II. Any one with a good memory and endowed with quick perception may form a very accurate estimate of the hands held by all the players by remembering THE TRICKS AS THEY ARE PLAYED AND TURNED DOWN—all of a suit, or trumped. Cards 'stick together' most lovingly, and the ordinary shuffling scarcely alters their sequence; and so, if a trick has been taken by an ace over a king, for instance, and in the next deal you get the same king, you may be sure that the ace is either on your right or your left, according to the deal; of course, if you get the ace, then the same probability, or rather necessity, exists as to the king; and so on. Knave, queen, king, ace, of the same name, are almost sure to be separated in the deal between the four players, or one player will have two of them. The observation is a tax upon the faculties; but I am sure, quite sure, that the thing can be done, and is, when done, of material service; although, of course, the knowledge can be turned to account only by an expert player, with a partner who can understand the game which he wishes to play.
Whist is, decidedly, one of the fairest of games; but for that very reason, it is open to the greatest over-reaching, or, if you like, cheating.
With regard to dice, of course, they were and, doubtless, are still loaded. Such were formerly called 'dispatches,' because they would 'in five minutes dispatch L500 out of the pocket of any young man when intoxicated with champagne.'
Roulette and Rouge et Noir tables were and are so arranged as always to make the bank win at the will of the attendant, regulating them with a touch.
At Hazard, they used 'low or high dice,' that is, with only certain numbers on them, high or low,—a pair of which every sharper always had in his possession, changing them with great dexterity. They also used 'cramped' boxes, by which they 'cogged' or fastened the dice in the box as they dropped them IN, and so could drop them OUT with the required face upwards.
CHAPTER III. ANECDOTES OF THE PASSIONS AND VICISSITUDES OF GAMESTERS.
Although all the motives of human action have long been known—although psychology, or the science of soul and sentiment, has ceased to present us with any new facts—it is quite certain that our edifice of Morals is not quite built up. We may rest assured that as long as intellectual man exists the problem will be considered unsolved, and the question will be agitated. Future generations will destroy what we establish, and will fashion a something according to their advancement, and so on; for if there be a term which, of all others, should be expunged from the dictionaries of all human beings, it seems to be Lord Russell's word FINALITY. Something NEW will always be wanted. 'Sensation' is the very life of humanity; it is motion—the reverse of 'death'—which we all abhor.
The gamester lives only for the 'sensation' of gaming. Menage tells us of a gamester who declared that he had never seen any luminary above the horizon but the moon. Saint Evremond, writing to the Count de Grammont, says—'You play from morning to night, or rather from night to morning. All the rays of the gamester's existence terminate in play; it is on this centre that his very existence depends. He enjoys not an hour of calm or serenity. During the day he longs for night, and during the night he dreads the return of day.'
Being always pre-occupied, gamesters are subject to a ridiculous absence of mind. Tacitus tells us that the Emperor Vitellius was so torpid that he would have forgotten he was a prince unless people had reminded him of it from time to time.(8) Many gamesters have forgotten that they were husbands and fathers. During play some one said that the government were about to levy a tax on bachelors. 'Then I shall be ruined!' exclaimed one of the players absorbed in the game. 'Why, man, you have a wife and five children,' said the speaker.