has he any interest in doing so. And, finally, if he saw the bets, if he had ample opportunity to "stock the cards" before every hand, and if he were to receive all the winnings, it would take more than the adroitness of Mephistopheles himself to arrange the play so as to be against the public and in favor of the bank to any greater extent than is expressed in the well-known and undisguised "percentage."

The croupier is not Mephistopheles, no matter how fiendish he may sometimes seem to the luckless loser. He may be a very good sort of fellow, fond of music, father of a family, and all that. In fact, we have heard of one who lets lodgings. This is very unSatanic-if the lodgings are comfortably cool. True, the croupier is imperturbable in raking in your perhaps hardearned money, but then the coins doubtless seem much more like counters to an experienced croupier than to the greenest American. As to the robbery of your family, it is not the croupier, nor even the banker, who is guilty of that; it is another gentleman, one who also wears your hat and boots.

Some of the croupiers are so human as to introduce a little humor into their otherwise unvarying phrases. There is one who says, "Faites vos jeux, messieurs!" ("make your games, gentlemen,") in a pleasant, jocular, inviting tenor. Then, suddenly changing, he utters the incisive sentence, "Le jeu est fait rien ne va plus!" ("the game is made-nothing more goes,") in a profound bass, suited to the decrees of fate. You are precluded from staking, withdrawing, or changing a piece. "Rouge gagne, couleur perd," ("red wins, color loses.") You have lost? he smiles. Your neighbor has won? The croupier smiles as well.

There have been croupiers who failed to come up to the standards of perfect morality instituted by Locke, Dymond, and others. But judge if they defrauded the public. One of them had the habit of taking snuff. (They all take snuff.) But he had also a habit of having the bottom of his snuff-box

covered with adhesive wax. The box travelled from his pocket to his hand, from his hand to the table, from the table to his pocket, and so on, as snuffboxes are apt to travel, and as the exigencies of the game, the hunger of his nostrils, and the occupation of his hands in pushing out and pulling in gold and silver coins might dictate or permit. As may readily be imagined, the box, on going into his pocket, had often a gold piece sticking to it, whereas it was invariably without any when it reappeared to view. From that day to this the company furnishes the snuff for all the croupiers, and in front of each place may be seen a large stationary box filled with it.

Another croupier was a very fat man. He seemed to suffer a good deal with heat, and had a habit of mopping his glowing face, and slipping his fingers inside his collar to loosen it from his throat. All these phenomena were quite natural, and would have excited no remark except for a peculiar circumstance. Why should the contact or impact of his linen with his skin produce a chinking sound? We have all heard of "sweating gold," but it is supposed to be quite a different process from any which could be going on under the cravat of that croupier, although the sound was similar. To settle this interesting question in physics or acoustics, M. Croupier was invited to step into a private room and disrobe, when he turned out a shower of gold. He had slipped a gold piece inside his neckcloth each time he had raised his hand thereto, and, had his zeal not outrun his discretion, he might have carried on his very profitable "cornering" operation to this day. The croupiers now are required to keep their hands before them on the table. If one so much as drops his into his lap, he is at once admonished of the irregularity by a tap on the shoulder from one of the ever-watchful officials in plain clothes always standing about.

What did the administration, in each of these cases, do to their unprofitable servant? They took from him all he

had sequestrated that day, and thendischarged him! No prosecution, no noise, no disturbance; that is one of the company's wise principles of action. More especially in the management of the salons de jeu is it their motto to allow any thing, rather than an esclandre. In fact, the loss resulting from a few minutes' interruption of play, at any table in full operation, would be greater than that to be sustained from the payment of any demand, however unreasonable. Unlike the poor croupier last mentioned, the corporation, as the money rolls into its secret receptacles, takes care that there is no noise about it.

