ILLUSTRATIONS OF HUMANITY. No. XXV. THE GAMBLERS. THERE is an old Anglo-Saxon word, primitively signifying a place covered over, or concealed, but which is now familiar to us in a larger and more awful sense. That word has been felicitously applied to places such as the one of which we have given a representation look at our engraving, and say if the scene does not indeed appear a hell! It is unquestionably a most extraordinary vice this of GAMBLING. Almost all nations have practised it, civilised and uncivilised, and amongst rude people it has been carried to extraordinary length. The ancient Germans would stake their own bodies, and the loser would cheerfully go into voluntary slavery, permitting the winner to dispose of his body for any consideration he could realize. The same thing has been, and is, done in modern times, amongst some of the African tribes or nations; while North American Indians, or apparently impassive Chinese, will stake whatever they possess in the world "on the hazard of the die." Nay, even fingers and thumbs are lost and won in this absorbing vice: while, in what are reckoned civilised and polished countries, too often has the Gambler rushed from the "hell" where he had lost his entire earthly possessions, and with his own hand added to his earthly loss by flinging his soul down the dark gulf of eternity! An awful instance of this occurred in the case of Caleb Colton, the author, amongst other things, of the celebrated collection called "Lacon, or Many Things in Few Words." In that book, Colton said, "The Gamester, if he die a martyr to his profession, is doubly ruined. He adds his soul to every other loss; and by the act of suicide renounces earth to forfeit heaven." Yet the man who wrote that awful sentence, was himself a gamester. Though a beneficed clergyman, and a man of acute and cultivated mind, he spent his time in the gambling "hells" of London, until he fled, in order to avoid his creditors; afterwards he became a regular frequenter of the gambling houses of Paris, often winning large sums of money. But being on a visit to a friend at Fontainebleau, the wearied, wasted, forlorn wretch blew out his brains. This was in 1832. The cause of gambling may easily be traced. The human mind requires occupation; it likes to have some pursuit that will rouse its passions, and keep it excited between hope and fear. The warrior, returned from fighting or hunting, lies down and sleeps; the excitement is gone, and he is all apathy and indifference: he cannot think, and he has no books, even supposing he could read. Propose a game-a gambling match -and instantly he rouses up! So in countries called civilised, especially in large cities, where men have both leisure and money, but are not sufficiently intellectual to live without stimulus, gambling prevails. The gambling table excites them, even supposing them to be indifferent to money for its own sake. But add also a love of money-a desire to obtain riches without labour, or the slow process of accumulation-then, gambling becomes "an enchanting witchery, gotten betwixt idleness and avarice." But we are not going to moralise on gambling: essays, tales, poems, and plays, there are in abundance, in the English language alone, all full of warning against the "enchanting witchery." The passion for gambling in England, or rather we may say London-during last century quite infected "all ranks and conditions of men." The desire to become suddenly rich was an overmastering passion, and any scheme that promised to gratify it was eagerly patronised. South Sea bubbles, and other joint-stock schemes-lotteries, large and small-cards, dice, &c. all flourished. Dr. Johnson, in his "Rambler," frequently refers to the absorbing desire for wealth, directing the thunders of his grave rhetoric against the many vices which it germinated. In one paper devoted to gambling, the motto is taken from Juvenal, with Dryden's translation: : "What age so large a crop of vices bore? Or when was avarice extended more? When were the dice with more profusion thrown? And the Doctor commences his paper with saying, "There is no grievance, public or private, of which, since I took upon me the office of a public monitor, I have received so many, or so earnest complaints, as of the predominance of play; of a fatal passion for cards and dice, which seems to have overturned, not only the ambition of excellence, but the desire of pleasure; to have extinguished the flames of the lover, as well as of the patriot; and threatens in its further progress, to destroy all distinctions, both of rank and sex, to crush all emulation but that of fraud, to corrupt all those classes of our people, whose ancestors have, by their virtue, their industry, or their parsimony, given them the power of living in extravagance, idleness, and vice, and to leave them without knowledge but of the modish games, and without wishes but for lucky hands." Up to within two or three years ago, gambling in Paris was a legalised pursuit. The government derived a revenue from the gambling houses, and the police protected the gamblers. There was a company which took all the gambling houses, six in number, and paid to the government an annual sum-about £240,000-for the privilege. "They kept six houses, namely, Frascati's, the Salons, and four in the Palais Royal. In a trial in Paris, it came out in the course of the evidence, that the clear profit for 1837, exclusive of the duty, had been 1,900,000 francs, (about £76,000,) of which three-fourths was paid to the city of Paris, leaving the lessee £19,000 for his own share. The average number of players per day was stated at 3000, and about 1000 more refused admission. The games played were chiefly Roulette and Rouge-et-Noir, of which the latter was the favourite. It was very seldom that large sums were staked at Roulette, as the chances against the player were considered immense by professional men, a class of gentlemen who