CHAPTER XII.

LOCAL GAMBLING.

Like all kindred vices, gambling flourishes best in large cities. Centres of commerce are also centres of speculation, and the man whose brain has been busy all day in the consideration of perplexing problems of trade finds it easy to transfer the theatre of his ventures from the counting room to the gambling hell. There is, besides, a class of men,—and notably of men engaged in the learned professions—who claim that they find at the faro or poker table a relaxation and a healthful amusement. It is unnecessary to point out the fallacy of such a view. Any recreation the nature of which is to stimulate some of the most ignoble of the passions that sway the human heart, to debauch the morals and to work the ruin of those who have resort to it, can scarcely be characterized as legitimate, far less as innocent or healthful.

Moreover, the transient population in every metropolitan city is enormous, and strangers are regarded by professional sharpers as their peculiar prey. The holding of a fair, the assembling of an encampment, in a word, the gathering of any great crowd draws gamblers to a town as a carcass attracts vultures. Hence it is that the gambling element becomes a power, both pecuniary and political, in large cities. Professional cheats are numerous; they band themselves together for purposes both offensive and defensive, and their cunning is matched only by their rapacity. None know better than they that it is entirely within the power of the municipal authorities to prevent the successful conduct of their nefarious calling. It follows that they must have a tacit understanding with the latter, in order that they may enjoy what they denominate “police protection.” In other words, officials sworn to enforce the laws must be induced to “protect” those who openly violate them! The influences brought to bear to accomplish this end are multiform, but may be resolved into three general categories. Money is freely used, and the acceptance of a bribe places the receiver within the power of the payer; political influence is also employed, liberal subscriptions being made to the campaign funds of both parties, but besides these two agencies there is yet a third. The professional gambler has an intimate acquaintance with the criminal classes; he knows their movements and their haunts, and more than one arrest which the public considers as “unusually clever” is made upon information given to the detectives by men who are willing to hand over a friend to the gallows in consideration of their own immunity from interference. The statements regarding local gambling contained in this chapter are in part based upon the personal knowledge and in part upon trustworthy information derived from authentic sources.

GAMBLING IN CHICAGO.

Among the most prominent gamblers in Chicago in the early ’40’s were George C. Rhodes, the Smith brothers—George, Charles and Montague—Conant (familiarly known as “King Cole,”) John Sears, Cole Martin, Walt Winchester, Blangy and Curtis. Some of these men lasted until a few years ago, but I believe that at present few of them survive. The last one to conduct business in Chicago was George (nick-named “One-Lung”) Smith, who not many years ago ran a handsomely equipped establishment on State street, opposite the Palmer House. He was a gambler of the old school, fond of “high rolling,” and fearless even to recklessness. On leaving Chicago he went to New York, where he passed through all the varying vicissitudes of a gambler’s life. One day a run of luck filled his coffers to overflowing; perhaps within a week his losses had reduced him almost to penury. He died gambling on borrowed capital; using money loaned him by men who retained confidence in him because of their knowledge of his abstemious habits and his long (if unsuccessful) experience.

In those early days faro had not attained its present popularity, and in some houses whole days might pass without anything but “short games” being played. In the latter case, however, ten per cent of the stakes went to the proprietors as a percentage, or “rake-off” due the house. Brag, poker, seven-up, cribbage and even whist were favorites, and in some rooms chess, checkers and backgammon were occasionally played, the proprietors, however, invariably receiving their stipulated proportion of the wagers. The roulette wheel did not make its appearance until after 1850, and hazard, “stud” poker, the “big wheel,” twenty one, rouge-et-noir, the “squeeze spindle” and high ball poker are of comparatively recent introduction.

John Sears was another of the “old time sports,” whose commanding figure, attired richly but in perfect taste, was formerly a familiar figure upon Chicago streets. He was a singularly handsome man, of jovial and generous temperament, and with faultless manners, the latter characteristic being perhaps partially traceable to his French descent. Possessed of a fair education, he was very fond of reading, and was well versed in the writings of the standard poets. He adored Shakespeare and worshipped Burns. He was an entertaining conversationalist, and was fond of interspersing choice and apt poetical quotations with funny stories, of which he had an inexhaustible fund. His friends (and their roll numbered many, outside gamblers’ ranks) loved him dearly. He enjoyed the reputation of being a thoroughly “square” player, and though he died poor, his demise was widely and sincerely lamented.

“King” Cole (Conant) was endowed with some of the same traits as was Sears, and popular among his associates. He played boldly and won heavily, but spent his winnings lavishly. In 1852, in company with Cole Martin, he went to St. Paul, where they opened one of the earliest gambling houses in that city. The firm prospered, but having squandered their gains in riotous living, returned to Chicago, comparatively penniless. There Conant died, a financial, physical and moral wreck.

“Skin” gamblers came to Chicago at a very early period in the city’s history. At first they conducted no regular houses, but dealt banking games at various places, as opportunity offered, paying ten per cent. of their winnings to the owners of the rooms used. It was not long, however, before this class of professionals began to find for themselves permanent locations. For many years, and even down to the mayoralty of “Long John” Wentworth, patrons of the race courses were familiar with the faces of H. Smith, Bill McGraw, Dan Oaks, “Dutch” House and “Little Dan” Brown. Roulette and chuck-a-luck were run in full blast at these gatherings, and “Dutch” House was considered as particularly skillful in conducting “the old army game.”

All these men have passed away. With the exception of one who died at Milwaukee possessed of some property, their “last end was worse than the first.” Bill McGraw died of delirium tremens, and “Little Dan” Brown ended his days in the poorhouse.

Gambling became more and more open, and the ranks of professionals were swelled, year by year, until at length the business was conducted with scarcely a pretence of concealment. This was the state of affairs when “Long John” Wentworth was elected mayor for the first time. He at once inaugurated a policy of reform. His first crusade was against swinging signs and other street obstructions, a vast number of which were “gathered in” during one night and piled in one heap at the corner of Lake and State Streets. The next morning the _Democrat_ (the mayor’s paper) announced that all persons who had lost property of this description the preceding night would find it at that locality. Claimants began to appear early, and each and all were promptly and impartially fined under the city ordinance.

The gamblers began to feel apprehensive. Wentworth warned them through the columns of the _Democrat_ that they would be the next victims of the besom of reform, but long immunity made them incredulous. They were not left long in doubt as to the sincerity of the mayor’s intentions. One warm summer afternoon he opened his war of extermination by sending two policemen to visit Burrough’s establishment, which was in a building on Randolph Street, standing on the present site of Epstean’s Dime Museum. The officers climbed upon an adjacent roof and gained entrance to the rooms through the rear windows on the second floor, which they found open and unguarded. They proceeded leisurely, and captured no one but the dealer, who tarried to secure the contents of his cash drawer. The players incontinently fled down the stairs, at the foot of which they rushed into the arms of a cordon of police, behind whom towered the gigantic frame of “Long John” himself. He it was who headed the mournful procession that wended its way to the calaboose in the basement of the Court House, encouraging the drooping spirits of the gamesters by insuring them in stentorian tones, and in language more forcible than elegant, that he “intended to teach them a lesson that they would remember.” He personally superintended the booking and locking up of the prisoners, and announced that if any person holding a city license appeared to offer bail for any one of them, the license would be summarily revoked. This threat was leveled particularly at saloon keepers and hackmen, whom Wentworth cordially detested, and between whom and the gamblers there existed the warmest friendship.

An exciting episode of the raid was the appearance at the calaboose of an attorney, “Charley” (now Colonel) Cameron, who demanded an interview with a client—one of the four Smith brothers, all of whom were in the lock-up. His request was refused, and going outside he attempted to hold a consultation through the grated window. The watchful eye of the mayor espied him. “What are you doing there, you —— rascal?” fairly shrieked His Honor. “Get away, I tell you; get away!” Cameron replied that he was exercising the right of an attorney in consulting a client. Angered beyond endurance, Wentworth rushed at him. “Don’t you dare to touch me,” shouted Cameron. “Oh, no; Oh, no” yelled the mayor; and grasping the attorney with a vise-like grip, he forced him into the city prison, never relaxing his hold until he had seen him safely placed behind the bars.

All these proceedings may have been the very acme of arbitrariness, but they are worth recounting, as showing how raids were conducted under the first administration of “Long John.” Everything found in the rooms was confiscated, and when the tenants returned they found only bare walls and a carpetless floor. The proprietors plead guilty and were fined heavily. The “inmates” appealed to a higher court and were each mulcted in the sum of twenty-five dollars and costs; the total expense of each player, including attorney’s fees, being about sixty dollars. Cameron caused the arrest of the mayor for assault and false imprisonment, but the case never came to trial.

Thus ended the first, and, up to the present time, the only raid upon a Chicago gambling house conducted by the city’s chief executive in person. It proved one of the most effective known to history. Open gambling ceased at once, and the “hole-and-corner” variety of the vice was soon hunted out. Banking games were no longer to be found, and the few poker rooms that were started in out-of-the-way places were speedily discovered, raided, and forced to close. Occasionally a game of faro was dealt; Saturday night being the time usually selected and the game lasting until well-nigh into Sunday morning; but when an adjournment was had, it was “sine die,” and no two consecutive games were played at the same place.

It must be remembered that all this occurred before the beginning of the present era of club life, which has done so much to pervert the morals, if not to overturn the foundations of society. It is a notorious fact that the heaviest play in Chicago to-day may be found in the most aristocratic and exclusive clubs. The police, of course, are not aware of it. Every man in Chicago doing business in what is known as the “Board of Trade district” has heard of the existence of a small club, whose membership is chiefly composed of operators on the floor of ’Change, and most men about town know where it is located. The appointments of the rooms while not luxurious, are of simple elegance and the cuisine and _buffet_ are said to be matchless. Stories are current of fabulous sums having been lost and won across the tables in this exclusive resort. It is charitable to suppose that the authorities lack either the knowledge or the legal power to interfere with the gambling here conducted. However this may be, the fact remains that the patrol wagons laden with blue-coated officers of the law rattle over the stones beneath its very windows, intent upon proving at once their watchfulness and their fidelity by arresting a half-score of Mongolians for indulging in “fan tan,” or “running in” a dozen negroes who may be found “throwing craps.”

Still, even before the days when Wentworth reigned autocrat of Chicago, and even during his administration, there existed in the city a club, composed of choice spirits selected from both the professional and commercial walks of life. Among its shining lights were such men as Doctor Egan, Maxwell, Maxmire, Judge Meeker, Justice Lamb, Judge Wilson, Col. Carpenter, “Bob” Blackwell, and a host of other men equally well known in their day. Politics and religious creeds were forgotten. Relaxation, unrestrained social intercourse, and mental improvement were nominally the objects sought. At the same time often a game of brag was played. This was the favorite pastime, although poker had its devotees; whist held its own, while cribbage, and even old sledge, were not too plebian amusements. Games were sometimes played for high stakes, among the most venturesome players being Egan, Maxwell and Carpenter.

At these gatherings hilarity was unbounded. Thomas F. Marshall, of Kentucky, during one summer that he spent in Chicago was wont to charm the members with his oratory, logic, wisdom and wit; John Brougham, E. L. Davenport, and James E. Murdock, famous the world over for their histrionic talent, were frequent and welcomed guests. Of these perhaps the former was somewhat the favorite with the members. He wrote a poem addressed to Egan’s daughter, and dedicated a book to the doctor:

[In this connection, it may not be amiss to repeat a well authenticated story of Murdock, which has come down as a tradition from the days when the club flourished. The members took their guest to the race course to see Chicago’s favorite win. So elated was the crowd over the triumphs that champagne flowed like the pent up rivulet bursting through a rocky chasm. That evening Murdock was to play Claude Melnotte. When he undertook to recite the description of the palace by the lake of Como his articulation became thick and indistinct. Recognizing the demands of the situation the great tragedian hurriedly bowed himself off the stage. His place before the foot-lights was promptly taken by Manager McFarland, who, in tones of the severest courtesy, apologized for the “sudden and unaccountable (sic) illness of Mr. Murdock,” in consequence of which he craved the indulgence of the audience during the few moments necessary for him to consume in dressing, when he, himself, would assume the part. Assent having been secured, McFarland finished the role to a crowded if not over-critical house.]

Keno was just beginning to grow into favor with the gaming public at the time when Mayor Wentworth so ruthlessly suppressed the vice. Some of the games were “square;” others “brace.” The latter were at first conducted by “Billy” Buck, and later by “Ed” Simpson. Both men were fond of drink, and the games were run in meanly furnished rooms in localities ill suited to their successful operation.

The gambling fraternity, recognizing in Wentworth a foe who could be neither cajoled, bribed, nor intimidated, began, with practical unanimity, either to look for some other walk of life in which they might exercise their peculiar talents, or to seek localities where the head of the city government was more amenable to “reason.”

“Long John” was succeeded by Mayor Haynes, and the hydra-headed monster once more began to lift its head from the seclusion into which it had been forced. In other words the gamblers determined to see whether the new city administration was to be controlled by the same influences and actuated by the same principles as had been its predecessor. Slowly they felt their way. At first Daniels, Avery, Sears, and Winchester opened their houses in a quiet and unobtrusive manner. Other members of the fraternity, finding that these were not molested, followed suit, and during several successive administrations, down to the time of Medill, everything was smooth sailing. Raids were of infrequent occurrence, and altogether farcical in their character. They appeared to be conducted not so much with a view of suppressing the vice or injuring the business of the houses raided, as for the purpose of raising a sort of indirect tax, or levying an illegal assessment. No one ever thought of destroying the personal property found in the resorts, and the fines imposed were usually very light. In fact, so little attention was paid to them that the proprietors were wont to admit the officers with the utmost cheerfulness; and when a hell was “pulled” hacks were at once called into requisition and the dealers and players rode together to the office of the nearest police magistrate, where bail was at once accepted, and the party again entering their carriages, returned to the rooms and resumed play. Of course, under such a _regime_, gambling houses multiplied rapidly, and to attempt an enumeration of the resorts or of their keepers would occupy too much space. A few of the more prominent, however, may be mentioned. These were the Smiths, Holland, Howland, Scott, Robbins, Lawler, Holt, Jones, Bachelor, McDonald, Martin, Walpole, Cameron, Dowling, Peters, Page, Hynes, Wicks, Blanga, Curtis, Wallace, Buchanan, Kellogg, Bowers, Taylor, Donaldson, Corcoran, Nellis Adams, Daniels, Hugh Dunn, Dutch Charley, Cy Janes, H. Jeff & Co., Hankins, H. Smith, and Beach.

One of the best known houses during this period was that of Theo. Cameron, at the Northeast corner of Clark and Madison Streets. Fred White was employed as dealer. The profits of the establishment were very large, owing to the fact that the proprietor employed competent “steerers,” who found little difficulty in securing dupes, whom he was fond of calling “fat suckers.” But Cameron was a man who, had he made a hundred thousand dollars in a night, would have contrived to get rid of it during the next twenty-four hours, even if he had to burn it up. Among his compeers he was known as “a bad man from Texas and handy with a gun.” One evening several “tough” citizens, among whom was a recent graduate from the State institution at Joliet, dropped into his place and lost all the money which they had. Meeting a friend on the outside, the latter informed them that they had undoubtedly been “skinned.” After holding a council of war they concluded to return to the place and demand that their money be returned to them. Accordingly, the three went up stairs, and while two stationed themselves at the door, the ex- convict entered the apartment, pistol in hand, and demanded the money. While the dealer was endeavoring to placate him, Cameron entered the place and took in the situation at a glance. Stealing, with cat-like step, to the sideboard, he took a revolver from one of the drawers and opened fire on the intruder, wounding him at the first shot. A mutual fusillade followed, which continued until the victim dropped dead. Cameron promptly surrendered himself, but when his trial occurred, found no difficulty in securing abundant evidence that he had acted strictly in self-defense.

Subsequently the same man opened a “brace” game at 68 Randolph Street. The place was expensively furnished, and was conducted on a scale of prodigal extravagance. The “sporting” fraternity knew it as a “bird house.” The lodging rooms were fitted up most luxuriously, and were always at the disposal of the guests and employes. The sideboard was stocked with the choicest liquors, and with cigars of the finest brands, while the wines were the best the market afforded. “Dr.” Ladd was Cameron’s partner, owning a half interest in the house, and it was his duty to supervise this part of the business. Notwithstanding all this lavish outlay, the house made a great deal of money; yet when the hells were again closed and the gamblers forced to seek other fields of action, Cameron was so poor that he left the city with scarcely five hundred dollars in his pocket.

“Colonel Wat” Cameron ran a house at 167 Randolph Street. It enjoyed the reputation of being a “square” game, and was liberally patronized by a good class of players. He finally came to grief, it is said, through the machinations of “Gabey” Foster and “Old Ben” Burnish, who, however, allowed him a percentage of the winnings. They made a great deal of money there and in other parts of the city.

“Gabey” Foster, whose name is mentioned above, was not well liked by the fraternity at large, who regarded him as a decidedly mean specimen of humanity. He became a confirmed victim of the opium habit, and “hitting the pipe” at last brought him to his death. His brain became affected, and while at Little Rock, Arkansas, he wandered away into the woods, where his body was found frozen stiff. His paramour sent for his remains and gave them a decent interment.

Another noted “brace” dealer of those times was a man known as “Jew” Hyman. He possessed a fine physique, and a mind of more than average capacity. He was fond of playing against the bank in other houses, and found no difficulty in scattering his winnings. He was much devoted to all the pleasures of sense; a high liver and fond of women. He married a notorious courtesan some thirty years ago. He died in a West Side Chicago lodging house, broken down in health, and with a disordered brain, and was buried by the woman to whose fortunes he had linked his own, and who had supported him for many years.

In 1863 the city received a new influx of “skin” gamblers, some of whom are still residents of Chicago, but not at present actively engaged in the practice of their “profession.” As tending to illustrate the characteristics of a certain class of “brace” dealers, and as serving to show the depth of degradation to which the gambling vice will sometimes sink its votaries, the following incident may prove not only interesting, but instructive. The story is literally true, only the names of the actors being withheld. The gang of sharpers who came to this city in 1863 was one of the most unscrupulous that has ever cursed any city. They commenced operations as “ropers in” for the most disreputable resorts. It was their custom to gain access to the hallways of gaming houses in which players were allowed some little chance of winning, and turn out the gas. As soon as a visitor appeared, some member of the coterie would inform him that the place was closed for the night, and at once “steer” him to some hole where he was certain to be shamelessly plundered. At length, one of them contrived to become proprietor of a small den, which his fellows at once made their headquarters, and where “suckers” were robbed without the slightest regard to even the semblance of decency.

Among the visitors to this place was a man who occupied a position of high trust in a well known private corporation. The keeper of the hell assiduously cultivated his friendship, and easily won his money. He then insinuated into the mind of his dupe the belief that his only hope of recovering his losses was to plunge still deeper into the game. Step by step the unfortunate man fell. Knowing the combination of the company’s vault, it was easy for him to gain an entrance thereto and abstract large amounts of currency. This he did night after night. At length he abstracted $5,000 in one package, carried it with him to the den in question, staked it at the faro table, and lost every cent. The proprietor had always posed as his friend, and the wretched devotee of play took him into his confidence. He told him that he was a defaulter to the extent of $31,000. “Better go and get it all, and see if you can play out,” was the advice of the gambler. He added that if he lost it he would be in no worse condition than he then was. After considerable argument and no little persuasion, the official of the corporation consented, and the two went together to the company’s office. The gambler held a lamp in order that his dupe might be able to see more clearly the combination of the safe. When it was opened he extended his hand for the money, which the victim handed to him. With the money in his possession, the scoundrel’s manner soon changed entirely. He told the unhappy defaulter that it would be far better for him to go to California, where he would keep him well supplied with money, while meanwhile a compromise might be effected with the company. This was not at all satisfactory to the embezzler, who insisted upon taking the money and risking it at play. But the gambler was obdurate, and flatly refused to turn over any more cash than was necessary to enable the miserable man to leave town. They drank and quarreled until morning. The position of the official was a most distressing one. He dared not return to the office; he was absolutely penniless; and to attempt to compel the surrender of the money by the gambler would be to proclaim his own shame. Accordingly, he found himself compelled to accept the terms proposed to him. His pretended friend stuck close to him, escorted him to the train, bought him a ticket and gave him a little money and much advice, bidding him farewell with a profusion of promises. The money which the absconding treasurer had taken with him was soon spent, but the man who had been the cause of his ruin refused to take any notice of his appeals for further assistance. At last the unhappy man concluded, like the prodigal in the parable, to “arise and go to his father.” The latter was a man of wealth, and on learning of his son’s whereabouts, at once sent him money with which to come home. As soon as the victim reached Chicago, the gambler was arrested and placed in jail, where he languished for some three months, being unable to secure bail chiefly because of his notoriously bad character. He finally secured his release through a compromise, restoring the $20,000 which he had taken from the defaulter on the night before he left the city. The victim of his knavery died soon afterwards of consumption, supposed to have been aggravated, if not induced, through the dissipation to which he resorted in order to drown his shame.

At the expiration of Mayor Haines’ term of office, Mr. Wentworth was again elevated to the chief magistracy of the city. He found a very different state of affairs from that which he had left. While things had not exactly “gone to the dogs,” the laws were by no means strictly enforced and many of the minor city ordinances had become dead letters. Particularly was this true in the case of those relating to bawdy houses and gaming hells. This circumstance may be accounted for in part by the fact that there did not exist an overwhelming public sentiment in favor of their suppression. Then, as now, there was a large and influential element in the community which openly claimed that while these resorts were to be condemned on principle, their toleration in a large and constantly growing city was a necessary evil. Another class protested loudly against any interference by the legislative or executive departments of the government with what they were pleased to denominate the “personal liberty of the citizens.” Others, still, who never gambled themselves, looked upon the harm done by this class of houses as being no affair of theirs, and regarded the ruin of the occasional players at faro with the utmost indifference.

Wentworth was quick to feel and respond to the public pulse upon this question. During his second term he was by no means the terror to evil- doers that he had been throughout his first. He had already shown what he could do, and the cognomen of a “reform Mayor,” appeared to have for him no further charms. While his enforcement of the laws cannot be said to have been lax, neither was it particularly stringent. Nevertheless, he occasionally made life exceedingly interesting for the gamblers.

The years during which Mayors Rumsey and Sherman held office, were halcyon days for Chicago sporting men. This was the era of the war, when gambling flourished all over the country and raised its serpent head with a brazen effrontery never seen before. Paymasters, contractors and army officers gambled with a reckless prodigality which was as surprising as it was reprehensible. These classes constituted, perhaps, the richest prey for the professional gamblers. Next to them, the numerous professional bounty-jumpers, who rapidly scattered at the gaming table the money out of which they had defrauded the government. Those were mad, wild times, when money was abundant and speculation ran riot. It was pre-eminently a period of “brace” games, the reckless players being apparently utterly indifferent as to the character of the game at which they staked their money.

Among the professionals who came prominently into public notice at this time were William Leonard, (sometimes known as “Old Bill”) Otis Randall, George Trussell, and Judd.

The latter was known as a “forty-niner.” He entered upon his career as a gambler in the far west, carrying a roulette wheel on his back from one mining camp to another. He accumulated a considerable amount of money through gaming, and retired from its active pursuit. Going from Chicago to New York he became associated with John Morrissey in the proprietorship of some of the most elegant gaming houses in that city. Rumor has it that he also had an interest in several resorts of an inferior grade. He was what is known among the fraternity as an “all- round sport,” equally adept at all games. His fondness for liquor proved the cause of the loss of his fortune, and compelled him once more to become a wanderer.

George Trussel, who during the time of which we are writing, owned and conducted one of the most popular resorts in Chicago, was a man of fine physique, scrupulous in his dress, and extravagant in his tastes and habits. His establishment was elegantly, if not sumptuously furnished, and the refreshments provided for the guests were noted for their fine quality, no less than for the fastidiousness displayed in the manner of their service. He came to a wretched end. His discarded mistress shot and killed him at the entrance to Rice’s livery stable, as he was returning with a horse and buggy in which he had taken her rival for a drive. The case awakened no little interest at the time, and the trial was fully reported in the daily prints. The woman was acquitted by the jury, whose sympathies were aroused by the deplorable tale of seduction, neglect, abuse and desertion which she revealed.

Another gambler who met a somewhat similar fate was Charley Stiles, who was shot and killed at his room in the Palmer House by a courtesan whom he had outrageously abused. The verdict of the jury in her case was a somewhat anomalous one. They found her mentally irresponsible at the time of the commission of the deed, yet fixed her punishment at one year’s imprisonment in the penitentiary.

Mayor Rumsey ruled with a by no means iron hand. The blacklegs found comparatively little occasion to find fault with his administration of city affairs. Occasionally, a complaint on the part of some victim or an unusually bitter newspaper attack would compel him to resort to harsh measures. At such times, one or two raids would be made; the gamblers were forced to open their safes, and the tools and furniture taken away, though their destruction was rarely attempted, the owners being usually allowed ample time in which to sue out writs of replevin.

Reference has been made to the prosperous times which the fraternity enjoyed under the rule of Mayor Sherman. Connected with his administration, however, was Chief of Police Washburne. In the latter official the gamblers found a bitter and uncompromising foe. He raided the hells constantly, earnestly and viciously. Furniture and tools costing thousands of dollars were ruthlessly destroyed; and if the owners replevined the property seized and attempted to resume business “at the old stand,” they soon found they had reckoned without their host. Washburne at once paid them a midnight visit, and again removed the paraphernalia of their houses. It was his custom to insist upon heavy fines, and this circumstance, taken in connection with the destruction of property, soon made the business unprofitable. He gave the “sports” no rest, harrassing them night and day.

His laudable efforts to suppress the gaming houses were materially hampered by the treachery and insubordination of his officers. The sympathy of a very large proportion of the police force was with the proprietors of the hells, and the latter were constantly apprized of intended raids, and were generally kept tolerably well posted as to the intentions and doings of the chief. As a matter of course, for services such as these the “crooks” were willing to pay, and pay well. As a result of this state of affairs, it was no uncommon occurrence for the raiders to find a house empty and securely closed at the time of their nocturnal visit. Sometimes the keepers adopted other tactics. Instead of closing the house, they quietly awaited the arrival of the police, in company with a few pretended players, whom they had hired to submit to an arrest. On such occasions, the only property found consisted of an empty tin box and a few stacks of old and worn out chips.

Notwithstanding all these hindrances, Washburne was vigilant and energetic. His exertions knew no cessation. He not only rendered it unsafe to conduct a gaming house, but made it dangerous and costly to be caught in one. The contest proved to be an unequal one, and the gamblers abandoned the field to their determined antagonist. To their patrons they said that it was their intention to “close up for a little while, until the storm blew over or the authorities were fixed.” For a time, there was no public gambling in the city, but soon some of the more venturesome members of the fraternity began to “play a little on the quiet.” They at once discovered that this would not do. The risk of playing was so great, however, that only “brace” or “snap” games were opened. The efforts of the blacklegs in this direction were supplemented by the opening of “bunko” rooms, with occasional ventures at rouge-et- noir, while “top and bottom” joints were scattered about the city.

Gaming, as such—by which is meant the playing of a game of chance—was unknown. The sports were penniless and needed money; they were aware that their operations must be conducted quickly if they were to avoid arrest, and in consequence, they had resort to every sort of device known among professionals as “sure things.” The robbery carried on was of the most outrageous and shameless description, and the harvest, if confined within a brief period, was golden while it lasted. Temporary games were numerous and gamblers thrived. Hotels, lodging houses, the back rooms of saloons, in fact, every available place was utilized. Rooms were rented for a short time only and cheaply furnished, here, there and everywhere. Yet Washburne hounded them from place to place, although embarrassed by lukewarmness, if not positive corruption on the part of his subordinates. Indeed, there was an element in the force which was constantly plotting against him and incessantly scheming for his removal. Many of his descents upon the hells proved futile for the reasons already stated. Despite all these hindrances, however, the strife went on, and Washburne showed no sign of weakening.

When Mayor Rice assumed control of the city’s executive department, the gamblers began to resume operations more openly. They soon found that prosecutions were by no means so numerous as they had been while Washburne filled the position of Chief of Police, while raids were comparatively infrequent. Boldness soon succeeded timidity, and during the latter part of Mayor Rice’s term, as well as throughout the mayoralty of Mason, the list of gaming houses was constantly augmented. In fact, “crooks” found no better territory for their operations throughout the length and breadth of the land than Chicago. Confidence men swarmed upon the public streets and plied their nefarious vocation without let or hindrance. The fame of the city as a safe stamping ground for swindlers soon spread abroad, and there occurred a general hegira of gamblers to a place where they knew that they ran no risk of molestation. As a result, Chicago was soon filled with a set of sharpers drawn from all quarters of the United States, and comprising as motley, disreputable and dishonest a class as ever cursed any city under the face of Heaven. Wealthy “suckers” were found in abundance, and “brace” dealers, “bunko” men and rogues of every description carried off money in bundles.

Among the most prominent men engaged in gambling in Chicago at this period were Harry Lawrence (afterward a dealer in “Rock and Rye,” and partner of Morris Martin), Mike McDonald, “Bill” Foster, “Big John” Wallace, “Little John” Wallace, “Trailer,” “Appetite Bill,” “Nobby Tom,” Sam Hueston, Harry Monell, “Bill” Close, “Hank” Maguire, Tom Daniels, “White Pine,” “Snapper” Johnny, “Rebel” George, “Long” John, “Billy” Singleton, Grant, “Jake” Lehman, “Johnny” Molloy, Lew Lee, “Jew” Myers, and at least fifty more of the “small fry” class.

The winnings of some of the men named above were a theme of gossip among gamblers all over the continent. The “bunko” men were particularly successful. To rob a man out of $5,000 was a common occurrence; $7,000 was occasionally made; while there were those who repeatedly won $10,000 from a single victim; and one of this class of sharpers succeeded in taking $20,000 from one of his dupes. Meanwhile the profits of the “skin” houses were enormous.

This was the state of affairs existing at the time of the visitation of the city by the holocaust of 1871, when the United States military were called upon to protect the people and the city was placed under martial law. Thugs, thieves, confidence men, “skin” gamblers and rogues of every sort might be found on any street corner. From Harrison Street on the south, to Lincoln Park on the north, roamed a homeless, hungry, penniless mob, whom the prospect of starvation soon drove across the river to the West Side. With the crowd went Martin, Kellogg, Batchelder, McDonald and Dowling. “Watt” Robbins and John Lawler opened a house on State Street, and the games measurably flourished until the election of Joseph Medill in the spring of 1872.

He assumed office with many promises of reform, which he carried out to the best of his ability. One of his first acts was a declaration of war upon the gamblers, and vigorously was it prosecuted. The houses were promptly and permanently closed, and the only gambling done during his term of office was attended with great risk to those who engaged in it. Still, the task of supplying the needs of the destitute and guarding the other interests of the city were so great that some were found who ventured to incur the hazard of playing an occasional game, which was, of course, always of the “brace” variety. Yet, on the whole, Medill fully merited the high encomiums bestowed upon him by the enemies of gambling for his effective, restrictive policy and his manly enforcement of the laws.

He was succeeded by H. D. Colvin, familiarly nicknamed by the sporting men as “Harvey,” just as the same class afterwards spoke of Mayor Harrison as “our Carter.” His was an administration which might be fairly described as one under which “everything went.” Scarcely had he taken his seat before the gamblers began to furnish and open many houses in all quarters of the city. Those who had emigrated from the South to the West division, returned to their former haunts. Among the rest was one who located himself at the corner of Clark and Monroe Streets where he conducted the European Hotel, with a saloon and gambling rooms attached. This place continued to run for many years. The worst elements of the community were in the ascendent. Dance halls, concert saloons and disreputable houses of every description abounded and flourished. “Toughs” of every grade walked the streets without fear; and the bunko men, “brace” dealers, monte players and “crooks” of high and low degree openly plied their vocations. The “sucker” who wished to lose his money, had his choice of no less than eight “brace” gaming houses, twelve bunko shops, and an innumerable assortment of joints where rouge-et-noir, wheel of fortune, and “top and bottom” were but a few of the devices employed to fleece greenhorns. The mayor manifested utter indifference to the enforcement of the laws, and it was said that his personal example was not of a kind to instill into the minds of the average citizen a respect for authority. Of all the “free and easy” cities in the Union, Chicago was at this time the worst. The town was literally handed over to the criminal class who held high carnival by day as well as by night.

One of the best known gamblers who flourished at this period, and who has since attained considerable influence in local politics soon forged to the front and became the recognized “boss.” It was commonly stated at the time that he was personally interested in not a few resorts of questionable character, and that he was wont to levy a contribution upon every gambler who came to Chicago. Be that as it may, it is certain that the games no longer lurked in dark corners and out of the way localities, but opened their doors upon the city’s principal streets, their proprietors carrying on their nefarious business with as little concealment as though they had been engaged in legitimate commercial pursuits.

Another professional sport who figured prominently before the public at that time as proprietor of two “dollar stores,” with back-room attachments where “bunko” and “top and bottom” were played, has since become a reputable citizen, the proprietor of a large store in Chicago, and is reputed to be millionaire.

The press scored Colvin roundly, and the indignation of the decent, law- abiding citizens against him knew no bounds. Threats of impeachment were freely made but never enforced. Vice and crime continually stalked brazenly through the streets until the close of his term when he was succeeded by Mayor Hoyne, who gave way, in turn, to Heath.

The rule of the latter was as radically stringent as that of Colvin had been disreputably lax. He at once set about righting many wrongs, establishing order, and enforcing the laws. The work which he thus mapped out was an herculean task, for pandemonium reigned and the “gang” was determined not to be driven out without making a severe struggle. One of Heath’s first orders was to the effect that the gambling houses should be closed. The proprietors seemingly acquiesced, but actually carried on business surreptitiously, and raiding was at once begun. When the police endeavored to force an entrance into the gambling rooms at the “Store,” a well known resort on Clark Street, connected with a hotel, they committed the blunder of breaking into the rooms of the caravansary. The wife of the proprietor promptly resented this intrusion upon the premises by firing at the officers, although no one was hit. She was arrested and defended by A. S. Trude, who secured her discharge from Judge McAllister on the plea that her house was her castle and that the law justified her in defending it. The incident caused much excitement in the city at the time, and Mayor Heath became yet more aggressive and was as unremittent in his attentions to the gamblers, whose houses he kept closed.

In 1877 a loud cry was raised against “bunko” and “bunko steerers,” and it was charged that this class of swindlers found victims in alarming numbers, and that the unsophisticated “stranger within the gates” was being guided to his financial ruin with great rapidity. On motion of Alderman Cullerton the mayor was instructed to appoint a special committee to ascertain if public gaming houses were tolerated in the city. His Honor named as such committee Aldermen Cullerton, Phelps and Waldo. The “bunko” men were subsequently thinned out by the police.

Carter H. Harrison succeeded Heath as mayor. The radical policy of his predecessor was not pursued by the new incumbent, and charges were constantly made by the press that gambling was rampant in the city.

Austin Doyle had been chief of police under Mayor Heath, and for a time filled the same position under his successor. The frequency of complaints by victims and the numerous and bitter attacks upon the administration in the public prints stimulated Mr. Doyle to take active measures toward suppressing the vice. Through his energetic tactics the houses were compelled to close their doors, and for a time public gaming came to an end. Doyle, however, was offered a responsible position in the employ of a private corporation, and resigned his public office. His successor did not meet with the same success in suppressing the nuisance.

Harrison served two terms and it is not too much to say that throughout the greater part of the four years during which he was mayor those who wished to encounter the “tiger in his lair” found little difficulty in gratifying their inclination.

Roche followed Harrison, holding the reigns of city government for two years. He owed his elevation to office in a large measure to the support which he received from the “law and order” element of the community, and was tacitly if not avowedly pledged to carry out their wishes. He soon began to make things interesting for the gamblers. They were given fair notice of his intentions and instructed to close. Those who failed to comply with his command soon discovered that the city’s executive meant what he had said and had the power to enforce his behest. Public houses were forced to close their doors, and the city for a time enjoyed a comparative rest. Occasionally games were played at the hotels, private club rooms, and over saloons, but generally speaking it was a “hole-and- corner” sort of play, and it was by no means an easy matter to discover where the games were going on. The result was that many of the “sports” who had prospered during the years preceding, found themselves forced to seek “fresh fields and pastures new.”

When Roche’s name was presented to the public as that of a candidate for re-election the hostility of the fraternity toward him quickly found vent. His opponent, Cregier, received the support of the men who had learned to hate the administration which interfered with their business, and he was elected by a very decided majority. At the present time the number of gambling houses in the city may be said to be legion. The proprietors have taken leases of the premises for two years, in some cases giving the previous tenants a bonus to move out; removing partitions, enlarging entrances, building new stairways, and otherwise intimating their belief that, for a time at least, they cherish no apprehension of molestation. Raids are infrequent, although, occasionally, a few Mongolians are captured while playing “bung-loo,” and once in a while a squad of negroes is taken to the station as a punishment for being detected in playing “crap.” The larger houses suffer but little from police interference. When a raid is made on one of these establishments, the officers placidly await the coming of the patrol wagon while the players escape through a convenient window or sky-light. Enough “pluggers” are captured to fill one or two wagons and are driven to the nearest police station with much clatter and display. The proprietors promptly bail out their employes, and the next morning pay the small fines imposed upon them. Within an hour or two after the descent of the police the game is again in full operation.

Some idea of the success which attends public gaming houses in Chicago at the present time may be formed from a consideration of the fact that the largest and best patronized house has, on an average, forty men on its pay-roll; that sometimes twenty games are in full blast at one time; and that the estimated net winnings of its owners amount to $20,000 a month. To this place professionals are not admitted, it being found more remunerative to encourage the patronage of amateur players. So notorious is this fact that the _habitués_ of this resort are commonly termed the “dinner pail brigade.”

The following may be accepted as a correct statement of the regular weekly salaries at a Chicago house doing a good business: Two faro dealers at $40 a week; three ditto at $35; two roulette croupiers at $30; two hazard dealers at $30; two stud-poker dealers at $30; one outside watchman at $20; one doorkeeper at $25; sixteen “pluggers” and “cappers” at $2.50 per day; total salary list, $690 per week.

It is fair to presume that this is an average outlay for weekly salaries by the numerous gaming houses. The estimate does not, of course, include miscellaneous expenses, such as rent, fuel, lighting, free eating and drinking for the _habitués_, nor the large percentage on profits paid to “ropers” and “steerers.” It must be plain to the dullest comprehension that a business of such magnitude as to be able to pay nearly $700 in weekly salaries, is in favor of the army of unemployed gamblers who are temporarily “down on their luck.”

However, there are some gaming houses in the city where high rollers can always gain admittance and find congenial company; where the obliging proprietors are always willing to “remove the limit” for a regular patron; and which enjoy the reputation of being comparatively “square.”

One of the peculiar features of Chicago gambling is the reported existence of a “gamblers’ trust.” The use of the word “trust” as applied to establishments which cannot in any sense be called commercial, seems, on its face, to be anomalous, yet, if all reports be true, the term is not a misnomer. It is understood that a combination of sporting men exists, the nature of the tie that binds them being the contribution by the proprietors of each establishment belonging to the pool of either a fixed sum weekly or an agreed percentage of the winnings toward a common purse. Just what is done with the money is known only to those who handle it, but when it is remembered that the contributors enjoy practical immunity from police interference, its disposition is a fair subject of conjecture.

Within the last month (July, 1890), the question of selling pools upon races has loomed up into prominence. One of the chief operators in this line, a man who is reputed to have cleared $190,000 through this means during the racing season of 1889, has invoked the aid of private detective agencies for the suppression of his business rivals. The latter have retaliated by employing the city police to interfere with his operations. The result has been a sort of Kilkenny fight, in which charges seriously reflecting upon the city’s chief executive have been filed in the courts.

SELECTIONS FROM A PRICE LIST OF SPORTING GOODS MANUFACTURED AND FOR SALE BY A FIRM IN CHICAGO, ILL.

FARO TOOLS.

Trimming Shears, double bar, brass block $40 00 ” ” with attachment for cutting briefs 45 00 Cutter, for cutting round corners on cards 20 00 Trimming Plates, will cut any style of cards 8 00 _Trimming Shears repaired and sharpened._ Dealing Boxes, Lever movement $35 00 to $60 00 ” ” End, or Needle movement $50 00 to $100 00 ” ” Sand Tell $13 00, $15 00 to $18 00 ” ” ” ” to lock up square $20 00, $25 00 _Dealing Boxes repaired, or changed to end or needle squeeze._ Faro Dealing Cards, unsquared, per doz. $15 00 ” ” ” squared, per doz. 15 00 ” ” ” ” per pack 1 25 ” ” ” Linen, second quality 6 50 ” ” ” ” ” ” squared 7 50 ->_Dealing Cards of every kind furnished to order._ Card Punches, best steel 2 00 ” Sighters, set of 4 in case 2 00 Glass Paper, better than sand, per doz. sheets 1 00

DEALING GAMES FOR BOX AND CARDS.

Card Hazard, cards, box, layout complete $25 00 ” ” Layout 15 00 Red and Black Dealing Boxes, to lock and unlock 25 00 ” ” ” ” Skeleton boxes, to lock and unlock 10 00 ” ” ” ” Boxes, to work with gaff 25 00 Short Faro, or Card Chuck Luck, Enameled Layout 3 00 Diana Dealing Boxes, for two packs 15 00

ROULETTE, RONDO AND BALL GAMES.

High Ball Poker Balls, ivory, flat face, each $ 25 Patent Bottle, with Keno mouthpiece, bottle only 10 00 (Rubber Tubing for above, per foot, 15c.) Red, White and Blue Layout, box and balls 12 00

POOL AND SPINDLE GAMES.

Chuck-luck Wheel, complete with layouts $30 00 Spindle Game, red, white, blue and horses 15 00 Jenny Wheel, for high or low, or red or black 10 00 ” ” with two centers, and paddles 15 00 Rolling Faro, 28 Aces, and 2 Stars—with fake 60 00 ” ” 28 Cards, and 4 Jacks ” 60 00 ” ” 1-2-3-4-5-6 and Stars ” 60 00 ” ” on table, to work with knee or pressure 125 00 ” ” Extra Spreads, with Rings to match 20 00 Jewelry Squeeze Spindle 40 00 Needle Wheel, complete with Layout 80 00 Bee Hive (Hap Hazard), new and _sure_ 50 00 O’Leary Belt, with one box, complete 75 00 Striking Machines, two fakes, with chart 40 00 Miniature Race Tracks, seven horses, to order 300 00 (Packed in cases for traveling, $50.00 extra.) “Corona,” or “Mascott” 200 00 Tivoli, or Derby Pool, faked 100 00 _$20.00 required with order for faked goods._

DICE GAMES.

Bunko Chart, “Special Drawing,” without tickets $ 5 00 Bunko tickets, per set of 56 2 00 Ivory Dice, for top and bottom, three fair,_with_ ringer 80 ” ” double, 3 high, 3 low, 3 fair, with box 2 00 ” ” LOADED, ” ” ” ” 5 00 ” ” ” ⅝ inch, _each_ 1 25 ” ” ” ¾ ” ” 1 50 Craps ” ½ inch, Ivory, per set of 6 1 50 Ball ” HYRONEMUS, per set of 3, 1 inch 3 00 ” ” ” ” ” 1¼ inch. 4 50 ” ” ” ” ” 1½ inch. 6 00 ” ” ” ” ” 2 inch. 10 50 _Measured by the diameter of ball._ Ivory Dice Tops, to throw high or low 1 50

SHORT GAMES.

Monte Tickets, or “Broads,” per doz., by express 5 00 Patent Knives, with lock, new pattern 5 00 Tobacco Boxes, to lock and unlock 1 50 Patent Safes, with two openings, ebony 2 00 Padlocks, per pair 50 Penny Game, complete with dice 60 Bank Note Reporters, by mail 50 Sliding Boxes, for street work, per 100 1 00 Double Boxes, with Soap, per doz., 75c., per 100 5 00 Vest Hold Out, with late improvements 10 00 Table Hold Out, something new, works with knee 10 00 The “Bug,” for holding out an extra card 1 00

SHORT CARD GAMES.

