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yellow and red known to the initiated; and on the centre of the table, bright and fresh from the mint, lay heaps of gold and silver. The strictest silence was ordered while the players "made their game," and the very fall of the cards on the soft green cloth was heard. Then came the announcement of the winning colour, in a voice little above a whisper; and the next moment the long ratiene was hauling in the winnings of the bank, while one of the attendants distributed the gains to the fortunate. And this is ROUGE ET NOIR at Fras

cati's!

Among the frequenters of this table, none are so numerous as the English, who, from coldness or long habit, have their faces seamed into an expression of tranquil cupidity-peaceful in gaining, and silent in reverse; while the Spaniard, Frenchman, and Italian, excited by their sanguine temperaments, venture large sums and lose them with deep oaths. All classes, all ages, except extreme youth and age, are represented; and women too, whose fair fame is gone (for, to the credit of the sex, no others come here), lose their few francs gracefully, and pretend afterwards to read the journals in the "chambre des blessés."

On our left is the "dice hall," and beyond that is another room, lighted by one dim lamp with a ground-glass shade, suspended from the ceiling, and surrounded by low soft ottomans. It is a dark and silent place the nest of the lure birds-and there you may listen to the affected sigh and the vow of feigned affection, and hear that hysterical laugh which cuts the heart of the listener. There, too, exciting drinks are given; and many a man has left that dark and fearful room, a ruined or a wiser man.

About midnight the playing at rouge et noir is at its extreme. The atmosphere of the rooms has become almost tropical-the windows and doors are thrown open-refreshments are handed round, and the gamesters respited. Some, with languishing women leaning on their arms, and catching the fire of passion from those big black eyes, wander out into the garden; while others, less sentimental, leave them to discuss the stars, the moon, and the last vaudeville, and return with their unebbing fever to the cards. And there again, until the first cold reproaching streak of light brightens the east, will you see the

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same faces, pale and fiendish, as if moulded by a demon-the same seared foreheads knotted brows wrinkled cheeks-mouths compressed so closely that a mere line is visible, when the lips should swell in natural grace-and eyes fixed in heart-broken gaze upon the last louis as it passes into the bank, leaving in exchange but misery and despair!

"I remember well"-said my friend to me as we descended the stairs, waking the drowsy porter-" I remember well my first night in these saloons. I played, and went away a loser. My blood boiled in my veins from mental excitement. I tossed on my bed, and played over in fancy all the games of the evening. I corrected my stakes, and made plans-how effective I deemed them for to-morrow! I slept; but my dreams were haunted by the sighs and sounds of that hateful room. I awoke with fever. The second night I was cooler; I was ending my noviciate. I played again, and put my schemes into operation; yet they did not avail me. I lost again and again; yet there, forsaking all society, I came night after night. My health and fortune were sinking rapidly, when, coming home one morning, I caught a glance at my face in the glass-and oh, heavens ! shall I ever forget the expression of despair that was frozen there in the short time that I had devoted myself to these practices! The agony of years had been compressed into that brief space of time. Worn and tired, I sank down-and accident, oh! that I should confess it, brought me on my knees! It seemed as if heaven had been pleased thus to warn me of my error; and I rose with a vow to forsake it. Unlike most gamblers, I have kept that vow; and although I frequently visit Frascati's, the table never won a sou from my pocket."

"And never will ?" inquired I.
"Never!"

Is it necessary to tell the reader that he died—no, I should not use that word

that he perished, a gambler? If there is more eloquence in any one line than another of that blessed prayer, which at once teaches us our duty to man and our language to God, it is that which begins, "Lead us not into tempta tion!"

There is a little history connected call on the beauty. 'Twas quite an with Frascati's, which I will tell the reader as I had it from the individual who was one of the actors, giving it, as nearly as I can remember, in the language of the narrator.

"I boarded," said he, in the Rue Rivoli, at Madame F's: our company was composed of people from every part of Europe; and among them I found Edmund Hope, a young Englishman, of moderate fortune and respectable family. He came to Paris to study medicine; and, when I first became acquainted with him, was one of the most diligent of his class. His pale, intellec. tual countenance and winning manners made him a favourite with every one. We were almost continually together.

"One evening, having just left the Variétés, we were walking on the Boulevard des Italiens, when he suddenly stopped me, and proposed a visit to Frascati's. 'I've never been there,' said he, and what is stranger still, though I've been ten months in Paris, I don't even know where it is. Be amiable, and show me.'

"We are near it,' said I, 'but, my dear fellow, recollect that it is after eleven, and that our notable concierge is very regular in his hours. How would you like to be locked out?'

