Note (return) — St. Martin's, near Canterbury.

A few evenings subsequent to this common-place incident, I strolled into a house of play in the palais royal, the situation having been previously pointed out to me by a friend.1 The entrance was through a narrow passage by a silversmith's shop, on the ground floor, at the end of which a strong light shone through the figures denoting the number of the house, largely cut in tin; alas! thought I, a fatal number to many thousands. On the principal landing, being that above the entre-sol story, I gently tapped at a handsome door, which was almost as gently opened. My friend (for I was not alone,) having deposited his hat and stick with the garçon, was allowed to pass, but I was stopped for want of—whiskers; till assuring him that I was older than he took me to be, and an Englishman—I was also permitted to pass. We first entered a small room, in which was a roulette-table surrounded by players, and well staked: this communicated by folding-doors with a spacious saloon with a double table for Trente-et-un, or Rouge et Noir, round which were seated the players, behind whom stood a few lookers-on, and still fewer young men, whose stakes were "few and far between,"—probably those of cautious adventurers, or novices pecking at the first-fruits of play. Nothing is better described in books than the folly of gaming, and the sufferings of its victims; but, like Virgil, in his picture of Heaven, they fall short in describing their extasies; a failing on the right side, or perhaps purposely made, for the happiness of mankind. The seated visitors here seemed to be quite at home, some picking up their Napoleons and five franc pieces, and others recording the issues of the game, and illustrating the doctrine of chances by pricking holes in cards. A death-like stillness prevailed, interrupted only by the monotonous result of the deal of the cards, and the bewitching, though not frequent chink of gold and silver. The success of the winners was as silent as the disappointment of the losers; neither joy nor grief displaying itself otherwise than in an almost unvaried tristesse on the countenances of the seated players—in some measure produced by ill health and intense anxiety so as to conceal better feelings. I took my station at one end of the table beside a middle-aged Frenchman, and by way of forfeit-money (for mere lookers on are not very acceptable company) threw a few five-franc pieces, one by one, on the same colour with his stakes, each of which varied from one to ten Napoleons. After twelve chances I had lost about thirty francs, but the Frenchman continued playing, and within twenty minutes rose a winner of three hundred Napoleons, which the banker changing for paper, he coolly put into his waistcoat pocket, and walked off. A slight emotion was visible around the table, but there was no other expression. I had now time to look around me, and enjoy a little reflection for my foolish risk. It would be difficult to say whether more anxiety was displayed among the sitters, or the company at their backs. The attractive foci of all eyes were the everlasting varieties of red and black, though not accompanied by the usual grotesque mob of kings, queens, and knaves, the latter being probably excluded by the jealousy of their living fraternity around the table. A strong and steady light spread over the faces of all present, and in some few showed the quiverings and workings of the most intense passion; but the same stare or tip-toe of hope and fear pervaded the whole assemblage. Some counted their money with apparent caution, and seemed to divide their winnings from their store with affected precision, probably with an idea of the winnings being unfit company for other coin; whilst others listlessly played with their cash, or in a vulgar phrase, handled it like dirt, the distinguishing feature of the cold and calculating gamester, to whom money is an object of secondary concern compared with that of play. In the standing groupe I remember to have noticed (from his personal resemblance to a friend) a young Englishman, whom I afterwards learned had been a constant visiter to that table during the previous three months, and had then won about two hundred Napoleons. He had just married an interesting woman, about his own age, twenty-two, and had professedly taken up his degree in the practice of play, as an elegant and honourable mode of subsistence. A few weeks after I met him and his wife, on the Italian Boulevards; in dress he was woefully changed, and in his countenance a ghastly stare, sunken eye, and emaciated cheeks, bespoke some strong reverse of fortune: his wife too seemed dimmed by sorrow, and suffering might be traced in every lineament of her features, notwithstanding the artifice of dress was tastefully displayed about her person. Alas! thought I, how often is the charm of wedded life snapped asunder by man—the proud lord of the creation, and how often by his strong hold on her affections, does he sink lovely woman still fondly clinging to his disgrace, in the abyss of crime and guilt.