"They are safe," cried the player, evidently disappointed that he had not succeeded.

Nolan's keen eye surveyed the measurement of the table for an instant; he then aimed his cue, and the next moment the marker announced that he had won the match.

The silence which had so long reigned through the apartment was now broken by half-a-dozen voices--some raised to angry tones: those who had won their bets exulted in the sagacity for which they took credit; those who had lost asserted that Nolan had won the game by a “fluke." At the time I was ignorant enough not to understand the meaning of this term: if any of my readers are in the same predicament, I should, perhaps, explain that it means a stroke for which the player is indebted more to chance than to skillto borrow the words of an old proverb, if I may do so without annexing the very expressive though quaint illustration-one gained "more by good luck than good guiding."

Upon this there was some hot altercation; Nolan contending that he had played for what he made, the others as stoutly asserting that it must have been a fluke. The dispute, however, was ended by Nolan's replacing the balls in their original position, and offering to bet five pounds that he would make the stroke again.

The bet was taken and Nolan won. I now found that Nolan's antagonist was a celebrated player from London, and that Nolan and he had played for a very large bet. The Englishman would not yet confess himself defeated. He challenged Nolan to repeat the contest. Nolan mentioned the next evening, at the instigation of Edmund, who wanted him elsewhere: the other, however, would not be put off, and, notwithstanding Edmund's solicitations, Nolan commenced another match. It was now getting late, and Edmund and I retired from the room.

As we passed down the stone steps which I have already described, our attention was caught by a curious and, although not a secret, yet a well-concealed passage, which led from behind the steps under the building. With a natural curiosity, we determined to explore it. It was flagged and vaulted overhead, something like those sub

terranean caverns which you may read of as belonging to old castles in romances, or see in the cellars of a winemerchant. We carried on our researches a considerable way before we could discover its use or anything to which it could lead. We went but a little way before we were altogether screened from the moonlight, and left in a darkness whose shadow was heightened by the contrast with the silvery whiteness of the flags upon which the light fell. In this darkness we could distinctly see a very faint gleam of light, as if issuing from the crevices of a welljoined door; and accordingly we found a door-low, and pointed at top in a Gothic arch; opening, evidently, on an apartment directly under the billiardroom. To this door Edmund cautiously advanced. There was no key-hole: the light had proceeded from the very slight and almost imperceptible crevice that marked the joining of the door to the wall; and even underneath, the door fitted so exactly, that its separation from the flags was scarcely marked by a line of red light. We heard, however, the confused sound of voices within. There was a strange and mingled buzz of voices, now raised to a loud tone, now falling to a whisper, There seemed, to my mind, something unnatural, at least unearthly, in the sound. I could not help thinking of all the tales I had read of fiends feasting; and I almost expected that the door would open and disclose to us their infernal rites. My imagination pictured up a feast upon a corpse, and the blood circling round their hellish board in skulls. I have a distinct recollection of these horrible impres sions being upon my mind, and I feel sure that there was something even in the very tones of the indistinct sounds that reached my ear that harmonized with these gloomy thoughts. I put my forehead against the door to listen more attentively, and I was startled by its coldness-it was an iron door. As I listened I could distinguish the words of persons inside engaged at some game of chance.

I became conscious that I stood at the entrance of a hell and a hell, in every sense, it seemed to be. I heard the rattling of dice, and now and then some terrible imprecation, couched in accents of fearful blasphemy, came to

my ear with the bitter and yet fierce intonations of a voice that spoke all the bad passions of the human heart.Edmund stood beside me: he seemed rivetted to the spot. I know not how long we might have listened, but that we were startled by the sound of footsteps echoing in the passage along which we had come ourselves. Edmund was the first to perceive them. He pulled me gently from the door: we both retreated into a nook which was a little farther on. A rough projection of the wall, intended for what purpose I do not know, afforded us a hidingplace, and in the deep shadow our persons were effectually concealed.