Sleeve Hold Out, arm pressure $25 00 ” ” ” ” Keplinger’s patent 00 Nail Pricks, for finger nails 50 Shiner, for reading cards dealt opponents 1 00 ” ” ” ” ” in half dollar 2 00 Poker Table Plates, each 50c. and 75 Floor Telegraph, for Poker Rooms 5 00 Marked Back Cards, per doz., _round corners_, by express 12 00 ” ” ” Flag Backs, per doz. 12 00 Strippers, for any game, cut to order $6 00 to 8 00 Crayon Pencils, case of 12 colors 1 00 Spanish Monte Cards, _will wash_, per doz. 9 00 Dealing Boxes, for Monte 10 00 ->_Monte cards cut and prepared in any manner._

GAMBLING IN ST. LOUIS.

With the exception of New Orleans—and possibly of Chicago—it is doubtful whether public gambling ever took deeper root in any Western city than the metropolis of Missouri. This fact may be attributed partly to the mixed character of the early population, in which were blended the elements of the French and Southern natures. Games of chance seem to appeal more strongly to the hot-blooded temperament which is kindled into warmth by a Southern sun, than to the more phlegmatic disposition of those who have been reared in Northern latitudes. Another cause for the popularity and prevalence of gambling in St. Louis is to be found in the fact that for many years that city enjoyed the distinction of being the chief commercial centre of the Mississippi valley. Not only was it the _entrepot_ and point of transfer for vast quantities of freight, the handling of which gave employment to a large number of men, but emigrants on their way to the far West found the city a convenient place in which they might rest and recruit, and at the same time purchase supplies.

The result of this latter circumstance was that professional gamblers from all points of the compass flocked thither, making the city a sort of headquarters from which to make predatory excursions upon the steamboats that plied the lower Mississippi. Scores of the best known sporting men in the United States have, at one time or another, made St. Louis their abiding place.

Among the earliest professionals to locate there were “Jim” Ames, Henry Perritt, Bob O’Blennis, David Foster, William and Rufus Sanders, Pete Manning, Thorwegian, Hewey Gains, George Phegley, Jr., Henry Godfrey, Jim Greely, Alex. Tyler, Capt. Roberts and Ecker.

Of all these, perhaps O’Blennis was the best known; not so much for his skillful dealing as for his pugnacious disposition. He was the terror of all who knew him, and was always ready—as the slang phrase runs—“to fight at the drop of a hat.” He was struck by paralysis, and for several years before his death was unable to do anything for himself without the assistance of a colored servant, who accompanied him wherever he went.

These were succeeded by Ryan—who killed a man in Nebraska City and served a term in the penitentiary therefor—John Dewing, Ed Dowling, Kelley, “Bill” Close, “Dr.” Ladd, “Tonny” Blennerhassett and “Count” Sobieski.

The latter married a woman who had been the plaintiff in a breach of promise suit, which was one of the _causes celebres_ of the city’s judicial history. He occupied gorgeously appointed apartments near Mercantile Library Hall, in which, on Sundays, he was wont to entertain a choice party of congenial spirits with banquets which Epicurus himself might have envied. At the conclusion of the feast the “Count” would produce his dealing box and layout, and proceed to entertain his visitors by dealing a quiet game of faro, the result usually being that when the party broke up for the evening the guests found that they had transferred most of their surplus cash from their pockets to those of their courteous but more fortunate (?) host. Liquor, however, proved Sobieski’s ruin. His wife separated from him because of his intemperance, and he wandered about, aimlessly, until death overtook him at Salt Lake City. His widow went after his body, which she buried in St. Louis. She received $10,000 on his policy of life insurance, the payments on which she had kept up during the years of their estrangement.

Other “old timers,” who flourished here before the war, were Dow Catlin, Charley Coulter, Joe Butch, Frank Smith, Dan Ward and “Bill” Williams.

In the early days of public gaming it was popularly supposed that play was conducted “on the square,” and as a matter of fact, “brace” games were not so notoriously common then as in later years. Yet there was never a time in the history of this vice when professional gamesters would hesitate to resort to unfair advantages when their funds were at a low ebb, or they believed that the trick might be safely played. But in the exciting days which marked the beginning of the war, “skin” gambling became more common, and in 1862-63 there were “brace” dealers in abundance.

Of the skilled artists in the manipulation of the pasteboards at that period, whose faces were familiar to all who sought the “tiger” in his lair were George Griffen (a Bostonian, who, coming to St. Louis well- nigh penniless, soon acquired an interest in four gaming establishments), Stuart Eddy, George Phegley, August Whitman and Jack Silvia. Of the latter, it is credibly reported, and generally believed by the fraternity, that on one occasion when he had lost all his ready cash, together with all that he could borrow on his watch and jewelry, he actually pawned his artificial teeth (mounted on a gold plate) in order to obtain fresh funds with which to play against the bank. He died in Leadville, a pauper, after having won at gaming many thousands. Money was subscribed to bring his remains to St. Louis for burial.

Besides there were “Gabe” Foster and Ben Burnish, afterward well known in Chicago, who ran a place opposite the Planters House, there being three others in the block. It was about this time that “Dick” Roach made his appearance in St. Louis. He came from Detroit, a beardless youth, but soon found employment as a dealer in a house located at the Southeast corner of Pine and 4th streets. He had not been long so engaged when his peculiar talents in this direction began to develop themselves. As a player against the bank he “made a large stake,” and at once secured an interest in a gaming establishment. His fortune is to- day estimated at $500,000, and his career furnishes a striking exception to the general rule applicable to the lives of men of his profession.

The members of the fraternity who have been mentioned may be said to have constituted the first and second “crops” of St Louis gamblers. The craze which followed the discovery of silver ore at Leadville, Colorado, brought a third. Among them were such men as Hank Wider, Johnnie Morgan, Lou Lee, Tom Daniels, Al Masterson, “Jimmy” White and John Hall, the latter being generally better known under his sobriquet of “Coal-oil Johnnie;” Bensby Brothers, Charley King, Pete Manning, Bill Binford, Joe Duke, Charley Durgie, Cave Brothers, Harry Embree, Bill Kirrick, Lightborn Brothers, Cill Howard, Bob Ray, and Sam Cade, who died suddenly.

Of all these perhaps “Coal-oil Johnnie” is the best known. His career was an eventful one, he having contrived to compress, within his comparatively short life, enough adventurous escapades to fill a volume. His end formed a fitting termination to his vicious course. On leaving St. Louis he went to Chicago, where he obtained employment as dealer in a “brace” house. He left the latter city suddenly “between two days,” taking with him the “bank roll” of the parties for whom he was working. His wife followed in quest of him. She found him at Terre Haute, Indiana, dead drunk. In his company was a woman. Enraged beyond endurance at the sight, Mrs. Hall drew from her pocket a revolver, the contents of whose chambers she emptied into her husband’s body. She was, of course, at once arrested and in due time tried, but her counsel experienced no difficulty in securing from the jury an acquittal of his client on the ground of emotional insanity.

At the time of which I am speaking “skin” houses were far more plentiful in St. Louis than “square” ones, and the city at the junction of the Mississippi and Missouri afforded even a better field for the operations of blacklegs than has even her rival by the shores of Lake Michigan in the latter’s palmiest days. There was little effort made to clothe the business with even the flimsiest veil of secrecy. All the resorts were wide open and, in the slang of the fraternity, “everything went.” “Steerers” were almost as numerous as “suckers,” and, when the city detectives announced their intention to arrest these gentry on sight the latter snapped their fingers at the police, openly set the authorities at defiance, and brazenly continued to ply their nefarious calling. Gambling was practically unrestrained, and play ran high. Business men, lawyers, doctors, artisans, actors—men from every walk of life—gambled as a pastime, while those who made the practice of the vice their sole business thrived proportionately.

“Squeals” from victims were of daily occurrence, and the authorities found themselves compelled to take notice of the complaints. It is not too much to say, however, that the executive department of the city was for many years honeycombed with corruption. One police official, who occupied a position very near the top round of the ladder was understood to have realized $28,000 as the result of his extortion of blackmail from gaming-house keepers. It followed, as a matter of course, that when the officers of the law found themselves compelled to make a raid upon one of these resorts the descent was accomplished in a most perfunctory manner. The common practice was to send notice to the proprietors in advance that they might “expect visitors” at an hour named. The gamblers being thus forewarned, the police rarely found anything to justify stringent measures. The paraphernalia was generally safely stowed away out of sight; and if, by chance, any gambling instruments were captured, their owners were generally privately advised as to where, when and how they might recover their property.

As tending to illustrate how the mania for gaming had taken hold of all classes of society, I cannot forbear to relate the following anecdote of Mr. F——, who, at the time of which I am speaking, was president of one of the St. Louis banks. While the tale may bring a smile to the lips of the man who, even as an amateur, has taken a hand in a “little game of draw,” it is not without its moral. The story runs thus: One morning as the janitor of Mr. F——’s bank was swinging open the heavy doors which guarded the treasure of the institution from the marauding hands of covetous midnight strollers, he discovered sitting on the steps three tired-looking citizens, one of whom clutched tightly in his hands a sealed package. But a short time elapsed before the cashier appeared upon the scene. “Gentlemen,” he suavely asked, “how can I accommodate you? Do you wish to make a deposit?” The man with the package eagerly assured him that he had come to negotiate a loan. “What security do you offer?” asked the cashier; “government bonds?” “Government nothing!” answered the would-be borrower. “I’ve got something that knocks 7-30’s clean out of the ropes.” And producing the bundle which he had so jealously guarded, his two companions gathering close around, he proceeded to explain the situation: “You see,” he went on, “these gentlemen and myself have been playing poker all night. I’ve got a dead sure thing, but they’re trying to ‘raise me’ out. I want $5,000 to ‘see’ them with. See here.” And he unsealed the packet and showed its contents to the astounded bank official. “This,” he explained, “is my hand. I’ll show it to you, but don’t let them (indicating his companions) see it. You see we sealed it up so the cards couldn’t be monkeyed with.” The cashier looked at the cards; they were four kings and an ace. (This was before the days of a “royal flush,” and beat any other hand then recognized.) Coldly did the financier regard the precious pasteboards, and austere was his glance as he returned them, saying in freezing tones, “this bank, sir, doesn’t lend on cards.” The disappointed applicant for a loan turned sadly away, dejectedly saying to his comrades, “boys, I’m a chump if he isn’t going to let me be frozed out on this hand.” And he gazed ruefully down the street. At this moment Mr. F—— opportunely came in sight, and was at once recognized. Quick as thought the distressed gamester appealed to him for assistance. The bank president had himself been spending the night at the poker table, and he comprehended the situation at a glance. Rushing behind the bank’s counter he seized several bags of double eagles and accompanied the trio to the room where the game had been in progress. In a brief time he returned to the bank, threw down the amount of the loan, together with $500 interest on the accommodation, and glared at the cashier. “Ever play poker?” he asked. The abashed official meekly confessed his ignorance of the game. “Well, sir,” pursued the president in tones of deep earnestness not unmixed with a touch of sarcasm, “if you had you would know better what good collateral is. You might as well understand, once for all, that four kings, with an ace for a confidence card, is good in this institution for our entire assets.”

One of the best known characters in St. Louis in those days, and who afterward achieved no little notoriety all over the West, was John Lawler. He was a jovial, reckless, devil-may-care fellow, but possessing many traits which rendered him popular among his acquaintances. He first appeared among St. Louis sporting men as a “roper” and venturesome player against the bank. Innumerable anecdotes are told of him illustrating his character and setting forth his experience, both in that city and elsewhere. His ups and downs were numerous and abrupt. One evening, while sitting in a restaurant waiting for his supper, there entered a man from Newark, Ohio, with whom he had a slight acquaintance. He lost no time in engaging him in conversation, and soon succeeded in “steering” him into a “brace” house, where he lost $340. As soon as Lawler could get away from his companion he returned to the room to claim his percentage on the amount won, which was handed to him at once. Repairing to another resort he seated himself at a faro table and began to play. Luck favored him and it was not long before he found himself $1,100 ahead. He “cashed in his checks,” and privately determined to purchase an interest in a small game on the succeeding day. Among the bystanders, however, was George Ross, a faro dealer, a Philadelphian, and a most jovial companion. He suggested to Lawler that it was a pleasant night for a drive. The latter assented, and the two drove to the Mansion House, where they had supper, which they washed down with several bottles of wine. On their return to the city, Lawler said that it was his “lucky night,” and announced his intention of winning enough to reimburse him for the expenses of the jaunt. He went to a gaming house and again began to “buck the tiger,” but the fickle goddess deserted him and he arose from the table without a dollar. He was a man of most irascible temper, and when he lost would frequently butt his head against the wall and attempt to pull off his ears. On one occasion when he had dropped his last cent at the faro table, he became so excited that he threw an oyster loaf which he was taking home with him at the ceiling of the room directly over the dealer’s head. The scene that followed was a laughable one. The string broke and the oysters fell in all directions, a fair portion of the loaf bespattering the dealer’s face. From St. Louis he went to Chicago, where, in 1867, he became interested in some of the best houses in that city, being associated with such men as Captain Ash Holland, George Holt, Mat Robbins, and McDonald. At the time of the great fire he was reputed to be worth $40,000. It is said that he sank $20,000 in leasing, altering and refitting the Southern Hotel, at the corner of Wabash avenue and Twenty- second street. He also lost heavily at faro, often walking up to the table and betting $1,000 on a single turn.

While in Chicago he became involved in a shooting scrape, the result of which proved very serious. The party whom he shot was named George Duvall, a “sure thing” player, as they are styled, who had played “monte,” “top and bottom,” and “high hands” at euchre up and down the Arkansas, Red, and Upper Mississippi and Missouri rivers. He had won considerable amounts, of which he lost in playing against faro bank. A few years ago he married at Cincinnati, and since then has published a book on gambling, in which he recites many of his own personal experiences.

At the time of the shooting above mentioned, a woman with whom Duvall was well acquainted complained to him that Lawler had insulted her upon the street. Duvall proceeded to hunt him up, and on meeting him assaulted him, knocking him into a mud puddle, where he left him. As soon as possible Lawler returned to his room, where he changed his clothing, and having armed himself with a revolver sought out Duvall, whom he found on the south-east corner of Clark and Madison streets. He opened fire at once, hitting his adversary in the hand. Duvall took refuge behind a telegraph pole and thus protected himself from the three additional shots which Lawler fired before he was arrested. He was indicted for assault with intent to kill, tried, convicted, and sentenced to the penitentiary. A new trial was granted, and eight months after the shooting he was acquitted. During his incarceration his hair had turned from black to white, and by the time he had liquidated his indebtedness to his counsel he was entirely penniless. Although he afterwards succeeded in getting upon his feet again, and owned an interest in several gambling houses, his old-time luck seemed to have deserted him, and he was compelled to commence dealing for stipulated wages. When Mayor Roche closed up the games, he opened an elegant club room on Clark street, with cozily furnished apartments in the rear, in which he kept house with an estimable lady whom he had married. The police raided his place. The mortgage on his chattels was foreclosed, and he succeeded in saving only $100 out of the wreck. With this sum he sent his wife to her relatives, and he himself started for the Pacific Slope. He is at present understood to be at Tacoma, where he is reported to have acquired some real estate and to be doing well.

“Bob” Potee another well-known and exceedingly popular sporting man of St. Louis, met a sad fate. He was sober, gentlemanly, and well bred, and a high roller. He was married and well-to-do. He removed from St. Louis to Kansas City, where fortune so frowned upon him that, becoming despondent and weary of life, he disappeared and his body was afterwards found in the river, into which he had thrown himself.

Another suicide among the gamblers at St. Louis was John Timmons, who killed himself at Leadville, for some unexplained cause. His rash act occasioned much surprise among his numerous friends, to whom he had always seemed the very incarnation of cheerfulness and high animal spirits.

Yet another victim of faro who came to a similar end was Captain Ash Hopkins, one of the most popular river captains who sailed from St. Louis to New Orleans. He was loved and respected by all who knew him, but after a debauch in which he had lost several thousand dollars at one bout with the “tiger,” he was found dead at sunrise of the following day at the Southern Hotel. He found himself unable to meet his responsibilities in this world and had madly appealed to the court of eternal justice.

Far different, however, was the manner in which Charley Teenan met death. Although a professional gambler, he had many of the elements of a hero. He was dealing faro in a resort opposite the Southern Hotel at the time of the burning of that immense caravansary. Seeing the flames, he rushed from his rooms across the street to the blazing building. Up the ladder he went and into the hallway, seeking whom he might rescue. Once, twice, thrice, four times, he brought half suffocated victims to the window and sent them down the ladder. Once more he went back on his errand of mercy, but the flames and smoke repulsed him and he saw that he had no time to lose if he were to save himself. Returning to the window he saw that the ladder had been removed to another casement, in order to rescue others. He climbed upon the sill and sprang toward the ladder, hoping to catch it. Fatal leap! Missing his hold, he fell an inert mass upon the stone flagging below, and was picked up mortally wounded. He was carried to his gambling room and laid out on his faro table.

John Mackey, another old-time St. Louis gambler, fell from his chair, dead; alcoholism being the cause of his demise. Fisher, a case-keeper at a Fourth street gaming house, was found dead on a lounge in the rooms when the place was opened for business in the morning. He sprang from a good New England family, and was well educated and well read. He was a natural card player and was an expert at many games, and particularly proficient at boston, cribbage and whist. Professionals had won large sums of money through betting on his play. The original cause of his downfall was his love for liquor, and his downward career was rapid. He was a man of brains who might have made his mark in some one of the learned professions, but who deliberately yielded himself a victim to a strange infatuation, which caused him to end his life as a case-keeper in a common “brace” house.

It surely seems as though Heaven had attached to the vice of gaming a peculiar curse. Money won through this means rarely proves of benefit to its possessor, as is shown by the large number of gamblers who have accumulated considerable sums and yet died paupers. Another circumstance which cannot fail to impress itself on the thoughtful mind is the fact that so many of the profession have, as the slang phrase runs, “died with their boots on,” while their death has remained unavenged by the law. Charley Dalton, a St. Louis sport, was shot in the back in the post-office at Salt Lake City, by one Obie, who charged him with having insulted his wife. Alex. Crick, a protégé of “Old Jew” Abrams, a St. Louis pawnbroker, who served a term in the penitentiary for receiving stolen goods, was shot and killed by a courtesan in a house of ill-fame.

A somewhat similar case of those already described was that of “Star” Davis, a popular sporting man of St. Louis, after whom the celebrated racer, “Star Davis,” was named. He had a large acquaintance, by whom he was well liked. He was a man of intelligence and refined tastes, and an exceedingly venturesome player. While on one of his periodical sprees, being grossly intoxicated, he fell down stairs and broke his neck.

The author well remembers a member of the fraternity who frequented the gaming resorts of St. Louis during the period of his residence in that city. He was familiarly known by the sobriquet of “Sugar Bob.” When I first began to “steer” for faro banks in St. Louis, I found some difficulty in inducing the victims to enter the house for which I was acting. Accordingly, I employed “Sugar Bob” to decoy men whom I selected, dividing my percentage with him. He received this singular cognomen from the oily manner in which he used to sympathize with “suckers” after they had been fleeced. If his honeyed words failed to console them for their losses, it was universally conceded that there was no further use for attempting to employ the influence of kindness.

EX-GOVERNOR CHARLES P. JOHNSON.

Governor Johnson was born in St. Clair County, Illinois, on the 18th of January, 1836. His natural tastes early inclined him to the study of the law, and he was admitted to the bar at St. Louis in 1857.

His official career forms a part of the history of the State which he has so well served; it does not call for extended narration in a work of this character. But one remark need be made in passing—that as his private character has been without blemish, so is his public record unassailable. It may not be out of place, however, to call attention to the fact that it was through his unshaken firmness and unswerving fidelity to the law which he had sworn to uphold that gambling was finally successfully suppressed in St. Louis. In vain had every agency been employed before to accomplish the same result. The pulpit had thundered denunciation; the press had lifted up its voice against the evil; fleeced victims had complained to the police, who had in turn periodically raided the gambling dens with sledge hammers and batons; yet all efforts had proven futile until the arrival of Governor Johnson upon the scene. In him the gamblers recognized a foe of keen intellect, sterling integrity and iron will, a man to be neither deceived, cajoled, bought nor bullied.

In person Governor Johnson is spare, but well proportioned. His countenance is grave, yet benignant; thoughtful, but unclouded, indicating a mind well stored through deep research and capable of grasping at once the most profound problems, and the most intricate details. Nor does the face belie its promise. To comprehensive sagacity he joins unfailing accuracy, and to a subtle faculty of discrimination he unites a well-nigh inexhaustible fertility of expedient. Add to this rare combination of qualities in their highest form of development an almost incredible power of long-sustained application, and you have an ideal lawyer, and it is only as a lawyer that he will be considered in these pages.

Either from natural predilection, or through force of circumstances, Governor Johnson’s most pronounced professional successes have been attained as a criminal practitioner. To sway a jury is his forte and his delight, and in the accomplishment of this end he well knows how to employ the keen shafts of polished sarcasm, the scathing denunciation of fiery invective, the cold logic of convincing argument, and the impassioned appeal to tender sympathy. It has been well and truly said of him that jurors enter the box as strangers to him, but leave it with a sentiment of respect akin to regard. He has learned how to reach and touch the secret springs of the human heart, and need acknowledge no master in originality, tact or delicacy of touch, before which tears succeed mirth, and in turn yield to indignation.

His practice in the criminal courts has pitted him against such brilliant luminaries of the legal firmament as Uriel Wright (deceased), Senator George G. Vest, William Wallace, Judge Henry D. Laughlin, and Joseph G. Lodge (deceased), with a number of others equally as prominent in Missouri; Ex-Governor Palmer and William O’Brien, of Illinois; Ex- Governor Jenkins, of Colorado; besides a long array of other eminent men. Before all these he has poised his lance like a true knight, nor can it be said of him that any of them have laid him low.

But distinguished as he is as an advocate before a jury, he has attained no less distinction as an examiner of witnesses. No fixedness of feature, no previous drilling in a cunningly-devised tale can hide the truth from his trained and watchful eye, which reads the secrets of the witnesses’ soul as though it were an open page.

Among the multitude of cases whose successful conduct has made him famous, a want of space forbids a mention of but a few.

One of his most noteworthy triumphs was obtained in the trial of the train-wreckers at Paola and Wyandotte in Kansas, when he and associates defeated the array of legal talent opposed to him by the trusted lieutenants of Jay Gould.

Another was his triumphant vindication of Fotheringham, the alleged dishonest messenger of the American Express Co., whose character he exonerated and for whom he secured the substantial damages of $20,000.

Another was in the successful defence at Gallatin, Mo., of the celebrated Frank James.

But what has always seemed to me to have been his crowning professional success was attained in the trial of Michael Horner, charged with murder in the first degree for the killing of Boswell, at Mt. Vernon, Lawrence Co., Mo. Both the accused and his victim had been farmers of Lawrence Co. for about five years before the commencement of the feud between them, which had its origin in a charge brought by Boswell against Horner (and denied by the latter) of seduction of the former’s sister. A succession of personal encounters ensued, but the combatants were always separated by mutual friends. At length, on July 18, 1885, Boswell, while at work in his field, saw Horner riding down the lane. Leaving his reaper and climbing the fence, he began a vigorous bombardment of his old enemy with fragments of rock. Horner, without dismounting, drew his revolver and emptied the contents of three chambers into the body of Boswell, who fell lifeless to the ground. In due time the slayer was arraigned, tried, found guilty of murder, and sentenced to confinement in the penitentiary for ninety-nine years. A second trial was granted, and occupied two weeks, 300 witnesses being summoned. The excitement throughout the country was intense, and the court-room was daily crowded by ardent sympathizers with either side. But Charles P. Johnson was for the defence, and so ably did he conduct and plead the cause of his client that the jury, after brief deliberation, returned a verdict of manslaughter in the fourth degree, and the penalty was fixed at a fine of $600. The scene which followed the reading of the verdict would need the pencil of a Hogarth to portray. Horner—who, despite all the efforts of his friends to secure his release on bail, had lain in jail since the killing—remained for a moment motionless through agitation; then jumping three feet into the air and wildly gesticulating, he shouted the Southern warhoop (known in the North as the “rebel yell”), which was taken up and repeated again and again by the vast crowd which packed the chamber to overflowing. In a delirium of joy, his young wife, hastily entrusting her baby to the nearest pair of arms, sprang toward the jury, whom she hugged and kissed by turns. Then both she and her husband mounted to the bench and grasped the judge by either hand, which they shook as vehemently as though they had been veritable pump-handles. In vain did the sheriff seek to restore order, but he was finally compelled to suffer the wild enthusiasm to find its vent. Horner was overwhelmed with congratulations, in which joined both friends and former foes. And in the midst of the wild confusion—in it, but not of it—stood the great advocate, whose genius, labor and eloquence had rendered such a result possible.

It may be that the reader will think that the author has been too lavish in his encomiums of this truly great man. Possibly so; yet the praise proceeds from the love of a grateful heart. Were I to find myself in the antipodes, and involved in difficulties calling for the aid of sound legal advice, the one man of all others to whom I would apply, and whose services, did my means permit, I should certainly retain, is Charles P. Johnson.

The reasons for my preference are easily explained. Governor Johnson, unlike many other lawyers who have attained prominence as practitioners in the criminal courts, does not desert his clients after he has secured their acquittal. To me he has proved a friend in need and in deed at the darkest hours of my life. He knows my character thoroughly; he has defended me more than once; and that I have not fallen into graver crimes than those which I now confess with shame, is due to his wise, fatherly counsels, and to the fact that he first implanted in my breast the desire to reform my life.

Nor is my case a solitary instance. His great brain is no less quick to conceive than is his great heart to execute. His quiet charity is as unostentatious as it is far reaching and comprehensive, and the number of those who owe their reformation to his patient, untiring efforts, will be known only when the secrets of all hearts are revealed.

THE GAMBLING HOUSES OF NEW YORK.

Despite the fact that there is upon the statute books of New York a stringent law against gaming, the great American metropolis has been called—and not unjustly—the very paradise of gamblers. It is said, by carping critics, that there is scarcely a street without its gambling resort, all private, of course, yet the location of which is well known to those who indulge in that excitement.

The favorite game—as all over the North American continent—is faro, and the stakes vary according to the class to which the house belongs in which the game is played. In some of the lowest hells a stake of five cents is not despised. These houses are frequented by the poorest working men, discharged soldiers, broken down gamblers and street boys. In this connection it may be said, that of all the street boys in the world perhaps those of New York are most precocious. It is no uncommon sight to see a shoe-black, scarcely three feet high, walk up to the table or “bank,” as it is euphoniously termed, and stake a nickel with the air of a young spendthrift to “whom money is no object.”

At any of the later hours of the night, in any one of the cheap eating houses which abound in or near Broadway, from Spring Street north to Tenth Street, can be found one or more shabby-genteel men who bear unmistakable evidence in their speech, manner and appearance, of long continued, and generally disastrous, “fighting with the tiger.” These are the _canaille_ of gamblers, who hang precariously on the edge of a terrible fascination, and manage to supply the necessities of life in a cheap way, from chance success in small bets and by a few dollars picked up by guiding more profitable customers to the houses where they are known. Strictly speaking, there are more “cappers” than gamblers. They are not only at the bottom of the “profession,” but their right to the proud (?) title of “sporting men” is stoutly denied by their more prosperous and reputable brethren of the green cloth. Improvident, uncertain in habits and language, unscrupulous, they are the natural products of sporting life, but which the faro banks nevertheless strive, although in vain, to shake off. Every house has several of these forlorn attaches, who play when they have money, and introduce a desirable stranger when they can; who are constant in their attendance upon the banquets that are daily spread in these houses, but are thus obliged to take the chances as to lodgings, and raiment. When they have worn threadbare the hospitality of the gaming house-keeper (as sometimes happens), they subsist—God and themselves alone know how.

Very different in most respects is another class of gamblers who can be seen any fine afternoon decorating Broadway with the splendor of their apparel, for, as a rule, the sporting fraternity is unexcelled in elegance of attire. If you meet in Broadway a man who lounges listlessly onward as though he had no well-defined object in life, and whose garments are cut in the latest style and of the finest material, you may wager he is a gambler in good luck, provided his silk hat is in the highest possible state of polish and his watch chain unusually massive. Very elegant in appearance, very quiet and gentlemanly in their demeanor, are these professional sports of the better class at all times and in all places. Gamblers of this type are usually men of intelligence far above the average, and among the hundreds of men eminent in science, literature and art who flock to the high-toned hells of New York, it is no easy task to find greater brilliancy of wit, higher polish of deportment, or more geniality of manner than are exhibited by the dealers at first-class metropolitan gaming-houses.

In the Bowery and on the side streets, may be met professionals of a very different class; brazen-faced men, with bristly mustaches and hair closely cropped like a convict, with apparel obtrusively gaudy and loaded with jewelry apparently of gold and precious stones. These are men to be avoided as the sharks which their appearance and their every act proclaim them to be. They are proprietors of, or “steerers” for the third-rate dens, where a “square” game is never played, even by accident. Should faro fail to return a profit, these fellows are ready to try anything else, from a game of poker down to outright robbery, as a means of obtaining money. Honest labor they abhor and despise. Any man, they say, can make a living by work, but it requires a smart man to get it without. They cherish a deep and abiding conviction of their own shrewdness; and their egregious conceit sometimes leads them to attempt some one of the confidence games in which “skinners” are adepts, in the perpetration of which they usually ingloriously come to grief through their native clumsiness. When they have no small dens of their own, their chief occupation and main reliance is as “ropers in,” and in view of their uncouth, repulsive appearance and address it is surprising that they are as successful as they are in enticing strangers into the wretched holes where they can be fleeced.

These strangers, thus inveigled, come under the name of “occasional players,” and are the vivification of all gambling, whether guided by the better class of ropers into gilded resorts, or by these vampires into the lower cribs. So long as one sporting man wins from or loses to another, no harm is done to the community at large, but no good is done the gamblers. It is the “occasional players” who furnish the means to replenish the faro banks, without which, they would soon be empty; the strangers who play not more than two or three times in their lives are the meat upon which these harpies fatten. It is not singular, that the novice is so apt to try his luck when he has once been induced to enter the gambling house. The universal game is faro; and looks so simple, so safe, so entirely fair, that the chances appear rather in favor of, than against the outside player.

It is made yet more alluring by its surroundings. Nowhere has sumptuous elegance been attained in such perfection as in the first-class gambling saloons of New York. Generally each has a suite of rooms, the largest of which is devoted to faro, with perhaps a roulette wheel in one corner, while others are sacred to short card games, and one is always exclusively used as a banqueting hall. All are furnished without regard to cost, but there is never anything in any of them to offend the most fastidious taste, although there may be sometimes a grim humor in some of the decorations, as is the case in one house where a magnificent oil painting of a tiger is suspended from the wall immediately over the table, so that none of the players can look up without meeting the glaring eye of the beast, which is held to be the presiding deity of the game. But such suggestions as this are very rare, as in general there is nothing anywhere but the faro table to declare the uses of the place. Take that away, and the visitor would imagine himself in the private parlors of a gentleman whose great wealth was fortunately equaled by his refined taste. This delusion would be strengthened by a seat at the banquet, where the viands are of all possible varieties, and the best quality, and are served with a finished elegance in the plate and all table appointments, including the waiters, which are not exceeded even in the most select private houses. At the table and on the sideboard in the saloon are liquors of excellent quality, which, although freely offered, are never pressed upon the visitor, and it is possible for a man to frequent these resorts for years without acquiring a taste for liquor. There is, in fact, very little drinking in them, and none at all of that fast and furious potation which hurries so many thousands of Americans to physical, mental and moral ruin. No sight is rarer in a first-class gaming house than to see a man maudlin drunk. An intoxicated man is never allowed to profane the place. If he appears in the person of a valuable patron, he is quietly led away, to be put to bed in some remote room; but if he comes as an unknown casual he is put into the street with little ceremony but without violence.

These statements, however, apply, of course, only to the first-class and most prosperous establishments. The places next in order ape them in everything, but are far below them in all. A second-class house has sometimes even more of glitter than its rival, but it is easy to see that it is pinchbeck grandeur. There is an absence, too, of the refined taste which presides over the decoration and furnishing of the better house. These rooms are glaringly painted, filled with odds and ends of furniture of all ages and patterns, so that they look not unlike the wards of a hospital for superannuated and diseased household goods turned over in their old age to the auctioneer’s hammer. The suppers and liquors, however, most plainly proclaim the lower caste of the place. While the variety of both is abundant, the first are execrably cooked and served, and the quality of the latter would not be strange to the most experienced patron of the ordinary Bowery saloons, which are proverbial for furnishing every kind of beverage except good.

But if the second grade houses are bad in these respects, there are some below them which are much worse. If a man can digest the so called “game suppers,” and survive any considerable drinking of the liquids which are offered as pure whiskey and brandy in the lowest classes of faro houses, he ought to be able to insure his life on the most favorable terms, and the appointments of these houses are in keeping with their entertainment. The chairs, sofas and carpets were of the most tawdry description when new, but are ragged with long and ill usage; the gambling checks, which range in price from twenty-five cents to one dollar, are grimed and dented with much handling; the faro table, elsewhere enticing with its newness and cleanliness, here is old and smeared with grease; the dealing-box, which in first-class houses is of pure and polished silver, here is of pewter, and dingy. So are all the _minutiae_ of these places. They are repulsively suggestive of squalid and unprosperous vice; and if by any chance a gentleman enters, he leaves at once, to lose his money under more elegant, or at least cleaner, auspices.

Faro houses in New York have rarely exceeded one hundred in number, except during the latter part of the war, when speculation, going mad in Wall street, stalked over the land, demoralizing and ruining thousands. In those feverish times faro-playing naturally increased with stock gambling, and the faro houses multiplied until they fluctuated between one hundred and twenty and one hundred and thirty in number. Of late years, however, they have decreased, and a few years ago, when public excitement on the subject had given rise to the sensational statement that the city contained six hundred of them, ninety-two was the largest number that could be found open at any time. The number seems small in comparison to the size of the city, which, beside the large resident reckless population, contains tens of thousands of strangers, anxious not to miss any of the sensations of the metropolis. Yet these faro banks not only are enough to do all the business presented and enticed to them, but some of them have a very precarious life owing to the lack of custom. The first and second-class houses are under very heavy expenses, a principal item of which takes the shape of rent. They must be and are located in the principal thoroughfares near the leading hotels, with the exception of those anomalous institutions known as “day games,” which are found in Ann, Fulton, and Chambers streets, for accommodation of the business men, many of whom have acquired the bad habit of seeking solace for the vexations of legitimate transactions in the delights of faro. A seizure was made of these places lately, upon the ground that they are of all the gambling establishments in the city the most dangerous to the public. It is not necessary to endorse this statement in order to justify the attempt to suppress day gambling, but if activity in this direction is intended to excuse the toleration of all other houses, it will result in more of evil than good. The night houses, into which strangers are inveigled and robbed, are the resorts of young men of fortune, who here take the first step on a downward road which leads them and their families to shame and ruin, are worthy of at least equal attention. Beside being more frequented, these night houses have a much greater number of hours for play. The day houses are in full operation four or five hours per day, but in the night houses a game can be had in the afternoon and at any hour at night, while the average of play, take them altogether, is fully eighteen hours of each twenty-four. In the absorption and waste of capital, the half-score of day houses cannot be compared to those where most of the play is at night.

It is well-nigh impossible to get accurate statistics upon this point, and resort must therefore be had to approximate figures, which are, however, very near the exact truth. The faro banks of New York have as capital a little less than one million dollars, which is very unequally divided, as the ninety-two houses vary from $2,000 to $50,000 each, although only three or four have the latter amount, and the average banking capital is about $10,000. It is impossible to say what amount of money changes hands upon this basis. It is asserted that the average yearly winnings of all the banks taken together is about fifty per cent. over and above the expenditure required to keep up the establishments, so that every year these gamblers absorb about $500,000, while the gross profits are more than 100 per cent. These figures are conclusive that the way of the transgressor, if he be an occasional player rather than a dealer, is hard.

“Bunko Land,” on Broadway, of a fair summer evening, extends from Twenty-third to Thirty-third street. Here, meandering softly along in the twilight, or boldly facing the glare of the electric lamps, New York’s gamblers are to be seen in mid-summer and mid-winter alike. They know well enough who their friends in authority are. They are fully convinced that charges against McLaughlin and Carpenter, like charges against Williams—which have been so often and so unsuccessfully made—are not likely to come to anything as long as their friends are on deck. And that means, of course, just as long as the gamblers’ weekly stipend is forthcoming.

Until the furor over the raids on Nos. 86 Fulton street and 15 Ann street shall have faded out, as all the anti-gambling furors do, it will no doubt continue to be true that “gambling has stopped in New York.” That for the public. Of course, gambling never stops; it is only a little harder now to find a “game,” and a little harder to get into it after it is found. A couple of years ago all gambling was stopped in New York—officially—for eighteen months. John Daly moved from his familiar stand, No. 39 West Twenty-ninth street, to a private house on Forty- second street, and only admitted his “true friends,” and such of the public as could produce at the door, cards of invitation. There was a similar and general shifting of quarters and barring of doors in Ann street, Fulton, Barclay, Fourteenth streets, and at the famous old 818 Broadway, which goes on forever, apparently, however raids come and go. That sudden revolution in the habits and habitats of Gotham’s “sports” was due, just as their present stringency of circumstances is due, to a raid from authorities other than those locally in charge of the precincts where the gambling houses are situated.

All raids, to be in any degree effectual, must be made either directly from Police Headquarters, or by Comstock’s or Whitney’s men. This bold assertion is not made—everybody knows it is true—for the purpose of warranting inferences as to the integrity of the officers immediately in charge of the district where the games are in progress, but because it states an undeniable fact. Inferences are easy. This is one of the few readily accessible facts about gambling.

WHERE GAMES ARE RUNNING NOW.

There are gambling games to which the initiated can gain access now at No. 39 West Twenty-ninth street, in Fourteenth street, the second door from Thiess’, at No. 818 Broadway, at Gallagher’s in Barclay street, at Delacey’s in Chatham Square, at Nos. 12 and 15 Ann street—all close together—Bret Haines’ in Barclay street, and at a good many quiet haunts of tigers so well trained that their footsteps are like velvet and their howl is inaudible. So it is scarcely necessary to go for mere sport to Phil Daly’s Long Branch Club, against which “Baron” Pardonnet has been waging such an ineffectual warfare, or to the famous Saratoga Club, at which “Colonel” Shepard has been vainly launching the awful curse of his boycott.

The raid which made John Daly move, and which produced so great a stringency in the chip market for the time being, started at No. 1 Ann street. It is rarely that an eye-witness describes, from the inside, an official descent on a gambling house. There are generally too many personal reasons for silence. Here is a description by a player at the time of that famous raid. It might also serve as a good description of almost any raid on New York games:

“I had just ‘coppered’ $5 on the queen to the intense disgust of a half dozen fellows who were playing her to win, when the ‘nigger’ who kept door came bounding upstairs, three steps at a time, fairly pale in the face, and whispered to the proprietor:

“‘Boss, there’s some men at the door that won’t go away, and say they’ll break the door down if I don’t let ’em in.’

“‘Quick!’ answered the proprietor, ‘open the door and ask ’em to step right up.’ The words were not out of his mouth before he had slipped the bank roll into the safe, gathered all visible chips of the banks, and asked all the players to gather up theirs, stuck the chips into the safe and locked the safe door, saying, ‘Boys, put your chips in your pockets and come around this afternoon and I’ll cash ’em in for you.’ In a flash all evidence of present gaming were wiped out. There were only a couple of tables, a dozen or so players, the proprietor, smiling blandly, and—a policeman in sight.

“In less time than it takes to tell all this the still shivering door- keeper had ushered in three ‘plain clothes’ men from headquarters. At the same time the police officer, in full uniform, who was already in the room—and who had been playing with the rest of us, mind you—edged towards the door so as to seem to have come in with and after the raiding officers. He was the worst frightened man in the crowd. But, with quite remarkable presence of mind, considering the strain on him, the officer in uniform stepped promptly back into the foreground, with a pitying smile on his face, and seizing the beard of the proprietor of the game, said to the raiding officers, who looked as if they wondered where he had come from:

“‘Gentlemen, this Mr. Bud Kirby’—

“‘And sorry I am, gentlemen,’ ‘Bud’ interrupted, with a bow and a smile, ‘to make your acquaintance under such unfavorable circumstances! What will you have to drink?’

“You could have knocked me down with a feather. ‘This then,’ thought I, as all hands stepped up to the sideboard and took a friendly drink; ‘this then, is one of those terrible raids we read so much about!’

“The players, fortunately for me, were not molested in the least. They melted away into the early morning gloom (it was then about 2 o’clock), and the officers who carted away the cards, the faro layouts and the roulette wheel, melted away to headquarters and made their report, and that afternoon we all went back and Kirby cashed our chips—of course he knew just about how many were out—and everything was lovely. No officer thought of touching the safe which contained the ‘roll,’ the only thing of any great value about the establishment, and nobody suffered any great loss or discomfort. But there wasn’t any more dealing there for a great many months. And maybe the officer in uniform, who was playing there in blissful ignorance that a raid was to be made, didn’t catch it from Kirby for not giving him warning!”

WHAT “PROTECTION” COSTS A GAMBLER.

A few weeks ago, before the spasm of virtue which constricted the public circulation of chips, a New York business man—whose name may be put down as Allan Allriver, being not altogether unlike the same—was approached on Twenty-eighth street by a professional gambler of his acquaintance who had paraded Broadway and hung about the corners until he was almost on his uppers. “Look here, Mr. Allriver,” said the gambler, “let’s you and I open a gambling house. I know of a good ranch on this very street that we can rent cheap, and if you’ll furnish the roll and let me run the game we’ll both make a barrel of money.”

“That’s all right,” answered Allriver, “but what’s to prevent us from being pulled the very first night?”

“I’ve inquired into that,” replied the gambler, “and am assured on high authority that we will be guaranteed police protection for exactly $25 a week. The usual price is from $25 up $100; we are getting off cheap.”

Mr. Allriver is still thinking about this offer and the remarkable statement with it. There is food for thought in it for the tax-payers. But the charge that police officials are bribed by gamblers is—as the old English Judge said about the charge of assault on women—“most easy to make and most difficult to disprove.” It has the advantage, however, of being even more difficult to prove.

Suppose a police captain or lieutenant were paid $25 a week by the proprietor of a gambling house for protection or advance notice of raids, no papers, or writing, or receipt, or voucher of any kind will pass between them. The proprietor and the police officer will not meet, nor will they be seen or known to communicate with each other in any way except through trusted intermediaries. Through them, one representing the “sports” and the other the “boss cops,” the agreement will be made and the money will be paid. They may meet each other and slide a “wad” from fist to fist as they shake hands on Broadway of a fine afternoon, or they may do their business over a friendly glass of beer at a Sixth avenue saloon table about 2 A. M. If either of these agents tries to squeal, his principal promptly denounces and disavows all knowledge of him. Then who is believed, the poor, unknown, characterless go-between or the “reputable business man” and “faithful police official?”

The elaborate system of bolts, bars, chains, double doors, and the like, which confronts one—either stranger in search of sport, or officer in search of prey—at the entrance of an established gambling house is not intended as a direct barrier to the admission of those in authority. Unauthorized raiders are of course kept out by this means. But no proprietor of a gambling house in New York would dare to maintain that system of defense in the face of known police or detective authority. It would “get the force down on him” forever. When an opening is demanded “in the name of the law,” the bolts are shot back, the chains loosened, the big nail-studded doors are unlocked. But all this undoing, and unloosening and unfastening takes so much time that the proprietor has had an opportunity before the police get into the “hell” itself to put away that which he wishes to conceal, and to put it away so securely that all the police in town couldn’t find it unless they tore down the walls and pulled up the flooring. It is quite needless to say that the players, if they choose, may also utilize this interval by escaping over the roof or down the back stairs.