"Nonsense: we 'll ring such a chime about the old fellow's ears that he will be glad to admit us; and besides, we must stop only half an hour; and so on, sir, to this lair of sin.'

"En avant, done!'

"We were just turning from the Boulevard into the Rue Richelieu. The broad stone stairway was soon ascended-the courtly servants flung open the doorsand there, as ever, the lights were shining and the balls rolling. I walked with him through the rooms.

"Stop,' said he, as returning we reached the roulette; let me try a franc or two; I can afford to lose that much, and the sight is worth it.'

"But he won!

"That night he pledged deeper than he dreamed of. I met some acquaintances who urged me to go home at once; and I bade Edmund good night, as he was reclining on an ottoman, with the hand of the beautiful De la V-in his, in that dark, silent, and dimly-lighted room.

"We met at breakfast next morning. He had won, and he had promised to

adventure, he said, and her character was entirely mistaken-she was an injured woman-she had told him her history and misfortunes with tears in her eyes-and, moreover, they were to be at Frascati's that evening precisely at eight, to see a celebrated player test his doctrine of chances. And so a month passed away.

"I could not avoid noticing the fondness for the salon which was growing on him. I told him of my own experience-my own losses-my own resolves-but I went with him whenever he required my presence! He began by playing for francs at roulette-became bolder as he won, and at last staked nothing but gold at rouge et noir! His success was immense. He gained uninterruptedly for two weeks; but luck made him timid, and he began to play upon system. He had been distinguished for his mathematical talents at college, and he had calculated a scheme by which he could ruin the table-it was reduced to absolute certainty. Cheating fortune had lured him into a belief that he was possessed of the alchymist's secret.

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Well, success, as I said, made him timid; he began to play upon system, (the very worst way for games of hazard,) and he lost; he doubled to regain, and he lost once more! I was with him on the night of the eighteenth of June, when he had lost all that he had gained since his first visit to Frascati's. He stood precisely as he was when he commenced his gambling career. I had just persuaded him to accompany me home, when De la V took his arm.

"You are pale, love,' said she, as she bent her black eyes on his, and approached his cheek so closely that she almost kissed it, let me play for you.'

"He gave her his purse-she drew him down by her side-and she lost all! He produced his letter of credit on the Paris banker, and the croupier cashed it immediately and she lost the year's allowance, too!

"More money!' said madame, eagerly, and intent upon the game. "I am ruined!'

"But you have some at home, Edmund.'

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'this young Anglais has lost shamefully; poor fellow! I must bid him good-bye for to-night.

"Better luck in future, Edmund, but adieu for this evening; I am really obliged to leave you, I had forgotten an engagement!' and the next minute she left the room and the house with the delighted Frenchman. Edmund was the picture of despair-he was cut to the heart. He seemed to forget his destitute condition-to pardon to himself all his excesses, but in the blind pursuit of beauty he had forgotten that he knelt to a desecrated shrine, and the expulsion thence was too great for him to bear. She whom he had fancied loved him, had left him in his misery for a stranger, and with scorn.

“For heaven's sake take me away!' "We went to Tortoni's and got an ice, but it did not cool him; his flesh was like heated iron, and his language wild. We walked for an hour on the Bouleyards, its palaces silvered and glittering in the moonlight; we turned down the Rue St. Honoré, and rested awhile on the steps of St. Roch, that church where the bridal and the burial train so often meet-but he was still moody, feverish, and miserable.

"I began to fear for his reason, but tears relieved his over-wrought brain.

666 'Why did you take me there?' "The reproach struck me like deathit curdled my blood, and we wept there like children, in the cold, silent, deserted streets of Paris at midnight.

"We came home.

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“Lend me your purse!' said he, becoming calmer ; no, do not give it to me, but put it there on the table, and now good night!'

“I left him, and went to my room, which adjoined his; I put down my curtains, for day was dawning, and went to bed, but felt too much excited to sleep. Surely it were best not to reason with him then, with his mind in a flame; I should let his agitated nerves acquire their wonted tone, and to-morrow persuade him to return to England at once. "I heard him walking about his room for nearly half an hour, and have some recollection of hearing his door closed stealthily just as I was falling asleep.

"About two o'clock in the afternoon I awoke, and went immediately to Edmund's chamber. He was in bed and asleep, the sun was shining on the blue window-curtain, and by that unfavour

able light his pale and emaciated face wore a terrible expression; his lips were apart; his teeth firmly set, and he ground them, while his body writhed as if under the influence of some dreadful dream. A heap of louis, and two or three bags of the same metal, and a pile of notes lay confusedly on the table, and beside them a lump of opium.