To illustrate. "I was playing," (said my cicerone), "and had staked a twoflorin piece on number thirty-six. The ball rolled, and thirty-six was called. The croupier counted out the seventytwo florins, and instantly a person sitting near reached out his hand and drew in the money to himself! It was doubtless one of the thieves always at the table, playing a little and watching the opportunities for improving their chances by appropriating winnings that do not belong to them, knowing the carelessness of players who stake money on various numbers, not very accurately noticing which, and knowing also the almost invincible unwillingness of the administration to allow any dispute. In my case, a gentleman standing by had witnessed the transaction; therefore I called out to the inspector, who sits there on the high chair just behind the left-hand croupier, Monsieur, I staked two florins on thirty-six. It won, and that person' (pointing him out) 'seized the money! Here is my witness.' 'Sh-h-h-h! certainly, my dear sir,' answered the inspector, in a low, hurried voice, here is the money;' and he forthwith counted it out from the bank, and handed it to me; not paying any attention to the culprit, so far as I saw."

Again. "I once threw a piece of money down at the roulette, on number eleven. As I was not seated, but played over the shoulder of some one

who was before me, the coin, as it lay, happened to touch the line between eleven and twelve. Had I wished to take half a chance on eleven and half a chance on twelve, I should have laid the coin on the boundary, to win eighteen-fold if the ball lodged in either eleven or twelve. This would have been a cheval, being a straddle of the line. Well, eleven happened to come up winning. The croupier assumed that the bet was a cheval, and counted out money accordingly. I told him I had bet on eleven, and had either won in full, or nothing. So I declined the money, and walked away. I strolled round another table, looked at the play, then came back to the same table again, speaking to no one. There I was accosted by a gentleman whom I did not know as connected with the establishment. Said he, Why did you not take your winnings?' I replied that I had bet on eleven; that the croupier wished to pay the cheval only; that not being my bet, I refused to take it. He replied, 'Oh, that is all right; here is the money,' and paid it over-all I had claimed."

A lady not long since set a coin whirling on the table while the ball was rolling. It went on whirling till after the number was called, and then happened to settle in the corresponding square! The croupiers objected to paying, on the ground that the money was not staked when the game was called. She replied that it was their fault for not stopping the piece, which was beyond her reach. Of course, they paid.

The administration go still further in their deference to good order and public opinion. A Frankfort gentleman had a dispute with another player on some matter, and the croupier decided it against the Frankforter. Whereupon he arose in his might, stormed at the idea that such a creature as the poor croupier should presume to dispute his assertions, and demanded that he, the croupier, should be put out of the room. And he was accordingly expelled by the administration !

While standing by the trente-et-un

table, talking over these items of characteristic interest, we had our attention fixed by a young, fair, and delicate player, a gentleman of middle-parted hair and other marks of dandyism, but without the air of great wealth, who was playing napoleons rather cautiously, concealing his nervousness by caressing his girlish little moustache with thin white fingers. He lost-lost so many napoleons that he had to hand the croupier a bank-note to get more to play with. Again he lost. Then he put his two other bank-notes on the black, entire. "Rouge gagne—” and the bank took them. Then he placed on the black six napoleons, evidently the remainder of his capital. It looked so little and helpless that we almost prayed that it might win. He did not look at the coup while it was playing, but kept his eyes down. "Rouge gagne-" The little pieces went into the bank, like six little lambs into a slaughter-house; and then the pale boy got up wearily, and went slowly away. The incident was a common one enough at that place, I suppose, but it happened to touch us as very piteous.

The poor administration is grievously annoyed sometimes by the outrageous conduct of persons who choose to kill themselves in the Kursaal, of all places in the world! The latest mishap of that kind occurred at Baden. A desperate loser blew out his brains, which spattered themselves over the fatal green cloth. For a time even the imperturbability of the gaming-house officials was ruffled. Within three quarters of an hour, however, all evidences of the " 99 occurrence were removed, and the play going on at the same table as usual. But then it is to be considered that in such a case there were probably only very few brains to remove.

