Some modern author says of gambling, that it is "a magical stream, into which, if a man once steps, and wets the sole of his foot, he must needs keep on until he is overwhelmed." Perhaps some readers of the "Drawer" may have heard of the officer, who, having lost all his money at play, received assistance from a friend, on condition that he would never after touch a pack of cards. A few weeks after, however, he was found in an out-house drawing short and long straws with a brother-gamester for hundreds of pounds!
"The most singular species of gambling, however, is one which is said to be practiced among the blacks in Cuba. Many of these stout, hearty, good-humored fellows daily collect about the docks in Havanna, waiting for employment, and gambling in cigars, for they are inveterate smokers. This forms one of their most favorite amusements. Two parties challenge each other, and each lays down, in separate places, three or more cigars, forming a figure resembling a triangle: they then withdraw a few paces, and eagerly watch their respective 'piles.' The owner of the 'pile' on which a fly first alights, is entitled to the whole!
"It should be added, that a pile smeared any where with molasses, to attract the more ready visit of the flies, was considered in the light of 'loaded dice' among 'professional men' of a kindred stamp."
Let any man, "in populous city pent," who has left the cares, turmoils, and annoyances of the town for a brief time behind him, with the heated bricks and stifling airs, that make a metropolis almost a burthen in the fierce heats of a summer solstice, say whether or no this passage be not true, both in "letter" and in "spirit:"
"In the country a man's spirit is free and easy; his mind is discharged, and at its own disposal: but in the city, the persons of friends and acquaintances, one's own and other people's business, foolish quarrels, ceremonious visits, impertinent discourses, and a thousand other fopperies and diversions, steal away the greater part of our time, and leave us no leisure for better and more necessary employment. Great towns are but a larger sort of prison to the soul, like cages to birds, or 'pounds' to beasts."
There is a good story told, and we believe a new one—(at least, so far as we know, it is such, as the manuscript which records it is from a traveled friend, in whose "hand-of-write" it has remained long in the "Drawer")—a story of Samuel Rogers, the rich banker, and accomplished poet of "The Pleasures of Memory:"
Rogers arrived at Paris at noon one day in the year 18—. He found all his countrymen prepared to attend a splendid party at Versailles. They were all loud in expressing their regrets that he could not accompany them. They were "very sorry"—but "the thing was impossible:" "full court-dresses alone were admissible;" and to obtain one then—why "of course it was in vain to think of it."
Rogers listened very patiently; told them to "leave him entirely to himself;" and added, that "he was sure he could find some amusement somewhere."