{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_34743/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_34743","id":"gutenberg_34743","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/34743","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Category: Psychiatry/Psychology","Category: Sociology","Gambling"],"text":"Produced by Bryan Ness, Hunter Monroe and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This\nfile was produced from images generously made available\nby The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n              [Illustration: HENRY WARD BEECHER.]\n\n\n                         Gamblers and\n                           Gambling\n\n                        By Rev. Henry\n                             Ward\n                           Beecher\n\n                         Philadelphia\n                        Henry Altemus\n\n\n             Copyrighted, 1896, by HENRY ALTEMUS.\n\n                 HENRY ALTEMUS, MANUFACTURER,\n                        PHILADELPHIA.\n\n\n\n\n                    GAMBLERS AND GAMBLING\n\n      Then the soldiers, when they had crucified Jesus, took his\n      garments and made four parts, to every soldier a part, and also\n      his coat. Now the coat was without seam, woven from the top\n      throughout. They said therefore among themselves, Let us not rend\n      it, but cast lots far it, whose it shall be. These things\n      therefore the soldiers did.\n\n\nI have condensed into one account the separate parts of this gambling\ntransaction as narrated by each evangelist. How marked in every age is a\nGambler's character! The enraged priesthood of ferocious sects taunted\nChrist's dying agonies; the bewildered multitude, accustomed to cruelty,\ncould shout; but no earthly creature, but a Gambler, could be so lost to\n_all_ feeling as to sit down coolly under a dying man to wrangle for his\ngarments, and arbitrate their avaricious differences by casting dice for\nhis tunic, with hands spotted with his spattered blood, warm and yet\nundried upon them. The descendants of these patriarchs of gambling,\nhowever, have taught us that there is nothing possible to hell,\nuncongenial to these, its elect saints. In this lecture it is my\ndisagreeable task to lead your steps down the dark path to their cruel\nhaunts, there to exhibit their infernal passions, their awful ruin, and\ntheir ghastly memorials. In this house of darkness, amid fierce faces\ngleaming with the fire of fiercer hearts, amid oaths and groans and\nfiendish orgies, ending in murders and strewn with sweltering\ncorpses,--do not mistake, and suppose yourself in Hell,--you are only\nin its precincts and vestibule.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nGambling is the staking or winning of property upon mere hazard. The\nhusbandman renders produce for his gains; the mechanic renders the\nproduct of labor and skill for his gains; the gambler renders for his\ngain the sleights of useless skill, or more often, downright cheating.\nBetting is gambling; there is no honest equivalent to its gains.\nDealings in fancy-stocks are oftentimes sheer gambling, with all its\nworst evils. Profits so earned are no better than the profits of dice,\ncards, or hazard. When skill returns for its earnings a useful service,\nas knowledge, beneficial amusements, or profitable labor, it is honest\ncommerce. The skill of a pilot in threading a narrow channel, the skill\nof a lawyer in threading a still more intricate one, are as substantial\nequivalents for a price received, as if they were merchant goods or\nagricultural products. But all gains of _mere_ skill which result in no\nreal benefit, are gambling gains.\n\nGaming, as it springs from a principle of our nature, has, in some form,\nprobably existed in every age. We trace it in remote periods and among\nthe most barbarous people. It loses none of its fascinations among a\ncivilized people. On the contrary, the habit of fierce stimulants, the\njaded appetite of luxury, and the satiety of wealth, seem to invite the\nmaster-excitant. Our land, not apt to be behind in good or evil, is full\nof gambling in all its forms--the gambling of commerce, the gambling of\nbets and wagers, and the gambling of games of hazard. There is gambling\nin refined circles, and in the lowest; among the members of our national\ngovernment, and of our state governments. Thief gambles with thief, in\njail; the judge who sent them there, the lawyer who prosecuted, and the\nlawyer who defended them, often gamble too. This vice, once almost\nuniversally prevalent among the Western bar, and still too frequently\ndisgracing its members, is, however, we are happy to believe,\ndecreasing. In many circuits, not long ago, and in some now, the judge,\nthe jury, and the bar, shuffled cards by night, and law by day--dealing\nout money and justice alike. The clatter of dice and cards disturbs your\nslumber on the boat, and rings drowsily from the upper rooms of the\nhotel. This vice pervades the city, extends over every line of travel,\nand infests the most moral districts. The secreted lamp dimly lights the\napprentices to their game; with unsuspected disobedience, boys creep out\nof their beds to it; it goes on in the store close by the till; it\nhaunts the shop. The scoundrel in his lair, the scholar in his room; the\npirate on his ship, gay women at parties; loafers on the street-corner,\npublic functionaries in their offices; the beggar under the hedge, the\nrascal in prison, and some professors of religion in the somnolent hours\nof the Sabbath,--waste their energies by the ruinous excitement of the\ngame. Besides these players, there are troops of professional gamblers,\ntroops of hangers-on, troops of youth to be _drawn_ in. An inexperienced\neye would detect in our peaceful towns no signs of this\nvulture-flock;--so in a sunny day, when all cheerful birds are singing\nmerrily, not a buzzard can be seen; but let a carcass drop, and they\nwill push forth their gaunt heads from their gloomy roosts, and come\nflapping from the dark woods to speck the air, and dot the ground with\ntheir numbers.\n\nThe universal prevalence of this vice is a reason for parental\nvigilance; and a reason of remonstrance from the citizen, the parent,\nthe minister of the gospel, the patriot, and the press. I propose to\ntrace its opening, describe its subjects, and detail its effects.\n\nA young man, proud of freedom, anxious to exert his manhood, has tumbled\nhis Bible, and sober books, and letters of counsel, into a dark closet.