"A man whom we all know," quoth my cicerone (speaking as a resident), "a man worth millions of florins, played, and lost every thing. Toward the last he grew desperate, and would dash the notes down upon the tables so that they scattered themselves about unpleasantly. It was growing conspicu

ous, and even disquieting, to the administration. Once or twice he was expostulated with, and at length one of the managers said to him, with their own insinuating politeness, 'Dear sir, you are unfortunate. You had better go away from here. You will be more happy elsewhere. Any funds you need you may draw on us for,, only do not remain here.' The poor fellow cried, 'Give me a thousand pounds sterling, and I will go away and never return.' Quick, before he could repent or retract, the notes were his. He departed, and so far has kept his word, and stayed away.

Of course

"For the ludicrous side of all thisI have heard of a fellow who rushed to the roulette table, threw down a coin or two, and then nervously plucked a pistol half out of his pocket. one of the watchful guardians protested against the irregularity of such conduct. 'I must have back my fifty florins!' he cried, still nervously clutching the pistol with trembling fingers. 'I beg you to accept twenty-five florins, and leave us.' Instantly all was serene. The pistol disappeared-also the man; one of the few who finally leave the Kursaal richer than they came."

A Spaniard, Señor G―, came and played boldly and immensely. The limit of bets at the trente-et-quarante table is four thousand florins-say sixteen hundred dollars, gold, on each single bet. G

played a while, but protested that he could not spend his time over such beggarly risks, and demanded the privilege of doubling the amount, otherwise he should go elsewhere. After consultation it was accorded to him. Before he departed, he "broke the bank" at each of the four tables in the Homburg establishment. He then went to Baden, it is said, and broke the bank there. His aggregate winnings were estimated to have been a million or more of florins. At present he is in prison in Paris for stealing some trifling

men have been ruined by the tradition of G's doings? men who fondly thought they could follow his road to the top of the grade, and then leave it without making the descent.

Please observe here that a man may "break the bank," and yet be at the same moment a loser in the aggregate. The phrase does not mean that the unknown and incalculable reserve-hoards of the association are exhausted, or even that they are infringed upon, except to the extent of the capital placed by the administration at the disposal of Fortune on any particular table on any particular day. In the entrancehall is posted a written placard, as follows:

Mise en Banque.
Au Trente-et-un, 150,000 fr.
A la Roulette, 60,000 fr.

Administration.

So it will be seen that whenever, on any day, the losses on the roulette table exceed the gains by the sum of 60,000 francs, or $12,000 gold, technically speaking, the bank is broken at that table; the croupiers depart; the covering cloth is spread-and so, we may be sure, is the news. "The bank was broken a few minutes since!" Fancy the thrill that would run through the idle crowds in the hotels and pensions of Homburg! "Who was it? Show me the lucky man! I will follow and copy his play to-morrow!" "No; I will play the opposite of his play! Such luck cannot last!" And so on, in polyglot. One fancies that it must pay the bank very well to be broken occasionally. And, at the very same time, the "lucky man" may have lost at that same table yesterday twice the sum he gained in breaking the bank today.

A person once entered the bank, sat down, and played gold; lost and won, lost and won, as is usual, but finally retired with a few of the bank's rouleaux in his pocket. The next day he played again, losing and winning alternately, with admirable sang-froid, numbers of the pretty black rolls scaled at each end, into which the loose gold on the

table is made every evening at eleven o'clock by the dexterous croupiers. Finally our hero departed, carrying with him about 25,000 florins in good gold. How many rouleaux he had lost is not known, neither is it of much consequence; for the rouleaux he lost were of lead! He had simply copied, at his leisure, the form, color, seals, and weight of the bank rouleaux, had pocketed his gains, and shaken the dust from off his feet, to be seen in Homburg no more, we may be sure. His was, at any rate, a wiser use of lead than driving it into the brain; and probably not more objectionable to the administration. Since that day, however, the curious observer may notice that the paper covering each rouleau has a slit in its side, which shows the yellow, milled edges of the coin whereof it is composed.