That some of the New York gambling houses are, or have been, directly connected with Police Headquarters by means of a private wire, or at least with the nearest station house from which a raid would be most likely to be made, is firmly believed by some sporting men. But how prove it? _Quien Sabe?_ Certain it is that there are no “slicker” citizens nor more artful dodgers, no more long-headed law breakers in this great city of “slick” citizens and artful dodgers, than are the professional gamblers. Not so very long ago, when the notoriety of John Daly’s, as a first-class gambling house, almost across the street from the Gilsey was becoming a little too loud, a stranger who in the language of the street, thought he was “fly” and who had found out—he thought—just what door to knock at to find Daly’s and a game, hammered at the door in question vociferously and was surprised to have the door opened in his face by a neat maid-servant, who asked him what his business was, assured him the place was an apartment house for gentlemen and offered to show him the rooms. He was dumfounded and retreated in good order.

Next door, all the while, was an innocent-looking millinery shop. He watched out of the hotel window hour after hour the next day, until he saw a gambler, with whom he was acquainted, come down the steps from “the apartment house.” He sauntered over, joined his friend whom he had known in Denver, and asked him to show him a game, and was taken into “the apartment house.” A large and massive-looking hat rack adorned the back hall. Seizing it by two of the hat pegs, the gambler gave it a slight twist and turned it on its well-oiled axis, disclosing a door into the rear of the first floor of the next house. Here, back of the “millinery store,” the festive roulette ball was clicking and the tiger was bucking and being bucked vigorously. Such is life in a large city!

GAMBLERS COMING HOME FROM THE RACES.

It is on the parlor cars returning from Monmouth and Brighton Beach that the New York gamester is seen in little groups of three or four in the gayest of his mid-summer aspects. No matter if he hasn’t won a single bet all day, the gambler is “blooded” and must ride home in a parlor car. There is a group composed of three of the typical Gothamite race gamblers. The car has hardly started from the track before the porter has slipped into its nickel-plated sockets the tidy little table, which may serve either for cards or lunch. A crisp white napkin is deftly spread over it and a “cold bottle” produced, with three glasses, on a silver tray, from the porter’s larder. A cold chicken is brought out with some slices of white bread and a pot or two of golden butter. No Rothschild or Vanderbilt could order or eat a better meal under the circumstances, or sit down after a day of “sport” to a more inviting- looking board while whirling homeward on the rail in an easy chair. Yet these three men are plain, ordinary, common, badly-dressed, thick- fingered, blear-eyed and uncouth-looking “gams.” There is no “gentleman John Oakhurst” about them. Many New Yorkers recognize them and some nod as they pass on.

The big-boned man, with the ruddy, clean-shaven face, short, stiff gray hair and puffy eye-lids, eats the food earnestly and laughs, and talks in an even coarse voice. At present he is the life of the party. He wears a grayish-brown check suit, not very “loud,” a faded derby, and his fingers need a manicure. They are thick at the ends and do not look capable of deft manipulation. No doubt their owner can deal off the bottom of the pack if he wants to, without detection. He looks about fifty-two. His companions are younger. One of them wears an outlandish- looking round-crowned straw hat and a shabby suit of clothes. He has a pert, feverish-looking, but insignificant face, a red mustache and a tilted nose. The third is good-looking, dark and quiet. They talk eagerly and simultaneously, and not at all quietly of the races and of the bets, and their winnings and losings. By and by the table is cleared away and the “cold bottle” put on and big cigars are brought by the steward, who is told to “fetch the best he’s got.” Nobody has any more fun coming home from the races than professional gamblers have. They are not half bad at heart, perhaps. Before lighting the biggest cigars the steward’s got, they take off their hats and ask the only two ladies in this parlor car full of men if they have any “objection to smoke.”

The most interesting plunger at cards in New York to-day is, in all probability, that broken-down shoe-cutter yonder, who looks scarcely “good for a ten-cent drink,” but who, not very long ago, made the old- timers’ hair stand on end. His name is Bolt McHackin, and his home is in Newark. McHackin is, when not “on a tear,” one of the most skillful shoe-cutters in the country, and able to earn from $60 to $75 a week at his trade. His shears turn out fashionable “uppers” with a celerity and skilfulness rarely found and highly prized. When he has worked hard for three or four weeks and earned a couple of hundred dollars he gambles with a reckless prodigality. In more than one game he has risen from the table a loser to the full amount of his stakes, returning to his work not one whit wiser, and only waiting to try his experiment again. He has been known to make large winnings. Yet to “break a bank” where all the appliances for playing a “brace” game are ready at hand has been demonstrated to be an impossibility.

A NEW YORK GAMBLERS’ CATALOGUE.

If any doubt exists in the mind of the reader as to the truth of the exposure of the “faked” devices described in this volume, the author would especially commend to the attention of such skeptics the following catalogue, issued by a New York house, which is here reproduced, _verbatim et literatim_; only the publisher’s name being suppressed. Similar catalogues are being scattered broadcast over the land. They fall into the hands of young men, to whose curiosity and imagination they appeal with fatal effect. They are easily obtained, anyone may secure one by asking for it, and the United States mail service will safely carry and promptly deliver it. Do parents wish their sons, just entering into manhood, to be exposed to such snares as these here set for the unwary? Need any further argument be adduced to justify the author in the publication of this work?

That fraudulent devices of the character described are manufactured and sold is conclusively demonstrated by the issuance and dissemination of catalogues such as this. It is the mission of the FOOLS OF FORTUNE to strike at the root of this evil by holding up to the ridicule as well as the condemnation of the public the schemes and tricks by which such unprincipled scoundrels seek to debauch the morals of the young, and defraud any victim whom chance may send to their net.

The author believes that the average reader will peruse this catalogue with mingled emotions of interest, surprise and disgust. To the uninitiated it will prove a revelation of depravity at once horrifying and appalling. Yet in itself it confirms and corroborates every statement herein made as to the practices and methods of professional gamblers. The picture is a dark one, yet if it is defective in its fidelity to truth, the fault lies in a deficiency rather than an excess of coloring. Like vampires, these men fasten themselves upon the body of society, ready to draw from its veins the very life current on which its existence depends.

The following letter from a New York dealer in sporting goods explains itself:

“DEAR SIR:—In reply to yours, there is only one sure way to win at cards, etc., and that is to get Tools to work with and then to use them with discretion, which is the secret of all Gambling and the way that all Gamblers make their money.

Yours truly, —— ——.

ADVANTAGE, OR MARKED BACK PLAYING CARDS.

By which you can tell the color, suit and size, as well by the backs as by the faces. They are an exact imitation of the fair playing cards in common use, and are adapted for any game, where it would be impossible for your opponent to win, as you would know just what he had in his hand and could act accordingly. These cards can be learned in an hour with the instructions which are sent with each pack, so that you can tell every card the instant you see it, both size and suit.

N. B. Be sure and ask for the Key or Directions, as without them the cards would be of no use to you unless you are a first-class professional gambler.

THE POKER RING.

An ingenious little contrivance for Marking the cards while playing, in a perfectly safe and systematic manner, so that in half an hour you can tell each card as well by the back as by the face. Although it is not as yet generally known, it is now in use by a few of the oldest and best professional players in the country. Anybody can use it at once.

For second dealing they are invaluable, and no second dealer should be without one for a day. But comment is unnecessary, as anyone understanding second dealing will see in an instant its value, the moment the subject is brought to his mind.

SKELETON BOXES.

German Silver. A sure thing for dealer to win every time at Red and Black, or Red, White and Blue.

ROULETTE WHEELS.

Faked Roulette Wheels that can be made to come Red or Black, or High or Low Number, just as the dealer desires, a sure thing every time.

MARKED BACK PLAYING CARDS.

Square Corners, per pack, by mail, postpaid $ 1 00 ” ” 6 packs 5 00 ” ” 12 ” 9 00 Round ” per pack 1 25 ” ” 6 packs 6 50 ” ” 12 ” 12 00

FARO TOOLS.

Hart’s Faro Dealing Cards, unsquared, per doz. $15 00 Also, the same in any form, “Rounds and 2 25 Straights,” “End Rounds” or “Wedges,” per pack Same, per dozen, by express 25 00 Two Card Dealing Boxes, top sight tell, top $50 00, $75 00 balance, improved Lever or End Squeeze Back Up Second Card Box for Red and Black, Gaff $30 00, $35 00, 40 and Pull Back, 00 Dealing boxes of every description made to order and repaired. Top balance, End Squeeze and Lever constantly on hand. Card Punches, best 2 00 3 00 Glass paper, better than sand, per doz. sheets 1 00

ROULETTE, RONDO AND BALL GAMES.

Roulette Wheels, finest in the world $500 00 ” ” Spreads, cloth, double, 13.6×5 ft 70 00 High Ball Poker Balls, round, each 20 ” ” ” Bottle, used with rubber cord, without 10 00 balls

POOL AND SPINDLE GAMES.

Mutual Pool Machines $150 00 and $200 00 Rolling Faro, 28 Aces and 4 Horses (with fake) 60 00 ” ” 28 Cards and 4 Jacks (with fake) 60 00 ” ” on cloth, with Spindle 20 00 Wheels of Fortune, 36 inch, 8 colors, 16 spaces, with Nickel 10 00 Plated Spindle and Socket Wheels of Fortune, 36 inch, 8 colors, 16 spaces, with wooden 8 00 Spindle

DICE GAMES.

Bunko Chart, “Special Drawing,” without tickets $5 00 Bunko Tickets, per set of 56 2 00 Ivory Dice, for top and bottom, 3 fair with 1 00 Ringer ” ” double, 3 high, 3 low, 3 fair 2 00 ” ” loaded, ” ” ” 5 00 Loaded Ivory Dice (Chinese make), beats 10 00 everything, $2.00 each; per set of 9, 3 high, 3 low and 3 fair to match Ivory Dice Tops, to throw high or low 2 50 Rolling Dice, or Log, for high or low 5 00 Dice Cups, harness leather, best in use 50c., 75c., 1 50

SHORT GAMES.

Monte Tickets, or Broads, per doz., by express $ 5 00 Patent Knives, with lock, new pattern 5 00 Patent Safes, with two openings, ivory 5 00 Shiner, for reading cards dealt opponents 60 ” ” ” ” ” in 1 00 half dollars Vest Hold Out, with late improvements 10 00 Table Hold Out, something new, worked with knee 10 00 The “Bug,” for holding out an extra card 1 00 Crayon Pencils, case of 12 colors 1 00

KENO SETS.

Spring Peg Board for 200 pegs $20 00 Pool Globes, Polished Walnut, Keno Nozzle 6 00 Large Sized Leather Bottle, Patent Nozzle 10 00 With 90 Numbered Ivory Balls 30 00

THE SKELETON CARD TRIMMER.

Or new style Stripper Plates for cutting strippers. We now offer our new style stripper plates with several new improvements attached. They can be used either with knife or shears and can be set to trim coarse or fine as desired, with movable guage to cut at any angle, best steel plates with brass screw and guages with pin socket and hinge plates.

CRAP DICE.

In reference to dice, loaded dice come in sets of “9”—dice, viz.: 3 High, 3 Low and 3 Fair to match. But loaded dice, generally speaking, are not strong enough for craps, as it is impossible to load dice so as to make them come up any particular number every time; the best that can possibly be done is to make them come up about every other time on an average. They are generally used to beat Sweat or to throw High or Low, or to bet on averages, or in various other ways, too numerous to mention, to get the money.

The best way to fix dice for craps is to have one dice with 2 aces, 2 fives and 2 sixes on, and one with 2 threes, 2 fours and 2 fives on. With this pair of dice it is _impossible_ to throw 7, and there is only _one possible chance_ to throw eleven. But, if you want dice to throw 7 or 11 sure, the only way we know of is to have one pair thus: one dice with all sixes and one with all fives on to throw eleven; and one with all fours and one with all threes on to throw seven; or, one with all fives, one with all deuces on to throw seven.

NOTICE TO BILLIARD AND POOL PLAYERS AND DICE THROWERS—HIGH BALL POKER.

A NEW GAME.—This is something just out, and for your business the best thing in the country, a dead sure thing always, no mistakes made with this. You have always got them, and can throw a high or low ball SURE EVERY TIME. This sounds like an advertisement, but I will guarantee every word of the above or will willingly refund the money; that you can control the balls is certain, and that is all you want to win the money betting on the balls as they come out of the bottle. It beats all dice throwing to death. Let all dice throwers who make dice their specialty take notice it will win Dollars where dice wins Pennies. Any man can get a game with it in a Billiard Saloon, and to get a game is to get all the money there is in the house. In his travels with one of these he can win a Million. The game is called High Ball Poker, and is simply this: 2 or 20 players put up their ante the same as in draw poker at cards, then each player draws one ball; he looks at it and bets whatever he likes if his ball is a high number, or if it is small he passes the same as with a good or bad hand at poker. The next man can raise him, and so on; if all pass he takes the pool, or if anyone calls him they then draw one ball more, or two balls as agreed upon and bet again. If the hand is called they show down and the highest hand takes the money; if there is no call the one that made the last raise takes the pool, the same as in draw poker without showing his hand. This is to save him from showing too many good hands, as he may stand in with the dealer; but whether he does or not it is a regular House game for the dealer, as he takes a check out for the house every time a hand that counts over a certain number regulated by himself as a percentage to pay room and other expenses, the same as any club room. He also takes out one check every time the pool is passed out three times in succession, the same as JACK POTS. With Faked Bottle and Balls the dealer can get all the money in the game anyhow. If he dont stand in with anybody he can make one player win this time and give him two big balls, high enough to count the percentage and take out one check, next time give another player two balls high enough to count the percentage and take out another check, and so on all night; and when the game closes he will have most of the checks in the box or kitty. Or he could play himself and win four or five of the big pools during the night and lose twenty small pools to square himself—do it gracefully and with some judgment and win $15 or $20 and make it appear he has lost. It can be introduced into club rooms, and made to take the place of draw poker with cards. It is attractive and fascinating, and played the same as draw, and the novice would rather play it, as he knows there will be no shuffling up on him, no monkey work with the cards, and he has as good a chance as the gambler and won’t be afraid to play alongside of him any more than he would at faro bank. That is all there is to the game, but there is a dozen other ways to win with it besides High Ball Poker, viz.: by betting on averages as with dice or raffling for a watch, etc., or betting that you can beat another man’s throw or that he can beat your throw, and other things too numerous to mention. It is a good thing and anyone who wants to win big money is foolish if he don’t have one. Anyone can use it to perfection in one minute as good as he can in ten years (there is no practice or skill required), as soon as he is shown where the Fake is, which is fully explained in the directions and you can’t help understanding it as soon as you touch the Fake; and nobody can tell when you work it, even if they know all about it, any more than they can with a Pull Back Box. Price with full directions;

Faked Bottle and 25 Ivory Balls, Round face $15 00 Faked Bottles, each 10 00

THE BUG.

This is an entirely new invention, for the purpose of “holding out” any number of cards, _and it will do it_! It is very simple in its construction, easy to operate, and any person who knows that two and two are four can use it. It can be carried in the vest pocket all the time, is always ready for use, and not liable to get out of order, but should it do so any watchmaker can put it in order for a trifle, as the whole expense of manufacture is only about fifty cents. “Then why ask $3.00 for it?” you may say. For this reason—That one is all you will ever want to buy, as they do not wear out like cards. Also, after seeing it you can get one made as well as I can, and make them for your friends and sell them to all the sporting men in your vicinity, thereby injuring my trade and I get nothing for my invention; and you will wonder that the thing was never thought of before. With it you can “hold out” one or twenty cards, shift and make up your hand to suit, and your hands and person are at perfect liberty all the time. Your opponent may look in your lap and up your sleeve, but there is nothing to be seen! After having used it once you would not be without it for _any_ price, as, like all good inventions, its simplicity is a great point in its favor, and any sporting man who has ever seen or knows its value, would not hesitate to pay $10.00 for one if he could not get it for less; and then he would be doing a wise thing and getting more than the value of his money at that. This valuable little tool will be sent, free by mail, with full and complete directions for using it.

THE SPY.

This simple and valuable little Advantage Tool, with which you can read each card as it leaves the pack, has now reached _Perfection_, as far as we are concerned, as we have steadily improved upon it until we can improve no further.

_The Reflector_, which is convex, is imported direct from France, and is made _specially_ for this purpose. It can be used in perfect safety either in the table or on the knee, and should the suspicion of any of the players be aroused it can be removed in an instant; your hand completely covers it, as it is only the size of a silver half dollar, and you can hold a half dozen of them without their being seen; you are at perfect liberty with your hands all the time, and if you wish you can be using the _Bug_ or _Strippers_, or any other advantage implement with your hands at the same time, without interfering with the _spy_ in the least, but anything else would be unnecessary, as the _spy_ is to the ordinary player advantage enough in itself.

STRIPPERS.

The benefit of these cards can be estimated only in one way, and that is: How much money has your opponent got? For you are certain to get it, whether it is $10 or $10,000; the heavier the stakes the sooner you will break him, and he never knows what hurt him.

For Poker they are a sure thing, for what could be better than to hold the _best hand_, which you certainly can do with these cards; or, for playing Seven Up, what better thing would you want than to have your opponent deal you three aces every time he deals, with a chance of the fourth; or in playing Euchre to force your opponent to give you or your partner three bowers every time he deals, in spite of himself. These cards will do it.

In sending for Strippers be sure and state what game you wish to play with them, so that I can send you cards especially adapted for that game.

ONE OF THE LATEST—THE RED, WHITE AND BLUE GAME.

This is a new game, and one of the latest out; it is a sure thing for the dealer. With it you can make any player lose or win the Pool 100 times in succession if you like. It is so finely guaged that it cannot be detected, and any professional gambler can watch you as much as he likes. It will be useless, he cannot see anything. You could play all day with it and never know there was anything wrong with it, or be able to cheat with it, unless it was shown to you or explained with the directions that go with it, and yet it is as easy as tossing up a cent, head or tail, and _anyone_—a child ten years old—can work it as true and as easy as a professional gambler. No false movements to create suspicion, everything looks natural and fair and above board, and anybody will play the game, as it is very interesting and nobody but the dealer can tell whether it is square or not. Even another dealer that knows all about it could not tell by looking at you whether you were dealing square or not, but of course he would know enough not to play against you, as you have the power all in your own hands and of course would make him lose. It is a new game, and very few of the gamblers have got hold of it yet. It is a very fancy affair, finely polished box, handsome layout and 16 best ivory balls, all numbered regular, etc. Anyone can make money with it, and one night’s play will win twice the amount it cost, or in one month’s steady play anyone could win $1,000 with it. And after you had won all the money there was to be got you could show and explain it to any fly man, and if he did not know where to get one, you could sell it to him for three times the money it cost you, and he would be glad to get it. It is a good thing for anyone that wants to win. Full and explicit instructions for working sent with the outfit.

MARKED BACK BARCELONA MONTE CARDS.

The want of this article has long been felt by the sporting men on the Pacific Coast and South and Western States and Territories. But of the thousands of gamblers who could win barrels of money with them, none have been willing to pay the price for them or the first cost of getting up plates, engraving, printing, etc. Therefore none have been made for the past fifteen years; and anyone that deals the game or plays it, or knows anything about the game, will see at once the value of a pack of cards with which they tap a game for all it is worth, in a minute, and anyone that will not pay for the privilege of a sure thing to break a Monte game had better go to work on the railroad, for he can make more money there than he can gambling. Or any _Great American Smart Dealer_ that will not pay to protect his game from being broke, had better go with the other man on the railroad, as he is not qualified to deal his or anybody else’s money away, for with these cards the dealer can always tell exactly where three or four cards lay in the pack all the time, and act accordingly, and such a percentage with the dealer is worth half a dozen packs of cards each deal. Some gamblers seem to forget, or never to have known, that there is only one way to gamble successfully, and that is to _get Tools to gamble with_.

TO POKER AND SHORT CARD PLAYERS—VEST HOLD OUT. [NOTE.—This is a verbatim copy of the manufacturer’s circular.]

GENTS: I am now prepared to furnish you with the latest improved Vest Holdout, which for simplicity finish and Durability is _Par Excellence_. It will not break or get out of order, anybody can use it, it works smooth and noiseless and is as perfect as it can be made after many years of careful study. It does away entirely with the old fashioned and clumsy Breast Plate, it is now an article of merit and Value received for the money 10 times over, anybody can use it successfully with very little practice without fear of Detection for months in any game where it has not been previously exposed. Like all modern improvements its simplicity is greatly in its favor, it is strong and serviceable, no springs to Rust or Break or weaken and get out of order, in fact it is _the_ Modern Holdout and if the man will do his work the machine will do its work. N. B. do not confound my Vest Holdout with the _Sleeve_ machine as I don’t make or sell the Sleeve machines any more they are a failure and not practical, I have seen all the different kinds that have been made for years, and I will give _One Hundred Dollars_ to anyone that will bring me a Sleeve machine that can be worked effectually without Detection this offer stands good for one year, _and is open to all Gamblers_. The only Holdout I now make is the Vest Holdout which I occasionally use myself as opportunity offers, and I know it is practical and with an ordinary amount of caution it can be used in 8 out of 10 of all the Gamblers Games in the country, any old Poker player knows that if he can win 5 or 6 of the Big Pools during the night and play on his judgement or on the square during the remainder of the night and hold his own he is bound to get all the money in time. This is the proper way to use the Vest Holdout and if used on this principle any ordinary Poker player with a moderate amount of discretion can use it month after month in 9 out of every 10 Poker Games in the country, it is a fine Invention and any one that plays cards for a living need it more than they do snide Jewelry or Flashy Clothes with holes in their pockets instead of Dollars. There is but _one_ way to gamble successfully and that is to _get Tools to work with and have the best of every Game you get into_.

THE LATEST AND BEST ATTRACTION OUT—NEW STOP WHEEL.

The attention of all outside men, and of all who make it their business to work the fairs, races, bathing places, picnics, watering places, excursions, etc., is called to this wheel. It is invaluable, and is undoubtedly the cheapest and most attractive wheel made in this country for the money. It is a _sure thing_, and can be completely controlled by the dealer so as to defy detection, who can make it stop at any point desired. You can let the players spin it if they wish; it makes no difference, you can control it all the same. It is very simple, and anybody can work it to perfection with the instructions that are sent with each wheel. It is about two feet in size, and the whole weight does not exceed eight pounds. The whole apparatus can be carried with ease by one man; picked up in a second and moved to another place, and set down and started again without a minute’s delay. I have no hesitation whatever in saying that any man with as much sense as a monkey, with one of these wheels at any fair or race track, or any place where a large crowd is assembled, _must_ get a game, and to get a game is a sure thing to get the money.

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GAMBLING AT NEWPORT.

There is only one gambling house in Newport. It maintains a genteel monopoly of all business in this place. It is an old-fashioned looking building far back in the shadow of its grounds and garden, looking quite as respectable in its sombre age as the most respected of Newport villas. I do not think many of the residents are aware of its existence. Of course the diplomats and American swells have discovered its locality, but they are pledged to the secrecy of its interior as securely as the front door. It is very difficult to get in during business hours, and the little slide shutter is carefully opened before the latchet of the front door is raised. No one knows how much money is lost or won in this select quarter. Its mysteries are equal in their methods of secrecy almost to the system of Nihilism in Russia. The man who is the “responsible party” in the concern is a Mr. Abel. If he had been called Cain he would probably have been a Sunday school superintendent, such is the irony of fate. I think that if these summer resorts must actually have a gambling house, it would be advisable to use the exclusive methods that control this Newport establishment.

Of course, this statement does not include gambling at the great caravansaries and in private cottages. As to gaming of this character—which is essentially and necessarily private—it is impossible to do more than guess at its extent. Rumor has it that stakes running up into the tens of thousands are nightly lost and won, and that more than one member of the mythical “400” has found it necessary to abridge his stay at this famous watering place in consequence of losses at poker. These private games, however, are played among gentlemen, and “professionals” are strictly excluded. Yet the inherently corrupting influence inseparable from gambling is always present; nor should it be forgotten that a pill is none the less efficacious as a medicament because it is sugar-coated.

GAMBLING IN SAN FRANCISCO.

Gambling has existed to a greater or less extent on the peninsula on which stands the present great city of San Francisco, ever since the Spaniards first settled there. In the ’30’s and early ’40’s, whalers and trading vessels made the bay of San Francisco one of their regular stopping places, and when in port the captains of these vessels and the Alcalde of the place—then called Yerba Bueno—had many “hot rubs” at “monte.” It was not, however, until the great influx of gold seekers in 1848-49, that gambling obtained any marked prominence. But with the stream of gold that soon began pouring into the young metropolis of the West, there sprang up, as if by magic, games of chance of every description, which were kept running night and day.

These gaming houses were conducted on the main floors of the most pretentious houses in the infant city, and were really palaces in their way. A description of one will serve for a description of all, so we will glance into the “El Dorado,” located at the southeast corner of Washington and Kearney Streets, on the spot where afterwards stood the old “Jenny Lind Theatre,” which was eventually sold to the city and used as a City Hall, and now serves as the City Receiving Hospital. In its early days, it was a large square room, the walls of which were covered with costly paintings; at the farther end was a raised platform, on which was an excellent orchestrion; in one corner stood the bar, behind the cut glass bottles on which were arranged costly plate-glass mirrors. A side board, loaded down with choice viands, occupied a prominent place, while scattered through the room were tables, on which were kept running every known game of chance. Faro was the principal game, although the “monte,” “roulette” and “chuck-a-luck” tables were always well patronized.

Speculation in those days ran riot, and everybody gambled. The miners, after making a successful “clean up,” would go “down to the bay” to have a little recreation, or, perhaps, to send their earnings to dear ones in the far off States. But a visit to one of the gaming houses, which was generally the first place called upon, together with a free indulgence in liquor, usually resulted in the miner’s seeking some friend who might “stake” him with enough money to enable him to get back to the mines, and the wives and children in the East were compelled to wait until more dust could be gathered. Merchants, after they had closed their stores, would risk their day’s profits, which often amounted to thousands of dollars, on the turn of a single card, and if they lost, would go to their homes, hoping for better luck the next day. Mechanics, artisans, laborers, tradesmen, all risked their wages in the games, and won or lost with equal indifference.

The quantity of coin in circulation was very limited, while greenbacks were unheard of at that time. Gold dust and nuggets formed the principal medium of circulation, and nobody was over particular about giving or receiving the exact weight. An ounce, (Troy weight), was worth $20, and all payments were based on that scale. Shop keepers took their pay in dust, and laborers received their weekly wages in ounces. Each table in the gambling houses had its tiny scales for weighing gold, and the players, no matter what their condition was, were sure of receiving their just dues.

All the big games were “square,” and woe betide the sharper who attempted his tricks on anybody and was caught at it. If not killed, he was run out of town, nor did he dare soon to return. Occasionally a “sure thing” gambler would start a house, but as soon as suspicion was aroused that he was not running a “square” game, his tables were deserted and he was soon starved out.

Besides the “El Dorado,” the “Bella Union,” on the north west corner of Washington and Kearney, the Union, on Merchant and Kearney streets, the “Parker House,” “Meade House” and “Bill” Brigg’s place, on Montgomery street, near Pine, were some of the largest gambling houses that were running in 1849-50. In the latter year these were nearly all destroyed by fire, but were immediately rebuilt, and the number increased by the erection of several other places. During the early 50’s the “Mazourka,” “Arcade,” “Varsouvienne,” “Fontine” and “Meade” Houses were in full operation and doing a thriving business.

FARO.

Among the ranks of the old-time San Francisco faro dealers, death has wrought sad havoc and but few are left of the men whose tables were nightly piled with tens of thousands of dollars worth of yellow dust.

Of the living gamblers, perhaps the best known man is “Ed.” Moses, who may be seen around the Occidental and Palace Hotels every day. His short, thin figure is bent with age, while the eyes that have so often in the past watched the sliding of the cards from the little tin box, are dimmed and sunken. The hands that years ago handled those same cards with marvelous grace and dexterity are swollen to enormous size with rheumatism. Mr. Moses enjoys the distinction of playing the heaviest game of faro on record. It was one day, years ago, that he dropped into one of the gambling resorts—not his own—no limit was placed on the betting in those days, but the dealer soon became frightened at the size of Moses’ bets. His signature was good for any amount under $1,000,000 for if he did not have money himself, he could easily raise it. The play grew stronger and stronger; everybody else dropped out of the game and left Moses a clean field. At first, luck was with him and he won heavily, but the fickle goddess soon deserted him. With his losses, his bets increased until at last he drew an I. O. U. for $60,000 and played it straight on a single card. It lost, and “Ed.” Moses sauntered up to the bar and asked all hands to drink, $200,000 poorer than when he entered the room an hour before. Moses has long since ceased gambling and is now living quietly on a snug little income. His fortune is not great, but large enough to grant him every luxury he desires.

Another old timer and a boon companion of Moses, is Colonel “Jack” Gamble. Col. Jack’s principal occupation is drinking the mellowest “bourbon” to be had and longing for the days of the Argonauts. “Bill” Briggs, who was well known throughout the country for his charitable deeds, died a few months ago. He was the last of the old timers to abandon faro in San Francisco. “Tom” Maguire, of theatrical fame, also kept a gambling palace in ’49-’50. Thomas J. A. Chambers kept the old “El Dorado.” “Put” Robinson, another dealer, is lying on his death bed at the present writing. “Bill” Barnes, Mellus, White and J. B. Massey are names well known to old Californians. These men looked upon gambling as being as honorable as store-keeping. They were all men of honor and in the turbulent times of the old vigilantes were arraigned on the side of law and order.

Other men who followed gambling for an occupation were Judge McGowan, S. M. Whipple, of Sacramento river steamboat fame, and Tim McCarthy, afterwards State Senator from San Francisco. They were all welcome visitors among the best families in town and were a power in the political affairs of the then territory and even after California had been admitted into the Union.

Their generosity was limitless, as a single illustration will show. Briggs used to leave his rooms about four o’clock in the morning, but first, he would gather up all the small change that had been taken in, i. e., quarters and a few dimes, for half dollar pieces were about the smallest coins in general circulation. He would fill his pockets with them and go down to the vegetable market, where the gamins assembled every morning to gather up the refuse to feed their goats and cows. Briggs would stand on the sidewalk, pitch a handful of coins into the street and laugh until his sides ached to see the little fellows scramble for them. He would repeat the operation until the last coin had been gathered in. In this way he would throw away from twenty-five to fifty dollars each morning; but he knew it went to families who had recently arrived and who found the money a most welcome aid to their support. Similar stories—and true ones, too—might be told of many of the men above named. Men used to take their children into the gambling houses of an evening to see the sights and listen to the excellent music; and not infrequently highly cultivated and respected ladies visited these places, as they do the salons at Baden-Baden.

After a time it became the rage to have female game-keepers, and many of the houses had at least one beautiful siren to aid in bringing men to their ruin.

The first woman to engage in this sort of employment in San Francisco, was Mme. Simon Jules, who made her appearance one night at a roulette table in the “Bella Union.” She was a pleasant-faced woman, of medium height, with large black eyes and hair as dark as the plumage of a raven. The place, as usual, was crowded, and Mme. Jules’ table proved the center of attraction and did an enormous business. She spoke English imperfectly and accompanied each remark with the expressive shrug of the shoulders peculiar to her nature. The _Alta_, the only newspaper of the day, criticised her severely, but this only advertised her, and it was not long before other houses followed the lead of the “Bella Union.”

In the winter of 1854-’55 the legislature passed the first anti-gambling law, making gambling a State prison offense. Up to that time all games had been regularly licensed. The legislation had the effect of closing some of the smaller houses, and making the remainder a little less public; but the law was never enforced and there was only one conviction in the state under it; that of a “brace” faro dealer in Tuolumne, who was sent to prison more to get rid of him than to inaugurate a crusade against gambling.

In 1859-’60, Col. Jack Gamble went to Sacramento and mainly through his personal efforts and influence, secured the repeal of the law. Faro, monte and roulette were then revived, but not to so great an extent as in the olden days. In the meantime poker had made its appearance and grew so rapidly in public favor that at the time of the repeal of the law in question, it had become a formidable rival of faro and other banking games. Monte and roulette began to wane, and the year of 1873 saw their demise in San Francisco.

In the winter of 1873-’74, the legislature passed another anti-gambling law which was supplemented by sundry municipal ordinances. A lively crusade against the faro games was at once commenced, but as the only penalties imposed consisted of light fines, the games usually reopened immediately.

The persistent raiding by the police, eventually compelled many of the games to close, among others, that of Col. Gamble, who started a roadside sporting house on the San Jose road, fourteen miles down the peninsula. For a time the place prospered greatly. During several years, it being a favorite resort for stock-brokers, bankers and merchants, who had not entirely overcome their old time sporting proclivities. “Bill” Briggs was the last of the old timers to surrender to the law. He continued to run a faro game behind strong barricades, until at last he too retired in disgust and public gaming in San Francisco was dead. Since then numerous games—chiefly “brace”—have sprung up, but the capital behind them has been very limited and a few raids by the police have forced them to close. At present there are two faro games in operation in the city; White’s (not kept by the person of that name previously mentioned), and Lawrence’s. The former has the name of being a “square” game, but the “limit” is twenty dollars and the house is frequented only by sporting men, its patrons being bartenders, habitues of pool-rooms, “macquereaux” and men of that class. The other game, either justly or unjustly, is often spoken of as a “brace” game where “steerers” are employed to “rope in” greenhorns. It occupies several rooms in different buildings, moving from one to the other as expediency dictates, and the police have a hard time in locating it as the game will be run in one place one night, and another the next.

In the early days of San Francisco poker was unheard of. In the mad rush of those times men could not sit still long enough to play poker or any other similar game; they must needs stake their all on the turn of a single card, or on one whirl of the wheel. With the decline of the banking games, however, poker leaped into favor, and many were the elegant quarters fitted up in the upper stories of buildings in the central part of the town, where gentlemen were wont to gather in the evening to indulge in what rapidly became a favorite pastime.

The most noted of these places was situated at 14 Kearney street, which was opened in 1873 by Charles N. Felton who represented the Fifth Congressional District in the last two Congresses, and who is aspiring to gubernatorial honors at the hands of the republicans at the next election, with a good chance of having his ambition gratified. It was here that the late ex-United States Senator William Sharon, the builder of the Palace hotel, and who more recently figured the Sharon-Hill divorce suit, held forth nightly, and participated in some of the biggest poker games played. William Lent, the millionaire, who of late years has resided with his family in New York, but who is now in San Francisco with the intention of again taking up his residence by the Golden Gate; the late Johnny Skae, the many times millionaire mining operator, and John Head, with an occasional outsider, formed the party which sat in the stiffest game. Sharon had the reputation of playing the hardest game of poker on the coast, although Felton and others were generally able to hold their own against him. A $3,000 “pot” was not an unusual feature in those games, while $5,000 has been frequently lost and won on a single hand.

Of course, there were other “stiff” games, where high play was the rule, but Felton’s was conceded to be far in the lead. Everybody played poker, though the gambling was not so open as had been faro, monte and roulette in early days. If men did not visit the poker rooms, they played at their clubs or at private parties at their homes. The late William Ralston was fond of cutting into a game. Jim Keene, who has since lost his millions in Wall street, could hold a bob-tailed flush as long and with as much of owlish gravity as anybody; the late Heward Coitt, James Phelan, Senator Hearst and almost every other man of wealth and prominence has played the game to a greater or less extent. Politicians, lawyers, merchants, bankers, salesmen, clerks, all played, but in different resorts. The poker rooms, like faro and roulette had their day, but not long after the police turned their attention to them, the larger places, such as Felton’s, Harris’ and others closed up.

Notwithstanding that the game is played for high stakes at the Pacific, Union, Cosmos and Bohemian Clubs, there is only one poker room of any prominence in the city, which is conducted by Mose Gunst. The game is nothing like the one formerly kept by Felton, for instead of the proprietor being satisfied with his winnings and the sale of liquors, the game deducts fifty cents out of every one dollar fifty pot. The owner keeps a number of “pluggers” about the place to join in the games and keep them going. They are paid a salary and turn their winnings over to the house. While the direct charge of cheating cannot be made against the establishment, the cards are played very close and the visitor finds it an exceedingly hard game to beat, and gentlemen do not honor the place with their presence unless in a mellow state, and then rather because they are “making the rounds” than for the purpose of playing. A wealthy well known railroad president not long ago “dropped” several thousand dollars there one night recently, and since then has given the place a wide berth. All the cigar stands along Market Street have back rooms for poker parties, but each place has its regular patrons and strangers rarely visit them. The games are small, a twenty-five dollar pot being considered a bonanza.

From the earliest days shaking dice has been a popular mode of gambling. Nearly all the large saloons had, and still have, small rooms partitioned off where parties of four or five would gather around a small table and roll the ivory tubes for large stakes. There was no regular dice game established until E. J. (Lucky) Baldwin, of turf fame, assumed the personal management of his large hotel on Market Street, when he set aside one of the rooms for dice and another for poker. The place was very popular with the wealthy young men about town for awhile, but after being raided by the police a few times, the games broke up, although private parties risk their money on the turn of the dice almost nightly. There was another game in operation in connection with the Occidental Hotel bar for a time, which was very popular with theatrical people. W. J. Scanlan, the Irish actor, ran up against the game one night and by means of a smooth box was cleaned out of $2,000. The affair leaked out, but it did not deter Henry (Adonis) Dixey from trying to beat the game, with the result that he left money and paper to the amount of about $1,800 with the sharpers. This had the effect of breaking up the game, which was conducted by Charlie Hall, manager of the Bust Street Theatre, Harry Bradley, Jim Nellus and a bar-keeper named Welch, and since then the most that has been done in the way of dice playing at the Occidental, has been in shaking for the drinks and cigars. This last is universal in San Francisco. A man will step up to a cigar stand and “shake” the proprietor for a cigar, and then go into a saloon and repeat the performance with the barkeeper. If he wins he gets his drinks for nothing; if he loses he pays the price of two. Parties of gentlemen will shake dice for the drinks, the one getting the lowest throw paying for the party. The Italian fruit peddlers who go around among the stores and offices are always supplied with a dice box and the clerks, and even the solid business men, call the cubes into requisition to settle the price of a bunch of grapes or a dozen of bananas. If the business is dull the throwing may continue for some time, nickels instead of fruit being substituted for the stakes. The Italians are natural gamblers and will stake their last cent on any supposable contingency. Bootblacks shake dice with their patrons to determine whether the latter shall pay for two “shines,” or have his boots varnished free of charge.

In 1882, stud poker became the rage and flourished until it was prohibited by the legislature, two years later. The act, as passed, fixed heavy penalties, in the form of fine and imprisonment, to the playing of this and several other “short” games, which were specifically enumerated. Every underground saloon, and many of the better class of drinking places, such as the Baldwin Hotel, had a stud poker game in operation. The dealer is in the employ of the house and does not take any cards himself or make any bets, but deducts a percentage or “rake- off” from each “pot,” so the house is certain of winning every time. It is only one form of petit larceny. The dealers of these games were generally men of the lowest moral principles, and there were always from one to three “pluggers” in the game, so that by a little manipulation of the cards outsiders were easily despoiled of their money without being compelled to resort to robbery in the form of percentages. The large games were conducted on a more honest principle. Still occasional players found it next to impossible to win. The “brace” games had for their patrons (or victims) principally boys and young mechanics, with occasionally a countryman. It was a blessed thing for the morality of San Francisco when stud poker was abolished. There has not been a game in the city for more than thirty-six months.

For a number of years the sale of lottery tickets has been steadily increasing in California, until at the present time it is estimated that fully $300,000 is squandered in this way every month, fully two-thirds of which is expended by San Francisco alone. When the tickets were first sold in that city, the purchasers were chiefly, if not entirely, women of the _demi-monde_ and their male companions. Then the sporting element got into the habit of buying tickets, and their example was soon followed by clerks; book-keepers and others belonging to the middle classes. Finally their employers began to invest, although at first keeping the fact a profound secret. They gradually became bolder and ultimately their wives, sisters and daughters concluded to try their luck, until now all grades of society, and both sexes are regular contributors to the income of the concern managed by Generals Beauregard and Early, buying their tickets openly and making not the slightest attempt at concealment. With the growth of the habit, the number of agents has increased until now fully one hundred people, male and female, earn a comfortable subsistence by selling lottery tickets. It is not an uncommon thing for a lady to be solicited to buy a ticket on the street by well dressed women. There is a law prohibiting dealing in lottery tickets, and prescribing a penalty for their purchase as well as for their sale; but as the police are all regular purchasers, they are very lax in following out the provisions of the law. There is a local lottery known by the euphonious title of the “Original Louisiana Lottery,” which has done a profitable business. Whole tickets are sold at fifty cents, but the principal transactions are in “halves.” This concern has no drawings of its own, but pays its patrons on the basis of those of the company. The “Mexican National Lottery” also sells many tickets in San Francisco, but the “Louisiana” surpasses all others in popular favor, and the Golden City ranks among the largest patrons of the serpent-like corporation, which has for so many years held the Pelican State in an anaconda-like grasp.

As has been said, a due meed of praise should be accorded the police for the efficiency of their action in suppressing public gaming. That a Chief of Police who has been, in times past, himself a member of the fraternity should introduce and enforce such stringent measures for the repression of a vice in which he had formerly been interested, and should follow up his former associates with such persistent intention to compel them to respect the law, is a matter for no little surprise. At the same time, a due regard for truth compels the statement that there is one form of gambling, fully as harmful as any other, which has supplanted faro and poker and which flourishes with but little fear of molestation. There are at present in full operation in San Francisco five large pool-rooms, and any number of smaller ones. The five leading establishments are those of Whitehead & Co., Killip & Co., Kingsley & Co., Swartz & Co., and Connors & Morris. These pool-rooms are protected and licensed by an act of the last legislature, and it is a mild statement to say that a faro game in every block in the city would not have a more debasing effect on the morals of San Francisco than have these pool-rooms. When it is remembered that each of the principal rooms pays into the Western Union Telegraph Company, $10,000 per month for tolls, some idea of the extent of the business done by them may be formed. A conservative estimate of the amount expended in the pool-rooms reaches the startling figures of $250,000 a month. An old-time faro dealer is authority for the statement, that “these new styled bunko games” (meaning the pool-rooms) “have not left money enough in town to buy a drink with.” The pool-rooms all have private wires connected with the leading race tracks in the East, and their habitues know the result of a race at West Side, Latonia, Jerome Park, Coney Island or any other tracks as soon as the people who sit in the grandstands and witness the running. Betting on horse-racing has always been a favorite amusement in San Francisco, but it is only within the last five years that Eastern races have been played, and now the legitimate turfmen will not patronize the pool-rooms. Who, then, are the patrons? Bankers, brokers, lawyers, clerks, salesmen, printers, young men about town and the outcasts of society, besides a number of merchants who cannot control their passion for gaming. On six days in the week, at the noon hour, when the most of these individuals are supposed to be at luncheon, the pool-rooms are crowded to overflowing, and a steady stream of gold and silver pours into the coffers of these moral pest-houses. The mode of betting is the same as in the East, “straight pools” and “book-making.” A victim of the opium habit is not more deeply the slave of his chosen vice than is the infatuated frequenter of the pool-rooms. Many a bank has been brought to insolvency; many a broker has found his cash box empty; and many a merchant has discovered his trusted clerk or book- keeper a thief, made so by these places. Every cent that can be gotten hold of is poured into the pool-rooms in bets on horses that the bettors have never seen. Let a stranger enter one of these resorts and he is instantly set upon by the boys of 16 to 20 years of age, who offer to give him “sure tips” on the winners for a small percentage of the winnings. A large proportion of these “touts” have never seen a race in their lives and could not distinguish a colt from a filly; all their “knowledge” of the turf has been learned in the pool-rooms. These places are situated in the heart of the city where they are most easy of access to those who patronize them. At present there is no means of closing them and there is no telling how much longer the evil will continue, inasmuch as an influential local politician is heavily interested in one of the principal rooms, and as he controls his party in the state and that party has a safe working majority in the legislature, which does not meet again until January, 1891, there is no immediate prospect of relief. With such a state of affairs, it can readily be seen that there is not a great deal of money left for other games, such as poker and faro.