\nHe has learned various accomplishments, to flirt, to boast, to swear, to\nfight, to drink. He has let every one of these chains be put around him,\nupon the solemn promise of Satan that he would take them off whenever he\nwished. Hearing of the artistic feats of eminent gamblers, he emulates\nthem. So, he ponders the game. He teaches what he has learned to his\nshopmates, and feels himself their master. As yet he has never played\nfor stakes. It begins thus: Peeping into a book-store, he watches till\nthe sober customers go out; then slips in, and with assumed boldness,\nnot concealing his shame, he asks for cards, buys them, and hastens out.\nThe first game is to pay for the cards. After the relish of playing for\na stake, no game can satisfy them _without_ a stake. A few nuts are\nstaked; then a bottle of wine; an oyster-supper. At last they can\nventure a sixpence in _actual money_--just for the amusement of it. I\nneed go no further--whoever wishes to do anything with the lad, can do\nit now. If properly plied, and gradually led, he will go to any length,\nand stop only at the gallows. Do you doubt it? let us trace him a year\nor two further on.\n\nWith his father's blessing, and his mother's tears, the young man\ndeparts from home. He has received his patrimony, and embarks for life\nand independence. Upon his journey he rests at a city; visits the\n\"school of morals;\" lingers in more suspicious places; is seen by a\nsharper; and makes his acquaintance. The knave sits by him at dinner;\ngives him the news of the place, and a world of advice; cautions him\nagainst sharpers; inquires if he has money, and charges him to keep it\nsecret; offers himself to make with him the rounds of the town, and\nsecure him from imposition. At length, that he may see all, he is taken\nto a gaming-house, but, with apparent kindness, warned not to play. He\nstands by to see the various fortunes of the game; some, forever losing;\nsome, touch what number they will, gaining piles of gold. Looking in\nthirst where wine is free. A glass is taken; another of a better kind;\nnext the best the landlord has, and two glasses of that. A change comes\nover the youth; his exhilaration raises his courage, and lulls his\ncaution. Gambling _seen_, seems a different thing from gambling\n_painted_ by a pious father! Just then his friend remarks that one might\neasily double his money by a few ventures, but that it was, perhaps,\nprudent not to risk. Only this was needed to fire his mind. What! only\nprudence between me and gain? Then that shall not be long! He stakes; he\nwins. Stakes again; wins again. Glorious! I am the lucky man that is to\nbreak the bank! He stakes, and wins again. His pulse races; his face\nburns; his blood is up, and fear gone. He loses; loses again; loses all\nhis winnings; loses more. But fortune turns again; he wins anew. He has\nnow lost all self-command. Gains excite him, and losses excite him more.\nHe doubles his stakes; then trebles them--and all is swept. He rushes\non, puts up his whole purse, and loses the whole! Then he would borrow;\nno man will lend. He is desperate, he will fight at a word. He is led to\nthe street, and thrust out. The cool breeze which blows upon\nhis fevered cheek, wafts the slow and solemn stroke of the\nclock,--one,--two,--three,--four; _four of the morning_! Quick work of\nruin!--an innocent man destroyed in a night! He staggers to his hotel,\nremembers as he enters it, that he has not even enough to pay his bill.\nIt now flashes upon him that his friend, who never had left him for an\nhour before, had stayed behind where his money is, and, doubtless, is\nlaughing over his spoils. His blood boils with rage. But at length comes\nup the remembrance of home; a parent's training and counsels for more\nthan twenty years, destroyed in a night! \"Good God! what a wretch I have\nbeen! I am not fit to live. I cannot go home. I am a stranger here. Oh!\nthat I were dead! Oh! that I had died before I knew this guilt, and were\nlying where my sister lies! Oh God! Oh God! my head will burst with\nagony!\" He stalks his lonely room with an agony which only the young\nheart knows in its first horrible awakening to remorse--when it looks\ndespair full in the face, and feels its hideous incantations tempting\nhim to suicide. Subdued at length by agony, cowed and weakened by\ndistress, he is sought again by those who plucked him. Cunning to\nsubvert inexperience, to raise the evil passions, and to allay the\ngood, they make him their pliant tool.\n\nFarewell, young man! I see thy steps turned to that haunt again! I see\nhope lighting thy face; but it is a lurid light, and never came from\nheaven. Stop before that threshold!--turn, and bid farewell to\nhome!--farewell to innocence!--farewell to venerable father and aged\nmother!--the next step shall part thee from them all forever. And now\nhenceforth be a mate to thieves, a brother to corruption. Thou hast made\na league with death, and unto death shalt thou go.\n\nLet us here pause, to draw the likeness of a few who stand conspicuous\nin that vulgar crowd of gamblers, with which hereafter he will consort.\nThe first is a taciturn, quiet man. No one knows when he comes into\ntown, or when he leaves. No man hears of his gaining; for he never\nboasts, nor reports his luck. He spends little for parade; his money\nseems to go and come only through the game. He reads none, converses\nnone, is neither a glutton nor a hard drinker; he sports few ornaments,\nand wears plain clothing. Upon the whole, he seems a gentlemanly man;\nand sober citizens say, \"his only fault is gambling.\" What then is this\n\"_only fault_?\" In his heart he has the most intense and consuming lust\nof play. He is quiet because every passion is absorbed in one; and that\none burning at the highest flame. He thinks of nothing else, cares only\nfor this. All other things, even the hottest lusts of other men, are too\ncool to be temptations to him; so much deeper is the style of his\npassions. He will sit upon his chair, and no man shall see him move for\nhours, except to play his cards. He sees none come in, none go out.\nDeath might groan on one side of the room, and marriage might sport on\nthe other,--he would know neither. Every created influence is shut out;\none thing only moves him--the _game_; and that leaves not one pulse of\nexcitability unaroused, but stirs his soul to the very dregs.