Two figures walked slowly up the passage though we could not be seen ourselves, we could see them distinctly between us and the distant light. They were engaged in earnest conversation. They stopped within a few feet of where we stood, so that we could overhear everything that they said. I did not feel quite comfortable in thus acting as it were the part of a spy; and yet I almost feared to meet any one in that dark passage. Edmund, as if he instinctively comprehended my desire to move, laid his hand upon my arm, and squeezed it in intimation that I was to stand still.

"I am almost ruined," were the first words I caught, in a voice which I recognized as having heard in the billiard-room.

I could not distinctly hear the reply, which was made in a whisper.

"Why," replied the first speaker, "tomorrow I must go to gaol. There is a bill of mine for fifty pounds. I may drown myself"-and a deep groan finished more expressively all he would have said.

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Ten shillings is all I have in the world," he resumed; "but who knows what fortune may do for me tonight? You will keep my secret ?" said he to his companion.

They both advanced to the door; but just as they seemed about to enter they stopped, and resumed their conversation. Their voices fell to a very low whisper, but I overheard the mention of Nolan's name, and I could gather that he, too, was involved in very great difficulties. As well as I could distinguish, they appeared to speak of some victim whom Nolan

was to allure to this den of thieves. I could not, however, be certain. Just as I was engaged in attempting to catch more distinctly what they said upon the subject, an accident disturbed us. Edmund leaned forward to listen the more earnestly: he stood upon some loose fragments of stone, which had been piled up in the corner, and in his anxiety to hear more distinctly, he lost his balance, and slipped off the stone on which he stood. He caught my arm, and recovered his position; but the noise which he made attracted the attention of the two whisperers.

One of them started and seemed alarmed. "Eh? d-n it, what was that? Who's there?” he said, raising his voice louder.

Edmund and I remained silent: the inquirer advanced a step forward:"there is surely some one here-some damned strange noise," he exclaimed, as he attempted to peer into the darkness. I Nonsense," said the other: "it was a rat: there are great quantities of them here.”

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His companion seemed satisfied. It struck me that he was afraid to come forward. He went back, and said, "There is no use in stopping in this dark, dismal passage where one al ways hears such ugly noises. Come; we will go in."

They gave a tap, that evidently was a signal, at the door. There was no answer. The tap was repeated. Still no answer. The third time, however, there was something like the dragging of a chain which appeared to be thrown across the door inside; there was then the heavy shooting of a ponderous lock, and the iron door rolled heavily on its hinges. The two denizens of the place were admitted, and the door instantaneously closed. Their entrance seemed to be greeted with some expressions of boisterous welcome-to my mind it sounded fearfully as the voice of "laughter that was not glad" echoed along the stone roof of the passage and then was suddenly cut short by the closing of the door; and again the shooting of the bolt and the rattling of the chain; the glare of light which had been thrown for a moment on the rough and unplastered wall of the passage, was interrupted, and all was dark and silent as before.

We walked gently away. Our foot

The prevailing feeling of Edmund's mind seemed to be curiosity-a desire to be a witness to the mysteries of which we had thus accidentally got a glimpse. He spoke of the interior of a hell as if it were a fearful and yet a grand spectacle, which it would be worth while to see. His imagination seemed absolutely inflamed with the melodramatic interest of the scene which he expected it to be. He hinted that he would get Nolan to take him there. I argued with him on the folly of this.

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Ah," he answered, "have you not often told me how grand it was to study human nature, and to trace human passion-where will I see either as I see it there? I am curious to see the inside, just as I would see any other sight. I would wish to know what gambling is."

Alas! what a dangerous passion of the human heart is curiosity. Man has a curiosity as to sin-he has a desire to know it. He longs, like our first parent, to eat of the forbidden apple, not so much because it is pleasant to his appetite, as because he would know good and evil. This is the secret of that perverse desire to do what is forbidden which moralists have all remarked in our nature. "Vain man would be wise;" and the knowledge, the practical knowledge of sin, seems to him a part of being wise: it seems to his imagination as if he multiplied his existence when he can throw it into new shapes. Alas! this cursed desire to know what sin is has cost many a one his innocence. Many a one has eaten of the poison from a wish to satisfy his morbid curiosity as to its savour. Thus

does that which he plucks as from the tree of knowledge become the fruit of death. I have often thought there was a deep mystery in the story of man's fall, as if the fate of her by whom sin first came into the world was to be but the prototype of many another fall; and the first crime the world ever witnessed might stand as a warning against the fatal curiosity which was its cause. It was this curiosity-I have no other word to designate the feeling, which perhaps can be better understood than described-it was curiosity that ruined a world; and still the same principle which we have all inherited from our first mother is remaining, and will ruin many a one who gives way to its impulses to evil.

