only consternation.

A wife had received the most solemn promise from her husband that he
would gamble no more. One night, however, he slunk out of bed, rushed
to the gaming table, and lost all the money he had with him. He tried
to borrow more, but was refused. He went home. His wife had taken the
precaution to lock the drawer that contained their last money. Vain
obstacle! The madman broke it open, carried off two thousand crowns--to
take his revenge, as he said, but in reality to lose the whole as
before.

But it is to the gaming room that we must go to behold the progress of
the terrible drama--the ebb and flow of opposite movements--the shocks
of alternate hope and fear, infinitely varied in the countenance,
not only of the actors, but also of the spectators. What is visible,
however, is nothing in comparison to the secret agony. It is in his
heart that the tempest roars most fiercely.

Two players once exhibited their rage, the one by a mournful silence,
the other by repeated imprecations. The latter, shocked at the
sang-froid of his neighbour, reproached him for enduring, without
complaint, such losses one after the other. 'Look here!' said the other,
uncovering his breast and displaying it all bloody with lacerations.

It is only at play that we can observe, from moment to moment, all the
phases of despair; from time to time there occur new ones--strange,
eccentric, or terrible. After having lost quietly, and even with
serenity, half his fortune, the father of a family staked the remainder,
and lost it without a murmur. Facere solent extrema securos mala.(9)
The bystanders looked at him; his features changed not; only it was
perceived that they were fixed. It seemed that he was unconscious of
life. Two streams of tears trickled from his eyes, and yet his features
remained the same. He was literally a weeping statue. The spectators
were seized with fright, and, although gamesters, they melted into pity.

(9) 'Great calamities render us CARELESS.'

At Bayonne, in 1725, a French officer, in a rage at billiards, jammed a
billiard-ball in his mouth, where it stuck fast, arresting respiration,
until it was, with difficulty, extracted by a surgeon. Dusaulx
states that he was told the fact by a lieutenant-general, who was an
eye-witness.

It is well known that gamblers, like dogs that bite a stone flung at
them, have eaten up the cards, crushed up the dice, broken the tables,
damaged the furniture, and finally