\n\nVery different is the roistering gamester. He bears a jolly face, a\nglistening eye something watery through watching and drink. His fingers\nare manacled in rings; his bosom grows with pearls and diamonds. He\nlearns the time which he wastes from a watch full gorgeously carved,\n(and not with the most modest scenes,) and slung around his neck by a\nponderous golden chain. There is not so splendid a fellow to be seen\nsweeping through the streets. The landlord makes him welcome--he will\nbear a full bill. The tailor smiles like May--he will buy half his\nshop. Other places bid him welcome--he will bear large stealings.\n\nLike the Judge, he makes his circuit, but not for justice; like the\nPreacher, he has his appointments, but not for instruction. His circuits\nare the race-courses, the crowded capital, days of general convocation,\nconventions, and mass-gatherings. He will flame on the race-track, bet\nhis thousands, and beat the ring at swearing, oaths vernacular,\nimported, simple, or compound. The drinking-booth smokes when he draws\nin his welcome suit. Did you see him only by day, flaming in apparel,\njovial and free-hearted at the Restaurateur or Hotel, you would think\nhim a Prince let loose--a cross between Prince Hal and Falstaff.\n\nBut night is his day. These are mere exercises, and brief prefaces to\nhis real accomplishments. He is a good fellow, who dares play deeper; he\nis wild indeed, who seems wilder; and he is keen indeed, who is sharper\nthan he is, after all this show of frankness. No one is quicker, slyer,\nand more alert at a game. He can shuffle the pack till an honest man\nwould as soon think of looking for a particular drop of water in the\nocean, as for a particular card in any particular place. Perhaps _he_ is\nignorant which is at the top and which at the bottom! At any rate,\nwatch him closely, or you will get a lean hand and he a fat one. A plain\nman would think him a wizard or the devil. When he touches a pack they\nseem _alive_, and acting to his _will_ rather than his _touch_. He deals\nthem like lightning, they rain like snow-flakes, sometimes one,\nsometimes two, if need be four or five together, and his hand hardly\nmoved. If he loses, very well, he laughs; if he gains, he only laughs a\nlittle more. Full of stories, full of songs, full of wit, full of\nroistering spirit--yet do not trespass too much upon his good nature\nwith insult! All this outside is only the spotted hide which covers the\ntiger. He who provokes this man, shall see what lightning can break out\nof a summer-seeming cloud!\n\nThese do not fairly represent the race of gamblers,--conveying too\nfavorable an impression. There is one, often met on Steamboats,\ntravelling solely to gamble. He has the servants, or steward, or some\npartner, in league with him, to fleece every unwary player whom he\ninveigles to a game. He deals falsely; heats his dupe to madness by\ndrink, drinking none himself; watches the signal of his accomplice\ntelegraphing his opponent's hand; at a stray look, he will slip your\nmoney off and steal it. To cover false playing, or to get rid of paying\nlosses, he will lie fiercely, and swear uproariously, and break up the\nplay to fight with knife or pistol--first scraping the table of every\npenny. When the passengers are asleep, he surveys the luggage, to see\nwhat may be worth stealing; he pulls a watch from under the pillow of\none sleeper; fumbles in the pockets of another; and gathers booty\nthroughout the cabin. Leaving the boat before morning, he appears at\nsome village hotel, a magnificent gentleman, a polished traveller, or\neven a distinguished nobleman!\n\nThere is another gambler, cowardly, sleek, stealthy, humble, mousing,\nand mean--a simple blood-sucker. For money, he will be a tool to other\ngamblers; steal for them, and from them; he plays the jackal, and\nsearches victims for them, humbly satisfied to pick the bones afterward.\nThus, (to employ his own language,) he _ropes in_ the inexperienced\nyoung, flatters them, teaches them, inflames their passions, purveys to\ntheir appetites, cheats them, debauches them, draws them down to his own\nlevel, and then lords it over them in malignant meanness. Himself\nimpure, he plunges others into lasciviousness; and with a train of\nreeking satellites, he revolves a few years in the orbit of the game,\nthe brothel, and the doctor's shop; then sinks and dies: the world is\npurer, and good men thank God that he is gone.\n\nBesides these, time would fail me to describe the ineffable dignity of a\ngambling judge; the cautious, phlegmatic lawyer, gambling from sheer\navarice; the broken-down and cast-away politician, seeking in the game\nthe needed excitement, and a fair field for all the base tricks he once\nplayed off as a patriot; the pert, sharp, keen, jockey-gambler; the\nsoaked, obese, plethoric, wheezing, bacchanal; and a crowd of ignoble\nworthies, wearing all the badges and titles of vice, throughout its base\npeerage.\n\nA detail of the evils of gambling should be preceded by an illustration\nof that constitution of mind out of which they mainly spring--I mean its\nEXCITABILITY. The body is not stored with a fixed amount of strength,\nnor the mind with a uniform measure of excitement; but both are capable,\nby stimulation, of expansion of strength or feeling, almost without\nlimit. Experience shows, that within certain bounds, excitement is\nhealthful and necessary, but beyond this limit, exhausting and\ndestructive. Men are allowed to choose between moderate but\nlong-continued excitement, and intense but short-lived excitement. Too\ngenerally they prefer the latter. To gain this intense thrill, a\nthousand methods are tried. The inebriate obtains it by drink and drugs;\nthe politician, by the keen interest of the civil campaign; the young by\namusements which violently inflame and gratify their appetites. When\nonce this higher flavor of stimulus has been tasted, all that is less\nbecomes vapid and disgustful. A sailor tries to live on shore; a few\nweeks suffice. To be sure, there is no hardship, or cold, or suffering;\nbut neither is there the strong excitement of the ocean, the gale, the\nstorm, and the world of strange sights. The politician perceives that\nhis private affairs are deranged, his family neglected, his character\naspersed, his feelings exacerbated. When men hear him confess that his\ncareer is a hideous waking dream, the race vexatious, and the end\nvanity, they wonder that he clings