But I must not occupy my page with reflections of my own: indeed, as I proceed, I begin to fear that even the simple narrative of facts may extend this chapter to what some may consider an unreasonable length. I shall endeavour to make that narrative as brief as possible: and here I may, once for all, premise, that while of many of the scenes which I shall describe I could not have personal knowledge, I draw very little upon my own imagination to supply its place. On one subject at least I was Edmund Connor's confidant, and in recording what he told or wrote to me, I shall adhere as strictly as possible to unadorned truth.

From the night whose occurrences I have mentioned I had but too much reason to fear that Edmund had been drawn into all the fatal fascinations of the accursed gambling-table. He generally laughed me off when I approached the subject: I could hardly ever get him to speak seriously upon it. I did not need, however, his confession to tell me that his midnight hours were devoted to the unholy and unhealthful occupation. Often would I find him rising from his bed at noonday, pale and apparently unrefreshed; and once or twice he did acknowledge that he had played hazard, and had lost considerable sums.

Meanwhile his passion for Letitia appeared to gather strength and increase in vehemence; and I often thought that it was only my convenience as a confidant that prevented the total separation between us which

otherwise my often-repeated rebukes of his courses might have caused. He sometimes left me in a passion when I said anything peculiarly severe; but then he was sure to return, to tell me, perhaps, some dream he had about Letitia, or some mark of kindness which she had shown him; because, strange to say, he had never yet ventured to make her any declaration of his attachment: indeed, he had not at this time many opportunities, and the few which he had, he declared himself he never had courage to avail himself of.

"Is it not absurd," he would sometimes say to me; "I think Letitia loves me. She must know-she must see that I love her; and yet time after time I determine to tell her all my heart, and to hear from her own lips the words that would make me happy; and I seek opportunities of being with her alone: but when we are alone -why, then I can talk to her of any thing but love."

I sometimes could not help laughing at him. The pains of love, like those of the toothache, command but little sympathy from those who do not feel them. It struck me, however, that his passion might be turned to good account. "Do you think," I asked him seriously, "do you think that even Letitia will marry a professed gambler ?"

"I

He started: he seemed angry. am not a professed gambler. I do not deserve the name of gambler at all," said he, quickly.

"A gambler," said I, "is a man who gambles. A professed gambler is a man who devotes his time to gambling, and one whom everybody knows to do so."

This is not fair," he answered: "everybody does not know that I play. Besides, your definition is false: a gambler is a man who plays for the sake of the money that he wins; a gambler is a man who will defraud you if he can; a gambler is a man who regards every opponent as his prey; and a professed gambler is one who makes this his business and his support. do not deserve either of these characters. I love excitement; and if it costs me some money, I can afford to pay for it."

I

I saw that, under all his apparent cool

ness, he was nettled. I thought it better to say no more, and he soon left my room.

Next morning he came over to my chambers at an early hour. He seemed very much embarrassed: he walked several times up and down the room: at last he asked me, with more of solemnity than it had latterly been his custom to assume

"Tell me seriously, had you any meaning last night when you said that Letitia Jephson would not marry a gambler?"

His eye rested on me with a piercing intensity of glance; his cheek was flushed with a crimson colour. I looked steadily at him, and answered

"I generally make it a rule to have some meaning when I speak; and in the present instance I do not think my words were very enigmatical."

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Well, then," said he, "if you will thus quibble, had you any authority for saying so?"

"No," I replied: "I do not think I required any particular authority for such a statement. The girl must be mad who would 'set her life upon a cast.' Would you, Edmund, wish to see any girl whom you cared for united to a destiny that is staked every evening upon the throw of the dice ?"

