ck would not turn. His carriage and
horses had been long waiting for him at the door, he staked them and lost!
He had nothing more; he threw up the window, and leant out of it in utter
despair. There stood his carriage and horses, the subject of his last
wager. He had now nothing left. Yes! There was the _harness_! Nothing had
been said of the harness. The carriage and the horses were lost, but not
the harness. His opponent agreed to this interpretation of the wager. They
played for the harness. He won! They played for the carriage and
horses,--he won. They played for the palace, for the plate, the pictures,
the furniture,--he won. They played for estate after estate,--he still
won. He won all back again, and rose from that table the same rich man he
had sat down to it. Had he not good reason to suspend that harness in his
very best saloon?

There is such a thing as a _first step_ most fortunately _adverse_, in
whose failure there is salvation. There are some well-known instances
where wealthy young noblemen have been rescued from the pernicious habit
of gaming by a first loss, which, though it partly crippled them, sent
them back from what might otherwise have proved the road to utter ruin.
When a man would tamper with any species of vice, a happy misadventure,
thoroughly disgusting him with his experiment, is the most precious lesson
he can receive. In the collection of anecdotes we have before alluded to,
there was one of this kind which struck us very forcibly. It is all
admirable instance of the _biter bit_; but here the young man who wished
to be _nibbling_ at roguery, (who in this instance happens also to be a
Russian nobleman,) got so excellent and so salutary a lesson, that we
almost forgive the old and consummate rogue who gave it.

The first Congress of Vienna had collected together all manner of Jew and
Gentile--all who could in any way contribute to pleasure, which seemed the
great object of the assembly; for balls, fetes, concerts, parties of every
description were following in endless succession, till one fine morning
news came that the lion was loose again. Napoleon had broke from Elba--and
every one scampered to his own home. Amongst the rest was a clever Jew and
a rich, who, being very magnificently apparelled, and having that to lend
which many desired to borrow, had found no difficulty in edging himself
amongst the grandees of the society. This man wore upon his finger a
superb diamond ring. The Coun