ne hundred
and twenty thousand florins. Each one of the banks in the large
gaming-houses of Germany has forty or fifty croupiers standing in its
service.

Where does all the money come from? _The whole world is robbed!_ What
is most sad, there are no consolations for the loss and suffering
entailed by gaming. If men fail in lawful business, God pities, and
society commiserates; but where in the Bible, or in society, is there
any consolation for the gambler? From what tree of the forest oozes
there a balm that can soothe the gamester's heart? In that bottle
where God keeps the tears of his children, are there any tears of the
gambler? Do the winds that come to kiss the faded cheek of sickness,
and to cool the heated brow of the laborer, whisper hope and cheer to
the emaciated victim of the game of hazard? When an honest man is in
trouble, he has sympathy. "Poor fellow!" they say. But do gamblers
come to weep at the agonies of the gambler? In Northumberland was one
of the finest estates in England. Mr. Porter owned it, and in a year
gambled it all away. Having lost the last acre of the estate, he came
down from the saloon and got into his carriage; went back; put up his
horses, and carriage, and town house, and played. He threw and
lost. He started home, and on a side alley met a friend from whom
he borrowed ten guineas; went back to the saloon, and before a great
while had won twenty thousand pounds. He died at last a beggar in St.
Giles. How many gamblers felt sorry for Mr. Porter? Who consoled him
on the loss of his estate? What gambler subscribed to put a stone over
the poor man's grave? Not one!

Furthermore, this sin is the source of uncounted dishonesties. The
game of hazard itself is often a cheat. How many tricks and deceptions
in the dealing of the cards! The opponent's hand is ofttimes found
out by fraud. Cards are marked so that they may be designated from the
back. Expert gamesters have their accomplices, and one wink may
decide the game. The dice have been found loaded with platina, so
that "doublets" come up every time. These dice are introduced by the
gamblers unobserved by the honest men who have come into the play;
and this accounts for the fact that ninety-nine out of a hundred who
gamble, however wealthy they began, at the end are found to be poor,
miserable, ragged wretches, that would not now be allowed to sit on
the door-step of the house that they once owned.

In a gaming-house in San Francisco