He was visibly agitated. He walked up and down more rapidly; he then stopped, and said—

Mr. O'Brien, you do me injustice. I have played perhaps more than I ought; but, indeed-indeed I am not a gambler. Do not suppose that I would dare to seek Letitia's love if I felt that my success would make her

happiness depend upon a cast.

No,

no: I have been drawn into playI have lost money, God forgive me, that might be better employed; but I am not a gambler. Never," continued he, earnestly, "never call me by that horrid name : you do no not know what a gambler is, or you would not. You have never seen what I have, or you would not call me gambler and stay in the room with me. Call me fool! friend! anything but gambler."

I was startled by his earnestness, I should rather say his vehemence of manner. I cautioned him against deserving the name of which he had such a horror.

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Deserve it!" interrupted he fiercely:

I

"I know but of one man who deserves it; one hardened, soulless, heartless wretch; one who can lay his snares with coolness—” he stopped short, as if fearful he had said too much. I almost hoped he meant Nolan. binted as much. No! no. Nolan is no gambler. I wont tell you who or what it is I mean; but I have been witness to one scene. God forbid that ever I should be witness to such another but I prevented villainy. But this is wrong: they consider it a point of honour that these things should not be told."

I did not wish to ask the communication of what there was any obligation on his part to conceal. He seemed anxious to tell it.

"I have not moral courage," he continued: "I cannot despise the threatenings of the bad. There was," he added, slowly, "there was a victim drawn in by the gambler of whom I spoke, and he would have been robbed; there was foul cheatery; but I exposed him-I showed his knavery. He was ignominiously expelled-he had too little honor for a den of thieves: but he threatened me; he told me that he would track my steps; that he would hunt me these were his words-he declared that he would have revenge. What thoughts cross the mind! When you said Letitia would never marry a gambler, I thought he had his revenge-that he had told the Jephsons that I gambled. All night I lay awake, and this horrid thought kept a racking hold upon my brain. Thank God, it was but a vain imagination."

I assured him that, as far as I knew, it was. I reasoned with him seriously on giving over all play. I endeavoured to point out the ruin which it must entail not only on his fortune, but on all his habits and feelings. He promised that he would. I asked him for his solemn promise that he would never enter a hell again. He hesitated; at last he told me that he owed some debts of honour, which he must discharge he had promised to do so-at the gambling-table that night, and he must keep his word.

You would not have me break my word?-you would not have those who praised me a few nights ago for conduct that they called honourable, you would not have them look on me to

night as a breaker of my engage ment?"

Go I perceived he would, and I trembled for him. Edmund's was a weak character: too much the child of impulse to have steadiness of purpose, I knew that the resolution of the morning would be lost in the excitement of the night. Next day my heart boded ill for him as I met him walking with Nolan in familiar conversation. I attempted, when next we met, to make him recur to the promise which he had all but given ine. Alas! it seemed as if the day of grace was gone by. He laughed; he laughed at his own exhibition of feeling upon the subject: he said this was the way he always magnified everything; he spoke of the nervous excitability of his temperament, (big words which, I believe, he had learned from his physician, or some medical book,) and he broke away from my arguments and intreaties with a song.

He took, however, another opportunity of assuring me that he never played; but added, that to bind himself never to enter a gaming-house was a nonsensical proceeding. "Such vows," said he, laughing, "like oaths against whiskey, are regarded just as long as the temptation is not too strong for the judgment, but no longer. They never are binding but when they are superfluous."

I feared that he refused the promise because he knew the obligation would be irksome. But it is time for me to return to the Jephsons, whom my readers probably suppose that I have forgotten.

The genial days of spring had been succeeded by the long hot days of the summer. Early in the month of May my relatives had left their town residence, and had retired to a beautifully situated cottage some miles from the city, at the base of the county Dublin mountains. I used to laugh at Edmund, and tell him that in this romantic spot he could make love with a good heart. And a romantic spot it truly was: villas, and terraces, and avenues, had not then sprung up round the environs of Dublin, and made the country for miles round but a ruralized continuation of the city. Woodbine Cottage-for thus had it pleased the fancy of the proprietor to