are gamblers by profession. Rouge-et-Noir (red and black) is played with four packs of cards, and the 'couleur' which is nearest thirty-one wins; the black being dealt for first, and then the red. All the houses were open from one o'clock in the afternoon till one or two after midnight; and latterly, till five or six in the morning.” The gambling-house called Frascati's was the aristocratic one, lofty and splendid saloons, liveried servants, and well-dressed croupiers, or dealers at the tables. The Chamber of Deputies expressed a wish that the French government would give up the revenue derived from this infamous source; and accordingly it was resolved that after the commencement of 1838, no more licenses should be given to the gambling houses. In Germany gambling is a fashionable, and in many place, a legalised vice. The small sovereigns of dif ferent states derive a portion of their incomes from this source; and at many of the watering places, such as Baden, Wisbaden, &c. there are magnificent saloons fitted up for Roulette and Rouge-et-Noir; and in these not a few of our English pigeons, who fly abroad in summer, get very comfortably plucked. Gambling has been the subject of legal enactments in England from an early period, and all common gaming-houses are nuisances in the eye of the law. "But as a proof," (says a writer well-informed on the subject) how futile all legislative measures hitherto have been, we need only mention, and we do so without fear of contradiction, that there are more of those infamous places of resort, appropriately denominated "Hells," in London, than in any other city in the world. The handsome gas lamp, and the green or red baize door at the end of the passage (as well-known a sign as the Golden Cross or Spread Eagle) are conspicuous objects in the vicinity of St. James's and of St. George, Hanover square. It is the interior of one of these which our engraving represents; and the artist has sufficiently expressed the character of the place in the countenances of the knaves and fools assembled, without requiring one word of comment from us. POETICAL CONTRIBUTIONS.-No. IV. AN immense number of poetical contributions have reached us since the appearance of our last article under this head. We are only, however, able to make room for four. The first is from the pen of Mr. H. G. Adams, and is a continuation of the "Lays of a Lunatic," which formerly appeared in our Journal. The lunatic in this instance is represented as apostrophising THE STORM. HURRAH! hurrah! the tempest king Is riding forth to-night, I hear afar re-echoing His langh of fierce delight; I hear the trampling of his steed, Which onward, like the blast, doth speed Along the rocky height; And over vale, and over hill, Sends out his neigh, as trumpet shrillRejoicing in his might. Hurrah! hurrah! the lightning blue Is quivering all around; I hear of falling trees the crash, And from the sea, and from the land, Come noises that astound. Ye wolves that in the forest prowl, My voice shall sound as fell; Are answering from this cell! Speeds on the whistling blast; How chink and rattle all the chains Whose limbs about are cast, As though a demon tune were played Where men their ways pursue; From out my narrow cell I gaze Upon the troubled main; I hear the booming of a gun, She struggles to avert her fate; Five hundred souls, or more; And eyes will dim, and hearts will break, Again my glance to land I turn, The blaze of villages that burn Is reddening all the air; And there are shrieks and there are cries That in the winged blast arise, And accents of despair; And there are forms, that as they shout, Like swarthy demons leap about, Amid the lurid glare. The dusky legions overhead, The storm-king's call obey, Their sable banners wide they spread In terrible array; They pour down rain, and hail, and sleet; Into the sodden clay; On stately tree, on spire, and tower, Hurrah! hurrah! another falls! Yon mighty oak is shattered, And vain by foe was battered; How looks the owner? mighty prince! By them ye are not flattered. Preached by earth's sons and daughters; Of army bathed in slaughters, And if proud man should ask ye why 'Tis you yourself hath taught us! Very different is the strain in which the following is written. Who the author is we do not know. THE WIDOW'S CHILD. THE wild flowers were springing with beauty so fair, I lingered to hear the low murm'rings of wail. A mother was weeping-how sad, and how wild The accents that breathed the loved name of her child! She uttered his name in the accents of woe, And sadly, yet purely, her tears ever flow. "Oh! weep not, my mother, oh! why should you weep? I go-but I go in the gentlest of sleep, To those regions above, to those worlds so fair, And she kissed the young lips that she often had pressed; A sad moment has fled, and o'er his young brow The breathings of lowness-the writhings of pain, His mother bends o'er him in anguish of woe, That mother stood gazing alone on the dead, "And is it thus my hopes must fade Farewell, my little cherub mild, I little thought that thou So soon would'st meet thy death, sweet child; And how serene is still thy face 'My own' I said-ah no-not now,- And I have said farewell' my son, A long adieu to thee, For there is One whose will is done, A. W. A few weeks ago we gave a prose tale under the title of "The Duellist.' The following lines are intended to constitute a kind of appendix to it. STANZAS BY A DUELLIST. No peace upon the land, No rest where billows roll; There's blood-there's blood upon my hand, There's guilt upon my soul; No change of scene my grief can drown, The friend I dearly loved (My crime how shall I tell, I saw him bleeding lie, And heard his dying groan, But friendly hands withheld Me from my rash design, Though honour's laws acquit, My conscience will not calm, A wound doth on my spirit sit, I find no peace by day- With clammy sweat suffused o'er, And my heart trembling to its core. A