to it; but _he_ knows that nothing\nbut the fiery wine which he has tasted will rouse up that intense\nexcitement, now become necessary to his happiness. For this reason,\ngreat men often cling to public office with all its envy, jealousy,\ncare, toil, hates, competitions, and unrequited fidelity; for these very\ndisgusts, and the perpetual struggle, strike a deeper chord of\nexcitement than is possible to the gentler touches of home, friendship\nand love. Here too is the key to the real evil of promiscuous\nnovel-reading, to the habit of reverie and mental romancing. None of\nlife's common duties can excite to such wild pleasure as these; and they\nmust be continued, or the mind reacts into the lethargy of fatigue and\n_ennui_. It is upon this principle that men love _pain_; suffering is\npainful to a spectator; but in tragedies, at public executions, at\npugilistic combats, at cock-fightings, horse-races, bear-baitings,\nbull-fights, gladiatorial shows, it excites a jaded mind as nothing else\ncan. A tyrant torments for the same reason that a girl reads her\ntear-bedewed romance, or an inebriate drinks his dram. No longer\nsusceptible even to inordinate stimuli, actual moans, and shrieks, and\nthe writhing of utter agony, just suffice to excite his worn-out sense,\nand inspire, probably, less emotion than ordinary men have in listening\nto a tragedy or reading a bloody novel.\n\nGambling is founded upon the very worst perversion of this powerful\nelement of our nature. It heats every part of the mind like an oven. The\nfaculties which produce calculation, pride of skill, of superiority,\nlove of gain, hope, fear, jealousy, hatred, are absorbed in the game,\nand exhilarated, or exacerbated by victory or defeat. These passions\nare, doubtless, excited in men by the daily occurrences of life; but\nthen they are transient, and counteracted by a thousand grades of\nemotion, which rise and fall like the undulations of the sea. But in\ngambling there is no intermission, no counteraction. The whole mind is\nexcited to the utmost, and concentrated at its extreme point of\nexcitation for hours and days, with the additional waste of sleepless\nnights, profuse drinking, and other congenial immoralities. Every other\npursuit becomes tasteless; for no ordinary duty has in it a stimulus\nwhich can scorch a mind which now refuses to burn without blazing, or to\nfeel an interest which is not intoxication. The victim of excitement is\nlike a mariner who ventures into the edge of a whirlpool for a motion\nmore exhilarating than plain sailing. He is unalarmed during the first\nfew gyrations, for escape is easy. But each turn sweeps him further in;\nthe power augments, the speed becomes terrific as he rushes toward the\nvortex; all escape now hopeless. A noble ship went in; it is spit out in\nbroken fragments, splintered spars, crushed masts, and cast up for many\na rood along the shore. The specific evils of gambling may now be almost\nimagined.\n\nI. It diseases the mind, unfitting it for the duties of life. Gamblers\nare seldom industrious men in any useful vocation. A gambling mechanic\nfinds his labor less relishful as his passion for play increases. He\ngrows unsteady, neglects his work, becomes unfaithful to promises; what\nhe performs he slights. Little jobs seem little enough; he desires\nimmense contracts, whose uncertainty has much the excitement of\ngambling--and for the best of reasons; and in the pursuit of great and\nsudden profits, by wild schemes, he stumbles over into ruin, leaving all\nwho employed or trusted him in the rubbish of his speculations.\n\nA gambling lawyer, neglecting the drudgery of his profession, will court\nits exciting duties. To explore authorities, compare reasons, digest,\nand write,--this is tiresome. But to advocate, to engage in fiery\ncontests with keen opponents, this is nearly as good as gambling. Many a\nruined client has cursed the law, and cursed a stupid jury, and cursed\neverybody for his irretrievable loss, except his lawyer, who gambled all\nnight when he should have prepared the case, and came half asleep and\ndebauched into court in the morning to lose a good case mismanaged, and\nsnatched from his gambling hands by the art of sober opponents.\n\nA gambling student, if such a thing can be, withdraws from thoughtful\nauthors to the brilliant and spicy; from the pure among these, to the\nsharp and ribald; from all _reading_ about depraved life, to _seeing_;\nfrom sight to experience. Gambling vitiates the imagination, corrupts\nthe tastes, destroys the industry--for no man will drudge for cents, who\ngambles for dollars by the hundred; or practise a piddling economy,\nwhile, with almost equal indifference, he makes or loses five hundred in\na night.\n\nII. For a like reason, it destroys all domestic habits and affections.\nHome is a prison to an inveterate gambler; there is no air there that he\ncan breathe. For a moment he may sport with his children, and smile upon\nhis wife; but his heart, its strong passions, are not there. A little\nbranch-rill may flow through the family, but the deep river of his\naffections flows away from home. On the issue of a game, Tacitus\nnarrates that the ancient Germans would stake their property, their\nwives, their children, and themselves. What less than this is it, when a\nman will stake that property which is to give his family bread, and that\nhonor which gives them place and rank in society?\n\nWhen _playing_ becomes desperate _gambling_, the heart is a hearth where\nall the fires of gentle feelings have smouldered to ashes; and a\nthorough-paced gamester could rattle dice in a charnel-house, and\nwrangle for his stakes amid murder and pocket gold dripping with the\nblood of his own kindred.\n\nIII. Gambling is the parent and companion of every vice which pollutes\nthe heart, or injures society.\n\nIt is a practice so disallowed among Christians, and so excluded by mere\nmoralists, and so hateful to industrious and thriving men, that those\nwho practise it are shut up to themselves; unlike lawful pursuits, it is\nnot modified or restrained by collision with others. Gamblers herd with\ngamblers. They tempt and provoke each other to all evil, without\naffording one restraint, and without providing the counterbalance of a\nsingle virtuous impulse. They are like snakes coiling among snakes,\npoison and poisoning; like plague-patients, infected and diffusing\ninfection; each sick and all contagious. It is impossible to put bad men\ntogether and not have them grow worse. The herding of convicts\npromiscuously, produced such a fermentation of depravity, that, long\nago, legislators forbade it. When criminals, out of jail, herd together\nby choice, the same corrupt nature will doom them to growing\nloathsomeness, because of increasing wickedness.