commission, but who prides himself upon his immovability of countenance and temperament, drawls out" Rather a good caster!" "Page, give me another hundred;" and, with a fresh bowl and another relay of counters, works perseveringly on in his untoward course. But meanwhile the box rattles aloft. "Seven!" shouts the caster, and the green masks echo-"The main is seven." "Make your game, gentlemen." Still the white glove is vibrating aloft, and the lynx-eyes twinkle beneath the green shades of the attendants; one more rattle, and down comes the box with a violence that leaves a semicircular mark indented on the cloth. No seven is there, but an envious five grins at him from the dice. "A five to a seven," says the shade, as the caster spreads his store between the parallel lines in front of him. One voice is heard to say "What are the odds?" A tyro he, but quickly to be instructed by the brief reply of "Three to two;" and had he looked at his next neighbour he would have seen two red counters, signifying each one hundred pounds, laid quietly down to be converted into three by one successful cast: the wished-for five comes not, and still delayed is the dreaded seven. All the numerals seem to come up in turn but those on which hope and fear depend. How loud the clock ticks! it jars on the strung nerves of the players as they watch the dice with straining eyes. One turn of the wrist sends a die spinning across the table, which, stopped by the opposite edge, turns up a tray. Now for the tug of war. "If there is one thing I pride myself on, it is dribbling a deuce," says the unmoved caster, in reply to the groom-porter's business-like observation of "tray landed," and laughingly he shakes the still imprisoned die in its cell. Holding the box horizontally, he waves it twice or thrice. with a sweeping motion of his wrist, and gently impels the ivory messenger on its important errand. The dice pitches. on its corner, rolls over, and lo! a fatal four stands confessed. "Seven out," says the green shade. Busily work the rakes to gather in the spoil. The pale youth having been scrupulously paid, gathers his winnings towards him, while the

defeated caster, declining the courteous offer of "a back," rolls the box on to his nearest neighbour, veiling his chagrin under an affected smile.

I had been so occupied in watching this scene as I stood behind the principal performer, identifying myself with his interests and triumphing in his success, that I never remarked Jack Raffleton, who, having taken a chair on the further side of the table, was now immersed in the chances and changes of the game. Judging by the multiplicity of counters before him, he was winning considerable; but nothing in Jack's handsome face would ever give an observer an idea of what was going on within. Winning or losing, he was coolness itself, and amongst other peculiarities of his temperament, he was never known by his most intimate friends to put himself in a passion. As he himself said, when, meeting him after a certain Derby, I condoled with him on the loss which I knew he had sustained of two thousand-"Yes," was Jack's answer, with his usual cheery laugh; "but, worse than that, I have lost my carriage and my luncheon; been losing my time looking for them; and now, if I can only lose my temper I shall have got rid of everything belonging to me, and start fresh, as an insolvent in a new line." Poor Jack! he was a great friend of mine, and I must be excused if I cannot resist the temptation of relating another anecdote, exemplifying the way in which he could keep his temper under the most ruffling circumstances.

Before he exchanged into the Guards, Jack was a subaltern in a very crack Hussar regiment, and, as may be supposed, was a dandy of the first water. Naturally of an affectionate and kind disposition, he was as fond of pets as any old maid that ever kept a parrot; and of all his favourites, two tiny King Charles's spaniels bore the bell. He never walked out without them; they had a seat in his phaëton, and a bed on his writing-table; and it was a joke at mess that the only way to get a "rise" out of Jack was to abuse his long-eared darlings.

One fine summer's day Jack was sauntering leisurely up

the High-street, with his little four-footed friends, as usual, close behind him, when the odour of Midsummer meat from a butcher's shop proved too much temptation for Fan to resist; and, sneaking quietly away, she ensconced herself, in company with a large piece of raw flesh, right under the butcher's dresser. Out of the back shop rushed blue-sleeves in a fury aggravated by the height of the temperature, and with one kick sent poor Fan flying across the street, to where her elaborately dressed master was sauntering quietly along. He heard the piteous howl of his favourite, and saw the stalwart butcher fuming upon his door-step; and one glance explained the whole transaction. But what did Jack?-rush across the street, and annihilate the miscreant who could so ruthlessly treat a dumb animal? No such thing. The highway had been watered, and was inch-deep in mud; Jack's boots were French-polished, and fitted him like a glove: so he gingerly walked on to where a paved crossing enabled him to pass over unsoiled; and, marching down the street again at the same tranquil pace as before, halted immediately opposite the butcher, who was still nursing his wrath in his own doorway.

