ful of rich
pleasure, and the pleasure can be bought without heartache, without
struggling painfully, without risking envy and uncharitableness.
Better the immediate love of children and of friends than the hazy
respect of generations that must assuredly forget us soon, no matter
how prominent we may seem to be for a time. I have read a sermon to my
readers, but the sermon is not doleful; it is merely hard truth. Life
may be a supreme ironic procession, with laughter of gods in the
background, but at any rate much may be made of it by those who refuse
to seek the bubble reputation.

XIX.

GAMBLERS.

The great English carnival of gamblers is over for a month or two; the
bookmakers have retired to winter quarters after having waxed fat
during the year on the money risked by arrant simpletons. The
bookmaker's habits are peculiar; he cannot do without gambling, and he
contrives to indulge himself all the year round in some way or other.
When the Newmarket Houghton meeting is over, Mr. Bookmaker bethinks
him of billiards, and he goes daily and nightly among interesting
gatherings of his brotherhood. Handicaps are arranged day by day and
week by week, and the luxurious, loud, vulgar crew contrive to pass
away the time pleasantly until the spring race meetings begin. But
hundreds of the sporting gentry have souls above the British
billiard-room, and for them a veritable paradise is ready. The
Mediterranean laps the beautiful shore at Monte Carlo and all along
the exquisite Eiviera--the palms and ferns are lovely--the air is soft
and exhilarating, and the gambler pursues his pleasing pastime amid
the sweetest spots on earth. From every country in the world the
flights of restless gamblers come like strange flocks of migrant
birds. The Russian gentleman escapes from the desolate plains of his
native land and luxuriates in the beautiful garden of Europe; the
queer inflections of the American's quiet drawl are heard everywhere
as he strolls round the tables; Roumanian boyards, Parisian swindlers,
Austrian soldiers, Hungarian plutocrats, flashy and foolish young
Englishmen--all gather in a motley crowd; and the British bookmaker's
interesting presence is obtrusive. His very accent--strident, coarse,
impudent, unspeakably low--gives a kind of ground-note to the hum of
talk that rises in all places of public resort, and he recruits his
delicate health in anticipation of the time when he will be able to
howl once more in