A San Franciscan will bet on anything, from a dog fight in the street, to a presidential election. Boys that are hardly out of dresses bet cigarette picture cards on their fighting or foot-racing abilities, while their elders are equally willing to risk their money on more important sporting events. For the past eighteen months, the various athletic clubs have been giving monthly exhibitions; that is, glove fights to a finish, between professional pugilists, for large purses. The result is, that the city is overrun with prize-fighters of all degrees of ability. The law on the subject of prize fighting has been so construed that fights to a finish, in an athletic club room where no liquor is sold and not less than five ounce gloves are used, cannot be interfered with. Of these clubs, the California is the most aristocratic and wealthy. Here, on exhibition nights, may be seen, seated around the ring, judges, lawyers, bankers, merchants, railroad magnates, doctors and college professors. None are above attending any meeting which they think will be a good one. At the recent meeting between Dempsey and La Blanche it is estimated that not less than the sum of $40,000,000 was represented by those at the ring side. The betting on that fight reached into the scores of thousands, and so it is with every branch of sports and games. If two men play a game of billiards and are evenly matched, they generally play for a stake besides the price of the game.

With the development of the world-famous Comstock silver lode in 1860, there sprang up in California an entirely new mode of gambling; that of speculating in mining stocks. These mines are located in Story County, Nevada, and Virginia City arose in their midst almost in a night, like a mushroom; speedily developing into a rushing speculative town of 100,000 inhabitants, and almost as rapidly sinking back into that most hopeless of all conditions of decay, a “worked-out” mining camp, its present population numbering less than four thousand souls. The chief operations were carried on in the Golden City where two mining boards were arranged—the San Francisco and the Pacific—with branches in Virginia City. Every reported “strike” of ore was telegraphed to San Francisco, and the stock of that mine soared out of sight, only to drop back again at the next report and leave penniless hundreds of people, who, a few hours before, were worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. The veriest “wild cat” mine in the state had its stock listed, although not an hour’s work had ever been done toward developing it. This stock was sold as readily as that of the well known mines, but not at such high figures. Men became fabulously rich one day, and were sunk equally as deep in poverty the next. San Francisco can never forget the fever of excitement when the public pulse beat at fever heat, and every nerve was strained to its utmost. Laborers forgot to buy food for their families in their mad desire to possess a few shares of stock; servant girls neglected their duties in dreaming of sudden riches. Men rushed, shouted and acted like lunatics all day long, while high bred ladies sat in their carriages in front of their brokers’ offices hour after hour, in a frenzy of excitement, deluging the overtaxed clerks with orders for stock. What old Californian will pretend he was not half insane when “Ophir” (par value $100), touched $2,000 a share? Where could the poor man be found in 1874, when “Consolidated Virginia” and “California” jumped to $1,400? They were plentiful enough, however, after the break. The craze continued until 1878, when “Sierra Nevada” reached $800, and with the decline of that stock came a return of sober sense. Since then, the times have been gradually failing in their resources, and the speculative fever has subsided, until, at present, mining stocks cut no figure whatever in the finances of the state. Some of the old timers who can get money enough to buy a few shares, still hang around the boards, half of whose seats, which fifteen years ago could not be bought for $10,000 cash, are now deserted and are not worth anything. There is no outside capital to speak of going into mining stocks and in a few years they will exist only in memory.

The results of this madness were fearful. Hundreds of men and women were driven to suicide by their losses, while the insane asylums were filled to overflowing with victims of the stock-gambling mania. Such excitement has never been seen in any other place in the world and it is to be hoped that it will never again be witnessed. There is scarcely an old Californian who has not made money out of the stocks, but only a handful were enriched. Flood, O’Brien, Mackay and Fair owned the mines and controled the stock which was manipulated to suit their desires, and the result is that they, together with the late Senator Sharon, William Ralston, J. R. Keene and two or three others got all the money. At present, if a stock touches $10 a share, there is a decided flurry among the “chippers” and “mud hens” as the men and women are respectively termed who persist in hanging around the board rooms and losing what little money they have. The average quotations for mining stocks are from twenty-five cents from outside mines, from $3 to $4 for the big Comstock mines.

Outside of the two mining boards, there is little stock speculation in San Francisco. There are the Board Exchange and the Produce Exchange, transactions on the floors of both of which are governed by New York and London quotations. The ratio of legitimate to purely speculative trading on the San Francisco Exchange is as one to forty.

Policy playing is practiced but little in San Francisco. An attempt was made by an element of the negro population to introduce it, but it failed to acquire popularity, even with that race, while for the whites it has utterly failed to exercise any fascination whatever—a fact which affords a striking commentary upon the difference which the influence of climate and of race have exerted upon the two cities of San Francisco and New Orleans, both fanned by the breezes originating in the tropics; the fevered heat of one is assuaged by the Gulf Stream, while the feet of the other are laved by the Japan current.

The progress of Chinese gambling in San Francisco has made such rapid strides that it is an impossibility to determine its extent at the present time. The Chinese are born gamblers and no measures, however severe, can deter them from playing at any of their favorite games of chance. The authorities have resorted to all sorts of expedients to break up the vice, yet new gambling dens are constantly springing up in the Chinese quarters of the city. This in a measure is owing to the mildness of the penalties affixed by the law, although it has been charged and proven, time and again, that the patrolmen in the Chinese quarters receive a regular stipend from the owners of gambling dens, to close their eyes to the games. They are also regular patrons of the Chinese lottery. The Chinese do not fear punishment, inasmuch as the extreme penalty for lottery, fan-tan, dominoes, or dice playing, is six months’ imprisonment, while the penalty actually meted out by the police judges rarely exceed a fine of $20 with the alternative of twenty days’ confinement. One-half of the Chinese population of this city, it is safe to say, would be willing to pass six months in jail merely to save their living expenses. Time is no object to them. Then again, it is extremely difficult to convict one of the race of any crime. They have not the slightest respect for an oath, while their appearance is so similar that they will exchange places with each other and the arresting officer cannot identify them.

The variety of games played by the Chinese is small, but they succeed in winning and losing large sums of money. Lottery, fan-tan, dominoes and dice are the only games played. Since the Mongolian has gained such a foot-hold in California, the vices of the Asiatic race have spread to an alarming extent among the white people, especially in San Francisco. White opium smokers, male and female, are almost as numerous as are the Chinese, and the majority of their gambling dens are supported by Caucasians. On the lottery game alone, it is estimated by competent judges that fully $8,000 is played in every twenty-four hours by the whites alone.

The Chinese lottery game is perfectly “square,” and is highly interesting. There are in this city ten different companies, each conducting a separate game, but all on the same principle. To understand the game thoroughly, one must start at the beginning and follow its workings to the end. Let us enter one of the hundreds of agencies that are scattered throughout the city with but little attempt at concealment, and purchase a ticket. These agencies are generally located in the rear of a Chinese curio shop, tea store or clothing establishment, but many laundries act as agents as well as the low saloons kept by whites along the Barbary Coast, the worst quarter of the city. The visitor upon calling for a ticket and naming the company in which he wishes to play, such as the Wing Lay Chow, Tut Yut, etc., is presented with a piece of manilla paper about four inches square. On this is a double line drawn through the center. Eighty Chinese characters are printed on this sheet, forty above and forty below the line. The player can invest any amount of money from ten cents to twenty dollars in this ticket, the winning being regulated according to the amount invested and the number of spots “caught.” We will invest the first named amount in a ticket and play it “straight;” that is, mark off ten spots. The agent then goes over the spots marked with a small brush and carmine ink. He also marks on the margin the value of the ticket, and gives the player a duplicate, retaining the original. The drawings are held at the company’s headquarters, twice a day, the first at three o’clock in the afternoon, and the second at ten o’clock at night. On one of the walls of the room in which the drawing takes place is a large black-board, to which are attached eighty pieces of paper, about two inches square, each one bearing a character corresponding to the one of those on the tickets. Each company has a different set of characters that mean almost anything. It may be a Chinese poem, or simply a collection of odd expressions. They have no significance further than that they correspond with the Arabic numerals used by the whites. On a table in front of the black-board are placed four large earthen bowls, numbered 1, 2, 3 and 4. At the hour for the drawing to take place, in the presence of a crowd of spectators the pieces of paper on the board are taken down, one at a time, crumpled in the hand and thrown into a bowl; that is, the first piece goes into number 1, the second into number 2, and so on, passing in rotation from 1 to 4, until all the papers have been distributed, twenty in each bowl. A large earthen vessel with a small opening at the top is then brought out, and in it are placed four pieces of paper marked 1, 2, 3,4, in Chinese characters. A Chinaman is then blindfolded and placing his hand in the dish draws out one of the numbers. For instance, he draws number one. Immediately bowls 2, 3 and 4 are removed and the lottery manipulator turns his attention to the remaining bowl. He places a lottery ticket before him and proceeds to draw out, one by one, the twenty slips of paper, marking off the corresponding number on the ticket with a brush. When this has been completed, he exhibits the ticket of the official drawing. Thousands of copies are immediately struck off and distributed among the agents, who cash their customers’ winnings. Now, to ascertain how a winning is made. Let us suppose that five of the spots which have been painted red on our ticket have been marked out in the drawing; that pays us twenty cents or doubles our investment. Six spots pay $3.25, while, if we are fortunate enough to have all ten of our spots come in the drawing, we win $297. It is a peculiar fact that, although there are thousands of whites who are perfectly familiar with the schedule of rates, nobody has been able to figure out any basis for the calculation of the Chinese. A white man may know what amount a ten-cent eight-spot pays, or a fifty-cent ten-spot, or in fact any of the many combinations, but nobody can explain the computation by which these amounts have been computed. This is the Chinese game of lottery, and thousands of dollars are invested in it every day by almost every grade of society, for the dainty lady lying in her hammock will send her Chinese servant out for tickets, which she amuses herself in marking; the staid business man invests slyly, the mechanic and laborer spends ten or fifteen cents a day tempting the Mongolian goddess of fortune, while the outcasts, male and female, play in, the greater portion of their ill-gotten gains in this fascinating game of chance.

The favorite game among the Chinese is fan-tan, or simple odd or even. Like lottery, it is played in this manner: A large square piece of matting is spread upon a table. In the center of the matting is painted a smaller square, each side being about ten inches long. The banker or dealer places two or three handfuls of small ivory buttons in the center of this square. A bell-shaped brass cup is then placed over this pile of buttons, some being left on the outside of the cup. The players simply wager any amount which they may choose on the odd or even number. In case the bettor loses, the amount of his stake is taken by the banker or “house;” should he win, he receives the sum bet minus a small percentage. In theory this game is perfectly fair, but as in almost every gambling game, sharpers have introduced a fake element, whereby the result may be manipulated. In counting the buttons, a small wooden or ivory stick is used. Inventive genius has come to the aid of the proprietor, and a stick is sometimes used which is capable of holding two or three buttons hidden from sight. If the banker wishes to add a button to the pile, he presses a spring and drops one.

In the Chinese game of dominoes, every essential respect is identical with that played among the whites. It is, however, played among the Mongolians for money to a far larger extent than among the Caucasians. In the Chinese quarter of San Francisco, it is no uncommon sight to see, running through the center of a filthy, dimly lighted, ill-smelling room a long table, on both sides of which are ranged a motley crowd of noisy Celestials, handling dominoes with lightning-like rapidity. In fact, the celerity of the play constitutes one of the chief points of difference between Chinese and American games. From time to time the losers pass across the table a portion of their hard-earned money. The stakes, however, in this, as in all other Chinese games, are unusually small; the result being that a Mongolian gamester finds it possible, with very little capital, to prolong his excitement throughout an entire night.

The Chinese evince no disposition to learn any of the gambling games in vogue among the whites; they have no idea whatever of poker, faro, roulette, chuck-a-luck, or any of the other amusements which play such sad havoc with the fortunes, the morals and the reputations of their brethren of fairer skin.

HOW THE GAMBLERS TRIUMPHED OVER THE AUTHORITIES AT THE CALIFORNIA STATE FAIR.

Last year there was a controversy of no mean proportions between the “skin” gamblers and the better elements of society as to whether or not gambling should be permitted at the California State Fair, which was held at Sacramento during September 1889. Should gambling be permitted or not during the fair was for some time the question of the hour in Sacramento. As is usual with every proposition, conflicting interests were involved and two sides of the issue were presented. The pro- gamblers alleged that unless gambling was permitted the fair would prove a fizzle; that no money would be put in circulation; and that the good “red hot” times, when everybody made small fortunes out of the fair, would become only a memory of the past. On the other hand, the anti- gamblers asserted that the disgraceful scenes of the previous fair, when free gambling was allowed, should never again be tolerated in Sacramento. They desired that no more country visitors should be fleeced for the benefit of a horde of swindling “sure thing” gamblers and the gang of cut-throats, desperadoes and scum of humanity who follow in their wake and gnaw the bones of the corpses skinned by the so-called sports.

In 1888, the Chief of Police, Lees, was hauled over the coals by the grand jury, who indicted him for not putting a stop to gambling. When the time for holding the fair arrived Chief Lees, in whose mind the memory of his experience twelve months before was very fresh, announced that he did not propose to have a repetition of it. Moreover, the grand jury was in session at the time, and there was also a powerful body known as the Law and Order League, composed of the leading citizens, who openly proclaimed that the gamblers should not be allowed to open on any terms, and who declared that they would take all the necessary steps to enforce their ultimatum. At first it looked rather gloomy for the sports, who for some time tried without success to obtain a concession in their favor.

The firm of S. B. Whitehead & Co., took the initiative and bore the brunt of the preliminary skirmish. They leased a lot from the Government, seventy-six feet square, situated on the corner of 7th and K streets. It had been set apart by the United States as a post-office site, and was excavated by the lessees to the depth of some fifteen feet and covered with a canvas roof. A carpet was laid, a bar put in at one end, a pool-stand at the other, gas jets put in and a large staircase built leading from the side walk to the sawdust. In this “hole in the ground,” as the place came to be known, Whitehead & Co., announced their intention of selling pools on the races every night and morning. They claimed that their lease entitled them to use the lot as they pleased, owing to the fact that it was Government land, and was exempt from State jurisdiction. They added that while they themselves intended to conduct only a pool-selling business in the place, they had sublet the bar privileges and were not responsible for the acts of their subletees. Two sports, in order to make a test case, opened a chuck-a-luck game one night in this lot. Their attorneys were present and when the police arrested them the two men protested against the interference on the ground of lack of jurisdiction of the city authorities, the land being Federal property. The arrest was made, however, despite their protests, but the gamblers were promptly released on bail and the following day their case came up for hearing before the police justice.

The attorney for the State and county of Sacramento claimed, at the trial, that under the Political Code of California, the Government, though holding possession of the ground, had not ceded the right to make criminal arrests on the ground. The defense argued that the ground being Government land no such arrests could be made. The case resolved itself at once into a question of jurisdiction. The testimony was unimportant, but the arguments occupied the entire day. The result was that the police judge discharged the gamblers, using in his decision the following language:

“The defendant is charged with having conducted a banking game on the block bounded by J and K, Seventh and Eighth streets, in the city of Sacramento. Proof shows the accusation is true, but the defendant contends that the territory is the property of the National Government and the offense committed thereon is triable only by United States courts. The United States Constitution provides and the Supreme Court has decided that exclusive jurisdiction to try criminal offenses committed on United States territory is vested in the Federal courts. The property in question is the property of the United States and any crime committed there can only be tried in a Federal court. The remedy is quite as adequate as that offered by the State courts, since a Federal statute provides that any violation of the State Penal law committed on United States property within a State may be punished by the United States courts. Concluding that the right to examine the offense in question is exclusively vested in the United States courts, defendant is discharged for want of jurisdiction.”

Meanwhile pool-selling by Whitehead & Co., was not molested, although, at first, the concern did a rather light business. The gamblers were elated by their success and within a few hours after a discharge a wheel of fortune was in full blast during the pool sales as was also the unlicensed bar. It was not long before other games started up outside the tent on the ground covered by the lease. The prices offered to Whitehead & Co., for such privileges were enormous. The decision of the court was regarded as a great triumph by the sporting fraternity and a correspondingly severe blow by the law and order people. The Chief of Police announced that he intended to arrest all proprietors of games attempting to do business outside of the leased ground, and did in fact gather in one or two wheels. At the same time, for some inscrutable reason, there was one game in the list which appeared to enjoy entire immunity in Sacramento. It was known by the euphonious designation of “hokey-pokey.” Consequently, no well-regulated establishment of any kind was without its “hokey-pokey” and every chance was afforded to players to lose their money.

The conflict of jurisdiction between the State and Federal authorities in the matter of the toleration of gambling at the California State Fair, affords a striking commentary on the American theory of government. In its salient features it is analogous to the dispute so often occurring in States which have, by organic law, prohibited the sale of ardent spirits, where the violator of the law of the particular commonwealth, to which he owes allegiance, is able to show a United States license authorizing him to carry on a business for the conducting of which the State law imposes a penalty. The author makes no claim to a knowledge of constitutional law. Of plain, every day common sense, in part derived through heredity, and in part developed by experience, he believes that he has a fair modicum. This latter quality of his mental organization leads him to regard such an anomaly in jurisprudence as an inherent travesty upon natural justice. That a combination of sharpers should be able to appeal to the United States statutes to protect them in a high-handed violation of State law, and in openly over-riding rough shod the will of the people as voiced by local legislative assemblies, is, on its face, the quintessence of absurdity. There can be no doubt as to the practical results of such an incongruity, so far as the Sacramento fair is concerned. A local paper of about even date contained the following paragraph:

“A victim of the gambling mania came to a sad end last night. * * * Having ‘lost his pile’ in the ‘hole-in-the-ground,’ and fearing to face the exposure of his peculation, which he knew would inevitably ensue, he ended his wretched life by placing a bullet in his heart. And yet the law is powerless to suppress gaming in this notorious resort.”

GAMBLING IN NEW ORLEANS.

Previous to 1827, there were no large public gambling houses in New Orleans. The old Creoles played extensively, but it was among themselves or at their clubs. The flatboat men, who managed the river business, all gambled; but the establishments in which they wagered their money were small and “tough” affairs, where pistols were constantly needed. These men, the first patrons of public gambling, came from the upper rivers, usually the Ohio and its tributaries, landed at the levee opposite St. Mary’s market, tied their boats, and at once made for the nearest saloon to gamble away their cargoes. On Front Street, where the flat boats lay three deep, was a row of drinking places, the back room in each being given over to gambling. Faro and roulette were the principal games. There was no law against gambling then, nor was any license demanded; and there was no attempt made to conceal the business. In fact, from the sidewalk the passers-by could hear the roulette caller shouting, “twenty-eight on the red,” or “eagle bird by chance,” and the rattling of the chips.

Another favorite location for these flatboat gambling houses was known as the “swamp,” and was back of the town, where the Gerrod Cemetery is to-day. Here the flatboat men and many other wild characters who in those days frequented New Orleans, made their rendezvous. It was beyond the limits and control of the city police, and the “flint-lock” pistol of those days reigned supreme there, just as the revolver does to-day in some of the frontier towns.

The flatboat men were all inveterate gamblers. They would remain in the city until they had gambled away their last cent, when they “whipsawed” at home, traveling across the country, usually on foot, along the government trail through the Choctaw country of Mississippi.

The gambling of that period was rough and dangerous. The dens around St. Mary’s market and in “the swamp” were a constant menace to the authorities. Crimes of violence were more frequent in them than in all the rest of the city; and the flatboat men and gamblers frequently united to defeat the police. As a general thing, however, the municipal authorities refrained from attempting to exercise any jurisdiction over these dangerous sections. The police put forth no effort looking to the regulation of these gambling hells and left the flatboat men and gamblers to shoot and kill each other, as they saw fit. The number of murders resulting from these causes is beyond calculation, for the victims generally left no one to inquire for them or worry over their “taking off.” It was the most lawless community in the country, and the readiest with the knife or pistol. To that element, however, we owe some of our standard American stories. It was here, also, that the expression, “acknowledge the corn” and hundreds of others originated, such as “keel-hauling,” “whip-sawing,” “cordelling,” etc.

In 1827 gambling was introduced to the polite element of the city by John Davis, _emigre_ from San Domingo, an _impressario_ of the old opera house and the first _impressario_ of the United States. Davis opened two gambling houses. One of them was on the side of the city known as the Bayou St. John, where those who wished to get away from the noise and bustle of the town and indulge in a “high old time” in a choice, quiet suburban retreat might be accommodated. The other was located on a corner in the very heart of creole New Orleans.

The Bayou St. John club house was intended more especially for Saturday night and Sunday games, Sunday being the favorite day for playing. On that day a magnificent dinner was set out by Davis, free to those who patronized his establishment. This resort soon became the best known spot in the city. Its central location made it convenient for the gentry of Louisiana. Here were to be found representatives of the bench, the bar and the commercial world. The house was opened day and night and was always crowded, the favorite games being faro, roulette and _vingt-et- un_, and the betting was heavy. At these public games, however, the elite and notabilities of the day did not, as a rule, participate to any great extent, special rooms being set apart for them, at which brag, ecarte, baccarat and bagatelle were played.

Nearly every man in public life in Louisiana gambled and the losses and winnings were immense. Col. Ghrymes, the leading lawyer at the Louisiana bar, and enjoying a very large income, squandered every cent at Davis’ and was always in an impecunious condition. A loss of $50,000 to $100,000 a year, or $25,000 at one sitting, was not considered very extraordinary, and there were many who dropped that amount of money in an hour.

Davis was very successful with his club house and made a large fortune, which he and his son, “Toto” Davis, spent to good purpose in building an opera house and establishing the opera in New Orleans, where it first took root in America. On music, to which both of them were devoted, most of the money won in the gambling business was expended.

The success of Davis with his “club house” produced two results; first, it greatly increased the number of gambling houses, and secondly, it induced the legislature to take a hand in the business for its share of the profits. In 1832, five years after Davis’ venture, there were fourteen large gambling saloons in New Orleans, all well equipped and furnished, and all well backed with capital. They were all making money and the legislature, having determined to get some of the profit, licensed the business, and authorized the opening and running of gambling houses on the payment to the state of an annual license of $7,500.

All the fourteen gambling saloons or, as they preferred to be called, “club houses,” accepted the conditions. They were owned and operated as follows: Hicks & Hewlett, corner of St. Louis and Chartres; Duval, Chartres between Conti and Bienville; St. Cyr; Chentres, between Conti and St. Louis; Toussaunte, opposite Chentres on Canal, between Camp and St. Charles; Elkin, Canal near St. Charles, and Padet, corner of Canal and Camp. These seven were distributed between the first and second municipalities, about half of the fourteen in the French and the other half in the American quarter of the city.

These houses were public in the fullest sense of the word. They were never closed, running night and day, for when one set of dealers became tired, there was another to take their places. They were resorted to by all classes, but their best business was from the numerous strangers who visited New Orleans, and who always made it a point to see the world- famed gambling houses. They were lively, those “flush times,” and not unlike San Francisco in the gold fever of 1848-50.

In 1836, the gambling business in New Orleans received a double check. The financial crisis brought an end to the “flush times” and the rural or moral element got control of the legislature. Previous to that year the French element had control and it saw nothing wrong in gambling, but the country members protested against it, and, at the instigation of a Mr. Larrimore, who represented the moral as well as the American element, the license for gambling was withdrawn, as improper and immoral, the state surrendering some $120,000 of the money it had been deriving from this source, and prohibiting gambling under a heavy penalty, a fine of $1,000 to $5,000 for the first, and $5,000 to $10,000 and imprisonment for the second offence.

The act of the legislature did not meet with favor in New Orleans, which could see no immorality in gambling, and the third municipality one of those independent cities into which New Orleans was divided by the legislature, in consequence of the race prejudice between Creoles and Americans, set the State at defiance, and licensed gambling by a city ordinance. A conflict between the city and the state followed, in which the latter came out triumphant theoretically—as the Supreme court decided that the city of New Orleans could not license gambling when the State of Louisiana had forbidden it—but the decision accomplished little practically, for the gambling saloons ran on the same as ever, for the reason that public sentiment, especially in the French portion of the town, approved of them. This was particularly true of the third municipality, or Faubourg Maugrey, which actually owes its origin to gambling, as the name of the street indicates.

It was originally the plantation of the Maugreys, one of the first Creole families of Louisiana, and entitled to a marquisate in France, and was frittered away at the gaming table by its owner. Whenever old Maugrey wanted more money for gaming he laid off a section of the plantation, cut a new street through it, and sold lots; in a sort of ironical mood naming the streets after the game at which he had lost his money. Thus it is that the streets in that part of the town were named Bagatelle (a favorite Creole game in that day), Craps (played with dice and mostly confined to the negroes to-day), etc., by which names they are called even now, to recall old Maugrey’s gambling, which mainly bankrupted the richest and most famous family in Louisiana.

The act of the legislature of 1836, although it gave half the fine to the informer who pointed out a gambling house, was of no effect. The houses ran on the same as usual, not quite as openly, but bribing the city officials and the _gendarmes_, who at that time did police duty.

The financial crisis worked far more injury to the gamblers than did the act of the legislature since money became scarce and their business decreased so rapidly that a number of the principal houses were compelled to close.

There was a marked revival of activity in gambling circles in 1846, when New Orleans became the military center of operations against Mexico, and when thousands of soldiers were quartered there. The stimulus thus imparted to gaming was continued, if not increased, throughout the years ’48, ’49, and ’50, when the excitement of the California gold fever filled the city with emigrants moving toward the Pacific. The transient population became very large, and was mainly composed of men, who, by nature and temperament, were bold speculators, ready to stake anything or everything on the cast of a die. Their advent, moreover, caused a plethora of money, so that it is no cause for surprise that the gambling fever broke out in New Orleans in a far more vehement form than it had assumed in the days of old John Davis. Gambling houses were no longer confined to any particular section of the city as they had formerly been, but opened everywhere. Dens abounded in the neighborhood of St. Mary’s market for the accommodation of the flatboat men and river characters, while for those of more fastidious tastes, places of a better grade were opened in the neighborhood of hotels and boarding houses. But this class of resorts was especially numerous in those localities where returning soldiers or emigrants were quartered.

Despite the prohibition of the legislature, certain gambling establishments were licensed by the city to carry on the game of “rondeau” and “lotto” (since styled “keno”), under the pretence that such games were not gambling, and “from dusky eve to dewy morn,” on any frequented thoroughfare, might be heard the sonorous voice of the game- keeper, as he called time and game.

The gambling houses at this period numbered between 400 and 500, giving employment to some three thousand gamblers, dealers, etc. They did not resemble the elegantly furnished houses of John Davis’ day, nor were they like those which came later; they were rough, and suited to the tastes of miners, soldiers and emigrants, who mainly patronized them.

With the abatement of the California gold fever, gambling in New Orleans fell away, until it had returned to its normal condition. The number of establishments were materially reduced, but they were of a decidedly better class, being fitted up more for the rich planters than for the rough element which had for several years constituted their main support. Elegantly furnished houses, where sumptuous repasts were served to the patrons, once more began to appear. McGrath, Sherwood and Petitt were the first to take the lead in this new departure.

The trio believed in “square” gambling, had plenty of capital, and were all men of mark. McGrath went North during the war, but finally settled down in his native state, and with the profits of his gambling transactions in New Orleans established the well-known McGrath stock farm. He has since devoted himself to the breeding of racing and other blooded stock, and has become one of the best known turfmen in the United States, owning “Tom Bowling” and many other famous coursers.

Petitt spent a large portion of his winnings in the raising and equipment of troops for the Confederate army during the war. He sent, at his own expense, from New Orleans to the Virginia battle fields one of the first companies recruited in the South, known as Petitt’s Guards.

Sherwood remained in New Orleans during the war, where he contributed liberally to the support of the wives and children of Southern soldiers at the front.

These were the three leading gamblers in New Orleans during the period just before the war, and were good types of their class.

“Supper rooms” were the names commonly given to these establishments in those days, for the reason that choice suppers were always supplied, with wine and cigars in profusion. Sherwood would frequently order all games to cease, and invite all his guests to a magnificent repast, during the course of which he would play the part of the courteous host, entertaining the company with a fund of anecdotes and quaint stories.

These “supper rooms” were a favorite resort, and if one failed to find in the rotunda of the St. Charles or St. Louis hotels any noted personage of whom he might be in quest, he felt reasonably certain of running across him either at McGrath’s club room, or Cassidy’s or Sherwood’s supper room, playing, talking, or at supper.

In those days, these resorts were something more than mere gambling rooms. The club house, as known to-day, did not then exist, and the commercial exchange, as understood in more modern times, was unknown. In consequence, the gaming houses (which, it must be remembered, were not at that time looked upon as the disreputable resorts which they are now considered to be) supplied the place of both. The same remark applies measurably to drinking saloons. Business men and gentlemen of that period were wont to make places of this description their rendezvous. These names, by the way, are still used in New Orleans in speaking of saloons and gambling rooms, the term “exchange” and “club room” having a distinct signification in that city, different from the meaning attached to them in any other portion of the United States.

In order to thoroughly comprehend this condition of affairs, it is necessary to glance, for a moment, at the then existing state of society in the Crescent City. Bachelors far outnumbered men of family. The tone of morals was low, and life was generally fast. The idea that there was anything wrong in gambling occurred to no one. Hence it was considered no more surprising to meet one’s friend in a gaming resort than to find him at his home. In fact, the club rooms, with many men at that period, supplied the place of home life.

McGrath’s, in particular, became, like Davis’ of old, a club house and social center for the men of New Orleans. It was the sporting centre also and there all the pools on the races, and particularly on the Mataurie course which, for so long a period stood at the head of American race courses, were sold.

The appointments and fittings of these houses were of such a character that only the higher classes of society were desired as patrons. McGrath, who occupied No. 4, Carondelet street, afterwards known as the Boston club (a social organization founded by private gentlemen for their own diversion) spent $75,000 to $100,000 in furniture for his place; while Lauraine and Cassidy, who had a place opposite the St. Charles Hotel, and who set the finest supper in the city, boasted of a solid silver service, including dishes and plates, unequalled in the South. Other famous gambling houses of that day, though not so well known as some of those already mentioned, were kept by Sam Levy and “Count” Lorenzo Servri (who received his sobriquet because of his polished manners and faultless apparel) and Martino, whose place was located on Canal street, near Carondelet. Besides these were numerous other “club houses,” where the visitor paid fifty cents an hour, and was entitled to refreshments free of cost, which included a well cooked dinner with claret _ad libitum_, besides being permitted to gamble at poker.

At all the gaming houses play was high, and wherever there was a limit it was generally removed by the proprietor if the patrons requested it. A prominent Greek merchant, representing in New Orleans one of the largest commercial houses in the world, played there night after night, losing $80,000 in a single evening, his total losses footing up a round half million, which caused the suspension of the house whose representative he was.

In addition to these establishments, nearly all of the many steamboats plying between New Orleans and the various river points, were in themselves gambling houses. A class of gamblers travelled up and down the river on these boats. Their saloons were given up almost wholly to card playing. The principal games were Boston and Poker, the latter being played without limit. Bets from $10,000 to $25,000 were frequently made on a single hand, and one of $50,000 is recorded. When cash ran out lands and slaves were wagered.

The ante-bellum games were nearly all “square” and the gamblers were usually of better social standing than those of later days. Davis, McGrath and Petitt, in particular, were looked upon as gentlemen, and were admitted anywhere, their profession not standing in the way of their social advancement. Augustus Lauraine was excluded from polite circles, not because he was a gambler but for the reason that he had violated one of the principles of the “code,” in other words, he failed to pay a gambler’s debt.

The immediate result of the war was to break up nearly all the New Orleans gaming houses. Most of the gamblers were enthusiastic confederates. The action of Petitt in equipping a company has been already mentioned. Martino went to Richmond, where he opened a house, but there was not much to be made out of confederate currency and he gave so liberally to the sick and destitute soldiers that his venture brought him no profit. It was not until 1862, when the city was in the hands of the United States forces under General Butler, that gaming again revived.

Through the favor of Col. Butler—a brother of the General—Bryant, one of the best known and oldest gamblers in New Orleans, and who had kept one of the “supper rooms” in the days before the war, was permitted to open a gambling house at the corner of Exchange Alley and Bienville street; and Fulton, a new comer, opened one a square lower down the same street. These resorts opened off the street and access was free to all comers except private soldiers, the semi-military control under which they were placed drawing the line here. Officers, however, who were plentifully supplied with money, played freely and, of course, lost heavily. But gross scandals resulted, and in 1864 General Hurlbut, by military order, directed that they be closed. Martial law proved singularly effective in this instance, and until the revocation of the order (which came in a few weeks), public gaming was at a stand still. This was an era in the city’s history, and, with the exception of a period when the District Attorney arrested and prosecuted all the gamblers in New Orleans, was the only time when gambling was completely suppressed. At all other times it has been either protected or tolerated by the authorities; carried on openly under license from the State or city, or conducted clandestinely, through bribery of the officials. In fact, public sentiment has generally either favored it or, at most, been disposed to regard it as a necessary evil.

After the war there was manifest a disposition to return to the old license system, under which the state received a portion of the gamblers’ winnings. One of the arguments in its favor was that the Havana lottery was taking more money out of Louisiana every month than all the gamblers in New Orleans combined, and as a matter of fact that city was as good a market for the sale of these tickets as Havana itself. In addition to regular lottery offices and ticket peddlers, every tobacconist was an agent for their sale. Tradition recorded the names of eleven winners of capital prizes. It is true that the old citizens (all of whom were devout believers in “luck”) were accustomed to wag their beards and sagely declare that riches thus acquired took to themselves wings and flew away, but they nevertheless “played lottery” every month, with the regularity of clock work, and eagerly awaited the receipt of the list of drawings, which in those days was brought from Havana to New Orleans by carrier pigeons.

The legislature of Louisiana determined to enter the field in competition with the Governor General of Cuba, and endeavored to secure at least its fair share of the business. Accordingly, in 1866, a law was passed requiring lottery ticket brokers and peddlers to take out a license, and turn over to the State five per cent. of their gross receipts. This, however, did not produce as large a revenue to the State as had been expected, as the dealers disposed of their tickets surreptitiously, and in 1868, the legislature enacted the Louisiana State Lottery, exacting a bonus of $40,000 a year, and gave it a monopoly of the business, prohibiting the sale of tickets in the Havana, or any other foreign lottery.

This plan proving successful, the legislature went a step further and determined to license gambling also. On March 9, 1869, a law was passed, empowering every one to open a public gaming saloon, who would pay a license fee of $5,000. (It had been $7,500 under the law of 1832). The payment of the money was the sole condition imposed by the law. No restriction was placed upon the games to be played nor was any distinction drawn between “square” and “brace” houses. Protection was guaranteed in the form of a promise to close and keep closed all unlicensed houses.

The new law was in force but a short time. It caused general dissatisfaction, and its repeal has been attributed to the moral sentiment of the community. This, however, is an error. While the great majority of the people of New Orleans were shocked at the result, this mattered little to the legislature, one of the most notoriously corrupt bodies which Louisiana has ever seen; and had not the gamblers themselves appealed to it, to repeal the law which recognized and licensed their business, it would have continued for many years.

The immediate result of the law was to make New Orleans an American Monte Carlo, the gambling centre of the United States. All the old local gamblers took advantage of the law and paid their license; but they found that they would not be allowed to occupy the field alone. The statute proved to be an advertisement of New Orleans throughout the Union, and gamblers flocked thither from New York, Baltimore, Cincinnati and St. Louis, to open places of business in a city, where it was not only free from inspection and supervision, but even legitimate.

Within a few weeks, St. Charles Street blossomed into one vast gambling hell. These resorts, some forty in number, and popularly known as “the forty thieves,” did a “land office business.” They were open night and day from the ground floor up. Every kind of gambling was carried on, with open doors, while runners on the outside enticed all passers by to enter. They had “all-round” saloons in which all kinds of games were played. The lower floor was commonly devoted to faro; roulette claimed the second story; while the third floor was set apart for keno. Generally one or two side rooms were fitted up for _vingt-et-un_ and other games. Lunch settees and wine tables were prominent articles in their equipment, and everything was supplied which might make gaming attractive. There were no screens, the saloons opening immediately off the street; no limit was fixed, and boys and octogenarians were alike welcomed.

This state of affairs proved too much, even for the advocates of public gaming. St. Charles Street, the principal thoroughfare, had become a by- word and reproach, a very high-way of vice, if not of crime.

Notwithstanding the indignant protest of an outraged public, however, the law would have probably remained on the statute book had it not been, as has been already intimated, for the gamblers themselves. Not that they complained of the exaction of a license fee; that, they were willing to pay cheerfully. It was the ruinous competition in business which it brought about that constituted the ground of their dissatisfaction. The “old-timers” found themselves injured, not only in pocket but also in reputation, by the horde of confidence men, “steerers”, sharpers and “skin” gamblers, who had swept down upon New Orleans like vultures upon a carcass. The license law had proved a boomerang.

The influx of strangers had been so great that the demand for licences to keep gaming houses had grown to such proportions that New Orleans seemed destined to absorb and monopolize all the gambling of the entire country. A conference of those “to the manor born” was held, which was attended by Bush, Taylor, Harrison and others, at which, after a full interchange of views, it was determined that the wiser policy was to return to the old system and get rid of the new comers at any cost. They were strong enough, politically, to get what they wanted from the legislature, and the obnoxious law was repealed, and the auditor directed to return to the gamblers the fees paid for the new year.

The abolition of the license system, however, did not put an end to gambling. Some of the more recent arrivals departed for Texas, Long Branch, Washington, and other promising points, but the “old timers”, to the number of 100 to 110, continued to do business in the same way as usual, paying bribes into the pockets of the police instead of a license fee into the State treasury. As, however, the law prohibited gambling, some sort of a pretence was made at secrecy, although the houses were all well known, and one could hear in the street below the rattle of chips and the droning call of the dealer.

During the next ten years the gamblers did a fair business, notwithstanding the fact that they were freely blackmailed by the police. They recouped themselves, however, for this outlay by taking their revenge upon the police, and particularly upon strangers. Bunko flourished and “steerers” abounded, while some of the best known confidence men now traveling about the country acquired their first knowledge of the business at New Orleans during this period.

In 1880, yet another plan of indirectly regulating gaming was introduced. The new system was neither the imposition of license fees nor the secret extortion of “hush-money”, and was essentially different from that followed in any other city of the world up to that time. While gambling had been unlawful it had also been notorious. Not less than ninety houses spread their nets for victims, and over a thousand persons were employed in the nefarious calling. Bribery and corruption had taken the place of legal license, and through political influence the gambling fraternity had enjoyed comparative immunity.

In the year last mentioned, Mr. Shakspeare who had just been elected Mayor, determined to accomplish indirectly what had been forbidden by State law—the license of the houses. He looked upon this as the only available means of controlling and regulating a business which, however, reprehensible, seemed destined to “go on forever.”

He favored the license system as the best practical solution of the problem, inasmuch as under it the city would receive a share of the profits of the business while there might, at the same time, be police supervision of the establishments.

A newspaper reporter was employed to visit the various gambling houses, inspect the games played there, and report to the Mayor on the subject.

After the latter had secured all the information he needed, he laid it before the council, together with his plan for licensing gambling and asked for its consideration and discussion. He proposed that a “forced loan” be collected from the gamblers—the city to charge each gaming saloon $150 a month or $1,800 a year for the privilege of carrying on business. They were to conduct only “square” games, to employ no “runners” or “cappers” to drum up business for them, and to content themselves with such profits as they might legitimately (?) derive from the unsolicited visits of occasional players. No minors were to be permitted to play and houses were to be confined within certain prescribed boundaries in the business section of the city, while the proprietors were to agree to preserve peace and order in the establishments, and to be always subject to the inspection and control of the police.

In consideration of the making of this forced loan, the city was to undertake that the houses entering into the arrangement, so long as they complied with the requirements exacted, should not be raided or otherwise molested by the police. Moreover, those saloons which accepted the proposition were to be protected from undue and unlicensed competition, the city promising to close all places which did not “pay up” or were guilty of irregularities.

When these propositions, which had been already submitted to the gamblers and approved by them, were laid before the council, that body authorized the executive to make the experiment, although the city fathers cautiously refused to share the responsibility for any consequences which might ensue. At first, the revenue thus received was paid directly to the city treasurer, but that official, being unwilling to accept it, it was turned over to the mayor’s private secretary, to be expended as the mayor ordered.

At the time of the inauguration of the “Shakespeare system” of exacting this forced loan there were eighty-two gambling resorts running in New Orleans. Half of these closed at once rather than pay the licenses. From the remainder some $6,000 was received as the first month’s instalment, which was set aside as a special fund for the erection of an alms house, or an institution, which was greatly needed in a city which had failed to make any provision for the support of paupers. Later the receipts from this source were turned over to the charity hospital or devoted to alleviating the condition of those confined in the jails. From this source (the gambler’s contributions) enough money was obtained to erect a large brick building named “The Shakespeare Almshouse” in honor of the mayor, and to support and care for two hundred paupers and incurables. A number of prominent citizens consented to act as directors of the institution, accepting the money turned over to them by the mayor for its maintenance, although well knowing the source from which it was derived.

At first, the anomalous system appeared to be a success. There were some complaints from the religious element of the community, but the general public raised no objection, while the press approved. The fund was exclusively under the control of the mayor, who accounted to no one, and was wholly free from responsibility in the matter and was at liberty to use the money as he saw fit. It occurred to him that the most effectual means of silencing his critics would be to devote it to public charity.

An account of the fund was kept in a book open to all, with each payment received from the gamblers, together with the sums turned over to the directors of the almshouse.

The supporters of the mayor pointed to his administration of the fund and the practical results of the system as a triumphant vindication of his policy. In the course of a year the number of gambling houses had been reduced from eighty-two, running at all seasons, to sixteen in summer and thirty-two in winter. This diminution, too, had been accomplished without police raids, while there had been no public scandals.

The mayor exacted literal compliance with his requirements. One of the leading saloons, run by “Billy Johnson,” a well known gambler about town, was closed early in the day because of some irregularities, and when the old trick was tried of re-opening it at the same place but under a new name, the mayor promptly suppressed it. “Any place,” he said, “once closed for ‘bunkoing’ was closed for ever.”

The loudest complaints about the system came from some of the gamblers themselves, who declared that the city was getting more out of the business than they were, and several attempts were made to persuade the mayor to reduce the amount of tribute. But to all such remonstrances he persistently turned a deaf ear, his stereotyped reply being, “If you can’t make enough from gambling to pay the city $150 a month for the privilege, you had better go into some other and better paying business.”

Mayor Skakspeare was succeeded by Gen. W. H. Bebian, who, so far as gambling was concerned, followed in the footsteps of his predecessor. Following him came Gillette. The latter regularly collected the tax, but instead of devoting it solely to purposes of charity, diverted a portion of it to meeting the exigencies of the political situation. From the fund were defrayed the expenses of entertainments ordered by the council, while it was also used to meet the pay-roll of the mayor’s special police, as well as for other objects of a distinctively political character. This line of action induced scandal, and the circumstance that no account of the disbursement of the fund was rendered, considered in connection with the fact that the almshouse—for which it had been created—was left without income, brought the system into disfavor and disrepute, and a revulsion of public sentiment occurred. Several grand juries presented reports condemning the fund as having been exacted in direct violation of the State constitution and the laws framed thereunder. The result of this agitation of the question was that during the incumbency of Mayor Gillette, the system was abandoned.

Since then, gambling in New Orleans has been conducted under the system of semi-toleration, which prevails in most American cities. The law against “banking games,” was enforced for a few weeks during 1888, when, as has been said, the prosecuting attorney arrested the gamblers and for a short time brought public gaming to an abrupt (though temporary) cessation; but although there were several convictions, the spasm of virtue soon passed; raids came to an end; and matters soon drifted back to their former position.

The law against gambling still adorned the pages of the statute book, but for many years no attempt whatever had been made to enforce it. The police knew the location of every gambling saloon in the city, as did also the district attorney, whose duty it was to enforce the law, but not an indictment was found against any of them.