\n\nIV. It is a provocative of thirst. The bottle is almost as needful as\nthe card, the ball, or the dice. Some are seduced to drink; some drink\nfor imitation, at first, and fashion. When super-excitements, at\nintervals, subside, their victim cannot bear the deathlike gloom of the\nreaction; and, by drugs or liquor, wind up their system to the glowing\npoint again. Therefore, drinking is the invariable concomitant of the\ntheatre, circus, race-course, gaming-table, and of all amusements which\npowerfully excite all but the moral feelings. When the double fires of\ndice and brandy blaze under a man, he will soon be consumed. If men are\nfound who do not drink, they are the more noticeable because exceptions.\n\nV. It is, even in its fairest form, the almost inevitable _cause of\ndishonesty_. Robbers have robbers' honor; thieves have thieves' law; and\npirates conform to pirates' regulations. But where is there a gambler's\ncode? One law there is, and this is not universal, _pay your gambling\ndebts_. But on the wide question, _how is it fair to win_--what law is\nthere? What will shut a man out from a gambler's club? May he not\ndiscover his opponent's hand by fraud? May not a concealed thread,\npulling the significant _one_;--_one, two_; or _one, two, three_; or the\nsign of a bribed servant or waiter, inform him, and yet his standing be\nfair? May he not cheat in shuffling, and yet be in full orders and\ncanonical? May he not cheat in dealing, and yet be a welcome\ngambler?--may he not steal the money from your pile by laying his hands\nupon it, just as any other thief would, and yet be an approved gambler?\nMay not the whole code be stated thus: _Pay what you lose, get what you\ncan, and in any way you can!_ I am told, perhaps, that there are honest\ngamblers, gentlemanly gamblers. Certainly; there are always ripe apples\nbefore there are rotten. Men always _begin_ before they _end_; there is\nalways an approximation before there is contact. Players will play truly\ntill they get used to playing untruly; will be honest, till they cheat;\nwill be honorable, till they become base; and when you have said all\nthis, what does it amount to but this, that men who _really_ gamble,\nreally cheat; and that they only do not cheat, who are not _yet_ real\ngamblers? If this mends the matter, let it be so amended. I have spoken\nof gamesters only among themselves; this is the least part of the evil;\nfor who is concerned when lions destroy bears, or wolves devour\nwolf-cubs, or snakes sting vipers? In respect to that department of\ngambling which includes the _roping-in_ of strangers, young men,\ncollecting-clerks, and unsuspecting green-hands, and robbing them, I\nhave no language strong enough to mark down its turpitude, its infernal\nrapacity. After hearing many of the scenes not unfamiliar to every\ngambler, I think Satan might be proud of their dealings, and look up to\nthem with that deferential respect, with which one monster gazes upon a\nsuperior. There is not even the expectation of honesty. Some\nscullion-herald of iniquity decoys the unwary wretch into the secret\nroom; he is tempted to drink; made confident by the specious simplicity\nof the game; allowed to win; and every bait and lure and blind is\nemployed--then he is plucked to the skin by tricks which appear as fair\nas honesty itself. The robber avows _his_ deed, does it openly; the\ngambler sneaks to the same result under skulking pretences. There is a\nfrank way, and a mean way of doing a wicked thing. The gambler takes the\nmeanest way of doing the dirtiest deed. The victim's own partner is\nsucking his blood; it is a league of sharpers, to get his money at any\nrate; and the wickedness is so unblushing and unmitigated, that it\ngives, at last, an instance of what the deceitful human heart, knavish\nas it is, is ashamed to try to cover or conceal; but confesses with\nhelpless honesty, that it is fraud, cheating, _stealing_,\n_robbery_,--and nothing else.\n\nIf I walk the dark street, and a perishing, hungry wretch meets me and\nbears off my purse with but a single dollar, the whole town awakes; the\nofficers are alert, the myrmidons of the law scout, and hunt, and bring\nin the trembling culprit to stow him in the jail. But a worse thief may\nmeet me, decoy my steps, and by a greater dishonesty, filch ten thousand\ndollars,--and what then? The story spreads, the sharpers move abroad\nunharmed, no one stirs. It is the day's conversation; and like a sound\nit rolls to the distance, and dies in an echo.\n\nShall such astounding iniquities be vomited out amidst us, and no man\ncare? Do we love our children, and yet let them walk in a den of vipers?\nShall we pretend to virtue, and purity, and religion, and yet make\npartners of our social life, men whose heart has conceived such damnable\ndeeds, and whose hands have performed them? Shall there be even in the\neye of religion no difference between the corrupter of youth and their\nguardian? Are all the lines and marks of morality so effaced, is the\nnerve and courage of virtue so quailed by the frequency and boldness of\nflagitious crimes, that men, covered over with wickedness, shall find\ntheir iniquity no obstacle to their advancement among a Christian\npeople.\n\nIn almost every form of iniquity there is some shade or trace of good.\nWe have in gambling a crime standing alone--dark, malignant,\nuncompounded wickedness! It seems in its full growth a monster without a\ntender mercy, devouring its own offspring without one feeling but\nappetite. A gamester, as such, is the cool, calculating, essential\n_spirit_ of concentrated avaricious selfishness. His intellect is a\nliving thing, quickened with double life for villany; his heart is steel\nof fourfold temper. When a man _begins_ to gamble he is as a noble tree\nfull of sap, green with leaves, a shade to beasts, and a covert to\nbirds. When one _becomes_ a thorough gambler, he is like that tree\nlightning-smitten, rotten in root, dry in branch, and sapless; seasoned\nhard and tough; nothing lives beneath it, nothing on its branches,\nunless a hawk or a vulture perches for a moment to whet its beak, and\nfly screaming away for its prey.