Another, better trick is thus described: A player staked a rouleau. If it lost, he hastily redeemed it with some loose gold coin or bills-as if he merely preferred to keep the package for convenience sake. But soon its color won. The croupier threw out the customary equivalent - say a similar rouleau. "I beg pardon, that is not my bet. Please to examine the package I staked." They open the package -behold bank-notes neatly interlaced with the gold, carrying the amount up to the maximum allowed to be staked at a single hazard! The maximum loss to pay! "But you had previously staked that rouleau, and redeemed it with ten napoleons." "Again pardon, messieurs; it was this other rouleau which I staked before." What was to be done? It is said that the bank paid. That is the bank's customary solution for all problems. At any rate, we now observe, among the rules, that the company does not hold itself responsible for hidden or disguised bets. Not even a gold piece may be secreted under a silver piece, still less a banknote in a rouleau.

A famous player and constant loser is the Countess Kisselef. She has been often described. Every one has heard

of her being wheeled in her chair to the Kursaal, and sitting at her place at the table from the opening to the closing of the play, almost uninterruptedly, seven days each week during the whole season. Fabulous tales are told regarding her age, but, from her looks, she cannot be over seventy. Besides, her peculiar relations with the late Emperor Nicholas of Russia fix the date of her birth as being almost certainly since the beginning of the present century. Very large, very bent, very infirm, very bright-eyed, and very affable-such are the characteristics which now mark the appearance of this once world-famous beauty. Nicholas left her one hundred thousand florins a-year. The present Emperor has cut down this pension one half, and on the remainder, say $20,000 (in addition to her private fortune), the Countess manages, with strict economy, to live. Of course she cannot play very heavily. She is said to set aside forty thousand francs a-year to lose at play, saying that, in her youth and beauty, she spent more than that sum on dress and gayety; and, now that youth and beauty are gone, she must spend her time and money on the pleasures which are left her. Gaming, with her, is not a speculation, it is an occupation-a slight excitement, almost unconnected with hope and fear. In her favor it may be said that in Russia she is much respected. When she is in St. Petersburg, the street where she lives is blocked with the carriages of callers the best society, they say.

One of the nicest residence streets in Homburg is named for the CountessKisselef Strasse. There is something very naïve in thus calling the place after the person whose losses have given it existence. But they say that the Kisselef is a large shareholder as well as a main patron of the gaming-house company. "Who are the other owners of the establishment?" No one knows. No one is willing to acknowledge ownership. "Then gaming is disreputable, is it, among the best people, even here?" By no means. Even the best business-men in Frankfort play,

without any disguise; but as to owning gambling-house shares, that would be quite another thing. In other words, they are willing to be known as losing money in the way of amusement, but not as making money. That would place them in the class of professional gamblers.

The first charter of the Privelegirte Bank was given in 1842, and expired in 1866, at which time the second (also for twenty-four years), began. But there was a war in Germany in 1866, and, as one of the consequences thereof, Hessc Homburg has become Prussian, and Prussian laws forbid public gambling; so there is talk of closing the gamblingrooms next year. What will become of Homburg when that is done? Kurhaus means the house where people are cured, and it is not to be supposed that the mineral waters of the springs will lose their medicinal virtues in consequence of having become Prussian. This will be "Bad-Homburg" still, as long as the baths remain, though not with the double significance the word has now while the place is the greatest gaming-hell in the world. The Kurgardens will be lovely, green, shady parks, with innumerable walks, and drives, and ponds. The Kurhaus will still exist—a great and gorgeous edifice, as large as the New York City Hall. And in the Kurhaus, the salons de jeu must endure for many a year, beautiful rooms wherein time and neglect can only damage the glories of color, not the perfections of form and proportion. Who will come to be cured, when there remain to be administered only nature's remedies for bodily ills? We all know that the main attraction has been the fascinating phlebotomy of the gaming-table, so good for plethora of the pocket. It is money left here by the fortune-seekers that has built up this lovely little city for us simple health and pleasure seekers-graded and paved these model streets, smoothed, planted, and beautified the pleasuregrounds that surround the wells, instituted the lovely out-door flower-beds and tropical greenhouses, provided the