"I paused a moment between the dreamer and the wealth, and resolved to strain every nerve to save him. I stole off on tiptoe, and locking his door on the outside, went immediately to Lafitte and Gaillard's, and took a place in the coupée of the diligence, which was to start that night for Geneva.

I

"I returned, and Edmund still slept ; sat down by his bed-side, and wrote introductions to an English family spending the summer at Interlacken.

"Not a word,' said I, as he awoke, ' of this morning's history-the metal on the table has been very eloquent while you were asleep.' I put the receipt for the passage money and my letters in his hands; you will leave this afternoon for Geneva-and you may fall into genuine love, if you choose, with the pretty daughter of A, at Interlacken. At any rate, my dear fellow, you are to be cured of gambling-and Paris is the very worst place to abide the trial; try what the lakes and mountains of Switzerland and the beauty of English women can do for you.'

66 6

My mind is too much agitated to reason now,' said Edmund, rising, 'but I place myself in your hands-indeed I throw myself on the mercy of your judgment-dispose of me as you please; but let us count my winnings.’

"He was master of one hundred thousand francs-won between daylight and breakfast!

"He left his servant to pack up, and we dined together for the last time at the Rocher de Cancaille; we had a pleasant time of it; he felt himself on dry land after a gale. At six o'clock he was on his way to Geneva, dozing away delightfully after his night's debauch.

"In a few days I left Paris for Havre, and sailed for London. About a year ago I got the following letter from a friend residing at Paris :

"Dear. - Do you remember Hope, with whom we used to board at P's, and who made the grand sweep at Frascati's in '32? Well, poor fellow, I have just returned from his funeral !

Three days ago he returned from Italy, and spent his last night, as usual, in the Rue Richelieu, lost a large sum, quarrelled with F, the fat croupier, insisting on a wrong count of cards, and in his passion forgot so far what he owed to the decencies of society, as to accept a challenge. They fought yesterday with pistols, and he was horribly mangled by a ball which passed through his lungs; it was hoped that he might recover, but the bleeding was so copious that he died of exhaustion about midnight. I have heard his history since you left, and there is much to tell; but as Hottinguer has sent for my letter to go by the packet, I must leave this melancholy subject. I will write again soon-and you shall then have the intermediate history.'-Yours ever,

"But I heard from him no more-and there was an intermediate history' to tell, which I learned by accident, and will sketch it as briefly as possible, for my feelings are dreadful when I recur to a tragedy in which I was at once an innocent and guilty actor.

"Seeking to deliver my letters, he visited the family at Interlacken; and the same noble heart and frank manner that had won him the esteem of Paris, made him soon an inmate in. -'s house. As I predicted, the beauty of —, and the confiding tenderness of her youth, soon captivated him; and from their constant intercourse, a passion sprung, which might have crowned his life with blessings. I will pass over the dreamy history of love's development, that beautiful field in which the novelist loosens his fancy, allowing it to run riot in the wilderness of sweets. It was the virgin passion of their souls. The canals of Venice and her palaces sleeping in the moonlight, silent but for the song of the weary gondolier-the Villa of Naples -the Arno at Florence-the Pincian Mount, witnessed many of their happiest hours during the year through which they pursued their travels-seeing the sweetest land on earth through the purple light of love.' They were to have been married during the winter of 1835, and when our party returned to its home at Interlacken, Edmund was sent forward to Paris to make ready the wedding feast,' and to prepare his family for the reception of his wife. His parents and his bride came at the appointed time, but he had no greeting for them on the bleak heights of Père la Chaise !"

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6

B. M.

AN ILL-USED GENTLEMAN.

IN TWO CHAPTERS.

CHAPTER I.

It was a bright, beautiful, breezy morning, in the laughing, loving, and leafy month of June, when, on opening the door that leads into my little spot of ground dignified with the name of garden, I became at once aware that I was labouring under a very decided attack of that pleasant but profitless distemper, termed idleness. I looked toward the town: there it stood, the image of puffy importance, fuming and smoking away in its usual busy and petulant manner; and I bethought myself of the dust and the dirt, and the glare and the heat, the bartering and the bargaining, the buying and the selling, and the rest of the multifarious bustle going on within its walls, and the agreeable tranquillity of my spirit became disturbed. I turned toward the country; and there it lay, hill and dale, tillage and pasturage, wood, water, and green sward, basking and rejoicing in the beneficent and procreant sunshine. Suddenly, that portion of the Scriptures which saith, "there is a time for all things," "a time for work, and a time for play," became forcibly impressed upon me. Certes, quoth I, the latter part of that injunction has been too long neglected; and away I strode toward the conscientious discharge of my duty.

