bable and mysterious pleasure, totally irrespective of
gain. The strange complications of chance occur with the most
surprising waywardness; the government of the Higher Power becomes
conspicuously evident; and this it is which stirs up our spirit to move
its wings and see if it cannot soar upwards into the mysterious
kingdom, the fateful workshop of this Power, in order to surprise it at
its labours.

"I once knew a man who spent many days and nights alone in his room,
keeping a bank and punting against himself; this man was, according to
my way of thinking, a genuine player. Others have nothing but gain
before their eyes, and look upon play as a means to getting rich
speedily. This class the Chevalier joined, thus once more establishing
the truth of the saying that the real deeper inclination for play must
lie in the individual nature--must be born in it. And for this reason
he soon found the sphere of activity to which the punter is confined
too narrow. With the very large sum of money that he had won by
gambling he established a bank of his own; and in this enterprise
fortune favoured him to such an extent that within a short time his
bank was the richest in all Paris. And agreeably to the nature of the
case, the largest proportion of players flocked to him, the richest and
luckiest banker.

"The heartless, demoralising life of a gambler soon blotted out all
those advantages, as well mental as physical, which had formerly
secured to the Chevalier people's affection and esteem. He ceased to be
a faithful friend, a cheerful, easy guest in society, a chivalrous and
gallant admirer of the fair sex. Extinguished was all his taste for
science and art, and gone all striving to advance along the road to
sound knowledge. Upon his deathly pale countenance, and in his gloomy
eyes, where a dim, restless fire gleamed, was to be read the full
expression of the extremely baneful passion in whose toils he was
entangled. It was not fondness for play, no, it was the most abominable
avarice which had been enkindled in his soul by Satan himself. In a
single word, he was the most finished specimen of a faro-banker that
may be seen anywhere.

"One night Fortune was less favourable to the Chevalier than usual,
although he suffered no loss of any consequence. Then a little thin old
man, meanly clad, and almost repulsive to look at, approached the
table, drew a card with a trembling hand, and placed a gold piece upon
it. Several of the