"I say, butcher," drawled out the dandy, "did you kick my dog? How could you do so? You are very ugly, and enough to frighten any animal to death without mauling it."

Such an address as this was not calculated to soothe irritation; and the butcher, a proper-built fellow of some fourteen stone, intimated his intention of treating the questioner (whose appearance he thoroughly despised) in the same manner that he had served his dumb favourite.

"Oh, you will, will you? Butcher, can you fight?" said Jack, as he buttoned his coat systematically up to the throat; and, drawing on his gloves, stood carelessly in front of hist antagonist. "Now, butcher, are you ready?" added the dandy, aggravating his address with a lisp put on for the occasion.

To it went the man of marrow-bones with a will; and, being a stout active fellow, made sure that a few rounds would

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settle the whole business. And so it did; but not exactly as he anticipated. He had altogether mistaken his customer. Jack, a lathy lengthy man, far heavier than his antagonist had they both been brought into condition, was, besides this, one of the best amateurs in London; and as he kept peppering away with perfect good humour at his adversary, it was evident that what was a mortal struggle to the butcher was merely a "breather" to the swell. After a few unsuccessful rallies, in which the Hussar did not receive a single scratch, a well-planted right-hander in the wind sent the yokel down upon the pavement; where he lay, apparently deaf to the call of time. Ere this a crowd had collected; and the remarks made were, as usual, highly complimentary to the winner. 'Yes," said Jack, in reply to a scientific rat-catcher who was dilating on the issue of the fight "Yes; I wasted my time sadly upon his dial-plate. Had he been a baker instead of a butcher, I should have hit him in the bread-basket long ago."

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So much for Jack's coolness! And as he sat behind his pile of counters (and I saw that he had a sum far exceeding what I knew to be his yearly income, on the table in front of him, depending on the issue of the next main) I could not help regretting that all that nerve, judgment, coolness, and daring should be lavished on such a pursuit as Hazard. Many a good man has rued the hours wasted and the means squandered upon a cubic piece of ivory. Often had I been warned of the fascination of play-often had I been told that the allurements of the demon were irresistible, and that once having given way, once having fallen, there was no retreat; yet, even as I looked, I felt the spell stealing over me, the insidious poison was creeping into my veins, and almost ere I was aware I had seated myself at the table between my friend and a fresh-coloured, good-humoured looking personage who was playing like fury, and prepared to take my first sip of that goblet whose brim sparkles with the keenest excitement-whose dregs, alas! too often drained, are remorse, infamy, it may be suicide.

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The heart beat and the hand trembled as I took my bowl with its modicum of counters. "Young I was, and sore afraid;" and a modest pony was all I ventured to call for on this, my first essay. The table was pretty full; and I contented myself, until the box should come round to me, with backing "in" or "out," as the whim seized me, in the smallest sums-enough, however, to decrease my store to nearly half its original amount; when my next neighbour, who having called for fresh dice, and selected two with the utmost care only to throw "crabs," with a stifled execration and a pleasing smile rolled the box on to me. Feeling somewhat shy and very nervous, I put £5 on the "in" and called "seven." Up came a ten: two or three more throws, and up came my ten again; apparently much to the satisfaction of Jack Raffleton and one other man, who had put on cinques," which, as they said, I had "landed for them." I did not quite understand it; but receiving my winnings with a good grace, allowed them to remain on the table, and again prepared to call " seven. Why was it that the "ins on each side of the table were immediately filled up? Why was the disposition to back the caster so unerringly displayed? Could my verdancy have already peeped out? Could my generosity to the "table" in having nothing to do with the odds on my previous throw have stamped me at once as a fresh hand, whose proverbial good luck would enable winners to add heap to heap, and losers to "ride home upon the young one?" I know not; but I could not help remarking the tendency, and, truth to tell, it served to encourage me wonderfully. "Seven," I called lustily; and down it came a nick." Still did I leave my winnings untouched; and again I called the magic number-" Eleven's a nick!" "Bravo!" "A capital caster!" and other laudatory mutterings are heard around. In short, ere I threw out with an unsuccessfully-attempted nine I had attained my thirteenth main, to the discomfiture of the bank and the satisfaction of several lords and gentlemen who had speculated on my success. Jack Raffleton won largely; my fresh-coloured

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