\n\nTo every young man who indulges in the least form of gambling, I raise a\nwarning voice! Under the specious name of AMUSEMENT, you are laying the\nfoundation of gambling. Playing is the seed which comes up gambling. It\nis the light wind which brings up the storm. It is the white frost which\npreludes the winter. You are mistaken, however, in supposing that it is\nharmless in its earliest beginnings. Its terrible blight belongs,\ndoubtless, to a later stage; but its consumption of time, its\ndestruction of industry, its distaste for the calmer pleasures of life,\nbelong to the very _beginning_. You will begin to play with every\ngenerous feeling. Amusement will be the plea. At the beginning the game\nwill excite enthusiasm, pride of skill, the love of mastery, and the\nlove of money. The love of money, at first almost imperceptible, at last\nwill rule out all the rest,--like Aaron's rod,--a serpent, swallowing\nevery other serpent. Generosity, enthusiasm, pride and skill, love of\nmastery, will be absorbed in one mighty feeling,--the savage lust of\nlucre.\n\nThere is a downward climax in this sin. The opening and ending are\nfatally connected, and drawn toward each other with almost irresistible\nattraction. If gambling is a vortex, playing is the outer ring of the\nMaelstrom. The thousand pound stake, the whole estate put up on a\ngame--what are these but the instruments of kindling that tremendous\nexcitement which a diseased heart craves? What is the _amusement_ for\nwhich you play but the _excitement_ of the game? And for what but this\ndoes the jaded gambler play? You differ from him only in the degree of\nthe same feeling. Do not solace yourself that you shall escape because\nothers have; for they _stopped_, and _you go on_. Are you as safe as\nthey, when you are in the gulf-stream of perdition, and they on the\nshore? But have you ever asked, _how many_ have escaped? Not one in a\nthousand is left unblighted! You have nine hundred and ninety-nine\nchances _against_ you, and one for you; and will you go on? If a disease\nshould stalk through the town, devouring whole families, and sparing not\none in five hundred, would you lie down under it quietly because you\nhave one chance in five hundred? Had a scorpion stung you, would it\nalleviate your pangs to reflect that you had only one chance in one\nhundred? Had you swallowed corrosive poison, would it ease your\nconvulsions to think there was only one chance in fifty for you? I do\nnot call every man who plays a gambler, but a gambler in _embryo_. Let\nme trace your course from the amusement of innocent playing to its\nalmost inevitable end.\n\n_Scene first._ A genteel coffee-house,--whose humane screen conceals a\nline of grenadier bottles, and hides respectable blushes from\nimpertinent eyes. There is a quiet little room opening out of the bar;\nand here sit four jovial youths. The cards are out, the wines are in.\nThe fourth is a reluctant hand; he does not love the drink, nor approve\nthe game. He anticipates and fears the result of both. Why is he here?\nHe is a whole-souled fellow, and is afraid to seem ashamed of any\nfashionable gaiety. He will sip his wine upon the importunity of a\nfriend newly come to town, and is too polite to spoil that friend's\npleasure by refusing a part in the game. They sit, shuffle, deal; the\nnight wears on, the clock telling no tale of passing hours--the prudent\nliquor-fiend has made it safely dumb. The night is getting old; its dank\nair grows fresher; the east is grey; the gaming and drinking and\nhilarious laughter are over, and the youths wending homeward. What says\nconscience? No matter what it says; they did not hear, and we will not.\nWhatever was said, it was very shortly answered thus: \"This has not been\ngambling; all were gentlemen; there was no cheating; simply a convivial\nevening; no stakes except the bills incident to the entertainment. If\nanybody blames a young man for a little innocent exhilaration on a\nspecial occasion, he is a superstitious bigot; let him croak!\" Such a\ngarnished game is made the text to justify the whole round of gambling,\nLet us, then, look at\n\n_Scene the second._ In a room so silent that there is no sound except\nthe shrill cock crowing the morning, where the forgotten candles burn\ndimly over the long and lengthened wick, sit four men. Carved marble\ncould not be more motionless, save their hands. Pale, watchful, though\nweary, their eyes pierce the cards, or furtively read each other's\nfaces. Hours have passed over them thus. At length they rise without\nwords; some, with a satisfaction which only makes their faces brightly\nhaggard, scrape off the piles of money; others, dark, sullen, silent,\nfierce, move away from their lost money. The darkest and fiercest of the\nfour is that young friend who first sat down to make out a game! He will\nnever sit so innocently again. What says he to his conscience now? \"I\nhave a right to gamble; I have a right to be damned too, if I choose;\nwhose business is it?\"\n\n_Scene the third._ Years have passed on. He has seen youth ruined, at\nfirst with expostulation, then with only silent regret, then consenting\nto take part of the spoils; and finally, he has himself decoyed, duped,\nand stripped them without mercy. Go with me into that dilapidated house,\nnot far from the landing, at New Orleans. Look into that dirty room.\nAround a broken table, sitting upon boxes, kegs, or rickety chairs, see\na filthy crew dealing cards smouched with tobacco, grease and liquor.\nOne has a pirate-face burnished and burnt with brandy; a shock of\ngrizzly, matted hair, half covering his villain eyes, which glare out\nlike a wild beast's from a thicket. Close by him wheezes a white-faced,\ndropsical wretch, vermin-covered, and stenchful. A scoundrel-Spaniard,\nand a burly negro, (the jolliest of the four,) complete the group. They\nhave spectators--drunken sailors, and ogling, thieving, drinking women,\nwho should have died long ago, when all that was womanly died. Here hour\ndraws on hour, sometimes with brutal laughter, sometimes with threat,\nand oath, and uproar. The last few stolen dollars lost, and temper too,\neach charges each with cheating, and high words ensue, and blows; and\nthe whole gang burst out the door, beating, biting, scratching, and\nrolling over and over in the dirt and dust. The worst, the fiercest, the\ndrunkest, of the four, is our friend who began by making up the game!