How pleasant and how quiet are the works of nature to those of man-how serene and noiseless her magnificent operations! Here was no clanking of hammers, or hacking of saws, or puffing of steam, or villanous gases or exhalations: yet was her ladyship labouring on the most extensive scale. How delicious, too, were the accompaniments of her handicraft! the young corn springing, and the merry birds singing in the blue sky above it; the green grass growing, and the fresh breeze blowing far and wide. Here and there, in the many nooks and corners of the winding lanes, was the busy bee humming over some clump of natural poetry, I mean wild-flowers, gratifying eye and ear with its cheerful and luxurious industry; while, on every side, the beautiful, blossoming hawthorn impreg

nated the cool air with its pure and ill-feeling were equally out of the queshealthful fragrance.

"God made the country, and man made the town."

A glorious line that, thought I, as I sauntered dreamily on in my pleasant and purposeless path.

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Ah! a patch of moorland, skirting and relieving the rich fertility of the district; its dark, heathery surface irregularly dotted with adult and incipient sheep; (oh, the delicious flavour of moorland mutton! rich, yet not cloying -so specially different from the greasy lusciousness of the plain ;) with, here and there, a four-footed ass, standing, considering whether to eat or sleep. Blessed state of animal and asinine existence! Through this moor a tiny brook went, singing a quiet tune," as it wended its solitary and uncared-for way toward some more pompous and important geographical stream. I followed it, of course; for an idle man as naturally and unconsciously followeth the course of running water as he followeth his own nose; quite busily employed in fashioning the most filmy and fantastic projects, and erecting aerial castles of a very gorgeous and imposing description, when, on rounding a small knoll on which grew a patch of furze, I came suddenly upon a gentleman much more usefully and practically employed. He was washing a pocket-handkerchief in the limpid waters of the brook, and humming "Love's young dream." It was a singular employment for a person of that gender, yet did he not seem altogether unskilled in the exercise of it, and evermore he washed and sung,

"Oh there's nothing half so sweet in life

As love's young dream !" On the aforesaid furze-bush lay, outspread, that refuge for the shirtless, surnamed "a dickey," and alongside of it another piece of assumption, that goeth by the name of collar; both of which had evidently undergone a recent partial purification. On becoming aware of my presence, he attempted a hasty concealment, but immediately perceived the futility of such a procedure. I had become so fully, yet so simply and unobtrusively, aware of the state of his linen or cotton garments, and the manner in which they were restored to their original complexion, that subterfuge or

tion. He, therefore, with a pleasant yet rueful smile, bade me "good morning," and jocosely added that it was "fine drying weather!"

"Very!" responded I.

"Ah! sir," continued the primitive washerman with a sigh, as he spread the handkerchief alongside of the dickey and collar, "misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows."

I knew him at once to be a player, by the inappropriateness of his quotation.

"Tut!" said I, "'tis nothing The daughters of kings did the same thing in the classical times, before the world knew anything of soap. I like to see a man independent of the fashions of his day."

"And then," said he, evidently relieved by the way in which I treated the subject, "washerwomen are so careless! Now, when a gentleman officiates as his own laundress, he is at least sure (with a serio-comic glance at the furze-bush) that he can lose nothing!"

"Most veritable ! therefore, take heed," quoth I, "how you depart from your present practice."

In five minutes we were the best friends in the world, and an infinity of words ensued. In fact, we talked ourselves hungry; and as it was now about the hour for refreshing and replenishing the stomach, I ventured to propose to my new friend that he should dine with me at a small hotel situated on the outskirts of the moor; and this proposal he accepted with a frankness and alacrity which showed him to be a person who despised ceremonious observances, as much as he did new and gaudy apparel. But I must endeavour to give some idea of my companion's rather singular appearance. He seemed to me a man of about five-and-thirty, with a somewhat long and cadaverous physiognomy, yet pleasant withal. His person had a lean, lank, dinnerless-like look, as if he had not "sat at good men's feasts"-or men's good feasts, which is much more to the purpose-for some time past; and his vestments were in a state of exceeding dilapidation. He wore a snuff-coloured surtout, from which most of the buttons had departed, and a pair of contumacious pepper and salt coloured pantaloons, who obstinately refused to proceed further than half way down his legs. They could never have been made for him, but must, I surmise, have been the gift

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