To-day, there are some thirty gaming resorts in New Orleans, half of which, however, are mainly patronized by negroes. They are visited by the police in a supervisory sort of way, from time to time. When anything wrong is reported, the proprietor is arrested, and in the great majority of cases willingly consents to make good the complainant’s losses rather than to face exposure. If he proves recalcitrant, his house is closed. Only one place was closed in 1889, however, on this ground.

Two years ago, “keno” became the favorite game in New Orleans. It proved especially seductive to youths and those of small means, because of the small stakes required to play it. It proved particularly harmful for this very reason, its patrons being largely drawn from the ranks of those who could not afford to lose anything. The better class of gamblers themselves did not favor it, for the reason that it afforded no chances for the “bank,” which had to content itself with its “percentage.” Nevertheless, the “demand” for this sort of amusement resulted in an abundant supply, and for several blocks on two of the principal streets of the city, the ear of the passing pedestrian was saluted with the cries of “forty-eight,” “sixteen” and “keno,” which were wafted down to the street from the open windows of the keno rooms, which occupied the second floors of nearly every building. The majority of the players were clerks, under 25 years of age, mechanics and laborers; and to losses at keno may be attributed the numerous embezzlements which brought such unenviable notoriety upon New Orleans for several years.

The negroes, sunny children of nature, content if their immediate wants are satisfied, and taking no thought for the future, all gamble—certainly nine in ten of them gamble at the saloons on Dauphin and Franklin Streets, among themselves at “craps” or “chuck-a-luck,” or at “policy,” the latter being the favorite for women. These colored saloons are probably the worst in the world; rude unfurnished rooms, with nothing but gambling tables and chairs in them, lighted by flickering, ill-smelling lamps. Here congregate the roustabouts, longshoremen and deck hands, who drift into New Orleans during “the season,” or when crops are gathered, and here they and their mistresses play until the last dollar of their earnings is spent, and they once more enter upon their toilsome labor. Here, too, all the negro criminals of New Orleans, the colored ex-convicts, who number several thousand sneak thieves, burglars, etc., resort. The negro gambling saloons often prove of service to the police when prosecuting a search for colored criminals. There is no necessity to hunt for them all over the city. The owners of these gambling dens are anxious to be on good terms with the officers of the law, and act as spies for them. If a murderer or a burglar is needed, they are furnished with a description of him, and within a very short time comes the information that “Dago Dick,” or “Big Sam” is at such-and-such a saloon. These dives frequently stand the police in good stead, saving the officers no little trouble in searching for notorious negro criminals.

It cannot be said that, on the whole, the gamblers of New Orleans have made much out of their business. Very few have accumulated money through their original calling, although some have acquired their first start at the card table and have since achieved a competence in other and legitimate pursuits. Probably the most striking illustration of the truth of this statement has been already mentioned in referring to the case of McGrath, who has made a fortune through his stock farm and on the the turf. Another Crescent City sport invested his winnings at the faro table in the hotel business, at which he succeeded even beyond his expectations. Perhaps ten or a dozen in all, who have renounced the green cloth have honestly earned a competence, although a few have grown rich.

Perhaps one reason why gambling has not proved more remunerative since the war is that comparatively few of those engaged in the business at the South, have had the large capital necessary to conduct a thoroughly first-class establishment. Besides this, the gamester is by nature a spendthrift, whose motto is always “easy come, easy go.” His instincts are all arrayed on the side of prodigal expenditure, as against thrift.

At the present time, the houses are under fair control. That is to say, they are not tolerated on the ground floor, minors are not allowed to enter them, and “skin” gambling is perhaps less practiced than in other metropolitan cities. The fraternity complain bitterly of “hard times,” and declare that their business is entirely broken up. Of what are euphoniously characterized as “respectable” houses, there are scarcely half a dozen, and even these reap their richest harvest from strangers, during the carnival season. The local patronage is not profitable.

In 1889, the whirligig of time again elevated Mr. Joseph Shakspeare to the Mayor’s chair. He made no secret of his disposition to return to the system of indirect license which he had himself inaugurated. The council, however, proved less complaisant, and refused either to sanction or to disapprove the plan of the executive. Meanwhile, public sentiment in the city was about equally divided in reference to the question. A very large element of the community was bitterly hostile to countenancing the vice, even indirectly. On the other hand, there were not wanting those who regarded gaming as a necessary evil, which would find its votaries under any and all circumstances, and from the practice of which the city would do well to derive some revenue.

Among the latter half of the community were, of course, included those who were themselves fond of patronizing the public tables.

Speculation in stocks, bonds and produce was unknown in New Orleans previous to 1880. To its introduction may, perhaps, be measurably attributed the decline in the volume of gambling in the hells. Once introduced, it rapidly grew in favor with many of those who had been accustomed to look for that excitement which they regarded as their highest recreation in gambling upon the turn of a card. Whether the introduction into the city of the speculative mania and the decadence of the gambling saloons stood to each other in the relation of cause and effect it might be difficult to say; they certainly occurred about the same time. At first, speculation was chiefly confined to cotton, which bore the same relative position to New Orleans that wheat sustains to Chicago. Gradually, however, mining stocks and gold grew in favor of those who were disposed to venture their money upon options, as affording even greater fluctuations in value.

When trading in future deliveries was first suggested upon the floor of the New Orleans Cotton Exchange, it aroused violent opposition. Its opponents pointed out that the city already lacked sufficient capital to handle the cotton crop, of which New Orleans was the distributing centre, even in a legitimate way; they showed that a vicious element would be imparted to values; and called attention to the disastrous effect which such business might have upon the price of cotton. In reply to these arguments, it was urged that New York was already doing a gambling business in cotton futures, amounting to 25,000,000 bales per year, which was four or five times as much as the entire cotton crop of the whole country; that New Orleans was sending a great deal of money to the Atlantic seaboard to be invested in futures; and that unless dealing in speculative deliveries was sanctioned in what ought to be the greatest cotton mart of the world, a large proportion of the city business would be diverted to New York, even if the latter point did not absorb a great deal of the “spot” trade.

The result of the discussion was a triumph for the advocates of speculation, and in February, 1880, gambling in cotton futures began upon the floor of the New Orleans Cotton Exchange. At first, it did not seem to commend itself rapidly to public favor. Only 2,083,100 bales were sold during the first year. The rapidity in which it grew in favor is shown by the sudden increase in transactions in futures. In 1881, 10,115,800 bales were sold, which figures increased in 1882 to 16,171,000, which was fully double the amount of cotton the city received. The advocates of stock gambling pointed to this increased volume of business as the triumphant vindication of the position which they had assumed. New Orleans, they said, had in less than three years built up as large a gambling business as that which was carried on in New York. But experience proved that speculation in cotton futures reached its highest point in 1882, from which period it began to decline. At that time, however, it was practically universal. Clerks, samplers and weighers of cotton were among the most numerous patrons of the speculative market. Men of this class appeared to believe that because they have some business relations with cotton, they were thoroughly conversant with the market and that their casual handling, sampling or classifying of bales rendered them competent judges as to the future course of events. New Orleans speculators proved to be but pigmies, as compared with those of New York. In fact, the Southern market was so generally wrong that it became a common saying in the “country” that if one wished to bet right on the course of the cotton market, he should always bet against the combined wisdom of New Orleans. It may have been because the Eastern city had more capital, but the tangible result was that in the single year, 1882, New York was estimated to have relieved the metropolis of the Southwest of $4,000,000, of her surplus cash. The loss fell chiefly upon those who were less able to bear it. The employes of the warehouses had ventured heavily. Even the janitor or porter bought his little “jag” of a hundred bales.

The withdrawal of such a large quantity of money during a single year resulted in bringing about a financial stringency in New Orleans, and the tightness of money operated as a check upon speculative gambling, which has never since blossomed out in the same magnificent luxuries. Among those who had been particularly pronounced in their advocacy of the sale of futures upon the Cotton Exchange, not less than fifty went to the wall, and for a time the more conservative element managed things in its own way. Some idea of the extent to which this species of gambling mania had pervaded all classes of citizens may be gathered from the statement—which cannot be controverted—that during the crop year of 1881-82, fully 15,000 people bought cotton futures at one time or another, and that at least one man in four in New Orleans was accustomed, now and then, to “take a little flyer.”

In 1883, the volume of transactions of this character declined to 12,041,900 bales; in 1884, to 9,588,300; in 1885, 8,037,100; and in 1886, to 7,474,900 bales, or less than half what it had been. Moreover the business was confined chiefly to the larger dealers, the “small fry” letting the market religiously and severely alone, and since 1886, transactions have fluctuated in quantity. In 1887, sales of future deliveries aggregated some 11,239,000 bales; 1888, 8,947,800; and in 1889, 6,575,000 bales. Since the introduction of this description of gambling in New Orleans, about 92,223,900 bales of future cotton have been sold in that city, upon which margins of $276,671,700 have been put up, allowing a liberal commission to the brokers who managed the business; these figures represent a payment, virtually upon a wager of $73,409,933 by the losers to the winners. But no matter whether the hotly contested battle was decided in favor of the bulls or whether the bears were triumphant, some way or other New York always contrived to come out ahead, and it is a generally conceded that the thrifty manipulators of the latter market succeeded in extracting from the pockets of their New Orleans brethren a sum variously estimated at from $12,000,000 to $20,000,000.

Several attempts were made to prohibit this species of gambling by law, but the dealers in futures proved too strong. Neither did public sentiment condemn this sort of gambling, and many persons who would have scorned to enter a faro bank, bought options in cotton without compunction. Speculative craze during this period reached its maximum, and was not confined to cotton alone. Three or four “bucket shops” were started at which one could buy almost anything—wheat, or railroad and mining stocks. With the general decline of their business, the “bucket shops” also went by the board.

At present, however, the business is confined chiefly to a few operators and brokers. The general public views the situation with little interest, being indifferent as to whether A wins from B to-day and B recovers his losses to-morrow, or vice-versa.

Speculation in stocks has always been far less active than in cotton. Far removed from the commercial centre of the country, New Orleans has gambled but little in the general list of stocks, the greater portion of the business done on the Stock Exchange being confined to transactions in State and City bonds, a few local stocks, and—of late years—in mining shares. Nevertheless of the $160,000,000 worth of bonds and other securities dealt in during the past ten years, it is estimated that fully four-fifths were bought and sold on speculative account. The frequency with which the Louisiana law-makers have legislated in reference to State debentures have caused the latter to fluctuate violently. Large fortunes have been rapidly made and quickly lost, the case of the Confederate Commander, Gen. J. B. Hood, affording a striking illustration of the truth of the latter statement.

Legislative action in reference to the State debt in 1879, when the interest was reduced, and again in 1884, regarding what is known as the “interest amendment” gave rise to heavy speculations. Again in 1887, a mania for gambling in land and mining stocks broke out, which continued until 1889. In the latter year, the Mexican Lottery attracted much interest, and winnings and losses were alike numerous.

The amount of money lost on speculation in New Orleans in ten years is estimated at $82,000,000,—almost as much as the property valuation—and some commercial concerns regarded as among the most solvent in the city have been dragged down to bankruptcy.

Perhaps the most seductive and dangerous form of gambling in New Orleans to-day is the mania for buying tickets in the Louisiana lottery, with its attendant evil, “policy playing.” Lottery playing has always prevailed in New Orleans. Lotteries innumerable existed in the old days, and even the churches—notably Christ Church, the first Protestant church in Louisiana, and to this day, the largest and most fashionable—were built by means of lotteries.

The lotteries of the “olden times,” however, were small concerns, yet they stimulated the desire and whetted the appetite for this sort of excitement. They prepared the way for the extraordinary success which, as has been already said, attended the introduction of the sale of Havana lottery tickets into the Crescent City.

After the war, the Kentucky State Lottery Company sold some of its tickets in New Orleans, but that concern never became so popular among the people at large as was the Havana Lottery.

The considerations which induced the State Legislature to incorporate the Louisiana Company have been already set forth. Too much money was going to Cuba, and it was thought that the public treasury might as well be enriched by a portion of the profits, which were known to be numerous. All attempts to enforce the payment of a percentage on the sale of Havana tickets have proved lamentable failures.

The act of incorporation of the Louisiana State Lottery was passed in 1868. Under its terms the company was granted a lease of life for a period of twenty-five years. Under the constitution of 1880, its grip upon the state was confirmed until the expiration of the year 1892. As has been pointed out, in consideration of the payment by the company into the state treasury of $40,000 per annum, the concern was to be secured in a monopoly of the sale of lottery tickets within the state. At first, however, this provision of the law was not enforced, Havana tickets being freely sold upon the streets. But gradually the more attractive offers of the home company and its growing popularity attracted more and more business to its coffers, until, little by little it virtually had a field to itself.

Of the $40,000 yearly tax, one-half was set apart for the maintenance of the Charity Hospital—the largest free hospital in America—while the remainder was devoted to the public service fund.

Originally the business of the company was very largely confined to daily drawings and policy playing, and at one time there were not less than 180 places within the corporate limits at which policy might be played. At this time the sale of tickets was confined exclusively to Louisiana and mainly to New Orleans. As time went by, however, the company changed its schedule of drawings and gradually extended its operations until they included the entire country. The result of these various new departures was to enhance the importance of the monthly drawings to such an extent that the daily distributions and the attendant policy playing sunk into comparative insignificance. Little by little, the value of the prizes and the price of tickets have been doubled, until a whole ticket in a monthly drawing costs $20, while a similar chance in the semi-annual distribution of prizes is held at $40. Fully nine-tenths of the tickets are sold outside of Louisiana, the largest buyers being Texas, California, New York, Washington and Chicago.

The existing schedule of drawing is as follows: Two grand semi-annual drawings; ten monthly drawings; three hundred and thirteen daily drawings (with policy playing _ad libitum_); making a grand total of three hundred and twenty-five drawings during the year.

The following table shows the number of each description of drawings, the number of tickets printed, the price paid for a whole chance, the value of the tickets sold, the amount of cash prizes distributed, and the sum paid out in salary commissions.

────────────────────┬───────────┬───────┬───────────┬───────────┬─────────── NUMBER OF DRAWINGS │NO. TICKETS│ PRICE│ VALUE│PRIZES WON.│ PAID OUT PER YEAR. │ PRINTED.│ PER│ TICKETS│ │ FOR │ │TICKET.│ SOLD.│ │ SALARIES │ │ │ │ │ AND │ │ │ │ │COMMISSIONS. ────────────────────┼───────────┼───────┼───────────┼───────────┼─────────── 2 Grand Semi-Annual,│ 200,000│ $40.00│ $5,600,000│ $3,080,000│ $600,000 10 Monthly, │ 1,000,000│ 20.00│ 13,000,000│ 7,150,000│ 1,200,000 313 Daily, │ 21,900,000│ 1.00│ 1,320,000│ 892,000│ 198,000 ────────────────────┼───────────┼───────┼───────────┼───────────┼─────────── 325 Drawings, │ 23,100,000│ ——│$19,920,000│$11,122,000│ $1,998,000 ────────────────────┴───────────┴───────┴───────────┴───────────┴───────────

Year by year the business of the company has increased and its financial standing has advanced in an equal ratio. Since its incorporation in 1868, it has sold tickets to the value of $168,000,000, paid prizes amounting to $92,400,000, and expended in commissions to dealers in New Orleans and elsewhere $16,000,000.

Its stock has, for some time past, paid an annual dividend of 85 per cent. on its par value, and is quoted on the market at 900.

In New Orleans, lottery playing is universal. It is safe to say that 50,000 fractional parts of tickets are purchased monthly, the smallest fraction of a chance sold in a monthly drawing being one-twentieth, and in the semi annual distribution one-fortieth. Among the purchasers there is no distinction of sex, age, color, social position or occupation. Men, women, whites, blacks, Mongolians, Mexicans, the old, the young, leaders of society and the “bums,” one and all buy, the crowd of these deluded speculators being swelled even by recruits from the ranks of the clergy.

The friends of the lottery adduce many arguments in its support. They claim that it is the least objectionable form of gambling; that it is conducted “on the dead square;” that as the larger drawings take place but once a month, and the price of the ticket is low (the usual ticket one-twentieth or one-fortieth costs $1.00), one can at most lose but $12.00 a year, even if he “plays lottery” every month and invariably loses; that there have been no scandals growing out of the monthly drawings, nor any instance of a man who has sunk his fortune, or resorted to embezzlement to play. As regards the daily drawings, it is pointed out that as that the ordinary purchaser only risks twenty-five cents and the prizes stand to the tickets in the ratio of one to three, it is impossible that much financial harm can be done.

These arguments, of course, utterly failed to take into consideration the powerful incitement and stimulus which this sort of gambling imparts to the vice in general. While the immediate effects of investing in lottery tickets may not be sudden and pronounced financial ruin, the consequences are apt to be far-reaching. Neither do the advocates of the lottery take into account what is essentially the very worst feature of the whole business—policy playing. While the aggregate amount of money lost through this means may be insignificant as compared with that squandered upon the monthly and semi-annual drawings, the ultimate results flowing from this description of gambling are, perhaps, worse than those attendant upon any other. Policy is played by the very poorest classes—and particularly by the negroes—who cannot afford to lose a solitary cent. The amount of suffering entailed upon the families of the poor through this agency is so large as hardly to be susceptible of computation.

At present there are some eighty policy shops in New Orleans, the business of all of which is based upon the daily drawings of the Louisiana Lottery. The keepers of these places sell, on an average eighty slips each day, making the total sale in the city about sixty- four hundred every twenty-four hours, or two million three thousand two hundred per annum. The low prices at which these “slips” (or fractional part of the tickets) are sold—twenty-five and fifty cents, places them within the reach of all. There are probably two thousand or three thousand regular policy players who buy tickets every day and who have a system of combinations which they believe is certainly bound to win in the end. In addition, there are about twenty-five thousand others who make a similar venture about once a week. All these have made policy playing a profound study, and understand all its intricacies and know all about “horses”, “saddles”, “gigs”, “all day”, “first place”, etc. They are firm believers in “luck”. In fact, nowhere are so many “fortune telling” and “dream” books sold as in New Orleans, principally for the purpose of interpreting dreams which the buyers believe indicate numbers which they should play. Clairvoyants and fortune tellers abound and prosper; and there are men whose only means of obtaining a fair support is travelling the streets with cages of trained canaries or parroquets, which for the trifling consideration of five cents, will select from a case an envelope containing a number supposed to be a “sure winner.” Blindness is regarded with reverence, for the reason that a blind man is supposed to be invariably lucky. “Age cannot wither nor custom stale” the folly of these inveterate policy players. Their infatuation and superstition know no limit. They are constantly looking for “signs”. If you should say to one of them that you expected to be thirty-six years old on the sixth of December, the chances are that he would rush off around the corner to play the combination 6-12-36. They are perpetually looking for numbers by day and dreaming of them by night, and their first act on arising in the morning is to consult their “dream-books”, to ascertain what they shall play that day. The negro house servants are among the best patrons of the policy shops, often squeezing a quarter or half dollar from the market or grocery money, to place it on a “gig” or “saddle”.

The aggregate amount thus squandered is, as has been said, enormous. Yet it is usually spent in small sums and leads to no graver crime than petty pilfering, which, however, is bad enough. Still, occasionally a “plunger” tries this form of gambling, and once in a while a dishonest clerk who has been systematically robbing his employer for years will seek to arouse sympathy by attributing his entire peculation to the insidious fascination of daily drawings.

The following table may prove of interest to the reader, as showing the amount and character of the gambling practiced in New Orleans during the past ten years. It has been carefully prepared from the most authentic sources available and it is believed to be a very close approximation to the exact facts:

────────────────────────────────────┬──────────────────┬────────────────── │ │ PROFITS OF │ │ BROKERS, DESCRIPTION OF GAMBLING. │ AMOUNTS CHANGING │ GAMBLERS, │ HANDS. │ LOTTERY CO. AND │ │ DEALERS IN T’KS. ────────────────────────────────────┼──────────────────┼────────────────── Speculation in Stocks, Futures, etc.│ $82,000,000│ $10,145,945 Lottery Tickets, │ 18,600,000│ 8,370,000 Policy Playing, │ 8,000,000│ 3,200,000 Regular Gambling, │ 30,000,000│ 3,400,000 ────────────────────────────────────┼──────────────────┼────────────────── Total, │ $138,000,000│ $25,115,945 ────────────────────────────────────┴──────────────────┴────────────────── Note.—The figures given include only the local business. The total amount received from sales is vastly greater.

From the foregoing sketch of gambling in New Orleans, it will be apparent to the reader that there has never been any determined effort put forth for its suppression. This fact may be ascribed to two operative causes. First, the absence of any pronounced public sentiment against gaming; secondly, the powerful political influence wielded by the gamblers. The latter have always been active ward politicians, and have exercised great influence upon local elections, in fact, they have usually had one or more of their representatives; indeed, at one time, the Chief of Police, the officer on whom devolved the duty of enforcing the law against gambling, was himself an ex-professional. At other times, gamblers who were actively engaged in the business have been members of the city council, tax collectors or supervisors of registration, besides filling numerous other State and City offices. Of the four men who, as ward “bosses,” virtually controlled the politics of the city from 1876 to 1888, one was an active gambler.

The “sports” had become politicians, and ten or a dozen of them were recognized as active “workers,” whose support was valuable to the “bosses.” In consequence legislation adverse to gambling was well nigh impossible, and the enforcement of the laws already on the statute book had become dilatory and half-hearted. So weak was the sentiment in the legislature against gaming that that body, at its last session, had refused to pass a law requiring saloons where private gambling was conducted, to place a screen behind their front doors.

At the present time, gambling in the city is comparatively at a standstill. Many of those who have been prominently identified with the business in the past have sought other pursuits, which, although of a kindred character, have proved more profitable, such as the keeping of “turf exchanges,” “book making,” etc.

The city council having refused to indorse the suggestion of Mayor Shakspeare, that the indirect system of licensing be revived, finally mustered up courage to instruct the executive to close all houses. While the order cannot be said to have been literally and fully obeyed, its passage and the official action following the same have proved a deadly blow to public gambling.

Two striking instances may be mentioned, which serve to show not only the immediate effect of a sudden reversal of public policy in this regard, but also to illustrate the deep hold which this pernicious vice obtains upon its victims.

On October 3, 1889, Joseph M. Marcus, a young merchant and a partner in a large tobacco concern, lodged a bullet in his brain while standing near the main entrance of one of the parish prisons. Temporary abberation of mind, resulting from insomnia and apprehension of financial loss was supposed to have been the cause of his rash act. Later in the day, Napoleon Bonaparte White, one of the best known of the local gambling fraternity, was found dead in his bed, in a lodging house. A vial, in which remained a few drops of a decoction of morphine was found near him, and its presence was supposed to be a sufficient explanation of the manner of his death. About the time that the executive order was being prepared—the day before his decease—while the Mayor and Chief of Police were conferring upon the subject, White appeared to be much depressed and said that he had provided a method of evading the enforcement of the law; that he had purchased a pistol which he proposed to use in case the order was enforced. White’s career had been an eventful one. An engineer by profession, he had started in life on the Mississippi steamboats. His ambition and temperament soon drew him from the engine room to the saloon of the steamboat, where he blossomed forth as a professional gambler. When Walker planned his famous expedition to Nicaragua in 1856, White was one of the first to enroll himself in the band of volunteers. After the final collapse of the expedition, he drifted back to his old haunts in New Orleans, where for many years he was one of the most familiar figures upon the streets.

Instances are numerous where men have won or lost their daily bread upon the turn of a card. There have been not a few who, having staked their all upon the same contingency and lost, have blown out their brains with the weapon of despair. The sun-kissed hill-tops and low-lying valleys that surround Monte Carlo, contain the graves of not a few devotees of gaming, who in despair have ended their wretched lives. There is no sort of emotion which the fascination of this vice has not awakened in the human breast. There are a few rare instances relative to gamblers who have fallen dead in a superabundance of sudden joy. But never before, so far as is known, have two gamblers killed themselves because they believed that they were about to be deprived of the opportunity of indulging in their favorite pastimes. These instances stand unprecedented and unparalleled in history.

MILWAUKEE.

In some form or other, gambling has been known in Milwaukee ever since the advent of the first white settlers, and even on their arrival they found the Indians racing ponies on the plains for wagers.

The first regular gambling house in Milwaukee of which there is any record was a faro layout, established by Martin Curtis, in 1843, and operated by him for several years. In those days every one gambled; and as Curtis was gifted with the faculty of saving his winnings, he became quite wealthy. He erected various buildings in that city, among them a row of dwellings which yet stand on Broadway, facing the police station. Some of his grandchildren still reside in the city, and enjoy the inheritance left them by the “old man.”

In 1849, Milwaukee had grown to be a place of sufficient size to maintain two gaming establishments. Thomas Wicks opened a game which he continued to run for thirty years with varying success. He had two brothers, Curtis and Gardner Wicks, who aided him in the business, and ran the bank during the sessions of the legislature and at other times when there was any “game” in the town. All through the war the Wicks Brothers’ game was running in full blast at Milwaukee in an old yellow building which General Lucius Fairchilds had inherited from his father. The fact that General Fairchilds was Secretary of State for two years on leaving the army, and was Governor for six, did not interfere with the “tiger” having its lair in the upper part of his building, within two blocks of the handsome mansion in which his family resided. As showing the “pull” which the Wicks had on politicians and public men it may be of interest to record the fact, that although Governor Fairchilds went through four bitter political campaigns as a candidate, there never was a word said in any paper in reference to the fact that while Governor of Wisconsin he knowingly rented his property for gambling purposes.

From the time when he opened, in 1849, until some time in or about 1872, John Welch was the gambling king of the State. His acquaintance with prominent men gave him immunity, both in Milwaukee and at Madison; and it was seldom that his game was made the subject of police interference. During a long period of his career, William Beck was Milwaukee’s chief of police, and as he was an inveterate gambler himself, and could generally be found in a gaming house when not engaged upon professional business, he naturally refrained from interfering with Wicks.

But the gambler met his fate at last. “Taking a flyer” is what ruined him, and since 1872 he has done very little beyond insisting that modern gamblers are all “crooked.”

On several occasions he has attempted to break up the games in Milwaukee by procuring indictments against the gamblers, but in each instance has ignominiously failed, for the reason that the younger men have been shrewd enough to induce the public to believe that the “old sport” was merely trying to extort money. Prior to his unfortunate venture in wheat, “Tom” Wicks enjoyed the friendship of a large number of wealthy and influential men who never gambled. These in a majority he has retained since his misfortune. The charge brought against him by the younger gamblers, however, that he was endeavoring to levy blackmail has caused a coolness between himself and some of his former acquaintances.

In 1876, when Alexander Mitchell took the Wisconsin delegation to St. Louis in his private car, “Tom” Wicks was made chief caterer and attended to the wants of the party; the members of which enjoyed a perpetual banquet from the moment of their departure until the hour of their return.

Just before Wicks lost his money, Mayor O’Neil closed up the gambling houses in Milwaukee and also raided Sunday dances, the result being that next year the “tough” element joined the Republicans and elected Harrison Ludington Mayor. He opened the town for those who had elected him, and, so far as gambling was concerned, it continued to run about as it pleased until a year ago, when Chief Ries, almost as a last official act before being relieved of the care of the police force, closed up the gambling houses. This left Mayor Brown and Chief Jansen the choice of keeping them closed or being abused by the friends of Ries. They chose the former alternative. As a consequence the city has been “closed up tight” for nearly a year, most of the dealers and supernumeries since the last election emigrating to other localities, a considerable proportion finding congenial surroundings in Chicago.

Before this compulsory hegira of the gamblers, Milwaukee was one of the most viciously “wide open” towns in the Northwest, and the business was becoming a nuisance. After the collapse of the iron boom all manner of disreputables flocked thither, and gambling, might have been said, to be running rampant. Six faro banks were constantly open, besides poker games and wheels of fortune in the back rooms of most of the saloons.

During the recent G. A. R. encampment, the authorities seemed to relax their vigilance, and allowed a little faro playing in a quiet way, but there is no guarantee that a raid may not occur at any moment. As a consequence, it is not probable that a game of any magnitude will attempt to exist, or that if it does anybody will run the risk of patronizing it. A raid was made last September and three keepers and sixty players were captured. It was generally supposed that the “haul” would have been larger had not a “tip” been secretly given.

Last May the Chief of Police, Jansen, drafted a new ordinance relative to gambling, which he asked the council to pass. The ordinance provided that police officers armed with a properly drawn warrant might enter any place where they suspect gambling was being carried on, and that any one refusing them admission should be subject to a severe penalty. The police were empowered to use force and to batter down doors when refused admission. The ordinance also provided that the men found in charge of the gambling house should be deemed the keepers and that all gambling tools and paraphernalia captured by the police should be destroyed as soon as the police proved to the court that the said tools are gambling devices.

There was considerable opposition among the aldermen to the ordinance, on the ground that it would enable the police to break into private houses and arrest a party of gentlemen who might be enjoying a quiet game of poker.

“Any man who pretends to oppose the law on such grounds is either a fool or a knave,” said Chief Jansen. “In the first place, we can enter any man’s house now on a properly drawn warrant. It is all nonsense to suppose that the police would attempt to enter any one’s house to break up a game of cards, even if played for a consideration. Any police official who attempted it would be promptly called to account and the verdict of public opinion alone would cause him to lose his position. What we do want, however, are laws sufficiently stringent to allow us to stamp out public gambling. It costs the city hundreds of dollars to keep the gambling houses closed, and when we get a case against them they slip through with a petty fine and then the police department is subjected to the humiliation of having to return the gambling tools. The ordinances of the city are no more stringent now than when they were first passed, when the city was incorporated, in 1854. They are not up to the times. We want this new ordinance passed so that we can close and keep closed public gambling houses without being compelled to keep a detail of men on watch at all times.”

GAMBLING IN SARATOGA.

To narrate the history of gambling in Saratoga, would be almost to give an epitome of the history of the town itself from its earliest date. Its celebrity as a watering place has done much to increase the practice of the vice, but even before it obtained fame in this direction its reputation as a gambling resort was well established within the somewhat contracted radius of the circle of which it formed the centre.

The author is indebted to an old resident of the Springs, who took up his residence there, under the parental wing, in 1831, when he was a boy of but ten years of age, for the statement that as early as 1844 there existed a resort on Broadway, opposite the residence of the Chancellor, where a bowling alley and billiard room constituted the chief attractions. The fact that games were played for wagers undoubtedly rendered the resorts more attractive. In a journal published in those early days there is found a communication from a lawyer, in which the writer complains that while arguing a case before the Chancellor he had been much annoyed by the noise of the patrons of the bowling alley, and that at intervals he could hear the click of the billiard pools, and even the rolling of the roulette table. During this period there was another bowling alley, situated in a small grove near a pond in the Southern part of the village, with the then customary adjuncts of billiards and open gambling. The location of the latter resort was practically identical with the site of the Clarendon hotel. Its proprietor was Geo. W. Gale, who also owned the alley opposite the Chancellor. In 1845, Gale retired from business, to accept the position of ticket agent of the Rensselaer and Saratoga railroad, a fact which would seem to indicate that in those early days running a gambling house was not found to be particularly profitable in Saratoga.

Perhaps the explanation may be found in the fact that the resorts of similar character had multiplied to an extent considerably exceeding the demand of the population. About the year 1834 bowling alleys and other places where various games might be played for a wager were numerous in the neighborhood of the railroad depots. The business was carried on so openly that almost the first object which attracted the attention of a passenger alighting from a train was the open door of one of these resorts.

Early in the history of the Springs, and long before the war, Southern planters in great numbers, selected Saratoga as their summer resort every year. It is not too much to say that they gambled with a recklessness in comparison with which the ventures of players of later days sink into comparative insignificance. They prided themselves upon playing a “gentleman’s game,” and the stakes were practically unlimited. The rich Southerner of the ante-bellum days was as simple in his pride as any other spoiled child of fortune; he offered an easy prey to the rapacity of professional sharks, and he was not infrequently robbed outright. He was accustomed to associating with those who were wont to flatter his vanity, and who were fond of assuring him that “the king could do no wrong.” The result was that the gamblers found it easy to reap a rich harvest, provided that they succeeded in being permitted to “sit” in the right kind of games. As most of the gambling was done at the hotel, the chance of detection was reduced to a minimum. From what has been said, it may be inferred that it is a mistake to suppose that gambling at Saratoga had its origin at the time of the introduction of the races, although since the time that the trial of the speed of horses was added to the attractions of this world-famous watering place, the vice has developed to a larger extent than ever before. The races were started in 1863, at what was then regarded as a suburb, and known as “House Haven.” It was about this time that club rooms sprang up and were to be found in all the larger hotels, where, for that matter, they may be found to-day. Faro and other banking games were openly dealt at half a dozen places in the village.

John Morrissey, once famous as a pugilist, and later as the head and front of the sporting fraternity throughout the United States, first appeared in Saratoga in 1863, as a patron of the race course. In 1870 he built and opened, with no little parade, his magnificent club house.

Ladies and gentlemen were alike invited to become his guests, and his object was to establish upon the American continent a gaming resort which should rival Monte Carlo. Notwithstanding the fact that indignant remonstrances were made by the better class of citizens, a local newspaper of that date chronicles that his establishment received the patronage of many of the principal ladies of the village, who were received and attended during their visits by professional blacklegs. Playing at this resort has always run high, although of late years the profits of the managers have not been so large as in former days. In March, 1871, an indignation meeting of citizens was held and resolutions were adopted emphatically denouncing gambling.

Among the best known professionals of early days at Saratoga, was Benjamin C. Scribner, who arrived in the village about 1842 and opened a small place in an alley near the United States Hotel. He was supposed to be a man of considerable wealth at one time, but was ultimately very glad to accept a position from Morrissey, in whose employ he remained until he died. It was a surprise to the public that his estate was found to be worth several thousand dollars, but the surprise was somewhat dissipated when it was learned that the property had been tied up in such a way that he could not use it.

Morrissey soon found that it was impossible to carry out his original idea of making Saratoga the Baden-Baden of the United States. The disapprobation of the citizens was so openly expressed that he became chary of admitting people into his resort. He professed to discountenance open gambling, although every one in Saratoga knew that his club house was the great head-center of the vice. Albert Spencer and Charles Reed were subsequently associated with him as partners. Reed brought his wife to Saratoga and purchased land on which he erected a handsome residence. His family regularly attended the Episcopal church, and he made some effort to gain a foot-hold in good society, but did not meet with the success which he had expected. Afterwards Mr. Reed abandoned or disposed of his interest in the club house, and is at present a stock raiser, having obtained a by no means unenviable reputation as a breeder of thorough breds. He owns a fine racing stable.

Morrissey’s career is too well known to call for any extended description in this connection. He died a poor man and his wife was left in decidedly straightened circumstances. Probably no gambler in the United States won more money than he, and certainly none enjoyed a higher reputation for fair dealing and integrity. He was liberal to folly; in fact it may be said that during the heyday of his prosperity he was princely in his generosity. While his business was said to be under reprobation, he was yet able to command an immense popularity. It is doubtful whether any professional gambler in America has done more to corrupt the morals of young men than did Morrissey through the indirect influence of his gambling. It is a lamentable commentary upon American politics that a professional gambler, even though reputed to be a “square” player, should have been able to obtain a seat in the United States Congress through the suffrage of a constituency which typified the wealth and culture of the metropolis of the New World.

One word with regard to the influence of legislation upon gambling on horse races. At the period when the Saratoga meetings were inaugurated pool selling was not prohibited and was openly conducted. Not long afterward a law was enacted forbidding this form of gambling, but so far as Saratoga was concerned it proved a dead letter; in other words it was never enforced. Some practical members of the law-making body perceived this fact and attempted to prescribe a remedy. The outcome of their efforts was the celebrated “Ives” bill, which legalizes pool selling on horse races during thirty days in each year. The practical result of the adoption of this measure was to put an end to pool selling in a “hole- and-corner” sort of way, which was brought about measurably through the efforts of those gamblers who were willing to comply with the provisions of the law.

Not many years ago Anthony Comstock, known all over the country as an uncompromising foe of vice, visited Saratoga upon the invitation of the reputable class of citizens. As a result of his visit several places were raided, but the grand jury refused to indict the proprietors upon the complaint of Comstock and his men.

It is worthy of remark that probably there is no place in the United States in which gambling is conducted on more strictly business principles than in Saratoga. Twenty years ago play was reckless, but was prompted chiefly by a love of excitement. Then everybody gambled simply as a method of killing time. To-day gambling at this famous watering place is chiefly, if not altogether, in the hands of professionals. In other words, nowadays, everybody who gambles does so on keen business principles. In the old times, the Southern gentleman lost his slaves and his plantation upon the turn of a card. At the present time large stakes are the exception, as they were formerly the rule. Occasionally a player who has plenty of money will risk a few hundreds and lose them without a murmur, but the good old days seem to have gone forever. The dealers’ winnings, as a rule, are comparatively small.

To come down to modern times, no history of gambling at Saratoga would be complete which failed to record the inauguration and prosecution of the war against gaming houses, which was commenced by Spencer Trask, of New York, in 1889. Mr. Trask, was well and favorably known upon the New York Stock Exchange, and for some time conducted an office at Saratoga during the season where he bought and sold stocks on margins. He is (or was) a proprietor of a daily newspaper at the Springs, through the columns of which he waged vigorous war upon the gamblers. He is understood to have been one of the victims of Comstock’s first raid, and is said to have paid a fine in consequence of an indictment by the grand jury. The result of his investigations he has made known, and the author, after some pains to contest the correctness of his statements, feels justified in giving to his readers a summary of what he discovered.

At the present time, there are over twenty or thirty gaming resorts in Saratoga. Half of these cannot be said to be open games. Many of them cater for the patronage of the lowest class of society only. In the “_Saratoga Union_” of August 22, there was printed a list of the public houses, which may be said to have been a substantially correct re- capitulation of those actually running at that time.

To summarize the history of gambling in Saratoga—It may be said that there has been open gambling at the Springs for at least twenty years, and that gaming is still open there to-day. While there was more poker playing at the hotels twenty years ago than there is to-day the vice is more rampant now than then. At the same time, there is a more pronounced effort to conduct it in comparative secrecy. At that time, the officers of the law looked upon it as a necessary evil and put forth no effort toward its suppression. To-day, public sentiment compels them to take action, which, however dilatory and half-hearted, is still or more less effective.

A brief allusion has been made in a preceding paragraph to the visit of Anthony Comstock to Saratoga. From what has been said, the reader may perhaps infer that it was comparatively without result. This impression should be removed. The Secretary of the New York Society for the Suppression of Vice visited the place accompanied by several of his own detectives, all being disguised. Their primary object was to obtain evidence against some twenty-nine gamblers. They were threatened with assassination and the best people of the city met in a citizens’ assembly to voice public opinion, and to afford them the moral support which the people alone can furnish. The hells were raided, and most of those arrested waived examination; yet in spite of positive and conclusive evidence not a single indictment was found.

In August, 1879, two raids upon the gaming houses were instituted but no implements were found either time. The explanation commonly accepted by the public was that “private tips” had been given to the houses by the police. Notwithstanding this, detectives obtained sufficient evidence to hold several gamblers to await the action of the grand jury. The net result was a rather deplorable fiasco.

Despite all citizens’ meetings, it is a grave question whether public sentiment in Saratoga does not, at least indirectly, support gambling. A leading daily journal of that city, while fighting for the suppression of the vice, virtually concedes this fact. There can be no question that strong political influence is brought to bear every year upon the District Attorney of Saratoga County, not to press indictments before the grand jury, and upon members of the latter body not to find a true bill. The explanation is to be found in the fact that the gambling interests in the city and county are too strong to be overcome by the moral sentiment of a minority of tax-payers.

Owing to the large number of hotels gamblers and confidence men have found Saratoga a good place at which to locate an alibi. It is a fact no less surprising than sad that clerks at reputable hotels are willing to lend themselves to such a scheme. The _modus operandi_ is simple. A few lines are reserved on the register under a particular date; on that day a confidence game is worked elsewhere (let us say in Boston). The sharpers repair to the hotel where the space on the register has been reserved, and enter their names as of a previous date. Should they be arrested the hotel register is an invaluable adjunct in establishing an alibi. Of course the clerk cannot distinctly remember particular guests, but—for a consideration—he believes that his register is correct.

GAMBLING IN CINCINNATI.

Cincinnati at present (1890) may be said to be comparatively free from gamblers. The last gaming establishment in the city was shut up in 1886, and since that time there has not been a single place known as a resort of this character within the corporate limits. The proprietor of the last recognized house was Marshall Wooden, who is now somewhere in Arkansas. His place was closed as a result of the last battle in the long struggle between the gamblers and the authorities. Two years previous to that time gambling hells had been numerous, being protected by the existing Board of Police Commissioners, who exacted a weekly amount of blackmail from every gambling house. That board, however, which was a partisan one, was wiped out of existence, and a non-partisan board took charge of the police. A crusade against the gamblers was inaugurated, and little by little they were driven from the town. However, in Covington and Newport, Kentucky towns just across the river from Cincinnati, gamblers are allowed full sway. In Covington alone there are no less than one hundred policy shops, and Newport boasts of a large number. Faro and keno are also played in these towns, while in Newport is a resplendently gorgeous gaming palace, devoted to all kinds of play, which has been running for years. These facilities for gambling, so near at home, are so annoying to Cincinnati authorities that the latter have attempted to induce the officials on the other side of the river to act with them in suppressing the vice. But nothing has been done in the matter. It was only a short time ago that a young man, a clerk in the Bodmann tobacco warehouse in Cincinnati, began to frequent the horse races at Latonia. At first he risked only his own money, but from betting on horse pools he gradually became infatuated with other forms of gambling, and night after night found him in Newport, in the place already referred to. As a result of this love for play, and to pay his “debts of honor,” (?) he forged the name of his employers to checks to the amount of ten thousand dollars, cashed them, fled to England, was arrested, brought back, and is now serving a sentence of seven years in the Ohio penitentiary.

It was not until the beginning of the war that there was any great amount of gambling in Cincinnati. Previous to that time, poker was played regularly on the steam boats plying the Ohio and Mississippi rivers between that city and New Orleans, and occasionally there was a game on shore. But as a rule the gambler kept on the water. During the war, however, Cincinnati was the headquarters of one of the great departments of the army. It was full of officers going and coming; immense amounts of money changed hands constantly; fortunes were made readily, and, of course, adventurers of all kinds flocked to the city.

Then it was that the first gambling establishments were opened. There was a general laxity in regard to gamblers, and they held uninterrupted sway. Gambling increased until 1877 or 1878, when it reached its height. There were pool rooms in many of the saloons; gambling houses were as open as dry goods stores; policy was openly played, and lottery tickets were apparently legitimate articles of commerce.

About 1878, however, the pool rooms were closed and lottery tickets were banished. Now and then there would be a return of officials who owed their election to the votes of the gamblers, and that element in the community which was in sympathy with them, as during the years of 1884 and 1886, but good and efficient laws and their administration by an honest police force soon succeeded in suppressing open gaming houses.

Probably Cincinnati’s most noted gambler was the late “Bolly” Lewis. He flourished during the palmy days of the war. His establishment was one of the finest in the city. One night an army paymaster dropped into his place, and before morning came the unfortunate officer had lost $40,000. This set “Bolly” to moralizing, and from that time he became a changed man. He gave up gambling, became a member of the church, and was prominent in all charitable works. He proved his penitence by restoring the $40,000 to the officer. He went into the hotel business, became part proprietor of the Gibson house, and when he died enjoyed the respect and confidence of the entire community.

Tom Mead has been one of Cincinnati’s most persistent gamblers. He was a miner and went to California in ’49. He found it, however, more profitable to stop at Panama, where the miners who went by sea were crossing in a steady stream, and opening a gambling house there, he caught them going and coming, greatly to his own profit. He returned very wealthy, shot a man in Boston, then came to Cincinnati and opened places on Vine, Longworth and Fifth streets. Personally, he is a quiet, apparently inoffensive gentleman, dressing modestly, fond of good horses and devoted to his wife. Since gambling has been stopped he has become a law-abiding citizen and lives on the rental of the many houses which he owns.

“Eph” Holland is another noted Cincinnati gambler, who once achieved some notoriety as a politician, and who now has a place in Hot Springs, Arkansas.

