as nicked his
main to no advantage. Sometimes one die remains in the box after the
other has been landed; then the caster may either throw it quickly, or
may tantalize those interested in the event by gently coaxing it from
the bow. If one die lands on the top of another, it is removed by the
groom-porter and declared a throw.

'Some thirty years ago English Hazard was a favourite game in Ireland,
and Dublin could boast of three or four hells doing a brisk trade. The
most frequented and longest established was called "The Coal Hole,"
being situated on the coal quay. Here, at any hour after midnight, a
motley company might be seen, each individual, however, well known to
the porter, who jealously scanned his features before drawing back the
noiseless bolts which secured the door. The professional gambler trying
to live by his winnings, the fashionable swell finishing his round
of excitement, the struggling tradesman hoping to avert impending
bankruptcy, the prize-fighter, and, more conspicuous than any, the
keen-eyed usurer with his roll of notes and sheaf of bill stamps, were
to be found there. Many strange scenes have occurred in this house, some
followed by tragic consequences too painful to relate, others ridiculous
and amusing. Here it was that an angry caster, having lost his last
sovereign and his temper, also placed his black hat in the centre of the
table, swore that it was white, and finding no one disposed to dispute
his accuracy, flung himself from the room, and enabled the next player
who had won so largely and smiled so good-humouredly to take the box
in turn. But fortune deserted him also, and left him penniless, when,
glaring savagely round the room, and striking the table violently, he
thundered forth the inquiry, "Where was the rascal who said his hat
was white?" It was here also (although the venue has been changed by
story-mongers) that a well-known frequenter of the house, a sporting
M.P., on one occasion dropped on the 'door or in the passage a bank-note
without discovering his loss till he had reached home. On the next
evening he returned to inquire for it in a forlorn-hope spirit, when the
following conversation took place between him and the porter:--

"M.P. I think, Simpson, I dropped a note here last night--did you see
it?

"Porter. Shure, then, mony a note was dropped here beside yours.

"M. P. Ah! but I mean out of my pocket. I did not lose it at play. It
was for L20, one of Ball's Bank,