shedder of man's blood A murderer-dreadful name! Society and solitude To me are all the same, To harrowing horrors still a slave, The above lines are written by Mr. William Calder, of Edinburgh. Our fourth and for the present last contribution, is from the pen of a mere youth-one who regards himself as but a school-boy. It is accompanied by an exceedingly modest letter in which the youthful writer says, that if our opinion of the piece be adverse, he will abjure the muses; but that if we think favourably of it, it will stimulate him to attempt greater and better things. No one of any taste who reads the lines, can hesitate to say that the production is a very meritorious one for so young a man. We fancy we can, though not blind to certain defects incidental to the inexperience of the writer, discern indications in it of poetic talent of superior order. Our counsel, however, to our correspondent is not to trust to literature, and above all to poetry, as a profession, or as the means of earning a livelihood. The days of acquiring a competency by literary labour, and especially by cultivating the field of poesy, are well nigh over, if indeed they be not wholly so. If our young correspondent means to persist in paying homage to the muses, let not his poetic efforts in any way interfere with whatever avocations he may have to attend to in life. With these admonitory remarks we now present our readers with lines on A MORNING IN MAY. SLOW rises Sol from out his eastern bed, Lifts his bright form suffused with tints of red; Uplift their golden backs above the sea, Her buoyant sides the murmuring breakers lave, Azure and green are blended all in one, A welcome verdure clothes the joyous fields, The birds are up, their labours are begun, And their gay plumage glitters in the sun. In mellow strain her morning jubilee ; With simple melody attunes his reed, T. W. B. Our readers will concur with us in the opinion, that in the above lines the youthful author displays a fertile imagination and great powers of description. THE CHILD'S OWN STORY BOOK.* THE juvenile portion of the community are under the deepest obligations to Messrs. Darton and Clark. From their bibliopolic premises in Holborn Hill, have issued a succession of works especially addressed to the rising generation, and which have, in every instance, possessed the merit of being peculiarly adapted, from the quality of their pictorial illustrations, and the moral tendency of their literature, to please the eye and improve the mind. The present little volume is one of the most interesting of the series. The difficulty of an author in suiting his matter and manner to the capacity of the youthful intellect, is much greater than is generally supposed. That difficulty, Mrs. Jerram has completely overcome. could not imagine any thing more calculated to arrest the attention of children, or to benefit their tender minds. The object of the authoress in writing the little volume, and the character of the book itself, will be best inferred from her prefatory observations." In writing," she says, "the following simple stories, it has been my most earnest desire to awaken in the hearts of little children, kindly and affectionate dispositions towards each other, their Creator, and his works; and to implant in their minds, in a cheerful and pleasing manner, the first principles of religion. We "To mothers and nurses, I trust these stories may prove useful; as similar circumstances to those herein related and referred to, must naturally occur to almost every child. It has been my endeavour to express them in a pleasing and simple style, so that a child at the age of three years may perfectly understand them. As a nursery book, I trust it will be found a welcome and pleasant companion and if within its pages be contained any lesson which may prove lastingly useful to only one little child, I shall not lose my reward. But it is my fervent hope, that not in the heart of one only, but of many little children, the sentiments of virtue which I have sought to illustrate, may be called up and quickened by my humble efforts; and that the seed thus sown may bear everlasting and heavenly fruit." As a specimen of the manner in which Mrs. Jerram addresses herself to her youthful readers, take the following, called THE LITTLE SHIP. "I have made a little ship of cork, and am going to let it sail in this basin of water. Now let us fancy this water to be the North Pacific Ocean, and those small pieces of cork at that side to be the Friendly Islands, and this little man in the ship to be Captain Cook going to find them. Do you know that the Friendly Islands were raised by corals?' I suppose they were.' 'Do you know where Captain Cook was born?' He was born at Marton, a village in the North Riding of Yorkshire."" The following is the pictorial illustration which accompanies the above. WENTWORTH CASTLE, Yorkshire, the seat of Frederick Vernon Wentworth, esq., is one of the largest mansions of England, and well worthy of a visit. It is situated about two miles south of the village of Barnsley. The castle was built about 1730, by Thomas earl of Strafford, whose arms and supporters, &c. appear over the centre window of the north front. Other compartments of the centre on this side are filled with ornamental wreaths, baskets of fruit and flowers, &c., giving the whole an elegant and picturesque effect. The east front of the castle is of a more modern character, and was erected about 1770, by William earl of Strafford. Its architecture is at once light and elegant. The portico is supported by six columns of the Corinthian order. The hall is forty feet square, the roof divided into rich compartments, and supported by handsome Corinthian columns. The right side opens to a drawing room, forty feet by twenty-five, the chimney-piece of which, supported by two pillars of Sienna marble wreathed with white, has a fine effect. The door cases are elegantly carved and |