\n\n_Scene the fourth._ Upon this bright day, stand with me, if you would be\nsick of humanity, and look over that multitude of men kindly gathered to\nsee a murderer hung! At last, a guarded cart drags on a thrice-guarded\nwretch. At the gallows' ladder his courage fails. His coward-feet refuse\nto ascend; dragged up, he is supported by bustling officials; his brain\nreels, his eye swims, while the meek minister utters a final prayer by\nhis leaden ear. The prayer is said, the noose is fixed, the signal is\ngiven; a shudder runs through the crowd as he swings free. After a\nmoment, his convulsed limbs stretch down, and hang heavily and still;\nand he who began to gamble to make up a game, and ended with stabbing an\nenraged victim whom he had fleeced, has here played his last\ngame,--himself the stake!\n\nI feel impelled, in closing, to call the attention of all sober citizens\nto some potent influences which are exerted in favor of gambling.\n\nIn our civil economy we have Legislators to devise and enact wholesome\nlaws; Lawyers to counsel and aid those who need the laws' relief; and\nJudges to determine and administer the laws. If Legislators, Lawyers,\nand Judges are gamblers, with what hope do we warn off the young from\nthis deadly fascination, against such authoritative examples of high\npublic functionaries? With what eminent fitness does that Judge press\nthe bench, who in private commits the vices which officially he is set\nto condemn! With what singular terrors does he frown on a convicted\ngambler with whom he played last night, and will play again to-night!\nHow wisely should the fine be light which the sprightly criminal will\nwin and pay out of the Judge's own pocket!\n\nWith the name of JUDGE is associated ideas of immaculate purity, sober\npiety, and fearless, favorless justice. Let it then be counted a dark\ncrime for a recreant official so far to forget his reverend place, and\nnoble office, as to run the gantlet of filthy vices, and make the word\n_Judge_, to suggest an incontinent trifler, who smites with his mouth,\nand smirks with his eye; who holds the rod to strike the criminal, and\nsmites only the law to make a gap for criminals to pass through! If God\nloves this land, may he save it from truckling, drinking, swearing,\ngambling, vicious Judges![A]\n\n  [A] The general eminent integrity of the Bench is unquestionable--and\n      no remarks in the text are to be construed as an oblique aspersion\n      of the profession. But the purer our Judges generally, the more\n      shameless is it that some will not abandon either their vices or\n      their office.\n\nWith such Judges I must associate corrupt LEGISLATORS, whose bawling\npatriotism leaks out in all the sinks of infamy at the Capital. These\nliving exemplars of vice, pass still-born laws against vice. Are such\nmen sent to the Capital only to practise debauchery? Laborious\nseedsmen--they gather every germ of evil; and laborious sowers--at home\nthey strew them far and wide! It is a burning shame, a high outrage,\nthat public men, by corrupting the young with the example of manifold\nvices, should pay back their constituents for their honors!\n\nOur land has little to fear from abroad, and much from within. We can\nbear foreign aggression, scarcity, the revulsions of commerce, plagues,\nand pestilences; but we cannot bear vicious Judges, corrupt Courts,\ngambling Legislators, and a vicious, corrupt, and gambling constituency.\nLet us not be deceived! The decay of civil institutions begins at the\ncore. The outside wears all the lovely hues of ripeness, when the inside\nis rotting. Decline does not begin in bold and startling acts; but, as\nin autumnal leaves, in rich and glowing colors. Over diseased vitals,\nconsumptive laws wear the hectic blush, a brilliant eye, and transparent\nskin. Could the public sentiment declare that PERSONAL MORALITY is the\nfirst element of patriotism; that corrupt Legislators are the most\npernicious of criminals; that the Judge who lets the villain off, is the\nvillain's patron; that tolerance of crime is intolerance of virtue,--our\nnation might defy all enemies and live forever!\n\nAnd now, my young friends, I beseech you to let alone this evil before\nit be meddled with. You are safe from vice when you avoid even its\nappearance; and only then. The first steps to wickedness are\nimperceptible. We do not wonder at the inexperience of Adam; but it is\nwonderful that six thousand years' repetition of the same arts, and the\nsame uniform disaster, should have taught men nothing! that generation\nafter generation should perish, and the wreck be no warning!\n\nThe mariner searches his chart for hidden rocks, stands off from\nperilous shoals, and steers wide of reefs on which hang shattered\nmorsels of wrecked ships, and runs in upon dangerous shores with the\nship manned, the wheel in hand, and the lead constantly sounding. But\nthe mariner upon life's sea, carries no chart of other men's voyages,\ndrives before every wind that will speed him, draws upon horrid shores\nwith slumbering crew, or heads in upon roaring reefs as though he would\nnot perish where thousands have perished before him.\n\nHell is populated with the victims of \"_harmless amusements_.\" Will man\nnever learn that the way to hell is through the valley of DECEIT? The\npower of Satan to _hold_ his victims is nothing to that mastery of art\nby which he first _gains_ them. When he approaches to charm us, it is\nnot as a grim fiend, gleaming from a lurid cloud, but as an angel of\nlight radiant with innocence. His words fall like dew upon the flower;\nas musical as the crystal-drop warbling from a fountain. Beguiled by\nhis art, he leads you to the enchanted ground. Oh! how it glows with\nevery refulgent hue of heaven! Afar off he marks the dismal gulf of vice\nand crime; its smoke of torment slowly rising, and rising forever! and\nhe himself cunningly warns you of its dread disaster, for the very\npurpose of blinding and drawing you thither. He leads you to captivity\nthrough all the bowers of lulling magic. He plants your foot on odorous\nflowers; he fans your cheek with balmy breath; he overhangs your head\nwith rosy clouds; he fills your ear with distant, drowsy music, charming\nevery sense to rest. Oh ye! who have thought the way to hell was bleak\nand frozen as Norway, parched and barren as Sahara, strewed like\nGolgotha with bones and skulls reeking with stench like the vale of\nGehenna,--witness your mistake! The way to hell is gorgeous! It is a\nhighway, cast up; no lion is there, no ominous bird to hoot a warning,\nno echoings of the wailing-pit, no lurid gleams of distant fires, or\nmoaning sounds of hidden woe! Paradise is imitated to build you a way to\ndeath; the flowers of heaven are stolen and poisoned; the sweet plant of\nknowledge is here; the pure white flower of religion; seeming virtue and\nthe charming tints of innocence are scattered all along like native\nherbage. The enchanted victim travels on. Standing afar behind, and\nfrom a silver-trumpet, a heavenly messenger sends down the wind a solemn\nwarning: THERE IS A WAY WHICH SEEMETH RIGHT TO MAN, BUT THE END THEREOF\nIS DEATH. And again, with louder blast: THE WISE MAN FORESEETH THE EVIL;\nFOOLS PASS ON AND ARE PUNISHED. Startled for a moment, the victim\npauses; gazes round upon the flowery scene, and whispers, _Is it\nnot harmless?