SIR,—Can it be true—as rumour has it—that in an old-established gambling club, not 100 miles from St. James’s Street, enormous sums are nightly staked, and that fortunes rapidly change hands? I hear that three men sat down a few nights ago to play écarté in this said club, and that one of their number was at a certain period of the evening a loser of the enormous sum of £100,000. That when this very impossible figure was reduced to limits within which the winners considered the loser could pay, play ceased and the party broke up. The next day—so runs the story—one of the winners called with bills to the amount of £26,000, drawn on stamped paper, for the loser to accept. This gentleman, however, though he freely admits having played, states that, having dined not wisely but too well, he has no sort of recollection of losing any specific sum, but merely a hazy idea that fabulously large amounts were recklessly staked all round, and no accounts kept. In other words, he repudiates, and finally, after a lengthened discussion, has consented to place himself in the hands of a friend to decide what he is to pay. If this is true, and I have no reason to doubt it, I can only stigmatize the whole affair as a public scandal, and the police should promptly interfere and shut up a club where such disgraceful things occur. When Jenks’s baccarat ‘hell’ was closed, and Mr. J. Campbell Wilkinson and his six associates were each fined £500 (hence the very excellent _bon mot_ which appeared in the _Sporting Times_ that ‘Jenks’ babies’ had become ‘Jenks’ monkeys’), the public were justified in believing that, at last, there was not to be one law for the rich and another for the poor, and that in future men who broke the law by gambling for thousands, would have the same justice meted out to them as those who did so by tossing for coppers. However, it appears such hopes were premature, and before this happy state of things is arrived at, further attention must be drawn to the matter, hence this letter, for which I sincerely trust you will be able to find space.—I am, Sir, yours, &c., “A HATER OF PROFESSIONAL GAMBLERS. “January 24th.” [52] In May, 1775, a Bluecoat boy confessed that he had been tampered with, and had concealed a ticket, which was afterwards drawn. A man was arrested as the accomplice, but was discharged; but the Lottery Committee, in order to prevent a similar fraud, moved the following resolution (December 12, 1775), which was afterwards always adhered to: “That it be requested of the _Treasurer of Christ’s Hospital_, not to make known who are the twelve boys nominated for drawing the lottery till the morning the drawing begins; which said boys are all to attend every day, and the two who are to go on duty at the wheels, are to be taken promiscuously from amongst the whole number, by either of the Secretaries, without observing any regular course, or order; so that no boy shall know when it will be his turn to go to either wheel.”