A short time previously another
Englishman, whose birth was as high as his wealth had been
considerable, blew his brains out in the Palais Royal, after
having literally lost his last shilling. Finally, an unfortunate
printer at Paris, who had a wife and five children, finished his
earthly career for the same cause, by suffocating himself with
the fumes of charcoal; he said, in his farewell note to his
unhappy wife--'Behold the effect of gaming!'[17]
[17] Ubi supra.
'IF I LOSE I SHALL COMMIT SUICIDE.'
A young man having gambled away his last shilling, solicited the
loan of a few pounds from one of the proprietors of the hell in
which he had been plundered. 'What security will you give me?'
asked the fellow. 'My word of honour,' was the reply. 'Your
word of honour! That's poor security, and won't do,' rejoined
the hellite; 'if you can pawn nothing better than that, you'll
get no money out of me.' 'Then you won't lend me a couple of
pounds?' 'Not without security,' was the reply. 'Why, surely,
you won't refuse me a couple of sovereigns, after having lost so
much?' 'I won't advance you a couple of shillings without
security.'
Still bent upon play, and greedy for the means to gratify his
passion, the unhappy man, as if struck by a sudden thought,
exclaimed--'I'll give you security--the clothes on my back are
quite new, and worth eight guineas; you shall have them as
security.
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