“Blackie” Edwards still lives in Cincinnati, where for years he ran a straight faro game. He was honest in his way and had a code of honor which was exact. He apparently has enough to live on without working.

Robert Lynn ran faro games in both Cincinnati and Washington, and when the edict went forth that drove him out of the former city he retired to the latter.

Those named are men who have lived long in Cincinnati, some of whom have accumulated money, which they have carefully invested; but at all times the city has had homeless, temporary professional gamblers, who have come floating up from Lexington and other southern and western cities. It was from Kentucky that the business men, stock farmers and the like came, who made up the principal customers for Cincinnati’s gambling establishments. It was openly stated by the gamblers when it was proposed to drive them away, that they rarely fleeced any one who lived in the city, their profits being derived altogether from strangers, and that consequently it was really a good thing for the town to draw and keep here money from abroad.

There have never been but three really popular games among Cincinnati gamesters—poker, of the stud-horse type, faro, and keno. Keno, as a rule, has been straight, while faro has been equally crooked.

With the exception of Blackie Edwards’ place, the stranger in a gambling room in Cincinnati had nine chances in ten of being cheated. Roulette has been played to some extent, while in the old days rondeau was something of a favorite. It was played with a board furnished with pockets. You played a certain number of balls, rolling them down the board, and if an even number of them went in the pockets you won; if not, you lost. Crap shooting is played only along the levee by the darkies. Three years ago there were at least five hundred policy shops in town, but they have all been driven out. Policy is still played on a small scale, the headquarters being in Kentucky, and men go around to collect the numbers from the “friends,” as they are called.

During the war, gambling was enormously profitable. The instance of $40,000 having been lost in a single night has already been mentioned. The heads of gambling establishments would frequently take a trip to New Orleans, and would return with perhaps $5,000 and it was not unusual for the profits to be $10,000. During the later years, profits have not been so phenomenal, but still the money made has been large, as was clearly shown by the fact that gamblers were able to spend $50,000 and $60,000 a year for police protection. The business being in the hands of a few men, they were able to run pretty much as they pleased, the horde of small-fry professional gamblers being kept on the outside.

During the palmy days of the gamblers, they were an active, aggressive political force. Ephraim Holland, already mentioned, was famous as a political ward worker. He manipulated conventions to suit himself, and saw to it that the police officers were men who were friendly; and when Ephraim saw that an election was going against him, he at one time, so far forgot himself as to stuff the ballot box. This sent him to the penitentiary, and the wave of public indignation that followed his conviction, was disastrous to the gamblers. The gambling houses were kept open all night, being run, as a rule, in connection with a saloon, and they were hot-beds fostering criminals. They attracted to the town all sorts of unscrupulous individuals. There were frequent fights and occasionally a murder, while robbery was not uncommon. But since the closing of the gambling houses and at the same time the shutting down of the saloons at midnight, Cincinnati has really been regenerated. The number of prisoners in the jail has been reduced to almost half, while the clearing of the moral atmosphere is noticeable. The chief of detectives of Cincinnati, Col. Larry Hazen, said in speaking of the hegira of the gamblers, “I regard it as the greatest moral reform that Cincinnati has seen in my time. It removed temptation from growing boys and trusted young men, and it keeps away from our town a great number of pickpockets, as well as gamblers, who are ready to be burglars or anything else when occasion may offer.”

The Cincinnati Chamber of Commerce and Board of Trade are for strictly legitimate dealing. There is no selling on margins; all transactions must be with the real article. There are, however, three bucket shops who do business with the Chicago Board of Trade. Ten years ago there were fifteen bucket shops doing business in this way, but for the lack of patronage, they have dwindled to three. The law is exact and plain in forbidding their existence, but thus far, the courts have failed to dispose of the cases brought before them. The police are making a strenuous effort to close them up, and the next legislature promises to pass even more stringent legislation in regard to them. The volume of business done by them is small, their customers being for the most part, young men and listless individuals who have no regular employment, but who lounge around the bucket shops, spending now and then a dollar, and passing their time in watching the blackboards.

Lo! next to my prophetic eye there starts A beauteous gamestress in the queen of hearts. The cards are dealt, the fatal pool is lost, And all her golden hopes forever crossed. Yet still this card—devoted fair I view— Whate’er her luck, to “_honor_” ever true. So tender there—if debts crowd fast upon her She’ll pawn her “virtue” to preserve her “_honor_.” Thrice happy were my art, could I foretell Cards would be abjured by every belle! Yet, I pronounce who cherish still the vice, And the pale vigils keep of cards and dice— ’Twill on their charms sad havoc make, ye fair! Which “rouge” in vain shall labor to repair. Beauties will grow mere hags, toasts wither’d jades, Frightful and ugly as the—_Queen of Spades_. _Oxonian in Town, 1767._

GAMBLING IN CLEVELAND.

With a population estimated at 250,000, Cleveland supports a dozen public gambling houses, half a dozen private poker clubs and two policy shops. In deference to unfavorable public sentiment, which forms the basis of restrictive measures enforced by the police, all forms of gambling are of necessity conducted in an exceedingly quiet manner. As a rule, all public gaming is conducted behind locked doors and applicants for admission are subjected to close scrutiny. For thirty years but one line of policy has been pursued by the municipal authorities toward gambling houses, and in all that time public opinion has been uniformly hostile to the business. The policy of the authorities has been to restrict, rather than to abolish, gambling. They have endeavored to place the games, as far as possible, beyond the reach of uninitiated and guileless citizens who would probably prove easy victims, and to limit their patronage to those whose experience has made them more familiar with the wiles of the professional gamester.

There is not a gambling house in Cleveland conducted on the ground floor, nor is there one run with open doors. With a solitary exception, the gambling rooms, of which there are about a dozen, are located in the second story of the business blocks. The exception referred to is a Chinese “joint,” operated in connection with a Mongolian laundry in a basement.

In 1866, there were but a half dozen gambling establishments in the city, and nearly all the six opened have commenced operations within the past eight years. There have, however, been several gambling rooms opened and conducted for only a short time, whose doors were closed because of the slender resources of the “bank,” which could not sustain the loss of a few thousand dollars. Within the past few years the police have emphatically insisted that the gambling rooms be kept hidden from public gaze. The object undoubtedly has been, as before intimated, so to arrange matters that only those who were obstinately bent on play, could find a place in which to stake their earnings on the turn of a card.

It has also been a feature of police policy to make a formal raid every year. In the Police Court it has been the custom to assess nominal fines of fifty dollars and costs on the keepers of gambling houses and ten dollars and costs on the visitors. Both classes have always assented to the arrangement, and, after pleading guilty, paid their fines without protest. A great many disinterested citizens insist that such proceedings, besides being inherently farcical, partake very much of the nature of an indirect licensing of the business.

A State statute provides that, when ordered by a court of competent jurisdiction, the mayor and chief of police shall destroy the gambling implements captured in a raid. It has become the settled custom, however, for the court not to order the destruction of the paraphernalia, which is accordingly returned to the owners. In consequence there is a great public outcry against the business and the police order all proprietors to close their rooms. They comply for a few weeks, and then gaming is resumed, though at first on a small scale. They gradually grow bolder, until they very nearly reach the point where they conduct business with open doors. There is then another outcry, they are ordered to close and the whole process is repeated.

In all the gambling houses there is a sentinel, and unless the appearance of the applicant for admission is satisfactory he is not permitted to enter.

Probably another reason for the caution on the part of the gamblers is to be found in the stringent legislation against the vice. The law, of course, does not recognize the business as legitimate, and it is an easy matter for a loser to secure judgment for money lost, either before a petty magistrate or in a higher court. As a rule the gamblers settle before the cases are called for trial, and they have at times submitted to blackmail rather than appear in court.

Concerning the individual characteristics of Cleveland gamblers there is little to be said, few of them enjoying more than a local reputation.

Among the most prominent proprietors of gambling houses, George Randall is, perhaps, the best known, and is the nearest approach to the ideal professional gamester. He has just passed the meridian of life, and has an unusually pleasant countenance. His drooping mustache is barely tinged with gray. He is intelligent, good-natured, and of a quiet disposition. He is thoroughly “game,” and no man can lose with more nonchalance or win with an easier grace. He owns a gambling establishment in Saratoga, but has an interest in two “hells” in Cleveland. His fortune is estimated at $30,000.

As regards the extent of gambling in Cleveland, it may be said that four-fifths of the playing is done in eight establishments, in all of which the principal games are “faro,” “roulette” and “poker.” In each of those places the paraphernalia—that is, the gambling implements and furnishings—cost about $2,500. The total amount invested in the outfit of the gambling rooms is about $25,000. There are in nearly all cases two partners, three dealers, and a porter, who also acts as sentinel. The dealers receive from $20 to $30 per week; the rents range from $60 to $80 per month, and the gas bills average about $6 per week. Under the head of expenses should be included the fines assessed at the time of the annual raids, all of which are paid by the proprietors. The average expenses of the twelve gambling houses in the city may fairly be summarized as follows:

Salaries of dealers $3,000 Rents 840 Gas 300 Porter 520 Police-court fines 100 Incidental expenses, including refreshments 500 ——— Total $5,260

The amount of capital backing the establishments is about $80,000, of which faro has some $30,000, and roulette and poker the balance. There are about fifty employes. The profits during the past year have been, in the estimation of the best judges in the city, about $35,000. It has, however, been an unfortunate year for the fraternity, for, in addition to the losses already mentioned, one firm lost $6,000 in a month.

There are three semi-public poker clubs, of which the expenses are paid by the “rake off.” Besides these there are several private poker clubs, the members of which contribute all the money needed to maintain the rooms. A great deal of poker playing is also carried on in private rooms at various points throughout the city.

The Chinese laundrymen love to indulge in “fan-tan” and poker, and are inveterate gamesters. Many of them wear jasper rings on their left wrists “for luck.” They are in the habit of assembling in small parties in several localities, the main establishment being located at the corner of Seneca and Chaplain streets. The last mentioned place is also the headquarters of one of their secret societies. A police raid upon it, not many months ago, resulted in the capture of some twenty Celestials.

Policy playing is limited to two establishments. Each is conducted by the proprietor and one assistant, and they do a prosperous business. Their patrons are poor people, who are necessarily ignorant or they would not strive to overcome the heavy odds against their chance of winning. The patrons of the game invest about $1,500 per week in their effort to name the winning combination.

About $5,000 per month is invested in the Louisiana State Lottery. The local agent is the proprietor of a cigar store who maintains little secrecy, and even women and children figure among the patrons. The greater number of tickets are ordered by express or mail directly from New Orleans.

Gambling in stocks and grain is conducted through a few brokers who act as agents of the parties in New York and Chicago. They do a fair business, but it is not nearly so large as it was during the speculative craze a few years ago. They are understood to receive a commission of five per cent. Gamblers in Cleveland have never taken an active part in politics, their interest having been chiefly limited to wagers on the result of elections.

Police officials all unite in saying that little or no crime has been traced to gambling. One bank cashier embezzled nearly $1,000,000, and another about $80,000 to invest in stocks and wheat, but only one or two trifling defalcations have been traced to ordinary gambling. Recently a young man $200 short in his accounts disappeared, and he probably lost the money at roulette. A trusted employe ruined a prominent book firm, misusing perhaps $20,000; but business mismanagement and possibly other weaknesses combined with his fondness for poker to bring about his downfall.

There have undoubtedly been cases of embezzlement due to cards, however, that never became public. The laws against gambling have also made the proprietors cautious, and they are careful in permitting visitors to stake large sums. The gamblers, aside from a lot of “hangers on,” known as “shoestring” or “tin horn” gamblers, do not figure in the criminal records. Most of the latter exist on the earnings of prostitutes, and steal and gamble as a matter of course.

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GAMBLING IN MOBILE.

Before the war, the slave owner with wealth at his command, with his plantations overseered by trustworthy men, with his crops cultivated by his slaves, gradually became more and more indifferent to mercantile pursuits, and indeed, to any vocation involving actual work, of either mind or body, his main anxiety being to solve the question, how should he spend his money and live. Especially was this true before the advent of the railroad, when Mobile was the principal city in the State, the most easy of access on account of its rivers, and the focus of at least two-thirds of the entire wealth of Alabama. Gaming at that time in Mobile was almost universal, the sporting element being by far more gentlemanly, better educated, and in every respect more polished than are the men of that ilk to-day. Among the patrons of the race-course were such men as Wm. R. Johnson, Col. Sprague, “Wagner” Campbell; while the gamblers numbered in their ranks, Capt. Geo. Grant and Jack Delahaunty. As long as money poured into Mobile, that city was specially noted among the gambling fraternity for the high stakes wagered on horse-racing, and the amount risked on the turn of a card. Even when “the late unpleasantness” came on, substantially the same state of affairs existed, and what diminution there was in gaming among the residents, was more than counterbalanced by the prevalence of gambling among the soldiers of both armies during the war.

At this time a well known figure on the streets of Mobile, was Capt. Wm. H. Williamson. He was a Virginian by birth, of wealthy parents and educated as a gentleman. Early in life he settled in Alabama. He was exceedingly fond of horses, and generally devoted to sporting and was a frequenter of the races in Mobile, even up to a date within the last few years. He was one of the California “Forty-niners” and one of the witnesses of the famous Broderick-Terry duel, the story of which has recently been revived by the shooting of Judge Terry. Capt. Williamson was elected Chief of Police for two terms, holding that office during six years. It is fairness of play and unfailing courtesy rendered him popular, and he was one of the best types of the gamblers who, before the war, made Mobile their headquarters.

During the ante-bellum days “brace” games were either exceptional or not desirable. In fact they may be said to have been comparatively unknown in Mobile until after the occupancy of the city by the federal forces, when an army, estimated at 60,000, occupied the city and its immediate vicinity. With the advent of the camp followers, came sharp practices, and gambling revived in its most pernicious form.

From 1865 to 1872 this state of affairs continued. In the year 1873, Mobile having, like every other city in the Union, undergone the ordeal of a financial panic, which at that time swept over the country at large, was not a particularly favorable spot for the operations of gamblers. The laws of the State enacted about that time, moreover, were decidedly hostile to gambling. However, keno rooms and lotteries began to flourish, at the expense of poker, faro and roulette. Each successive legislature passed more stringent laws against gaming than had its predecessor, and public gambling almost ceased to exist. Simultaneously, however, with the advent of each new administration, some of the sporting fraternity, more venturesome than others, attempted to run keno, faro and poker rooms. Yet the popular demand for the enforcement of the laws was so loud, and the sentences of the court so severe, that at present gambling in Mobile is conducted with the utmost secrecy, and every precaution is taken to avoid police interference.

During the decade between 1870 and 1880 lotteries flourished. A test case was made up against A. J. Moses, and its determination temporarily put a stop to them all. At present lottery tickets are exposed for sale with great caution, the grand jury presenting a true bill against the venders, so far as the latter can be ascertained, two or three times a year, notwithstanding the fact that they usually turn their wheels in some place outside the city limits.

It was during the period between 1875 and 1880 that “Bud” Reneau, who has since figured so prominently in sporting circles, particularly as one of the managers of the Sullivan-Kilrain fight, began to attract attention as a member of local sporting clubs. His handsome figure and courtly manners always made him a favorite wherever he went. He has retained for his native place an affection which years of absence have not lessened, and his purse has always been open to the needy of his own city.

The sporting element has repeatedly essayed to influence elections in Mobile, but it cannot be said that their efforts have been rewarded with success, the policy of each municipal administration having been uniformly against gambling.

Among the negroes, “craps” is greatly in vogue, and there are but few terms of the courts in which indictments for “crap shooting” are not more numerous than for almost any other violation of the gambling laws. This description of gaming is almost exclusively confined to the colored population, and the prosecution of the offense is perhaps not retarded by the fact that the solicitor receives $150 for each conviction, as against $37.50 for other classes of misdemeanors.

The court enjoys the discretion in the case of conviction under the gambling laws, of either inflicting a fine, or sentencing the offender to the coal mines or both. As a rule, the sentence in the case of managers of lotteries has been a fine of $100 and solicitors fees $150 and costs of court which has resulted in the collection for the city of nearly ten thousand dollars per year from this source. At present, between the laws against gambling and the perseverance of the solicitor in keeping an eye on all the resorts of the gamblers it may be said that gambling is at the lowest possible ebb in Mobile. The enforcement of the laws by the grand juries has made things so unpleasant for the blacklegs that gradually they have been compelled to leave the city, either to avoid trials by the courts or to seek more profitable fields.

Early in 1877 the “Pool Room” or “Turf Exchange” made its appearance in Mobile. Undoubtedly this has proved the most pernicious of all forms of gambling. It grew rapidly in favor and lured many young men to destruction and dishonor. The evil was so great that a few citizens appealed to the Legislature in the spring of 1889 for the passage of a bill prohibiting pool selling which, up to that time, had not been covered by the State laws against gambling. The new bill had the novel feature in it that it compelled the municipal authorities of the various cities of the State to execute this law, and gave them jurisdiction, for that purpose, for five miles outside the corporate limits. The law was so carefully framed that the “Turf Exchange” men surrendered without a fight, and quit the State in a body.

GAMBLING IN CHARLESTON.

McMaster, in his “History of the People of the United States” quoting from the historian Ramsay, and several European travelers, says: “Betting and gambling were, with drunkenness and a passion for dueling and running in debt, the chief sins of the Carolina Gentleman.” This was about 1791. Charleston was then and for many years afterwards as much South Carolina as Paris is France. “Already the city was a great commercial centre. At its wharves might have been seen, almost any day, scores of vessels laden with every article of luxury or use Great Britain could supply. In the hands of her subjects was all the trade and all the commerce of the State. To own a ship, to keep a shop, to do any of those things done by merchants and traders, was in the opinion of a Carolina planter, degrading. The master spent his time in the enjoyment of such festivities as Charleston could afford. There he lived in a fine house, gave fine dinners, went to the theatre to see Mrs. Rawson, or to the circus to see Mr. Ricketts; subscribed to the assembly, joined the Hell-fire club or the Ugly club, or the Mount Zion Society, and rode his favorite horse at the races.”

Irving’s history of the turf in South Carolina, shows that the Jockey Club in Charleston was probably the oldest in the Union, and while at its annual meetings betting was not as common or as heavy as elsewhere, and the prizes were more frequently plate than money, yet the early popularity of horse racing indicates of necessity a passion for betting as well as for its alleged object, the improvement of the breeds of horses.

The early narratives give two notes of interest to the student of gambling, one before, and the other after, the Revolution, neither of which is cited by McMaster.

Johnson in his “Traditions of the Revolution” tells of the visit of Lord Anson, the well known British naval commander, to Charleston, about the year 1733. He was hospitably received by the citizens, among them, Thomas Gadsen, the King’s collector for the province. Lord Anson’s passion for gaming was such that he had been censured for even winning money from his humble midshipmen. Mr. Gadsen (who had formerly been a Lieutenant in the British Navy) played with his lordship, lost a large sum of money, and paid the debt of honor by giving him titles for all those lands which to this day (1840) bear the designation of Ansonborough. It was that portion of Charleston between Boundary and Laurens Street, extending eastwardly from Anson street to the channel of Cooper River. These valuable lands which now constitute a large section of the city were afterwards purchased from Lord Anson by General Christopher Gadsen, the distinguished soldier and statesman of the Revolution, and a son of the King’s collector, Thomas Gadsen, the unlucky gamester.

DRAWN NUMBERS of the South Carolina Lottery, class No. 15, for 1844.

30 43 55 56 52 73 66 64 5 31 22 36.

RECEIVED AT J. G. GREGORY & CO., Managers,

Ap 12 26 Broad street.

=DRAWING DUE THIS DAY AT 3 p. m.= GREEN and PULASKI MONUMENT LOTTERY, Class No. 12.

=20,000 DOLLS.=

=30 of 500 DOLLS.=

Fifteen Drawn Ballots. Tickets $5—shares in proportion. FOR SALE BY J. G. GREGORY & CO., Managers, Ap 12 26 Broad street.

=DRAWING DUE MONDAY.= VIRGINIA MONONGALIA LOTTERY, Class No. 15. for 1844.

=7,000 DOLLS.=

=2,034 DOLLS.=

12 Drawn Numbers in each package of 22 Tickets. Tickets $2.50—Shares in proportion. FOR SALE BY J. G. GREGORY & CO., Managers, Ap 10 26 Broad street.

=DRAWING DUE TUESDAY.= ALEXANDRIA LOTTERY, Class No. 14, for 1844.

=30,000 DOLLS.=

=10,000 DOLLS.=

=25 of $1,000.= Tickets $10—shares in proportion. J. G. GREGORY & CO., Managers, Ap 11 26 Broad street.

=DRAWING DUE WEDNESDAY.= VIRGINIA (Leesburg) LOTTERY. Class No. 16, for 1844.

=12,000 DOLLS.=

=10 of $1,000.=

78 Numbers—14 Drawn Ballots. Tickets $5—shares in proportion. J. G. GREGORY & CO., Managers, Ap 12 26 Broad street.

DRAWN NUMBERS of Pokomoke River Lottery, Class No. 46.

51 69 71 4 10 72 34 18 82 27 53 31. Georgia Literature Lottery, Class No. 4. 75 74 37 65 44 38 17 19 59 31 64 25 11.

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=DRAWING EXPECTED TO-MORROW.= POKOMOKE RIVER LOTTERY. Class No. 48. =7,000 DOLLS.= 66 Number Lottery—12 Drawn Ballots. Tickets $2.50; Halves $1.25; Quarters 62½c.

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=DRAWING EXPECTED MONDAY= POKOMOKE RIVER LOTTERY, Class No 50. =10,000 DOLLS.= Tickets $4; Halves $2: Quarters $1.

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GEORGIA LITERATURE LOTTERY, Class 6. =7,000 DOLLS.= Tickets $2; Halves $1; Quarters 50c. D. PAINE & CO., Managers, 42 Broad st., Successors to James Phalen & Co.

->J. Phalen & Co. guarantee the payment of all prizes sold under the management of their successors, D. Paine & Co. 2 Ap 12

The other reference to the gambling habits of the time is that of the Duke de La Rochefaucault Liancourt, who visited Charleston about 1798. He says: “The French planters and commanders of the privateers differ widely in their political opinions, but the love of gaming reconciles them all, and in the French gaming houses, which are very numerous in Charleston, aristocracy and sans culottes mix in friendly intercourse and indiscriminately surround the tables. It is asserted that they play very high.” From which it appears that the gambling table was then, as now, a great leveler.

Newspaper advertisements and a few traditions are all that exist to show the history of the gaming table from the times of La Rochefaucault to the present day. Rich planters still kept up and encouraged horse racing at the courses in Charleston and throughout the state, as the records of the Jockey club show, though, as intimated before, the improvement of horse-flesh rather than betting was the main object. Faro banks undoubtedly existed in Charleston, but they were not so numerous nor as well patronized as they are to-day. Undoubtedly there was considerable private gambling, chiefly poker, and there are stories of large and valuable plantations changing hands over a card table in a single night.

The most widespread and approved gambling was the lottery. We read that in the year 1800 Denmark Vesey, the notorious mulatto who planned, organized, and almost brought to a successful condition, the great negro insurrection of 1822, bought his freedom with $600 of a $1,500 prize won in the “East Bay (local) Lottery,” and the newspapers of Charleston about 1814 show three lottery advertisements, one to build a college in Beaufort, another to build a Presbyterian and another to build an Episcopal church in Charleston.

In 1844 the lottery craze was at its height, and as much as thirty thousand dollars was occasionally drawn at the weekly drawings of the South Carolina Lottery which were held at the City Hall. The City and State levied no license and it appears that the community favored the enterprise. J. S. Gregory & Co. of Baltimore, the great lottery managers, employed agents in this city, and their agents, Messrs. Gatewood & Cochran, were highly esteemed citizens, whose reputation and social standing were not in the least affected by their occupations.

The foregoing clipping from the Charleston Courier of April 13, 1844, will give some idea of the “schemes” and of the extent of the business.

The most notorious case of ante-bellum losing, at a sitting, took place at the old Charleston Club House. The parties were Motte A. Pringle of an old aristocratic family, and Mr. Bunch the British Consul at Charleston. Mr. Bunch, who was a good deal of a sharper, professed to know nothing of the game of “grab,” and Pringle offered to teach him the game. When they arose from the table Pringle owed Bunch $10,000. Pringle told his father (who was a prominent business man in the city) the next morning, and the old gentleman recognizing it as a debt of honor, gave him the money, and it was promptly paid over to Bunch the next day. At the Charleston Club, frequented by professional men and cotton merchants, there are two sets of poker players, with limits of $50 and $200 respectively. The proportion of poker playing members is not large and I have never heard of but one man squandering all his means (almost $30,000) there. This was a present member of the Charleston bar, and it took him almost ten years to do it. The other club is the Queen City Club, which is more of a poker club than anything else and where men occasionally lose and win as much as $2,000 in a night. No professional is allowed there, but it is the favorite resort of the non-professional poker player of the city.

The Otranto Club (chiefly lawyers) owns a beautiful villa about sixteen miles from the city, where they have six or eight meetings a year, and I understand play a pretty stiff game of poker. Hunting and good eating are, however, the main delight at Otranto.

DEALING IN FUTURES.

There are in Charleston a Merchants’ Exchange, consisting mainly of wholesale grocers and produce brokers; a Cotton Exchange; a Phosphate Miners’ Exchange and a Chamber of Commerce.

At the opening of the Cotton Exchange, about twelve years ago, one hundred bales of cotton futures were sold from the floor. This is the only transaction of the kind that has ever taken place in this city. About ninety per cent. of the cotton shippers of Charleston sell futures in New York against their shipments to the United Kingdom and the continent. There are two gentlemen, Lee Howard and E. H. Priolean, who, as agents for New York firms, sell futures in cotton, but their business has decreased very much in late years, and amounts to very little.

There never have been any futures sold at the Merchants’ Exchange, though some of its members occasionally speculate a little in grain and pork futures in the Chicago market. The Phosphate Exchange is little more than a pool among phosphate rock miners, and does no “future” selling or buying.

The Chamber of Commerce, the oldest commercial body in the South, does no business whatever in “futures.”

The Legislature of South Carolina in 1883 passed an act “to declare unlawful contracts for the sale of articles for future delivery made under certain circumstances and to provide the remedy in such cases.” No case has ever come to the State Supreme Court under this act, and it is considered merely as declarative of the common law.

LOTTERY, OR POLICY SHOPS.

There are at present five “policy” offices, with agents or “vendors” scattered throughout the city, the large majority of the vendors being negroes.

The business was first started here about 1871, when Horbach, a gambler and bar-keeper, Willoughby, a corrupt politician, and others obtained a charter, under the title of “The Charleston Charitable Association,” and did a large and lucrative “policy” business until March, 1875, when the act was repealed.

The present five “companies” are modeled after the Charleston Charitable Association, though they do business on a far less scale, as they are prohibited by law. The drawings are conducted squarely, the chances in favor of the gambler being tremendous, and one of the managers is authority for the statement that the net profits amount to 33 per cent. of the gross receipts. The system is probably the same as elsewhere. Seventy-eight numbers are put into a wheel, and twelve are withdrawn by a little negro, blindfolded. Drawings take place at two and six o’clock every day, except Sunday, and are held at the main offices, three of which are in Market Street. Some few negroes are allowed in the room during the drawing, which is always conducted behind a screen, or door ajar, for the noise of a crowd would necessarily attract the attention of the police, who wink at the proceedings. The policy shops, like faro banks, are seldom pulled; the only instance in the last three years being the raiding of Syke Thorne’s den on Market Street, two months ago; and this would not have happened had not Thorne run a dance hall, bar- room and “chuck-a-luck” in connection with his policy shop. Negroes compose fully 70 per cent. of the patrons of the policy shops. Their general play is for five or ten cents, and their winnings never exceed $50 on a single ticket, though the limit of all the policy companies is $500. A few white printers, clerks and occasionally a gentleman with a passion for gambling will invest two or three dollars in a single drawing, and buy to the limit. The companies have never had any very great losses since the closing up of the Charleston Charitable Association, which was sometimes ‘struck’ for large amounts. The combinations played are as follows:

COMBINATION TABLE.

SADDLES. GIGS. HORSES.

2 Numbers make 1 0 0

3 ” ” 3 1 0

4 ” ” 6 4 1

5 ” ” 10 10 5

6 ” ” 15 20 15

7 ” ” 21 35 35

8 ” ” 28 56 70

9 ” ” 36 84 126

10 ” ” 45 120 210

11 ” ” 55 165 330

12 ” ” 66 220 495

13 ” ” 78 286 715

14 ” ” 91 364 1001

15 ” ” 105 455 1305

16 ” ” 120 560 1820

17 ” ” 136 680 2380

18 ” ” 153 816 3060

19 ” ” 171 969 3876

20 ” ” 190 1140 4845

21 ” ” 210 1330 5985

22 ” ” 231 1540 7315

23 ” ” 253 1771 8855

24 ” ” 276 2024 10620

25 ” ” 300 2300 12650

[The above is page 64 of a little green pamphlet, “The Wheel of Fortune and Egyptian Dreamer, with numbers for any dream, also tables of lucky numbers.” 12 mo., pp. 73, published by Joseph Noehler, 120 Chatham Street, N. Y. It is very popular and has an extensive sale among the negroes.]

The following are two policy tickets bought a few day ago. The size and form of the other policy tickets in this city are very nearly similar, and these will give an idea of what they are all like. They cost ten cents each and were bought of a vendor who has a desk in a large old paper and rag store in the rear of, and about 30 feet from the door of the U. S. Post-office in Charleston.

The “policy shops” and their proprietors are as follows:

“Pool,” proprietors Jas. F. Walsh and —— Conner.

“The Only Genuine,” proprietors W. K. Brown and Thomas Finley.

“Little Havana,” proprietor J. C. Jaudon.

“Palmetto,” proprietor Syke Thorne.

James F. Walsh is a wholesale liquor dealer. He has never kept a gambling house; is rated by Dunn or Bradstreet at $40,000 to $75,000; credit high; takes an active but silent part in politics; occasionally goes to a political convention, but has never run for office; is on the official bonds of the Probate Judge, Recorder of Mesne Conveyance, County Treasurer and (probably) Coroner of Charleston County. Though apparently of mild manner and address, he has killed two men; one a mulatto, for which murder he was tried and convicted, but soon bought a pardon from Moses, the robber Governor of South Carolina; the other was the killing of a brother Irishman, for which he was tried and acquitted with a verdict of self defense, which verdict created great talk in the city, it being in the opinion of the general public a clear case of manslaughter.

J. C. Jaudon is a bar-keeper near the S. C. Railway depot, worth with his brothers about $5,000; not rated in the commercial agencies—has only started “policy” this year. Syke Thorne is the most notorious mulatto gambler in the State. He has a bar-room, dancing hall patronized by abandoned women, “policy shops,” and several “chuck-a-luck” and small “faro” tables on Market Street, between King and Archdale Streets. He was “pulled” by the police recently, but though “lying low,” is again in the business. He is probably worth $5,000. In person he is good looking, dresses well, and is quiet mannered. He has never taken any prominent part in politics.

FARO BANKS.

The faro banks and bankers of the city are as follows:

Finley and Brown, 78 Meeting Street; faro, roulette and poker; dealers Dowling and Neisz. Elegantly furnished.

Charles F. Levy; faro, roulette, mustang and poker; dealers Conners and Levy. Although the finest rooms in town, they are temporarily closed for want of funds. Powers (M. W.) a well-known young Irish contractor and builder, holds the bank bill roll.

John Munro and Israel; roulette and faro; Munro and Israel, dealers. Neat but not gaudy appointments.

W. J. O’Dell and a partner; two faro tables, roulette and poker. Handsomely furnished.

A. M. Flynn, assisted by a woman who joins in the poker game, and occasionally deals faro.

Syke Thorne, with several negro assistants. Very small game at very mean tables.

As to whether the games are “skin” or “square” it may be said that any one of the Charleston dealers will put up a game on a drunken man with a large bank roll; but there are probably two of those dealers who will try to “skin” any and everybody.

Finley and Brown is probably the strongest backed house in the city, and it is not improbable that F. & B. back O’Dell, as he is not known to have much money of his own, and he deals at Brown’s old stand and in his building. Levy and Connor got temporarily to the end of their financial rope some months ago and have not resumed business yet. Munro and Israel do not play a very heavy game and would probably shut down after a loss of $400. They have no backers unless since very recently. Thomas Finley, the king of the gamblers, was a tinner by trade and took to the green cloth and occasional horse racing about 1858. He owns considerable real estate and is generally supposed to be worth between $30,000 and $50,000. He is the ideal gambler as far as liberality goes, and is exceedingly popular. He is generous and open-hearted and for ten years furnished all the coal for the use of the Seamdies Church; is not particularly smart except at his business; and has never been known to have had anything to do with politics, except to contribute to the campaign fund. He very rarely, if ever, deals faro, but plays considerable poker for small stakes. He is said to have won $15,000 betting on a recent Congressional election.

W. K. Brown is a butcher by trade and still continues at the business. He dealt faro for many years while running his stall in the market, but is seldom seen now in a gambling room and is very close and shrewd. His partner in the meat business is a very prominent Republican politician and is now U. S. Marshal for South Carolina. Brown has never run for office and is probably too close to spend money for his friends’ political aspirations. He is married and has several very handsome children. Is supposed to be worth $50,000, which he inherited from relatives in England two years ago.

John Munro is the oldest gambler in the city and is about as honest as a gambler can be; is now poor, having been ruined by a reckless partner in Savannah some years ago. Has had several fortunes and spent almost as many years and dollars in ’Frisco as he has in Charleston.

The other dealers whose names are mentioned are all young men and Charlestonians, except Neisz, who is an Alsatian Jew. They have not made much money or reputation as yet. The most notorious of them is Charles F. Levy, the _enfant perdu_ of a very respectable Jewish family. He shot a man in a bar-room brawl some years ago, and Levy’s neck was in considerable danger, but the man eventually recovered. Levy has squandered about $15,000, left him by his grandfather, in about three years. He is utterly without principle and is one of the best rifle shots in Charleston.

In conclusion, it may be said that gambling has been on the decrease for the last thirteen years in Charleston, except, possibly, in the small matter of “policy” buying among the negroes. Plenty of money was in the hands of the very class of men who would spend it over the faro and poker table during the years of misrule—1868 to 1876. One of the judges of the State at that time is reported to have been an ex-faro bank dealer and was certainly a great devotee of the game.

The only great business defalcation publicly known to have been caused by the passion for gaming was that of Bentham R. Caldwell, of a highly respectable family of the city, who in the year 1879 misappropriated $75,000, and expended it over the faro tables of Finley and Brown. Suit was brought and the case was carried to the Supreme Court _qui-tam_ action brought by the plaintiff as a common informer to recover the penalty under sections 6 and 7 of the 79th chapter of the Revised Statutes of South Carolina, but the gamblers ruled the roast, as may be seen by referring to the case of Augustus S. Trumbo vs. Finley and Brown, as reported in the 18th (or possibly 20th) S. C. Law Reports (Strand’s), which probably can be found in any large law library.

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GAMBLING IN AUSTIN, TEXAS.

Gambling is alarmingly prevalent in the capital of Texas. From the foundation of the city (in 1843) until 1870, Austin was a frontier town, where all the vices incident to places of that sort abounded and flourished, gaming being one of the chief. Since the year last named, while gambling may be said to have increased rather than diminished, it has not been so flagrantly open as in the earlier days of the city’s history. The introduction of “modern improvements” would seem to have stimulated rather than repressed the growth of the vice. The electric lights, which have replaced the “dip” candle of more primitive times, have served to render the “hells” more attractive to the young men who are to shape the destiny of Austin in the future. One of the most deplorable features of the existing situation in that city is the constant growth of the damning practice among the youth. The sons of the most influential and respected families are habitual frequenters of the gaming saloons and are rapidly becoming devotees of the soul-destroying habit.

The resorts are numerous enough and of sufficiently varied character to meet the requirements of all players of whatever class. The respectable (?) houses are three, of which two are devoted to “banking” and “short” games, and one to keno. These establishments are located in the center of the business portion of the city and on one of the principal thoroughfares. They are fully equal, in point of equipment and furnishing, to those which may be found in any Southern city of the same size. Besides these there are four or five “dives” in the lower and more degraded part of town, where “brace,” as distinguished from so-called “square” games, are at the very zenith of that fleeting success which accrues to the “skin” gambler when unmolested by the authorities. In addition to these public resorts, there are several semi-private poker games, nightly running, which are patronized almost exclusively by the upper classes.

With the exception of the keno game, all these houses are open day and night, from the first day of January until midnight on the thirty-first of December in each year. The keno house opens its doors two or three evenings each week, as the demands of its patrons and the prospects of business seem to justify. Saturday night, however, constitutes the great gala festival of this resort. Then it is that the room is crowded almost to suffocation with a motley throng of clerks, mechanics and day- laborers. It is on Saturday night, also, that the “dives” garner their richest harvest. In these dens of iniquity there gather on Saturday night, at certain seasons, the negroes from the cotton fields, whose earnings for an entire season, accumulated at a cost of toil, privation and suffering, which might well appal stouter hearts than theirs, are swept into the coffers of men in comparison with whom the tiger is merciful. These unreflecting children of nature never perceive that they have been victimized. To the last they believe that they have been given an equal chance of winning, and should the shark who had won their last cent offer them five dollars as a gratuity, they would be first and loudest in singing his praises.

In almost all the houses—whatever their class—faro is the game most in favor. In those which revel in the reputation of being “square,” the “chances” (_sic_) of success sometimes fluctuate, but the preponderance, in the long run, is always in favor of the bank. The “square” element in each instance is a variable quantity. In other words, if a player is reasonably conversant with “fake-boxes,” “strippers,” and all the other subterfuges which are to the professional dealer as his A, B, C, he may hope to be accorded something like an even chance. If, on the other hand, he is susceptible, verdant and gullible, his chances are correspondingly reduced.

A game somewhat similar to faro, known as “Mexican monte,” also flourishes in Austin. Perhaps its popularity is due to the propinquity of the city to the Mexican frontier. Forty-four cards are employed, the nine and ten spots being discarded. “Chips” are “barred,” and the players stake cash or its negotiable equivalent. The bank, too, is exposed, and is placed in the center of the table, and contains from $250 to $500 in silver, arranged in stacks of $20 each. The game is very fascinating, counting its devotees by scores, and a great deal of money is bet on it. The dealer deals from his hand as in poker, and it is supposed to be exceedingly difficult for him to “put up” a game, a belief that adds not a little to its popularity. There are from four to six “monte” games run in the fashionable Austin resorts.

As has been said, the private poker games are patronized almost exclusively by the _elite._ In the public houses all classes may be found around the table—Americans, of high and low degree, Mexicans, and even Chinese. In fact, poker in Austin may be said to be a “fad,” a “craze.” Even ladies of the highest social standing may be found to whom the terms “ante,” “jack pot” and “bob-tail flush” are as familiar as household words. It is hard to overestimate the deplorable influence which this condition of public morals is exercising upon the young. From playing poker in the parlor to gambling in a “hell” is but a step, and a short one at that; and more than one family in the Texan capital to-day laments the downfall of one of its members through the love of gambling acquired by indulgence in “five-cent ante” under the refined surroundings of the higher circles of social life.

The proprietors of the gambling houses, as well as the dealers therein, are a power at the polls and particularly at municipal elections. In some of the wards they absolutely dictate who shall be councilmen. At every election they use money freely. Sometimes they become candidates themselves, as, for instance, three years ago when one of the proprietors of one of the largest gambling rooms and himself a faro dealer sat among the ten elected law-makers of the city. No policeman or other peace officer dares to enter these haunts without the permission of the proprietors; and even crimes of violence—short of murder—are not regarded as sufficient justification for a raid.

To say that gambling is the city’s curse is to state the situation mildly. Innumerable instances of blighted lives might be mentioned, the fundamental cause for which is to be found in the abandonment of the victims to this vice, pernicious as it is insidious. Within the comparatively short space of four years, five embezzlements by trusted employes have surprised the community. All the culprits were men of previously unblemished reputations. Five young men of the best families, two of them married, have been convicted of forgery and theft during the past two years, and are now serving their time in the penitentiary, all because of the gambling hells in the city. Three of these men held responsible positions. One was clerk of the United States District Court; one was in the postal money order department; another in the money department of the Pacific Express Company; another in the distributing department of the post-office. Young men visiting the city from neighboring towns and from the country are inveigled into the hells by “steerers” and lose large sums. Not long since a young man, a tax collector of an adjoining county, came to the capital to pay taxes due to the State. He was induced to visit one of the first class houses. He was drugged, and in a brace game lost not only his own money, but also that of the State. He returned home and blew out his brains.

It is among the working classes that the gambling mania is working irreparable injury and wrong to innocent women and children. Scores of laboring men, many of them of the better class, waste their earnings on Saturday nights in the keno rooms. Wages are gambled away and women and children go in rags and suffer for the want of food while the gamblers adorn their well-fed, well-dressed persons with diamonds.

There is a law against gambling in Texas, the penalty being a fine of $10 to $100. Three or four times a year the gamblers go into court, plead guilty and pay $10 and costs, amounting to about $37.50, and then continue their games. Two years ago the law was amended by adding imprisonment for from 30 to 60 days for exhibiting or dealing games; but only a few convictions have been had under it, and then the guilty parties were permitted to hire substitutes while the principals returned to their rooms and reopened their games.

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GAMBLING IN HARTFORD, CONN.

In 1849 there was published in Hartford a book entitled, “The History of the Green Family.” It was an expose of the night side (and the worst side) of Hartford life at that time. Its quaint title page describes it as a work “wherein the citizens of Hartford are raked over from Lord’s Hill to Ferry Street.” Incidents, names, dates and localities are mentioned with an attention to detail as surprising as it is pitiless. A vigorous effort was made by the “good people” of the city whose peccadilloes were thus mercilessly exposed to suppress the volume, and at the present time there are only one or two copies in existence. The writer, however, has been permitted to examine one of these, and accorded the privilege of making notes.

Gambling, as a profession, was not at that time carried on to nearly so great an extent as in later years. But the gamester, the blackleg, the men who lived by their wits and fleeced unsophisticated victims were even then known and described. The “Climax,” a locally celebrated gaming house, then flourished on Ferry Street and was kept by “Nels” Hulburt, is mentioned. A bowling alley and a bar were connected with it. All the ordinary games of cards were played, “old sledge” being an especial favorite. “Nels,” or his partner, Weeks, generally took a hand and the “house” did a prosperous business. This resort divided with the Clinton House the patronage of nearly all the players, both professional and occasional, among whom are mentioned Caruthers, a man named Judd, and a confidence operator known as Dan Osburn. “Nels” also had a place on Mulbury Street.

Gambling steadily increased in Hartford, attaining the culmination of its popularity during and just after the war. Names and dates can be obtained only through a long and tedious search through court and police records, but the following general statements are made on the authority of a veteran officer, who for more than a score of years has been connected with the Hartford police. From about 1862 till 1877, gaming ran riot. Houses in which large capital was invested were conducted with scarcely a pretense of secrecy, and the profits of the proprietors were enormous. Almost any one who wanted to “do” the city by night could visit in the course of an evening half a dozen places where roulette was in active operation and twice as many where poker and faro were being played. The famous gambler, Pat Sheedy, was a native of Hartford. A perfect gentleman in manners and dress, yet a most reckless player, he was apparently equally content to win or lose a fortune in an evening. His “management” of John L. Sullivan is fresh in the memory of the public, as is also the story of his large winnings at roulette in a Saratoga resort less than a year ago. He occasionally appears in Hartford, and his goings and comings are duly noted in the local press.

But to return to the history. A single incident will show something of the magnitude of the gaming operations in the sixties and early seventies.

A large fire on Temple Street, almost within a stone’s throw of the Police station, during the winter of 1872, burned out an extensive gambling establishment. The “lay-outs” for faro and roulette were flung out of the window. All the tables, dice boxes, counters, chips, the roulette wheel, etc., were of the most costly description, The police gathered up the debris, and a conservative estimate affixed the value of the property thus sacrificed at $3,000.

