist as at the hazard-table, which was chiefly the resort of those who, like Fox, complained that games of skill afforded no excitement.

Many who were not entirely devoted to high play found their only relaxation in whist. Such a one was Lord Camden's brother, Mr. Edward Pratt, connected with the East India Company, whose sole bond with humanity is said to have lain in whist.

By no means an avaricious man, Mr. Pratt spent little upon his personal comfort, always living in the upper floor of a house owing to its tranquillity, and regularly dining in a room by himself at a tavern every day of the year, his only companion a solitary bottle of port.

He was seldom heard to speak, but no circumstance, however urgent, could prevail on him to break silence at whist, the favourite amusement, or rather occupation of his life; and, at the conclusion of each rubber, he could correctly call over the cards in the exact order in which they were played, as well as the persons from whose hands they fell, and enumerate various instances of error or dexterity in his associates, with practical remarks. This extraordinary exertion of the retentive powers was often doubted, and as often ascertained by considerable wagers.

Abstinence from speech, however, was the favourite, habitual, perhaps the affected, pleasure of his life; to such a pitch did he carry this eccentricity that he deliberately chose to forego many little satisfactions and comforts, rather than be at the trouble to ask for them.

In his voyages to India, Mr. Pratt might have been compared to some Eastern mystic, whose eyes and thoughts are immovably riveted by inspiration, madness, or emptiness to the region of the navel. When on voyages by sea it was his invariable custom to present the appearance of one entirely engrossed by his own thoughts, which, it was opined from his countenance, were of a peculiarly morose character. He often doubled the Cape without having scarcely uttered a word. During one voyage, when his ship had been detained by a long and troublesome calm, the anxious and dispirited crew were at last revived by the advent of the long-wished-for breeze. Amidst general excitement, a miserably dressed seaman on the topmast being at last able to proclaim the welcome tidings of land, Mr. Pratt alone struck a discordant note, for whilst the officers and ship's company were congratulating each other on the approaching joys of being on shore, though his features were observed to alter and somewhat unbend, no sound escaped his lips. "I knew you would enjoy the sight of land," at length said the first officer. "I saw it an hour before the careless ragamuffin aloft," were the first, the last, and the only words Mr. Pratt uttered during the voyage.

"A clear fire, a clean hearth, and the rigour of the game," was the sole earthly aim of Mr. Pratt, as it was of the old lady who declared that next to her devotions she loved a good game of whist. Players of this sort were not lukewarm gamesters or half-and-half players who have no objection to take a hand if one is wanted to make up a rubber; affirming that they have no pleasure in winning, or that they like to win one game and lose another. Keen antagonists, they never desired an adversary who had slipped a wrong card, to take it up and play another. They loved a thorough-paced partner and a determined enemy. They took and gave no concessions; they hated favours, never made a revoke, or passed it over in an adversary without exacting the utmost penalty. They never introduced or connived at miscellaneous conversation during the progress of a game, for, as they emphatically observed, cards were cards. Whist was their business and duty—the thing which they had come into the world to do—and they did it.