_--\"_Harmless_,\" responds a serpent from the\ngrass!--\"_Harmless_,\" echo the sighing winds!--\"_Harmless_,\" re-echo a\nhundred airy tongues! If now a gale from heaven might only sweep the\nclouds away through which the victim gazes; oh! if God would break that\npotent power which chains the blasts of hell, and let the sulphur-stench\nroll up the vale, how would the vision change!--the road become a track\nof dead men's bones!--the heavens a lowering storm!--the balmy breezes,\ndistant wailings--and all those balsam-shrubs that lied to his senses,\nsweat drops of blood upon their poison-boughs!\n\nYe who are meddling with the edges of vice, ye are on this road!--and\nutterly duped by its enchantments! Your eye has already lost its honest\nglance, your taste has lost its purity, your heart throbs with poison!\nThe leprosy is all over you, its blotches and eruptions cover you. Your\nfeet stand on slippery places, whence in due time they shall slide, if\nyou refuse the warning which I raise. They shall slide from heaven,\nnever to be visited by a gambler; slide down to that fiery abyss below\nyou, out of which none ever come. Then, when the last card is cast, and\nthe game over, and you lost; then, when the echo of your fall shall ring\nthrough hell,--in malignant triumph, shall the Arch-Gambler, who\ncunningly played for your soul, have his prey! Too late you shall look\nback upon life as a MIGHTY GAME, in which you were the stake, and Satan\nthe winner!\n\n\n\n\n                           ALTEMUS'\n                     ETERNAL LIFE SERIES.\n\n\n_Selections from the writings of well-known religious authors' works,\nbeautifully printed and daintily bound in leatherette with original\ndesigns in silver and ink._\n\n                _PRICE, 25 CENTS PER VOLUME._\n\n  ETERNAL LIFE, by Professor Henry Drummond.\n  LORD, TEACH US TO PRAY, by Rev. Andrew Murray.\n  GOD'S WORD AND GOD'S WORK, by Martin Luther.\n  FAITH, by Thomas Arnold.\n  THE CREATION STORY, by Honorable William E. Gladstone.\n  THE MESSAGE OF COMFORT, by Rt. Rev. Ashton Oxenden.\n  THE MESSAGE OF PEACE, by Rev. R. W. Church.\n  THE LORD'S PRAYER AND THE TEN COMMANDMENTS, by Dean Stanley.\n  THE MEMOIRS OF JESUS, by Rev. Robert F. Horton.\n  HYMNS OF PRAISE AND GLADNESS, by Elisabeth R. Scovil.\n  DIFFICULTIES, by Hannah Whitall Smith.\n  GAMBLERS AND GAMBLING, by Rev. Henry Ward Beecher.\n  HAVE FAITH IN GOD, by Rev. Andrew Murray.\n  TWELVE CAUSES OF DISHONESTY, by Rev. Henry Ward Beecher.\n  THE CHRIST IN WHOM CHRISTIANS BELIEVE, by Rt. Rev. Phillips Brooks.\n  IN MY NAME, by Rev. Andrew Murray.\n  SIX WARNINGS, by Rev. Henry Ward Beecher.\n  THE DUTY OF THE CHRISTIAN BUSINESSMAN, by Rt. Rev. Phillips Brooks.\n  POPULAR AMUSEMENTS, by Rev. Henry Ward Beecher.\n  TRUE LIBERTY, by Rt. Rev. Phillips Brooks.\n  INDUSTRY AND IDLENESS, by Rev. Henry Ward Beecher.\n  THE BEAUTY OF A LIFE OF SERVICE, by Rt. Rev. Phillips Brooks.\n  THE SECOND COMING OF OUR LORD, by Rev. A. T. Pierson, D.D.\n  THOUGHT AND ACTION, by Rt. Rev. Phillips Brooks.\n  THE HEAVENLY VISION, by Rev. F. B. Meyer.\n  MORNING STRENGTH, by Elisabeth R. Scovil.\n  FOR THE QUIET HOUR, by Edith V. Bradt.\n  EVENING COMFORT, by Elizabeth R. Scovil.\n  WORDS OF HELP FOR CHRISTIAN GIRLS, by Rev. F. B. Meyer\n  HOW TO STUDY THE BIBLE, by Rev. Dwight L. Moody.\n  EXPECTATION CORNER, by E. S. Elliot.\n  JESSICA'S FIRST PRAYER, by Hesba Stretton.\n\n                        HENRY ALTEMUS.\n      _507, 509, 511, 513 Cherry Street, Philadelphia._\n\n\n\n\n                           ALTEMUS'\n                    BELLES-LETTRES SERIES.\n\n\n_A collection of Essays and Addresses by eminent English and American\nAuthors, beautifully printed and daintily bound in leatherette, with\noriginal designs in silver._\n\n                _PRICE, 25 CENTS PER VOLUME._\n\n  INDEPENDENCE DAY, by Rev. Edward E. Hale.\n  THE SCHOLAR IN POLITICS, by Hon. Richard Olney.\n  THE YOUNG MAN IN BUSINESS, by Edward W. Bok.\n  THE YOUNG MAN AND THE CHURCH, by Edward W. Bok.\n  THE SPOILS SYSTEM, by Hon. Carl Schurz.\n  CONVERSATION, by Thomas De Quincey.\n  SWEETNESS AND LIGHT, by Matthew Arnold.\n  WORK, by John Ruskin.\n  NATURE AND ART, by Ralph Waldo Emerson.\n  THE USE AND MISUSE OF BOOKS, by Frederic Harrison.\n  THE MONROE DOCTRINE: ITS ORIGIN, MEANING AND APPLICATION, by\n    Prof. John Bach McMaster (University of Pennsylvania).\n  THE DESTINY OF MAN, by Sir John Lubbock.\n  LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP, by Ralph Waldo Emerson.\n  RIP VAN WINKLE, by Washington Irving.\n  ART, POETRY AND MUSIC, by Sir John Lubbock.\n  THE CHOICE OF BOOKS, by Sir John Lubbock.\n  MANNERS, by Ralph Waldo Emerson.\n  CHARACTER, by Ralph Waldo Emerson.\n  THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW, by Washington Irving.\n  THE BEAUTIES OF NATURE, by Sir John Lubbock.\n  SELF RELIANCE, by Ralph Waldo Emerson.\n  THE DUTY OF HAPPINESS, by Sir John Lubbock.\n  SPIRITUAL LAWS, by Ralph Waldo Emerson.\n  OLD CHRISTMAS, by Washington Irving.\n  HEALTH, WEALTH AND THE BLESSING OF FRIENDS, by Sir John Lubbock.\n  INTELLECT, by Ralph Waldo Emerson.\n  WHY AMERICANS DISLIKE ENGLAND, by Prof. Geo. B. Adams (Yale).\n  THE HIGHER EDUCATION AS A TRAINING FOR BUSINESS, by Prof. Harry\n    Pratt Judson (University of Chicago).\n  MISS TOOSEY'S MISSION.\n  LADDIE.\n  J. COLE, by Emma Gellibrand.\n\n                        HENRY ALTEMUS,\n      _507, 509, 511, 513 Cherry Street, Philadelphia._","title":"Gamblers and Gambling","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":8594}