From that time the police were more active. Raids became the rule rather than the exception, especially from 1879 to 1886. Two years ago, one of the last important visits by the officers was made, under supervision of Lieutenant Ryan, on a gaming house on Gold Street, kept by a man named McLean, who originally came from Meriden. He was running an extensive faro bank, with a gambling outfit worth about $600.

Not long afterwards a raid was made by the police upon a Chinese opium joint and gambling house on south Main Street, in the Buckingham block. About a dozen of the celestials were arrested, arraigned and convicted of gambling, and two were found guilty of keeping a gaming house. The game in progress at the time was played with dice and was a peculiar one. The player deposited any amount of money with the dealer, who gave him a receipt therefor. The game then went on until the bettor’s money was exhausted, or until he had won a stipulated amount, when he was at liberty to withdraw. Slips of cardboard were substituted for chips. There were found three Fan-Tan tables and six opium layouts in this place.

Poker has always been and still is played in Hartford; but not to nearly so great an extent at present as it was a few years ago. For years a game was running in the _Times_ building. A dark, heavily mustached man who called himself Dr. Longley, kept the room. The police got after him and he was obliged to leave rather hastily. The game is played largely in what are popularly known as “club rooms.” However, even those are not doing a very brisk business just now. One can also easily get into a game in several of the fashionable billiard and bar rooms, such as “Mattie” Hewins’, or Dwight Mitchell’s on Main Street; or Frank Avary’s on State Street. Probably the heaviest poker playing in Hartford, however, is carried on at the Hartford Club House, on Prospect Street. This is where the older, wealthier and more aristocratic men play. The organization is a rather select one, and its roll of members includes some of the richest and best known men in town. It is in no sense a gambling house, yet at the same time there is a great deal of heavy betting across the social card tables.

So far as is known there is no roulette played in Hartford at present. The police have been too watchful for these gentlemen to prosper and they have sought other fields.

“Policy” is played to a large extent in the city, and seemingly with but little fear of the law. The head-quarters for this form of gambling is in a little room, opening off the side walk on Front Street. Anyone passing can see through the open door, the black-board on which are posted the numbers at every drawing. James Waldron, formerly of New York, a short, thick-set man, about 40 years of age, is at the head of the operations in Hartford. Besides the place on Front Street, he has another on Gold Street, and yet a third on Asylum Street. In the Front Street place is kept a large flat book, in which is recorded every drawing for the entire year. This is open to the inspection of all players who are permitted to trace in its pages the history of any number throughout the year—_i. e._ ascertain how many drawings have occurred since it last come first, etc. The numbers are received twice a day by cypher dispatches. Apparently everything is “square,” but the chances are enormously against the player. This is the most popular of all games with the colored population. It would seem as though every member of that race in Hartford played policy. There is also a considerable class of superstitious whites who firmly believe in “lucky” numbers. Once in a while some one “strikes” a lucky number, but no considerable amount is ever made.

Charter Oak Park, just outside the city limits, is the scene of the fall race meetings in the grand circuit. Roulette is played on the grounds on these occasions, without the slightest restraint and in full view of the police. The games do an immense business through “race week,” not less than two wheels and five tables were in full blast at a recent meeting.

There is a stock exchange in the city and some speculative operations are carried on, but not to any great extent. Hartford is too near New York to permit of the business being profitable.

On the whole, it may be said, that as compared with fifteen or even ten years ago, there is very little gambling in the city. Professional gamesters have to “lie low” and keep extremely quiet in Hartford. At the same time, there is, as has been said, considerable poker playing, while probably there are two or three faro banks still in operation. There are no municipal ordinances against gambling, all actions are brought under the State Statutes.

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GAMBLING IN QUEBEC.

Quebec being a city of only some 60,000 souls, the vice of public gambling has never been able to obtain any very firm foothold. A large amount of money changes hands here every year at games of chance, and amongst the most confirmed gamesters are many of the most prominent citizens. Yet so thoroughly does everybody know his neighbor’s business that no attempt has been made of late years to open and maintain a public gambling resort. Much of the playing for stakes in Quebec takes place in private residences, or in rooms secured for the purpose in the principal hotels and restaurants. In the principal club—the Garrison—gambling of every kind is strictly prohibited and nothing but whist is played.

Banking games are not popular, and faro, roulette and hazard are not played at all. Poker is the prevailing game and of late years, and has taken a strong hold upon the French-Canadian population, who evince an unusual aptitude for it. So long as they have in reserve a fair supply of “chips,” French-Canadian poker players excel at the game of “bluff.” They possess in a remarkable degree the effrontry and cool “cheek” necessary to successful poker playing for which they manifest a predilection almost from childhood. Professionals and merchants alike gamble at night at their clubs or at each others residences, and students and clerks, imitating the practices of their employers and elders, assemble for the same purpose in each other’s rooms. A well- known Canadian politician, confided to the writer that at the early age of ten years he had become so infatuated with poker that he used to steal money from his father’s pockets with which to play. The ruin of numerous bank clerks and others formerly occupying respectable positions in the city, may be distinctly traced to this cause.

The principal center of gambling in Quebec is undoubtedly the “Quebec Whist Club,” an institution occupying comfortable quarters over Rogers’ drug store,—the Medical Hall on Fabrique Street. It has been in existence for nearly twenty years past, but has several times removed its location. There is nothing “professional,” however, about this organization. Its name is, of course, simply a cloak for the real object of its existence. It is controlled on a sort of mutual plan by the resident frequenters of the place, and strangers and visitors are only admitted after introduction by a member. The game almost universally played is poker, and the stakes may be either unlimited or for a limit varying from two to five dollars. The game played here is usually “straight,” in the ordinary acceptation of the term, but the older _habitues_ of the place, some of whom have no other visible means of support, are such adepts at the game, and, in the particular species of mind and character reading so essential to a successful player, that unless struck by a particularly hard strain of bad luck, they seldom rise from the table losers at the game should such a misfortune by any chance overtake them. They know only too well, by long experience, that the winners of their money will quickly return to lose it again. There are not wanting those who claim to believe that the more experienced of these frequenters of the “club” never play against each other except as a “blind,” but combine to “raise” strangers out of the game and divide their profits. Many well-to-do business men frequent the club, including newspaper proprietors, importers, wholesale merchants, hotel men, piano dealers and jewelers. Few of these, however, continue to play at the resort for year after year, unless in a very occasional way, for the amount of loss eventually sustained by them would either seriously impair their business standing or compel them to abandon the game until they can again legitimately afford to risk further means in playing it.

The number of men who have been wholly or partially ruined by poker in Quebec is large. An ex-member of parliament, formerly a resident of that city, but at present of Montreal, has lost a fortune at the game, frequently dropping as much as $1,500 a night. The continual harvest reaped by the habitual frequenters of the club above mentioned is maintained by the infusion of new blood through the introduction of new members, who are generally selected from among those who are known to be possessed of some means, and of speculative, if not gaming proclivities. If such are not known to be poker players they are, perhaps, invited to the rooms in the first instance, by a friend, for the nominal purpose of partaking of refreshments, to which may be added the prospect of enjoying a rubber of whist. The excitement, glitter and attraction of the poker tables are counted upon, and generally correctly, to prove a sufficient temptation to green players to risk a few dollars upon a small limit game, “just for amusement.” The downward course of the visitor, like the descent of Avernus, is thenceforward comparatively easy. Half a dozen members of parliament and as many members of the city council have been counted in these apartments at the same time. Quebec does not by any means supply all the victims. A sharp lookout is kept for visitors with money and gambling tendencies, though occasionally the _habitues_ “catch a tartar,” and get “hoist by their own petard,” through occasionally admitting an unknown blackleg. This does not very often happen, however, as may be easily supposed, in view of the long experience of the older members. They are usually careful, moreover, in admitting only men of prominence or of recognized standing in professions, political or commercial circles, or who are personally known to some of the regular members of the club.

Acquaintances of members who may be guests at the hotels are often visited in the evening and invited to the club, and now quite a number of prominent business and professional men and politicians of Montreal and other cities are frequent visitors when in town. Commercial travelers fall an easy prey and have been repeatedly introduced to the rooms by their Quebec customers. From time to time scores of these young men have been ruined here, rendered desperate by their losses, and stranded “high and dry,” after losing all their own available means, and very often a good deal of which was not theirs as well.

One of the worst features of this club is the large amount of drinking that goes on during the games, spirituous liquors being provided in abundance and to be had for the taking.

An immense amount of money has been lost in Quebec on exchange gambling of various kinds. For some few years past, bucket shop gambling has been a popular pastime with people of wealth, and, unfortunately, often many not possessing the necessary means of their own. So far has this business been run into the ground for some time past, however, that many of the bucket shops have been closed in consequence of the small amount of trade offerings, most of their clients having been entirely ruined. Four or five years ago, fully five times as much fictitious and illegitimate business was done on the Quebec Exchange as of real and bona fide transactions. Even now, a good deal of speculation akin to gambling goes on, such as buying and selling,—going long and short on bank and other shares, corn, wheat, pork, oil, etc.,—all on margins. The volume of such business transacted in the city at present is about equal to that of legitimate dealings.

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GAMBLING IN KANSAS CITY, MO.

There have been no public gaming houses in Kansas City since 1882, when the Missouri legislature passed a bill commonly known as the “Johnson Law,” from the fact that ex-Governor Charles P. Johnson was its author. This statute made the keeping of a gaming establishment a felony. The effect of the law was to drive the professional gamblers of Kansas City, Mo., into the adjoining burg of Kansas City, Kas., where they remained unmolested until a comparatively recent date.

The town on the west bank of the river soon became the recognized “haven” for members of the fraternity. The faro banks were clustered together just a few steps across the State line, where they received a liberal patronage from the residents of the Missouri town, who had become as it were, thoroughly saturated with the instincts and habits of the gamester.

The proprietors of the packing houses objected to the location of such establishments within the precincts of their business, because of the convenience of such locations to their employes, who constituted a considerable proportion of the patrons of these “hells.” Among those who remonstrated were the representatives of Armour & Co., who were quick to perceive the disastrous effects which the running of the game was producing upon their business interest. For some years a bitter fight was waged upon this issue. It soon, however, became apparent that the gamblers exercised a controlling influence upon the action of the city and county officers, and the packers abandoned what promised to be a profitless warfare.

The laws of Kansas make the keeping of a gaming house a misdemeanor, and the proprietors were regularly fined—even without the formality of an arrest—a large revenue being thus realized by the city. For many years it was an open secret that the chief of police and prosecuting attorney of Kansas City, Kas., received a regular stipend from the gamblers, the money being paid and accepted in consideration of an uncertain guarantee of immunity.

Public sentiment, however, at length became aroused, and at the municipal election held a few years ago, officers were chosen who were pledged to enforce the laws against gaming.

Before the passage of the Johnson law to which reference has been already made, Kansas City was a veritable Mecca for sporting men. Along in the 70’s—in the palmy days of gambling—when the “wide open,” “everything goes,” policy prevailed there were eleven gaming establishments in the town, all of which were doing a most prosperous business. Stakes were high, and the gain or loss of $10,000 at a single sitting called forth little comment among the sporting fraternity.

The Johnson law, however, gave the signal for a hegira of gamblers to the western side of the State line, and its enforcement on the Missouri side of the border has been so perfect that openly there has not been a card run from a box, or a turn called since its passage.

In the halcyon days of gambling in Kansas City, the place was filled with men who had rapidly acquired fortunes in the mines of Old and New Mexico, and Colorado, and in the raising and herding of cattle on the plains. Such men flocked here to gamble, and the “professionals” from the far west came and made this town their headquarters in consequence of the number of dupes who had gathered here. The “capitalists” who made Kansas City their headquarters were allured thither by the prospects of “beating” the “banks,” the number of which steadily increased by the constant accession to the ranks of the players.

At the time of the exodus of the gamblers across the State line there were eleven establishments in the city, at three of which “brace” games were played. Faro was the favorite, but “poker,” of the “stud” variety, “roulette,” and “chuck-a-luck,” were not neglected. About fifty men were employed in these houses, and each “bank” was supposed to possess a “roll” of about $5,000. At times the game ran high, and $2,000 and $3,000 were often won or lost by a single player.

There are now, just across the State line, seven gambling houses, two of them owned by Clayton L. Maltby, one by Frazier & Baughman, one by Cotton & Kennedy, one by Gus Galbaugh, one by Joe. Bassett, and one by Tom Wallace. These houses are all conducted on the “square” principle, and besides faro, have all the “side” games—roulette, hazard, craps, stud and draw poker. The games open at eight o’clock A. M., and often run until daylight the next morning. They are well patronized, and Saturday and Monday nights the rooms are crowded, Saturday and Monday being pay days at the packing houses, manufactories, and other establishments that pay their men weekly. To give the reader an idea of the amount of money these houses have a chance to win, or rather steal, per month, a statement by C. L. Maltby, the principal “banker” of Kansas City may be mentioned. Mr. Maltby has two houses, and is of a calculating and methodical turn. He desired to know exactly what money was exchanged for checks and played against the faro game at one of his houses within a given time. He employed a man to set at the table, from the time the game opened until it closed for the night, and keep an accurate account of the amount paid in for checks. This was kept up for one month, and the grand total amounted to $63,843.75. This money was mainly “changed in” in small amounts, the purchases ranging from $1 to $50, and one individual, at one time, buying $100 worth of checks. Of course Maltby’s game did not win all this money, but the greater part of it found its way into the drawer, and went to swell the bank account of the proprietor.

Among the crowds that throng these rooms you will find the gentleman, the tough, the “Rounder,” and the “Macer.”

The plan pursued by the Kansas City, Kas., authorities to “suppress gambling” is thus described in a daily paper, under date of August 2, 1889:

“Three gambling houses in Kansas City, Kansas, were ‘raided’ by the police last night in the periodical Wyandotte style. The Chief of Police, accompanied by several officers, went to C. Maltby’s place and found thirty or more men gambling. Their names were taken down and the proprietor was required to deposit $10 apiece for his visitors and $100 for himself as security for their appearance in the police court to-day. The police then went away and the gambling was immediately resumed. At G. F. Frazier’s twenty-six men were playing and the proprietor paid $300 to the officers. This morning Frazier, Galbaugh and Maltby appeared in the police court and were formally fined the amounts they deposited. This is the manner in which gambling houses are, to all intents and purposes, licensed in Kansas City, Kas.”

Although public gaming has been checked in Kansas City, Mo., the amount of private gambling is enormous. At the Midland hotel, the best in the city, where wealthy stock men from the far west make their head- quarters, draw poker is a favorite amusement. It is played, however, with the utmost secrecy, but generally for high stakes. At the rooms of the Kansas City club, and other similar organizations, the same game is indulged in, although the stakes are as a rule comparatively moderate. Perhaps the most deplorable feature of the situation, however, is the alarming extent to which the game of draw poker is played in private houses—even those belonging to the most fashionable and exclusive social circles. It is asserted by those who are competent to speak upon the subject, that the love of play has permeated almost every stratum of society.

Apropos of gambling in Kansas City, the following story of one of the clubs in that place, is told: An Eastern merchant (rumor says that he came from Boston) once found himself a guest at a leading hostelry in that city of dust, hills, and grip cars. Being inclined to play a “little poker,” he inquired of the urbane hotel clerk where he could find a “gentleman’s game.” In due time he was introduced into a private “club room,” where the proclivities of the poker-player might be gratified by a “no limit” game. Of course the frequenters were all “gentlemen;” gentlemen, however, of that peculiarly whole-souled variety who would throw a drowning “sucker” a bar of lead as a life preserver. The man from the “hub” played for several hours, and rose from the table a loser to the amount of about two thousand dollars. He was exceedingly wroth, and was fully persuaded that he had been cheated, although he was not able to tell exactly how it had been done. He discharged this Parthian arrow, however, at the crowd, before taking his departure. “Gentlemen,” said he, as he stood before them, hat in hand, “I was assured that I should find this a ‘gentleman’s’ game. You are all gentlemen, and I know it. I appreciate the way in which I have been treated, I appreciate it thoroughly. I’ve got a few dollars left, and if some one of you will be kind enough to tell me where I can sit in a horse-thief’s game, I believe I’ll go around there.”

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GAMBLING IN BUFFALO.

Buffalo has not been cursed with such a growth of the gambling mania as have some other cities of similar commercial importance and whose floating population has been so transient and so varied. It has never received the implied sanction of public sentiment, as in New Orleans; the gaming resorts of the city lack the luxurious elegance of some of the gilded hells of New York; nor have the blacklegs ever dominated the municipal government to the same extent as in Chicago. Yet the history of the practice of the vice is not destitute of interest, presenting, as it does, a varied succession of alternating ups and downs.

During the decade between 1850 and 1860, Buffalo was known all over the country as a “tough town.” Situated as it was at the Southern point of the chain of great lakes and being the terminus of the Erie canal, it was the natural rallying point of thousands of men belonging to the “rough and ready” class, from which the dens of those drew a majority of their patrons. In those days it was as little condemned by the easy- going citizens as it was interfered with by the authorities. Along the wharves and at the sailors’ boarding houses, games of chance constituted the principal pastime, among them “penny-ante” (i. e. poker for small stakes) being a prime favorite. Sometimes higher stakes were wagered, and occasionally a faro “lay-out” was improvised.

At present gambling in Buffalo is trivial when compared with the early days of the city’s history, when the lake traffic was the principal source of its growth and the vast fleet of small craft brought hundreds of sailors from the West to compare experiences with canal boatmen from the East. In those early days, Buffalo was full of sporting men of all classes. It was the chosen rendezvous of prize fighters and its proximity to the Canadian border rendered it attractive to that class which for various causes, did not feel safe on American soil.

Such being the state of affairs it is not surprising that gaming rooms multiplied only too rapidly. To use the expression of an old resident, “faro rooms, keno rooms, poker rooms, and general gaming rooms, were as thick as sand flies, and ran in all their glory, in full blast day and night, without the slightest attempt being made to put the least check on this fascinating occupation by the authorities, many of whom were as deeply interested in it as the professionals themselves.” Fortunes were made and lost in a day at that time. Money was plentiful and wages good, and Buffalo soon acquired an unenviable reputation, which brought hundreds of unwelcome visitors to the city. That notorious highway, Canal Street, was then in the zenith of its prosperity and debauchery ran riot.

It was just before the war that gambling received a new impetus and the “palmy days” of which old gamblers are fond of speaking, were from 1859 to 1866, when the sports held high carnival. The public pulse was at fever heat, and the excitement which pervaded all classes of the community found a vent in seeking the alluring fascination of the green cloth. Buffalo might boast of several professional gamblers, who were then or subsequently became celebrities of various degrees. Gambling houses were numerous and open.

But as the number of railroads centering in the city increased and a better class of people became residents, public sentiment gradually became aroused, and the blacklegs soon found that the political influence which had formed their chief reliance was beginning to wane. Gamblers came to be looked upon as social outcasts, and the hells were vigorously denounced by the press and from the pulpit. Nevertheless the laws respecting public gaming remained unenforced, and rascals continued to fatten upon the credulity of their victims.

In 1866 the first effective blow was struck at the vice, and it proved the first of a series which finally brought about almost the total extermination of gambling in Buffalo. The Niagara frontier police was organized that year, under a State law, and the loud cry of the better element of the community that the law be enforced was at last heeded. All gaming rooms were ordered closed, and those resorts whose proprietors refused or neglected to comply were promptly raided and the offenders punished. As the police perceived that their efforts were endorsed by public opinion and commended by the press, they grew more and more severe, and gambling entered upon a period of rapid and steady decline. The most stubborn resistance encountered by the authorities was during the annual races, when the city was filled with men who “lived by their wits.”

While the Frontier Police, however, did excellent service in the cause of law and order, they appeared to lack the knowledge necessary to enable them to achieve entire success. Besides this drawback the municipal ordinances applicable to gaming were carelessly drawn, and many of the prominent gamblers, through the aid of superior legal advice and the aid of local politicians, were able to evade the penalties meted out to the “smaller fry.”

In 1870, when the Niagara Frontier Police passed out of existence and the Buffalo City Police was organized to replace the constables who had previously done duty, a rigorous policy toward gambling-houses was adopted. Even pool selling at the races was checked, although it was found impossible to put a stop to it altogether, owing to technical imperfections of the law, which afforded loop-holes for escape.

From 1872 to 1878, the city authorities seemed to be determined in their resolutions to suppress the vice. During these half dozen years, the houses were very few; and the proprietors did not dare to openly solicit patronage. The owners were men who enjoyed—for men of that class—a good reputation; that is to say, that as far as a professional blackleg can be “square,” they enjoyed that reputation.

The immediate cause for this renewal of activity on the part of the authorities was to be found in the fact that the gamblers were not only permitting, but even encouraged, young men, clerks, students and even schoolboys to frequent their rooms. Public sentiment was clamorous in its condemnation, and the city government was, in a measure, forced to take the bull by the horns. The practical results of the agitation may be thus summarized: The number of the houses was reduced, only the more respectable professionals were permitted to carry on business; “steerers,” like Othello, found their “occupation gone;” and only avowed gamblers or men who were popularly supposed to be able to lose were permitted to play. In a certain degree, the rooms were under the supervision of the police.

With each change in the city administration, however, came the inauguration of a new policy. Thus, in 1879, the gamblers’ dens were more liberally treated and their business improved, while from 1880 to 1882 the laws were more stringently enforced. In 1883 gambling again enjoyed a “boom,” and for a time threatened to regain its foothold and flourish as in the days of yore. The local government put forth no effort to prevent gaming, and numerous rooms were re-opened. Faro and poker enjoyed a steady patronage, which, however, during the racing season they had to divide with an occasional keno game. The gamblers were encouraged, and openly predicted that gaming was again about to become popular. Public opinion, however, spurred by the perpetration of several embezzlements and minor crimes which were traceable to gambling, brought about a change. Gradually the sporting element found Buffalo a less and less attractive field of operations, until at the present time there is not a faro game in the city, although faro is occasionally dealt outside the city limits at a road resort in the town of Cheektowaga, while gamblers of the “skin” variety are said to hold full sway in the town of Tonawanda, about fourteen miles distant.

Poker is still popular in Buffalo, but the men who were the “shining lights” of the fraternity in former years, have either sought “fresh fields and pastures new,” or retired from business to enjoy life. Of the latter class, however, there are but few.

There is, however, a very considerable amount of gambling yet going on which no effort is made to suppress. In the fashionable club houses into whose sacred precincts no agent of the police would ever think of entering, poker is a favorite pastime, and at times stakes run high. The members of these organizations usually belong to the wealthier classes, merchants and professional men predominating. The presence of unintroduced strangers is not permitted, far less, desired. In consequence, to obtain legal evidence of gambling in these houses is difficult, if not well-nigh impossible.

One case, however, was brought to public notice some years ago, which opened the eyes of the public and confirmed a previous suspicion that all was not known of the inner workings of these club houses. The case referred to was that of a reputed millionaire, a manufacturer and a bank president. So far as could be learned, he did not commence gaming until he had reached mature years, but—as in the case of men who do not commence drinking liquor until after they are 30—the infatuation of the habit seized upon him with irresistible force. He yielded to the allurements and was a nightly visitor at the club rooms. What games were played by which this man was ruined, can be better imagined than described, but his losses were heavy and so frequent that in spite of his almost unlimited wealth, the final crash came which nearly ruined the bank of which he was president, and his clothing business was completely wrecked. He was burdened with an extravagant family; his wife was notorious for her weakness in this respect; his sons and daughters were allowed freedom in money matters which made a terrible drain on his income. He was naturally a generous man, genial in disposition and always ready to excuse the failings of others. His generosity was proverbial, owing perhaps to the general opinion held of his class (Hebrews), who are seldom troubled in this way. He was born in this country and became rich by his own efforts. He was of a nervous disposition, and in conversing with him a close observer would notice quick movements which are peculiar to all gamblers. After his financial ruin he became insane and died a physical and mental wreck.

To mention any other names of men of this class might be to do them an injustice, but there are doubtless fifty or sixty “young bloods” who frequent club-house gaming tables. Who they are, no definite idea could be arrived at without long and constant watching of these houses, and even then the innocent might suffer with the guilty.

The experience of gambling with municipal authorities is outlined above. Public opinion as a whole, always has opposed gambling in Buffalo, and that it flourished was mainly due to the fact that public opinion is slow to exert itself here, and consequently, careless officials, in the past, were not held accountable for their neglect to suppress the evil. It is hard to say if the gamblers have ever been protected through the bribery of the police or other officials, but one thing is certain that in the history of gambling, money has never been demanded from gamblers by officials, except in two or three alleged instances; proof of which, however, was never forthcoming.

GAMBLERS, PAST AND PRESENT.

The list of Buffalo’s gamblers numbers men who, in the “good old days” of gambling were famous throughout the country and who acquired wide reputations, principally for skill as gamblers or for their character or peculiarities. Among the pioneers of gambling in Buffalo, was William Carney, better known as “Gentleman Bill,” or plain “Bill.” Carney was a Buffalonian of good family, who began his career as a gambler when quite young. At the age of 20 he was known as one of the most expert dealers of faro in the country, and all his life he was noted for his suave manners and nerve under all circumstances. Carney made a fortune and, like many of his fellows, died poor. For 40 years or more he ran the principal gambling den in Buffalo, and his rooms were the resort for the most noted gamblers in America. Faro was the game most played, and among Carney’s customers were men who 30, 20, or 15 years ago, were looked upon as Buffalo’s foremost citizens and prominent business men. Judges, lawyers and city officials are said to have frequented Carney’s rooms and he often related that, when gambling was at its zenith, he threw away the key of the door and “everything went.” Carney was a thorough gentleman in manners, a fascinating story teller and a great lover of prize-fighting and other sports. He was a professional gambler and not until a few years ago did he condescend to play poker to any extent; faro was his game and both the single and double box were used in his rooms. The writer knew Carney intimately for several years, and can testify to his good qualities. He was generous, and no man ever asked him for aid who did not get it, if he was worthy. Carney’s greatest enemy was himself, and of late years, his passion for liquor, coupled with the reckless conduct of his two sons, gradually brought about his ruin. His health failed and rheumatism and dissipation caused his death a few months ago.

GAMBLERS, PAST AND PRESENT.

The list of Buffalo’s gamblers numbers men who, in the “good old days” of gambling were famous throughout the country and who acquired wide reputations, principally for skill as gamblers or for their character or peculiarities. Among the pioneers of gambling in Buffalo, was William Carney, better known as “Gentleman Bill,” or plain “Bill.” Carney was a Buffalonian of good family, who began his career as a gambler when quite young. At the age of 20 he was known as one of the most expert dealers of faro in the country, and all his life he was noted for his suave manners and nerve under all circumstances. Carney made a fortune and, like many of his fellows, died poor. For 40 years or more he ran the principal gambling den in Buffalo, and his rooms were the resort for the most noted gamblers in America. Faro was the game most played, and among Carney’s customers were men who 30, 20, or 15 years ago, were looked upon as Buffalo’s foremost citizens and prominent business men. Judges, lawyers and city officials are said to have frequented Carney’s rooms and he often related that, when gambling was at its zenith, he threw away the key of the door and “everything went.” Carney was a thorough gentleman in manners, a fascinating story teller and a great lover of prize-fighting and other sports. He was a professional gambler and not until a few years ago did he condescend to play poker to any extent; faro was his game and both the single and double box were used in his rooms. The writer knew Carney intimately for several years, and can testify to his good qualities. He was generous, and no man ever asked him for aid who did not get it, if he was worthy. Carney’s greatest enemy was himself, and of late years, his passion for liquor, coupled with the reckless conduct of his two sons, gradually brought about his ruin. His health failed and rheumatism and dissipation caused his death a few months ago.

The name of Timothy Glassford stands among the foremost of professional gamblers in the United States. He was, excepting Carney, probably the oldest professional gambler worthy the title in Buffalo. For 40 years or more he maintained an elegantly furnished house and dealt faro to the city’s “best and most prominent citizens,” as they were recognized by the general public. Glassford was the only gambler who was at any time a power in politics and he is credited with having exerted considerable influence not only in local but in State politics. Glassford made a fortune which at one time was estimated at $200,000 (about 1867). He died a few years ago leaving an estate worth $80,000, which includes three stores on Main and Eagle Streets. This estate, or the larger portion of it will go to a son. Glassford was well educated, spoke several languages and is said to have prospered because he was an ardent student of human nature. His reputation is that of an expert at faro dealing, a great bluffer at poker, and his games are said to have been square.

“Oat” Forrester, is another of Buffalo’s old-time gamblers. In his day he was the dude of the fraternity and took great pride in being faultlessly but neatly dressed. At times he wore diamonds worth $30,000, and he seldom paid less than $75 for a suit of clothes. He kept a faro room which was much frequented by young bloods. As a rule his games were square though the brace game was played at intervals, especially during race week. Forrester about 20 years ago was worth probably $25,000. His health failed and he bought a house at Fort Erie, Ontario, where he lived until about four years ago, when he removed to Chicago, and is now said to be living with a daughter, financially ruined and dependent upon others.

“Pige” or “Judge” Darling was another Buffalo faro player of note. He was a distinguished-looking man at middle age, and a brilliant conversationalist. He played at various rooms, was a large winner but a spendthrift.

James McCormick is another who some years ago was one of Buffalo’s notables. Naturally a gambler he was for several years successful in “hitting” faro. Finally with a few hundred dollars he drifted West and then to Chicago and New York. To-day he is known throughout the country as owner of one of the celebrated strings of trotting horses, which yearly win for him considerable money. It is said that McCormick gambles occasionally.

Adam Clark, an English Jew, was a noted gambler. He owned a large tract of land on Main Street, until recently run as a pleasure resort and known as “Spring Abbey.” There is a brick dwelling there, in which he used to preside over faro and poker games. It is said that Clark catered only to the rich and that a “brace” or dishonest game was never played in his rooms. In 1860, Clark probably was worth $100,000, but through illness, his affairs were neglected and at his death his estate was so involved that lawyers got the lion’s share. Curiously the property, for years the home of the gambler, is now the “Home for the Friendless.” Clark’s credit among gamblers, bankers and merchants was good and he could borrow thousands, giving only his oral promise to pay. A Buffalo ex-gambler states that Clark never failed to pay a debt and that several times he was loaned $5,000 or $10,000, and on one occasion $15,000 for which his note was not asked—his simple word of honor being sufficient security. Clark was charitable and it is said that he gave to needy institutions, etc., on an average $2,000 a year.

There lives in Buffalo a man who was and is to-day in knowledge and skill one of the most expert gamblers in America. His early life was devoted to gambling. An elegant home was his gaming den, and his guests enjoyed substantial and costly luncheons and the best of wines as a part of his entertainment. An iron will, always cool and quiet, winning manners, with skill at cards such as is only acquired by one possessing great mathematical talent, made him an expert and won him a national reputation. He retired several years ago, and is now engaged in real estate transactions. It is estimated that he is worth from $250,000 to $300,000.

Reed Brockway was also famous. He began his gambling career in Buffalo, lived there until a few years ago when he went West, it is believed to Chicago. He played faro well, was a “dressy” gambler, and a man of high intellectual qualities. It is said that he could keep the run of cards in faro better than any gambler who ever played in America, and picked out and played heavy sums on winning cards with remarkable success. It is related that in 1867, with but six cards in the box, he played $1,500 on a king, naming it as the _last_ winning card, and made a side bet of $500 that his calculation was correct. He won $2,000 in about four minutes, and half an hour later had spent $200 for wine and cigars.

Oliver, or “Ol” Westcott, another Buffalo gambler, was famous as a “plunger.” He played to win all or lose all. If the “bank” would permit he frequently played from $1,000 to $5,000 on a single card. He is credited with winning $60,000 in two months, after which event the dealers throughout the country placed a limit not higher than $5,000 on games in which Westcott played. He amassed a fortune aggregating about $75,000, but when last heard of, ten years ago, he had taken to liquor, lost nearly all of his wealth, and was running a small game in Colorado.

Of a semi-professional class little need be said. They have been generally poker players who played wherever and whenever there was a dollar to be made. Their history and characteristics may be expressed in few words—unscrupulous; but two or three with any degree of character or amount of money, and all “skin” gamblers.

From the inception of gambling in Buffalo to the present time the largest amount invested in a gambling den, in the “bank,” and exclusive of building and furniture, has been $25,000. It is estimated that in the best days the capital directly invested by gamblers aggregated not over $125,000, while indirectly they had at command from other gamblers or merchant friends probably $100,000 more. Glassford, Clark and Carney ran the most expensive houses. During the war time their running expenses ranged from $1,500 to $3,500 per week. It is stated that Carney once paid James McCormick $1,000 and a percentage for dealing faro. The profits, as a rule, were varied, ranging from $5,000 to $20,000 a week during 1860-65 and falling to an average of $1,500 in 1869-70, and to from $500 to $1,000 from 1870 to 1873.

The relation of gambling to the criminal and political history of the city has been comparatively unimportant. The effect has been contrary to that experienced in other large cities. A search of police records and careful inquiry of old gamblers fails to show that a murder, or very serious assault, ever occurred in a professional gaming house. Small rows in poker rooms, or in saloons connected with gambling rooms, and raids of gamblers, constitute the affairs chargeable directly or indirectly to gambling rooms—a remarkable record.

One of the earliest forms of gambling in Buffalo, and one which it seems almost impossible for the authorities to reach, and which is indulged in by hundreds daily, is policy playing. Old gamblers tell of policy shops existing thirty years ago and, as a general rule they were then patronized by the same class of men identical with those of to-day; that is, chiefly barbers, colored coachmen, and small storekeepers. Mingled with these are a number of small salaried clerks. There are two policy companies who have agents in Buffalo. One is known as the Frankfort company and the other the Kentucky company. Both companies are old and wealthy, their headquarters being in the State of Kentucky, one in Louisville and the other in Frankfort. They have two daily drawings, one in the morning and the other in the afternoon, and the results are telegraphed all over the country to their agents. The attitude of the law and the police toward this mode of gambling is just as severe as in any other kind of gambling, and if a shop is located it is instantly raided, and the offenders are taken before the police magistrate. Here the police work ends, and sad to relate, ends almost in a fizzle. The present police magistrate is a declared friend to the policy players, and when it is possible the offenders get off free. When the evidence is too strong against them to admit of such a move, a light fine is imposed, invariably the minimum the law allows, which is $5.00. This fine is paid by the policy company in whose employ the agent is at the time of his arrest. If it should be a regulation shop keeper he pays the minimum fine of $25, and with but few exceptions this fine never goes above that figure. Public sentiment seems to condemn it and there is now a growing cry against it which will sooner or later make matters mend.

Policy as now run is anything but a square deal with its victims. There are 75 numbers issued each day by the head office. They are sent to the agents here, who are either barbers or saloon keepers. Some have small rooms in unfrequented alleys or lanes, but of the latter class there are very few now. The policy buyer chooses his numbers in many different ways. Some who have been inveterate followers of this mode of gambling rely on dreams, others depend on some little incident by which certain numbers are brought to their mind, some shake dice, and there are a thousand different ways in which the policy gambler guesses the lucky number. When he pays for them he pays anywhere from five cents to ten dollars a number, as his pocket money will allow; it makes no difference to the agent. When the result of the drawings are made known the lucky numbers are printed on the slips of paper, and if any one of the numbers held by the buyer appears three times in the list he wins ten times the amount he pays for his number. Policy agents of this city are few, but what are termed “bookmakers,” or solicitors are about thirty in number. These men are virtually sub-agents, and are salaried. It is estimated that about $600 a day is spent in Buffalo in this game. One of the principal agents here is a colored man named Frank Prince, a man well along in years who has a small room on Center street. He has been arrested and fined at least twice a month during the year 1889, but his fine of $25 is always promptly paid, and he has never pleaded anything but guilty to the charge when arraigned in the police court. Prince is a lower type of the negro race, of a burly figure and rough in manner.

There have been about one hundred cases of policy in the police court during the nine months of the year 1889, and fines averaged $10 in each case. Winners in policy are few and far between, but there seems to be a sort of mania for it among a certain class, which grows stronger the longer they deal in it. With some business men it becomes a hobby, which they fall into in a quiet and almost unconscious manner, but it is seldom played by any but men of small means, in fact, it is impossible to learn of a single case where a wealthy man has been known to buy policy tickets. Bookmakers can generally be found in saloons and concert halls, and around theater entrances. The regular buyer is quick to discover his business, and his purchase is made quietly and almost secretly. Detectives are constantly on the watch for these transactions, and should any mysterious movement be made by two men on the street, which would give rise to the suspicion that they were policy men, they are carefully shadowed until caught. After once being caught they are interviewed by the officials, and ever after made objects for surveillance. Thus in a certain measure they are fugitives and outcasts from all society. Still, their calling is a lucrative one, often netting the bookmaker $15 a day the year around, and they become wealthy in time. Bookmakers are generally heavy buyers themselves. As a class of men they are of a roving disposition, and high livers. Nearly all have a hang-dog expression on their faces. They take their arrest coolly, and seem indifferent to the whole matter. They are seldom hard drinkers, their calling requiring them to be constantly on the alert, and exceedingly cautious in all their dealings.

The Louisiana Lottery has thousands of victims in Buffalo. Within the past two years three large prizes have been drawn by Buffalonians and these winnings have stimulated and doubled the sale of tickets. Information obtained from some of the 12 agents of the lottery in Buffalo and the representatives of the express companies indicates that from 10,000 to 15,000 tickets are sold in Buffalo every month, representing the investment of from $10,000 to $12,000.

The church fair is a frequent occurrence in Buffalo. Recently a fair was held for one week, the proceeds of which have been devoted to paying the floating debt on Music Hall. There were offered 1,500 prizes, the bait consisting of $1,000, $500 and $100 in gold, an $800 piano, and the rest of the prizes being pictures, barrels of flour and cement, etc. The entertainments offered were upon the drawing of prizes, and drew a crowd of 40,000 and upward nightly. The tickets sold for $1, and entitled the buyer to three admissions to the hall and a chance—one in nearly 50,000—to draw a prize. About 48,000 tickets were sold and the fair netted $46,000. Since then, say the lottery agents, their sale of tickets has largely increased.

It seems strange—or rather, it would seem strange were it not so common an experience—that citizens who profess to be, and no doubt are, sincerely opposed to lotteries on principle, should indirectly give them moral and material aid and support by lending their countenance to schemes of this nature. The support of church and other raffles, gotten up in aid of charity or of gift enterprises, undertaken for any purpose, however worthy, can be justified only by a species of moral casuistry. The altar does not “sanctify the gift,” and the line of moral demarcation between the lottery for benevolence and the lottery for gain, is rather shadowy. The inherent scruple as to buying chances having been removed, it is but one step farther, and that a short one, to the lottery office and the policy shop.

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GAMBLING IN ST. PAUL.

Before the war there was comparatively little public gaming at St. Paul. The city was occasionally visited by professionals, but the latter usually considered that the then infant metropolis was hardly worth the expenditure of much time or money. Once in a while one of the guild would accompany a victim to the Minnesota capital, in order that he might “pluck” him at his leisure. As a rule, however, the Mississippi steamboats formed the chief theatre of their operations, it was a rare occurrence that they penetrated so far into the Northwest. On the boats the play was universal, from the elegantly attired gamester whose diamond stud flashed prismatic colors, which were reflected from the lights of the chandeliers of the cabin, to the flannel-shirted individual who contented himself with fleecing the crew and second-class passengers upon the main deck. The river craft proved a much more remunerative field for sharpers, and, as has been said, the citizens of St. Paul enjoyed immunity from their presence.

The inborn love for gaming which seems to be found in nearly every human breast, found its gratification in the back-rooms of saloons and in a few club-rooms, entrance to which was denied to all but members. The “shining lights” of the profession were absent, and games were played for only small stakes, although even in those days there were a few local gamblers who gained some little notoriety during the early years of the war. But after 1865, they seemed to have disappeared from public view, some of them becoming retail liquor dealers, others farmers, and yet others migrating to remote localities. Some of them, however, are still residents of St. Paul, and are fairly well-to-do. Their former sins have been forgotten and their past record is known only to a few pioneer settlers, the result being that they are looked upon to-day as respectable members of society.

After the war public gaming began to flourish, and soon increased to such an extent that between 1872-4 there were lively times in and around the capitol. The Union Pacific had been completed and the Northern Pacific commenced. Thousands of laborers of all nationalities who had been thrown out of employment along the line of the Union Pacific flocked to the Northwest where the contractors for Henry Villard’s Transcontinental Line were glad to avail themselves of their services. With these laborers came a horde of hungry, desperate gamblers, men with the instincts and ferocity of wild beasts, having no regard for the sanctity of human life, who set law and order absolutely at defiance. The desperadoes did not stay long at St. Paul; turning their faces Westward they advanced along the line of the Northern Pacific, their march keeping pace with the run of the rails along the highway of commerce. Among the best known were Cole Martin, Jack O’Neill, Dave Mullin, “Shank” Stanfield and Dan Shumway. They made their headquarters at a saloon kept by one Dave Crummy. They have entirely disappeared from view, and it is probable that most of them have “passed in their last checks.” They fought with each other as readily as with their victims, and, one after another have been killed off.

The circumstances of the killing of Dan Shumway by “Shank” Stanfield at Moorhead in 1872 illustrates the character of these gamblers. Bad blood had existed between them for some time, and a shooting had been expected at any moment. Stanfield had been playing all night, and was about to take an early morning drink in a bar-room, when Shumway came in, drunk and quarrelsome. Instantly, Stanfield started from the saloon to procure a pistol. As he was passing through the door he was fired upon by his enemy. He quickly made his way to his own apartment and soon returned with a revolver in each hand. Then the two began shooting at each other with great rapidity. Stanfield took his position behind a pile of packing boxes within easy range, and Shumway soon fell with one bullet in his hip and another in his side. Wounded as he was, he dragged himself painfully along the ground toward his adversary, leaving a bloody trail behind him and firing as he proceeded. But before the miserable wretch could reach Stanfield a bullet had found lodgement in a vital spot and the dying desperado rolled over, clenching his weapon in his hand with all the rigidity of a death grasp. The other gambler was badly wounded but, perhaps unfortunately for the community at large, recovered.

Such were the men who made a hell upon earth of Brainerd, Moorhead, Irontown, and a dozen other points along the line of the Northern Pacific railway. Only one of the horde appears to have returned, and to- day few would recognize in Guy Salisbury, the Evangelist, one of the band who maintained a reign of terror at Irontown.

With the extermination of this class, gambling became more orderly and violence was of less frequent occurrence. The law-abiding element in St. Paul gradually compelled the fraternity to adopt quiet methods of running their games and to seek the seclusion of private rooms. Still, at the present time, gambling is extensively carried on in the city, although it seldom appears upon the surface, except in a few instances which will be mentioned below. At the same time it is a notorious fact that, unless in the cases of a few misguided interlopers who have neglected to “square” themselves with the “powers that be,” no gambler is ever arrested or a gaming resort raided by the city police. There are ten or a dozen regular hells located in the very heart of the city, a description of some of which may prove of interest.

The most prominent and prosperous is the “Turf Exchange,” run by a well- known sporting man named Frank N. Shaw. Associated with him in the conduct of this establishment are generally believed to be several citizens who occupy good positions in society, and pose as respectable members of the community. One or two of the suspected parties hold positions of trust under the city government and if they did their duty would suppress the place instead of abetting it. The “Turf Exchange” is known as a pooling room. Pools are sold there on horse races, boat races, ball games, prize fights, elections, and any and all other turnings which offer a chance for a wager. The patrons of the establishment are for the most part clerks from stores and offices, mechanics, and others who work for stipulated wages. Bets are accepted for any sum from $1.00 upward. A favorite method of losing money here is that known as “making combinations.” That is, naming the winners in three horse races, or other sporting events which occur on one and the same day. If a man is lucky enough to hit upon precisely the winning combination, the proprietor pays him heavy odds, but it is readily seen that his chances for so doing are disproportionately small. During the base ball season this resort is crowded by day and night, and a considerable force of telegraph operators is employed in receiving the reports which come in over the wires, and the services of a large staff of assistants is needed in checking up the results on the boards, in selling pools, and keeping the books. The yearly net profits of the Exchange are said to exceed $40,000.

