No man flies to the gaming-table in a paroxysm.
The first visit requires the courage of a forlorn hope. The first stake
will make the lightest mind anxious, the firmest hand tremble, and the
stoutest heart falter. After the first stake, it is all a matter of
calculation and management, even in games of chance. Night after night
will men play at _rouge et noir_, upon what they call a system, and for
hours their attention never ceases, any more than it would if they were
in the shop or oh the wharf. No manual labour is more fatiguing, and
more degrading to the labourer, than gaming. Every gamester feels
ashamed. And this vice, this worst vice, from whose embrace, moralists
daily inform us, man can never escape, is just the one from which
the majority of men most completely, and most often, free themselves.
Infinite is the number of men who have lost thousands in their youth,
and never dream of chance again. It is this pursuit which, oftener
than any other, leads man to self-knowledge. Appalled by the absolute
destruction on the verge of which he finds his early youth just
stepping; aghast at the shadowy crimes which, under the influence of
this life, seem, as it were, to rise upon his soul; often he hurries to
emancipate himself from this fatal thraldom, and with a ruined fortune,
and marred prospects, yet thanks his Creator that his soul is still
white, his conscience clear, and that, once more, he breathes the sweet
air of heaven.
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