‘So have I. Thunder and Mars: I think it no better than highway robbery,’ cried Blodget with a great show of virtuous indignation—‘that is—except you know—where for mere amusement one takes a cue with a friend. By the bye, are you good at shoving a ball, Monteagle?’ ‘Billiards you are speaking of. Oh, I like that game well enough, for exercise. I cannot call myself a proficient, though I can once in a while put something in a pocket.’ ‘But you don’t believe in putting something into your own pocket—ha, ha. Nor in taking something out of your neighbor’s. Well it is robbery. It makes me so mad sometimes to see how these things are done: but here we are at the Bella; let’s just in and overlook the game.’ They entered a very large apartment where all the conveniences and implements for gambling were found arrayed according to the most approved style. Nothing was wanted to render this establishment equal to its ‘illustrious predecessors’ in the old world and in the Atlantic cities. Here were refreshments offered to all comers free of cost. Wines were freely poured out and segars presented, so that ‘good old-fashioned hospitality’ was never displayed in these degenerate days so bountifully as Monteagle saw it exhibited at the famous Bella Union. A large table devoted to the game of Rouge et Noir invited the attention of our two friends. A Californian of swart countenance and sinister aspect, here deals Monte for the benefit of the greenhorns who throng around the golden piles in momentary expectation of seeing them flit into their own pockets, but though riches have wings, they do not fly in that direction. In lieu of that the few acres which the ‘Squatteroez’ have left them, go rapidly out of their possession. Then the Faro players were thronging around the table, certain of a change of luck _next time_, and verifying the poet’s declaration that ‘man never _is_, but always _to be_ blest.’ Each sagacious adventurer fancies himself a perfect La Place or Newton in calculation, and believes that he has, at last, mastered the complex elaboration of chances, and shall eventually ‘bust the bank.’ Unmitigated ass! Even though your power of calculation surpassed that of Zerah Colburn, you would be sure to lose, even admitting that the game was fairly played. But watch with the eyes of an Argus, and think with the profundity of a Fourier, and that placid, smooth-tongued arbiter of Fortune, will look you in the eyes and cheat you out of every farthing you have got.