It is only the initiated, however, who are aware that immediately above the pool rooms a gambling hell is in full blast. The up-stairs den is well furnished and the games played include faro, roulette, poker, the wheel of fortune, dice, etc. Not many months ago two fast young men of St. Paul claimed to have lost $1,500 and $1,800, respectively, in this place. They brought suit against Shaw to recover the money. As nothing has been heard of the proceedings since their institution, rumor says that the action has been quietly settled out of court.

Little more than a year ago the pool room was victimized by some adroit sharpers who tapped the telegraph wires, and by withholding messages for a few minutes were enabled to make bets which proved disastrous to the proprietors of the institution. The Western Union was suspected of complicity in the scheme, but a careful watch failed to reveal any crookedness on their part. The tapped wire was finally located, and the plan was found to have been originated by a man whose reputation as a professional “crook” has earned for him the insertion of his photograph in a prominent position in every rogues’ gallery in the country. Strange as it may seem, the sufferers made no effort to bring the sharper to justice. They even shielded him at the time, and are supposed to have protected him from arrest upon a requisition from the governor of Indiana, by giving him secret information. Of course such information could be obtained only from an official source, and one of the city officers who is believed to have an interest in the pool room stands very close to the quarter from which the knowledge might have been had.

Next to the pool room, the gambling establishment which enjoys the largest patronage is that known as Sherwin’s rooms, situated over a saloon on East Seventh Street. Not many years ago one of the proprietors of this place found it convenient to absent himself from St. Paul, owing to his alleged connection with a brawl in which a man lost his life. When public indignation had cooled down, through some mysterious influence brought to bear on the authorities, the genial gamester was allowed to return, and is at present plying his former vocation without molestation.

Not many months since, a desperate affray occurred in those rooms in which a white man was dangerously stabbed. The affair was brought to the notice of the authorities, but no steps were taken to punish the assailant or to close the place. The injured man was an employee of the city, and, in the slang of the streets, “stood in with the gang.” He was easily persuaded not to prosecute the negro, for the reason that such a step on his part would call public attention to the existence of the gambling hell and compel the police to take some action, “for when the ball is once set rolling, you cannot tell when it will stop, you know.” Nearly all the ordinary games of chance are played at Sherwin’s.

In connection with the establishment, refreshments are sold, and if a player should win any considerable sum he is at once surrounded by the harpies, male and female, who urge him to expend his winnings in wine and liquors, and make “a good fellow” of himself. In this way a large percentage of the money lost at the tables is again taken in by the proprietors over the bar.

Another well-known gambling hell is Banigh’s European Hotel, where the usual games are carried on.

Besides the places already mentioned, there are a number of dives of a low character, scattered about the city. Nearly every central thoroughfare contains at least one. Their location is known to every man about town, and it is idle to suppose that the police are ignorant of their existence. On Minnesota Street gambling dens of the lowest description flourish, for the accommodation of the colored population, and where “crap shooting” is the favorite amusement. The police have recently found it necessary to close one of the most disreputable of these resorts, because of the frequency of dangerous brawls which occurred there.

If the category of the gaming resorts above given comprised the whole story of gambling in St. Paul, the tale would not materially differ from that which might be related of nearly every large city. But places of the character described do not constitute one-tenth part of the number of gaming resorts in the city. Out of all the hotels in St. Paul, there are only one or two where gambling is prohibited, and in which the proprietors do not knowingly rent rooms for gaming purposes. These rooms are usually occupied by professionals, who are guests at the hotels, but whose character is well known. Faro and poker are the games most commonly played, and sometimes stakes run up to a considerable amount.

The saloons swell the list of places where this vice is practiced. The bar room which does not permit card playing for money in its back room is a rarity, and sometimes games of no little magnitude are played at these places. When the police are questioned as to the existence of gambling in the city, they invariably reply that they are not aware of its existence within the corporate limits. And while there is no evidence to prove that they do actually know that practices of the sort described are being carried on, to believe that they are ignorant is too severe a strain upon the credulity of the average citizen.

In private clubs there is much gaming and the stakes are often high. It appears, however, to be beyond the police powers conferred by the existing laws to put a stop to this species of gaming. The mania seems to have infected every grade of society from the highest to the lowest. “All sorts and conditions of men” gamble. Young merchants, confidential clerks, trusted book-keepers, wage workers of all descriptions, and even school boys. Men of religious professions form no exception, and a church member is by no means a _rara avis_ at the tables.

No form of gambling is so universally popular or so widely patronized as the Louisiana State Lottery. The head quarters for the State of Minnesota are located in St. Paul. The manager employs a fair sized clerical force to assist him in the distribution of tickets, which are scattered broad-cast wherever it is believed that there is a possibility of their sale. Almost every saloon has a lottery agent, and these men are allowed from 2½ to 7 per cent on their sales. A large proportion of the people who buy these tickets are regular purchasers, and make an investment (usually a permanent one) of from $1.00 to $10.00 every month. _Bona fide_ instances of winning through this species of gambling are exceedingly rare.

The institution, like the gambling dens which curse the city, is also run under cover of the official mantle. About a year ago, an effort was made to break up the business through the indictment of the manager and his assistants by the grand jury of Ramsey County. A number of witnesses were subpoened, but when they were called upon to testify it was discovered that they had been conveniently got out of the way. In consequence, the investigation dropped and anyone who wished to waste his money in a vain attempt to secure a capital prize finds no difficulty in purchasing the ticket which he may select.

The “bucket shop,” pure and simple, is unknown in St. Paul. There is more or less speculative trade in “futures and combinations,” but the total amount is insignificant as compared with the volume of legitimate business—probably at a rough estimate, not exceeding $2,000,000 annually.

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THE GAMBLER’S LUCK.

To prove how matters will go wrong, When gambling ways you start along, Just listen to this tale: I tramped for many a weary day, And funds were gone, and skies were gray, For trade was flat and stale.

My blood seemed chilled, the outlook black, As I came hoofing down the track And reached a country town; I did not know a single soul To ask for hash, or beg a bowl, And I was done up brown.

I earned a dollar in that town, And in a faro bank sat down, And took a little horn; The checks they used, my gentle youth— You may not think I tell the truth— Were grains of Indian corn.

I scanned the players there awhile, A pleasing thought soon made me smile, Mused I: “Here’s luck for me.” I knew a few miles further back, There stood a corn-crib by the track, As full as it could be. As full as it could be.

Though dark and wet, I left the place, And turned my eager, hopeful face Towards that brimming bin. Foot-sore, I reached the happy spot And felt among the lucky lot, And took a big ear in.

I shelled it as I went along, And sang the only happy song I’d sung for many days; I stuck my stake into my clothes, And in that bank I stuck my nose, For I had made a raise.

I watched that game an hour or two, And tried to look as green as you, And thought I’d play it fine. I walked up like a country jake, And took a handful of my stake And placed all on the nine.

The dealer turned his eagle eyes On mine, which caused me some surprise, And said in tones quite bland:— “My friend, it may not look quite right, But no “reds” here are played to-night.” And thats the way it panned.

I trudged along the track next morn, And there I saw old farmer Thorne, Empty his bins with care. In that large crib, chuck full of grain, The sight of yellow ears brought pain, For not one “red” was there.

GAMBLING IN MINNEAPOLIS.

Minnesota is not dissimilar to other States of the Union in respect to gambling, but, unlike other Western States and territories, it has achieved an enviable reputation. This is due to two causes, the character of its population, and the nature of its resources and industries. Census statistics show that the greater proportion of the inhabitants are either of Scandinavian or New England descent, neither race of which has, at any time, shown any pronounced disposition to gamble. Possibly this may be accounted for by considerations of climate and geographical location, inducing conditions of life that inculcate lessons of rigid economy and teach the true value of money.

Minnesota being essentially an agricultural State, those incentives to gamble have been lacking which seemed part and parcel of the development of other Western States where mining and “flush times” went hand in hand; where money came easily and went rapidly.

Minneapolis, one of the two chief cities of the State, has always been and yet is the “head centre” of whatever gambling is done in the commonwealth. There, it has always been conducted more on the plan of a regular business enterprise than in the majority of cities throughout the United States; in fact, it has been and is now a complete monopoly, a trust on a small scale, and, like other trusts, it trusts nobody.

Minneapolis is a young town. Its phenomenal growth in the last decade has been marvelous, and one is not surprised to learn that the gambler of Minneapolis, the village, is the gambler of Minneapolis, the thriving city. Gaming has existed under both Democratic and Republican administrations, and politics can be said to have cut little figure in the calculations of the gamblers. It was merely a question whether it should be conducted openly or behind closed doors; whether the general public, or only certain persons, be permitted to cross the threshold and enter the apartments sacred to the use of King Faro, his aids and satellites. The answer to this question has been generally given in accordance with the personal sympathies or political obligations of the city executive.

As previously mentioned, gambling in Minneapolis has always been a monopoly. This monopoly has been known, in the parlance of the town, as the “combination.” This nomenclature saves time and the bother of mentioning the gamblers by name, every one knowing who are meant.

This combination started some years ago and first consisted of Pat Sullivan, an old soldier, and John Flanagan. A little later on, these were joined by Frank Shaw, Mike Shelley, and William Tanner, better known as “Col.” Bill Tanner. Shaw, however, only remained a member a few months. Before the forming of the combination, Flanagan and Sullivan conducted establishments which embraced all known gambling games and devices, and were believed to be conducted strictly “on the square.” This was during the administration of Mayor John De Laittre. That official had spasmodic fits of morality, sporadic attacks as it were, in consequence whereof, Messrs. Sullivan and Flanagan ran the place very quietly, though every now and then the police authorities would make a raid, the tangible result of which was to show that portion of the population which would otherwise have remained ignorant that gambling still existed in Minneapolis, and could be only suppressed or exterminated through the efforts of a zealous mayor, backed by a marvellously acute force of police and detectives.

Mayor Rand allowed the games to be conducted quietly, and did not interfere as long as no complaint of “brace” playing was made.

Under the rule of Mayor A. A. Ames, a fanatic on the question of personal liberty and the right of a man to do as he pleased, irrespective of the rights of the remainder of the community, gambling was conducted “wide open,” with no restrictions save those placed upon it by the gamblers themselves. It was too wide open to suit the majority of the conservative voters and that large element which, though liberal- minded, had some respect for decency and some regard for outward appearances; and at the next election, Mr. George S. Pillsbury, a member of the famous firm of millers and brother of the Governor, was elected mayor, defeating Mayor Ames by a decisive majority.

Under his rule a complete transformation took place. It was from one extreme to the other; the difference between Cimmerian darkness and the bright glare of the noonday sun, could not be more marked than the revolution that occurred in the administration of municipal affairs, and the city was governed on the plan of a small New England village. Square gambling was prohibited, but a notorious brace game was in full blast during the entire Pillsbury administration.

Mr. Pillsbury was a candidate for re-election on the strength of the record made in the cause of pure morals, but he was ignominiously beaten by Dr. Ames. Upon the election of the latter, the change resembled the oscillation of the pendulum from one extremity of its arc, to the other. It was one extreme to the other. Ames proceeded again to enforce his peculiar views on personal liberty. His previous administration had been peculiarly objectionable to the orderly and law abiding citizens, who set about devising methods to check the scheme of “throwing the town wide open.”

Right here a word of explanation concerning the power and authority of the mayor, is essential in order that a proper understanding of the matter may be reached. Under every administration down to the last one of Dr. Ames, the mayor was the head of the municipal government, possessing supreme authority over the police officials, whom he could appoint and dismiss at his own sweet will, without let or hindrance. It can be easily perceived how this privilege might be abused and the power perverted, if not prostituted to unlawful ends. Thus the whole machinery of the law was under the control of one man, resulting in a veritable despotism on a small scale, under which one person, the mayor, was the important factor for good or for evil in the city.

Gamblers, saloon-keepers, and the sporting classes generally, welcomed his election with one accord. City ordinances regulating liquor selling, were to be calmly and quietly, but no less surely ignored. And they were. The result was a saturnalia of crime. Saloons ran all night if so minded and customers demanded it. The gambling houses were in full blast, and the city swarmed with thieves, fakirs and blacklegs of every description, from smooth adventurers of the Traylor and Post pattern, down to the petty shell worker and flimflam fellow. It was time to call a halt.

As it so happened the state legislature was in session, and it was determined by good citizens, irrespective of political affiliations, to go before that body and pray for relief. After much consultation, a bill providing for the appointment of a police commission, consisting of two members from each dominant party, with the mayor as ex-officio member, was formulated. The bill was passed by both houses, and became a law through the Governor’s signature. Under its provisions the appointing power was conferred upon the council, and well-known citizens received the honor of serving as members. This act left the mayor shorn of power and authority. The police commission ruled and decided whether city ordinances should be enforced or not; the same body controlled the police, and decency once more ruled. At a recent session, the legislature amended the bill by reducing the number of the police commissioners to two, outside of the mayor, who still remained an ex- officio member. Nevertheless gambling has existed, and still exists, no matter what the political complexion of the city administration may have happened to be.

With this brief introduction it is only necessary to give a condensed history of the games and devices that have flourished in Minneapolis, the object of whose proprietors has been to lure money from those, who, it must be admitted, would have liked to acquire wealth by means far removed from honest toil and labor.

At all the houses here have run the usual games ordinarily conducted in so-called first-class gambling rooms; that is to say, faro bank, roulette, stud poker, and hazard, with various short card games. Faro bank is king. Its legitimate percentage in favor of the bank is of course responsible for its large following of devotees, and the great majority of players make their way to that table immediately upon entering the halls. A “tenderfoot,” who was playing against a brace game out West, chanced to inquire what limit would be given him. The reply was “from John Smith’s green cloth to the blue sky of heaven.” This limit it may be remarked _en passant_, was somewhat liberal, but in view of the kind of game that was being dealt the proprietor could afford to let a man place his money freely. In Minneapolis it has been slightly different, the limit being generally placed at fifty to doubles, and twenty-five to cases. Occasionally a well-known player who was known to be possessed of plenty of funds has been allowed two hundred and a hundred. This, however, may be called the exception rather than the rule. The play against faro bank has always been fairly steady, with the houses winning in the long run. Comparatively few heavy losses or winnings have ever occurred in Minneapolis. Dink Davis, Pat Sheedy, and other celebrated high rollers have rarely visited the city. The only heavy loss suffered was in the old house at 205 Nicollet Avenue, when Frank Shaw, Flanagan and Sullivan were the main proprietors in 1887. This may scarcely be called a legitimate losing, but rather the result of what some gamblers would call a bit of sharp practice. The house had only been running in full blast for a few months. Everything was wide open, in the heyday of Mayor Ames’ administration. Among the dealers employed was Mr. Harrington, a very good all around gambler, and withal a first-class artist. Harrington was well liked by his employers, who thought highly of his capabilities, and had perfect confidence in his honesty, so far at least as they were concerned. But as events proved they were mistaken. Mr. Harrington had a particular friend, one Mr. Hayes, who gambled on the outside strictly, and was known as a hard faro bank player. These two smooth gentlemen, it is said, put their heads together and concocted a plot, which was in brief that Harrington should “throw off” the game to Hayes. The scheme worked to a charm, and Mr. Hayes’ luck became proverbial among those that were leading the gay life of a sport. Matters ran along for some little time, and it was not until the game was some $10,000 loser that the house management began to suspect that there might possibly be something wrong, or in gamblers’ parlance “an African in the woodpile.” A quiet investigation ensued, and it was not long before the chair that knew Mr. Harrington, knew him no more, forever. Then it was that the erstwhile familiar faces of Messrs. Harrington and Hayes became as shadows of the past, though ever and anon their forms would rise like Banquo’s ghost to haunt the Macbethian forms of the combination that had heard that there was honor among gamblers. But Harrington has paid for his duplicity in this instance, as the better class of gamblers utterly refuse to have anything to do with him, and he stands a fair chance of being forced to earn an honest livelihood by working at his trade—that of a compositor.

Next to faro bank, in point of attraction, is roulette. Watching the ball go round has a certain grim fascination for a great many people—and then it is quick action for your money; nervous people are not compelled to wait in suspense to know whether they lose or win. A simple twist of the wrist, the little ivory is whirling around and around until it stops in one of the many compartments—red or black, or in the fatal zeros that sweep the board. But still the number of devotees at its altar is not large. In fact, in the whole town there are not half a dozen men who prefer roulette to faro, provided that they have any considerable amount of money. Those with only a few dollars in their possession play it in order to get a stake to play faro. A journalist here, and part proprietor of one of the daily papers, is the only individual that has achieved any notoriety in this direction. It was no unusual thing for him to win or lose a thousand dollars at a sitting. This sort of play is, however, exceptional, the majority of players against the wheel scarcely having funds enough to buy a stack of white checks.

Next in order of popularity come hazard and stud poker. The former is chiefly patronized by beginners, and the latter by that numerous class of men who consider themselves a little wiser than their fellows. Neither the greenhorn nor the player who is wise in his own conceit takes into consideration the enormous odds in the one game, or the large “rake off” in the other, regulated only by the conscience (?) of the dealer, and his knowledge of just what the players will stand. Therefore the harvest is ripe and is quickly garnered. Hazard has never been much of a favorite, the play being scarcely extensive enough to meet expenses; while on the other hand, the stud poker tables have always been well patronized. The short card games in these public rooms were usually played by professional gamblers for the sake of whiling away a few hours, with just a sufficient monetary consideration to vary the tedium and monotony.

The above statements apply to every gambling house that has been ever run in the city, conducted strictly on the square. But, as in all other trades and professions, there are grades. The habitues and customers of one establishment seldom visited any of the others, and in the most exclusive resort, that at 219 Hennepin Avenue, the common crowd were refused admittance by the colored servitor that guarded the door. At least good clothes and the appearance of a gentleman were necessary to effect an entrance into this particular lair of the tiger.

But passing mention must be made of one establishment that flourished under the highly moral Pillsbury administration, and was permitted to continue unmolested, while other houses were compelled either to close up or run in such a furtive way that a search warrant was almost a necessity in order to find the haunts of the animal. This place was and is known to all sports, thieves, confidence men, and blacklegs generally, throughout the length and width of the United States. It is designated as the “Elite,” and is located on Nicollet Avenue! To the uninitiated and the casual observer it is simply a saloon, and a very good saloon at that. But up-stairs was a complete gambling outfit of the most crooked description. It was commonly believed to be a notorious brace house, and many a man was there “skinned” out of hundreds of dollars. It was given out that it was the only place in town where a man with a penchant for faro bank would be accommodated, and he was accommodated with a vengeance. “Steerers” were numerous in those days, and embraced such shining lights in that particular line of industry as “Sammy” Barrett, “Jerry” Desmond and “Charlie” Dean, while distinguished confidence men, such as William Traynor and George Post, did not disdain occasionally to introduce a wealthy fly into the spider’s web.

At this time the place was reputed to be owned by Col. Wm. Tanner and Bill Munday. Tanner is a cool-headed man, who has never been known to let an opportunity of “getting the best of it” go by. He has always prospered and is worth several thousand dollars in cash, besides some rather valuable real estate. Munday, on the other hand, was somewhat of a handicap and a dead weight on the institution. His personal habits were most objectionable; he was irritable, quarrelsome, and a general nuisance. Finally, in sheer desperation, Col. Tanner purchased his interest, and Munday retired to his native heath at Burlington, Iowa, where at last accounts he was engaged in defying the prohibitory law.

This “brace” house flourished like the proverbial green bay tree, until the advent of Mayor Ames, when the regular houses were permitted to open. Strong pressure was brought to bear, and Tanner, after removing from the “Elite” to a place on Washington Avenue north, finally effected a compromise, abandoned his game and became a partner with Sullivan and Flanagan.

In the meantime, Frank Shaw announced his intention of defying Sullivan and Flanagan and opening up whether they liked it or not, and he too was admitted into partnership. Then Sawyer, who with “Bob” Potee used to run the famous No. 3 Missouri Avenue in Kansas City, appeared on the scene, and declared his intention of corralling some of the large profits that rumor said were going into the pockets of the combination. He was permitted to open, paying the combination a certain percentage of the profits. However the screws were gradually put on, and ultimately he was forced out of business in Minneapolis and went to the Pacific coast. Sawyer was anything but popular with either his associates or patrons. He was cold with the former and supercilious toward the latter. Within the last year or so Mike Shelley, a native of Minneapolis and a local sport and saloon-keeper, has become identified with the gambling interests, taking the place of John Flanagan, who has retired on a moderate competence, amassed by a strict attention to business, and the practice of careful domestic economy.

At the present writing, in the year of grace, 1889, gambling is nominally confined to one club, which, however, is really open to the world at large and all mankind. In fact, gaming is just as general as it ever was, except that the combination, instead of running two or three establishments in open defiance of the better class of citizens, now quietly runs but one house and only caters to the moneyed men and clerks, the “dinner-pail brigade” not being considered desirable customers.

Such is a succinct account of gambling in Minneapolis, as the term gambling is generally understood. But other forms of the vice flourish unchecked and unmolested by the authorities. Bucket shops, under the guise of produce exchanges, the “clock,” policy playing, “crap” games, and the sale of lottery tickets run on as though there were no let or hindrance imposed by State law or municipal ordinances. All these enjoy an excellent amount of patronage.

The bucket shops naturally get the largest play, that is to say the heaviest. The immense amount of wheat daily received at the city for consumption by the mills, has made Minneapolis a great grain receiving port, and this fact has doubtless given an impetus to this form of gambling or speculation, as it is more politely termed. The Minneapolis Chamber of Commerce resembles the Chicago Board of Trade, and it is there that the “big guns” try to rob one another on the turn of the market, just as one card sharp tries to fleece another, or a greenhorn, on the turn of a card. Those outside the pale must perforce be satisfied to stake their money in the bucket shops against the Chicago quotations. In the opinion of many reflecting men this is the most pernicious form of the vice, because a large number of eminently respectable people persist in not regarding it as gambling, but consider it as merely a speculation. This delusion blinds many victims who would not for the universe enter a gambling house and put down their money on a fair layout, or bet on the whirl of the roulette wheel. The play against the bucket shops is steady, and it is a cause for wonder where all the money comes from. Margins are continually being wiped out of existence, but the speculators exhibit a recuperative power that is truly astonishing, since after being “knocked out” in one round, they continue to “come up smiling” in the next, and, strange to relate, no instances have been made public of employes who have stolen in order to continue a wild career of speculation, that ultimately ended in flight, prison, or suicide. Either fickle fortune must distribute her favors with comparative impartiality, or speculation does not run riot with that exuberant luxuriance known in many of the large cities. The chief establishment in Minneapolis, that of Pressey, Wheeler & Co., failed about a year ago, not from lack of business, however, but because it was not content with a steady income from the commissions received and became imbued with the idea that it was within the realm of possibility to beat the Chicago Board of Trade. It was a costly experiment; the firm went under, but its business reputation was such that plenty of financial backing was easily secured, and they are now doing business at the old stand, with a third party interested. The minor establishments of this character pursue the even tenor of their way, apparently satisfied with the assured prospect of a comfortable living.

The “clock,” a device worked automatically, which at intervals of half a minute threw out two cards, which were supposed to represent stock or bonds, the lower one showing that the stock fell a certain notch below the previous quotation, and the upper card a like increase, has had a checkered career, but on the whole cannot be said to have made an abundance of money for its owners. In its fundamental principle it resembled the faro bank, but it was a little more trouble to play the game, and its patrons were never very numerous, after the novelty of the thing had worn off. It was beaten out of almost a thousand dollars one day through collusion between a player and the man whose duty it was to place the cards in the clock at the beginning of the day’s work. But this trick has never been repeated, one experience of the sort having rendered the managers cautious in the extreme.

Policy has always been considered the colored man’s game, and 4-11-44 has a familiar sound to thousands of people who have not the faintest conception of the meaning of “saddles” and “gigs.” Its patrons in Minneapolis are confined mainly to negroes, although occasionally a Caucasian will hire a dark-skinned waiter or barber to play a few numbers for him, just to tempt the fickle goddess. It is a difficult matter to get the facts in this particular instance, for the reason that the policy vendors are almost constantly under police surveillance, and a raid is by no means infrequent. This may be attributed to a lack of political influence, and the small proportion of colored people to the entire population.

Craps, a dice game, always a favorite with the colored man and brother and the street gamin, is being introduced into the more aristocratic circles, and has become quite popular as a game of chance. The quaint expressions of “come seven, come eleven,” “where’s my point,” “little Joe,” “big Dick from Boston,” and the like, are now frequently heard from the lips of the high-toned white gamblers as they carelessly toss the dice in the early morning hours, after the regular games are closed. The play at times runs high among the white votaries, but in their hands it lacks the sauce piquante with which the game is flavored by the lowly descendant of Ham.

Minneapolis can boast of a full-fledged pool-room, owned and controlled by Frank Shaw. Since the inauguration of winter racing at New Orleans and the tracks at Guttenburg and Clifton, the place runs during the entire twelve months of the year. The establishment purports to give track odds, but in many instances shortens them materially. The proprietors have decidedly the best of it, for the play is constant, and as it is for small amounts there is but little chance for the house to make any considerable losing on any one book. The bookmakers are very cautious, and refuse big bets on “short horses” for fear they may be worsted through some sort of crookedness. In the books as low a wager as fifty cents is recorded, and in the combination and Paris mutual pools the small sum of twenty-five cents is thankfully accepted. It can be easily seen that the temptation is great to invest a quarter or a half with a bare possibility of having it returned tenfold in the brief space that elapses between the time the shout that “now they’re off,” and the moment when the announcement of the winners is made in the dulcet tones of the telegraph operator. One glance at the habitues of the pool-room shows plainly the folly of attempting to beat the races. The majority of them are poorly dressed, unkempt and frowsy. Every dollar that finds its way into their possession goes straight into the hands of the bookmakers, and hope gradually changes into passive despair, as the names of the leaders of the race are announced, and as the quarters are recorded by the “tick-tick” of the electric instrument. Those, and there are many of them, that have crossed the last ditch and are unable to raise a cent, spend their time in “touting” and importune each newcomer to buy this or that horse, confidently assuring the victim that it would be impossible for him to lose. In the event of their prediction being realized, they get a dollar or so, and proceed to back some “short” horse, on the improbable chance of “making a scratch” and winning several times the paltry amount which they have staked. This lost, the same old process is repeated. It is lose, lose, lose. The bookmaker is a veritable Minotaur, who must be appeased by frequent sacrifices. Honor, friendship, truth and reputation, all go in the futile attempt to gain money without the proper equivalent of hard work. It is pitiful, yet still the law does not interfere, and the work of destruction goes on, fresh recruits being constantly received into the ranks, only to find that instead of being generals, they rapidly degenerate into very ordinary privates, to whom the shelter of the guard-house is a boon. The rarity of Christian charity is amply exemplified daily in this pool- room. No matter how much money a victim may have spent, he would not be given enough to buy a loaf of bread, and he knows this only too well. The owner and employes grow fat and prosper, while the victim dresses in rags, and oft times goes hungry after investing his last half dollar or quarter in a vain endeavor to win back the money that has gone before.

Although the sale of lottery tickets is prohibited by law, and papers are forbidden to print advertisements of lotteries, the statutory provisions are openly violated, at least so far as the sale of tickets is concerned. There is no avowed agent, as is the case in several other cities, but people who wish to invest have no difficulty in securing the tickets without going through the formality of sending their money to New Orleans. There are several saloons whose proprietors are really the representatives of the lottery companies, and would-be purchasers, who are well known, experience no trouble. The drawings are posted in a conspicuous place, so that it is extremely easy to ascertain just how near you have come to drawing the capital prize. This once fell to two Minneapolis citizens who had invested a dollar apiece, and in return received $15,000, less the cost of collection. Numerous small prizes have been drawn at various times, yet the greater portion of the money spent for lottery tickets never comes back in the form of prizes, at least to Minneapolis. But as a well-known Chicago gambler once sagely remarked, “A sucker is born every minute,” and there is no lack of people to buy in the vain effort to get something for nothing.

On the whole, it may be said that while Minneapolis is not so bad as some other cities that might be named, there is nevertheless a wide field for a law and order society that would not be afraid to promote and aid, by all proper methods, the rigid enforcement of the laws against gaming.

In what has been said above, no reference has been made to private gambling. Its constant increase, however, is a fact as certain as it is deplorable. Gentlemen gamble at their clubs and teach the mysteries of poker to their wives, their sisters and their daughters, by their own firesides. Ladies of recognized social position may be found who are as familiar with “jack pots” and “bob tail flushes” as they are with the etiquette of the drawing room. Herein lies the most dangerous menace to the future of the young men of the city. Men who are willing to subscribe liberally toward a fund to be used in the suppression of public gaming seem to be cursed with such an obliquity of moral vision that they are able to see nothing objectionable in playing a “social game for trifling stakes” amid the more refined surroundings of home. If they could but have their eyes opened to the possible consequences of such infatuation, they would hesitate long before they ran the risk of transforming the “home” into a stepping stone in the path to the “hell.”

GAMBLING AT PEORIA, ILLINOIS.

For more than thirty years public gaming in Peoria has been practically under the control of a syndicate, the members of which all belong to the same family. For a considerable period but one establishment was in operation, which was conducted by three brothers. Of late years, however, three other houses have come into existence, but it is asserted that they do business only by the grace of the brothers in question. Of the latter it may be said that they are known no less for their liberality than for their calling. While they have made money rapidly, they have spent it freely, and the coarse notes which they have gathered in across the green cloth have gone into circulation without delay. A member of this same family, now well advanced in years, after having “sown his wild oats,” entered politics and was elected mayor of the city. As to the general character of his administration the author is not in a position to speak. The fraternity generally, however, have been under the impression that the suppression of gambling was not one of the ends which he set before himself as the goal of his ambition. In fact, rumor (which, not being particularly well founded, it would be charitable to disbelieve), has it that a rather near relative more than once appealed to the chief executive of the city for protection when hard pressed by men who claimed to have been victimized in his house.

Outside of the select circle already referred to, Peoria has never proved a particularly profitable locality for sporting men. In itself, it presents not a few inherent attractions to men of this stamp. It is the focus of several lines of railroad, the seat of a populous and wealthy county, and, above all, the centre of the enormous whisky trade of the West. Its floating population is at times very large, and it is not to be wondered at that the favored few who have enjoyed a monopoly in gambling have found it easy to accumulate large sums. These considerations have lured other professionals to the spot, but only to find that for them to attempt to make headway against an impregnable combination was like endeavoring to fight against fate.

Confidence men have always been apt to regard Peoria as a favorable field in which to look for “suckers.” At times a moderate degree of success has attended their efforts in this direction, especially on occasions when a particularly large crowd was present in the city, as, e. g., during the holding of State fairs and of political and other combinations. But on the whole, the city has been comparatively free from the incursions of this class of swindlers. Perhaps it may have been the abundance and cheapness of the “golden corn juice” which interfered with their operations. Either the sharpers or their dupes may have found the indulgence of one vicious appetite so easy as to interfere with the gratification of another. However this may be the fact remains that the city has never proved a specially remunerative theater for this description of thieves.

The best known proprietors of banking houses in Peoria have been the Warner brothers, Becker, Hale and Christy. Most of them are understood to have succeeded fairly well in their chosen calling, and this circumstance is undoubtedly due in a great measure to the character of trade for which Peoria is noted. The distillers spend money freely and the circulation of bank notes is brisk. Moreover, the customers of these gentlemen are generally men who are not averse to seeking recreation in an attempt to break the bank.

In fact, it is a matter worthy of comment that intemperance and gaming usually go hand in hand. Like twin monsters they stalk through the land with giant strides, leaving despair and ruin in their track. They supplement each other in the work of destruction. Liquor inflames the passions, stimulates the imagination, blunts the moral sense, and impairs the reasoning powers of the mind. The natural result is that the victim of the alcohol habit is easily incited to patronize the gaming hell. On the other hand gaming always induces excitement, and leaves either fictitious exhilaration or profound mental depression. In either case the gamester has resort to stimulants; it may be to heighten the exuberance of his joy; possibly to drown the recollection of his troubles or stifle the voice of conscience.

It is not the intent of the author to imply that Peoria differs from other cities of its size in this regard, nor would he say that the presence of a distillery in any town tends directly to promote and foster gambling. Yet any great center of the liquor traffic naturally draws thither a class of men who can see nothing specially wrong in gaming, and who, finding such resorts in active operation at any given point, are apt to extend to them an active patronage.

So far as lottery gambling is concerned, there cannot be said to be much of it at Peoria. The negro population—to whom “4-11-44” appeals more closely—is by no means so large as in various other cities in the State. Nevertheless, tickets in the Louisiana lottery, and even “eighths” are purchasable at these resorts where young men “do most congregate.” “The fangs of the serpent are far-reaching,” nor does there seem to be any way of limiting the number of victims unless the snake be “scotched” as soon as it raises its head. All honor to the State, which, although well-nigh hopelessly in debt, declined to surrender its moral freedom to the grasp of the anaconda. All honor to the National Administration whose executive head has called attention to the best remedy for removing this blot upon the civilization of the nineteenth century. All shame to the truculent spirit (not to say venality) which rampantly raises its head not only to defeat public policy but also to debauch public morals.

GAMBLING IN INDIANAPOLIS.

From time immemorial, the capital of Hoosierdom has been recognized among sporting men as a poor locality in which to attempt to conduct a gambling house. Not so much because of the higher morality of the inhabitants, nor on account of the rigid enforcement of the laws against gaming, as for the reason that the authorities, from the patrolmen on the “beat” up to officials of high rank, have been wont to levy such heavy assessments upon keepers of resorts of this character that the business has, as a rule, proved unprofitable. It is a common saying among “crooks” that at Indianapolis “arrangements may be made” for committing any offense, from picking a pocket to “cracking” a safe or “sand-bagging” a man, but such privileges “come high.”

Still, gambling hells have existed in the capital of Indiana since a date considerably antecedent to the war, and it is probable that it will always be possible for men who wish to seek their own ruin through this channel to find the means at hand. A demand has never yet failed to create a supply. Before and during the war the principal resorts were those of Basey, Noe, Reynolds, Dunn, Russell and Mortland. These men were old residents and enjoyed more privileges than were accorded to parties from abroad who came later, such as Snow, Barnes, O’Neill, Martin, Steiger, Williamson, Warner, Swift and others, who did business from time to time at subsequent periods. Mortland prospered, and invested his winnings in real estate, erecting a fine block on Illinois Street nearly opposite the Bates House. A certain portion of the building was especially designed for the purposes of a gambling house. Howard Barnes opened the “Maison Doree,”—an elegant resort, where faro, poker and keno were played, and having elegantly furnished rooms for the accommodation of private parties. The establishment enjoyed a large patronage, as did also the “House of Lords” and the “Dollar Store.” But the rooms most favored by gamblers of the higher social classes, and where the play was heaviest, were those of O’Neill, situated at number ten Canal Street. The proprietor also opened a keno room, but considering the demands of the authorities extortionate, refused to comply with them, and war upon him was declared at once. His houses were raided night after night, and he himself repeatedly indicted. The result was that he found his business destroyed and left Indianapolis for the more congenial latitude of Washington City.

“Brace” faro kept even pace with the “square” game, but was always conducted on a cheap scale and by men who, as a rule, made little money. Among the best known faro dealers, who were said to belong to this class, were Jake Fidler, Charley Young, “Sock” Riley, Fred White, Clift Dougherty, “Little Walter” Ellworthy and George Slaughter.

While the officials were able, however, to keep the banking games in check, poker never could be wholly suppressed. For twenty years there has been a game at the Bates House, at which many members of the Legislature have taken a hand while in attendance at the Capital. Among the players have been numbered some of Indiana’s “favorite sons”, men who attained distinction at the bar and in public life, the names of some of them being as familiar as household words to the great body of the American people. Other games of poker were played at rooms conducted by Ridgeway, Forbes, Stark, Baker, McCarthy, Richardson and Sim Coy.

Owing to the fact that Indianapolis is a great railroad centre, the Union Depot in that city has always been a favorite stamping ground for confidence men, who have reaped a golden harvest from the verdancy of their dupes. They have varied their operations at the depot proper by “working” the trains running into and out of the city. “French” Joe, “Big” Kendricks, “Sock” Riley, Lou Houck and George Duvall, each with a mob of confederates at his heels, have at various times made Indianapolis their headquarters.

At present, the city is known to the fraternity as “closed”, and the only gambling worth mentioning is the poker game at the Bates House, to which reference has been already made; and another game played over the English Opera House. Both these are commonly regarded as “swell” resorts, and at times high stakes change hands across the table.

What has become of the notorious characters who, as has been said, formerly pursued their nefarious calling here? A few of them have found other employment in the same city, while others have betaken themselves to new fields. Snow died of consumption. Ridgeway was found dead in his bed. Mortland was thrown out of his buggy and killed. Basey committed suicide by jumping from the window of the Occidental Hotel. His son-in- law, Major Russell, once known as the genial man about town, witty, well informed, and a universal favorite, poisoned himself. Ben Law, Jr., is serving a life sentence for murder. Ben Law, Sr., is awaiting trial on a charge of having killed his hired man while asleep in bed, being instigated thereto by jealousy. George Leggett, a businessman and gambler, and Ed. Brown (sometimes known as “scar-faced” Brown) a notorious character from Lexington, Kentucky, induced a man named John Acky, a good-natured, clever fellow, but too fond of liquor, to enter into a partnership with him in the conduct of a gambling house. Acky had just received the last installment of his inheritance from his father’s estate. Brown was to be the dealer for the establishment. The game was opened, and Acky was easily led away from the room and freely plied with liquor. When he became sober and returned to the place, he was told that the bank was broken, some unknown man having “won the roll”. This story appeared to Acky to be rather flimsy, and on inquiry he soon satisfied himself that he had been swindled. He went to Leggett and, telling him what he believed, asked for a loan of twenty-five dollars. Upon being refused, he procured a pistol, and, after taking several drinks, went in search of Leggett and Brown. He found them in a billiard hall and shot Leggett, killing him instantly. He was convicted of murder and hanged. Brown subsequently came to a miserable end, being killed in a brawl at a mining camp at Leadville. “Verily, the way of the transgressor is hard.”

The defalcation of Wm. E. Denny, Assistant Postmaster at Evansville, is too fresh in the public mind to call for repetition here. His confession showed that he had lost the money embezzled across the green cloth.

Such instances as these are by no means exceptional in the history of gambling and gamblers. A great poet is authority for the assertion that “man never is, but always to be blest.” Practical experience teaches that man who have become infatuated with the gaming habit always defers reformation until the “morrow,” which never comes. The philosopher who seeks for illustrations of the truth of this statement need not confine his researches to the City of Indianapolis or the State of Indiana. The defalcations of trusted employees—whether in the employ of the government, of private corporations, or of individual firms—are too plentiful to call for enumeration. The hard-earned accumulations of the poor, stored—dollar by dollar—in the vaults of savings banks, go to swell the revenue of the professional blackleg, dissipated through the peculations of a dishonest official. Trust funds, the sole support of widow and orphan—are sunk in the pitiless insatiate maw of the “tiger,” and the man whose death bed was rendered an easy couch because of his confidence in the honor of the friend in whom he trusted, is powerless to arise in defence of those who were dearer to him than his life. O, the cursed maelstrom, in whose dark eddies, fortune, truth, honor, find a common grave! Would God that my feeble voice might arrest the man, who, playing on the outer edges of the whirlpool, is destined to be sucked into its vortex. Of a truth, the path to the gaming resort is one “whose steps take hold on hell.”

A single remark may be made as to the interference of the Indianapolis authorities with public gaming. While, as has been said, the city is, in gambler’s parlance, “closed,” the outrageously flagrant manner in which the gullible stranger is fleeced at the Union Depot has brought the name of the town into disrepute. Gaming resorts are few, but confidence men reap a golden harvest from travelers, and the municipal government lifts not a finger in their protection.

GAMBLING IN SPRINGFIELD, ILLINOIS.

The city of Springfield—one of the most beautiful of its size in all the West—being at once the capital of the State and an important railroad centre, could be hardly expected to be free from the incursions of professional gamblers. While public sentiment among the better class of citizens is outspoken in condemnation of the vice, there has never been any determined effort on the part of the authorities to suppress it. This may be ascribed partly to the weighty political influence in municipal affairs wielded by the “tougher” elements of society, and in part to the fact that only occasionally do the gamblers so far outrage public decency as to flaunt their business before the eye of the public. The practical result of this state of affairs has been that a sort of tacit truce exists between the law-abiding citizens and this class of law-breakers.

The locations of the public gaming-houses, some half dozen in number, are nearly as well known as are those of the public buildings; and while they cannot be said to be “wide open,” it is by no means difficult for a player to gain admission. They derive their revenue from all classes, and they number among their patrons even men who are openly loud-voiced in denouncing them. More than one wife and mother in Springfield (and of what city cannot the same assertion be made?) sheds, in secret, bitter, scalding tears over the ruin—financial and moral—which these plague spots, these veritable pest-houses, have wrought in homes which were once the abodes of comfort, happiness and peace. But the hells reap their richest harvest during the biennial sessions of the General Assembly, when members vie with lobbyists for places around the tables. More than one law-maker has lost, at a single sitting, in such houses as Brewer’s or Manning’s, more than his _per diem_ and mileage for the entire session.

Another prolific source of revenue is found in the vast numbers who flock to Springfield from the rural districts, either to interview their representatives in the legislature, or to inspect the State House and view the other lions of the capital. Strangers of this description are promptly marked by the “ropers” and “steerers” as their own peculiar prey, and woe betide the luckless wight who listens to their blandishments.

The Springfield gambling houses are not, as a rule, models of elegance in their appointments, nor are they—if the prevalent impression is well founded—above resorting to chicanery when it appears probable that tortuous devices may be safely and profitably employed. For many years “Tom” Brewer (who later transferred his residence to Chicago) was the acknowledged “king of the games.” He was recognized as a good dealer and was a “high roller” at other houses, his impassive countenance betraying no emotion in the moment of either loss or triumph. Of irascible temper, however, and fond of the “flowing bowl,” he was continually involved in brawls. At such moments he cared for neither “God, man, nor the devil;” and was quite as likely to select the Governor of the State as a victim on whom to empty the vials of his wrath as anyone else. Legislators and tramps, clergymen and “bums” all stood on one common level. Other members of the local fraternity wondered at his temerity, admired his daring, and followed his lead, yet at the same time his personal popularity was never very great.

Not all the gambling at the Illinois capital, however, is carried on at public resorts. Private poker clubs were formerly numerous. For years, certain young bloods about town were wont to gather at the Leland Hotel for a friendly game of “draw.” In another, yet not remote, quarter of the city assembled professional men and men of letters, the roll of members comprising some of the brightest minds of Central Illinois, for purposes of relaxation and social intercourse. Here poker constituted one of the chief diversions, and play, although, it is said, never high, was constant. In private houses, also, the same mania finds its devotees. “_Facilis descensus Averni_;” and it is but a step—and a comparatively short one—from “five cent ante,” in the drawing room, to poker in the gambling hell, that portal through which so many thousands have entered on the path whose end is the felon’s cell or the outcast’s grave.

To the credit of the young and middle aged men of Springfield, however, be it said, that at present poker clubs are by no means so flourishing in Springfield as they were a few years ago. The reason unquestionably is that some of those who in former days, were among the chief patrons of the game have had their eyes opened to the dangers that lurk in “social gambling.” During the palmy days of the “clubs,” professional gamblers sometimes succeeded in securing admission to a game as visitors. “Once upon a time,” as the children’s chroniclers say, a polished stranger “from the East” appeared at the leading hostelry. His dress was faultless; his manners frank and engaging. He was introduced into the “club,” where he soon rose in general esteem. He played freely, and at first with varying success. Gradually the “fickle goddess” selected his chair as her permanent resting place and it was not long before his extraordinary “luck” had pretty well “cleaned out” the habitues of the rooms. Play fell off, and the stranger’s “business” having been accomplished he bid his late friends adieu and disappeared from public view. Suspicion did not then rest upon him, but subsequent developments proved conclusively that he was a professional “pigeon plucker,” and an accomplished expert at every form of card-sharping.