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and that he would never come within one hundred feet of it while the pears were ripe.

"May a hundred devils seize me," said the thief, "if I ever come within a league of it again while I live!"

"That is enough," said the Goodman. "Come down, neighbour; you are free, but never return, if you please."

The thief was so stiff and swollen in his limbs, that poor old Misery had to help him down with a ladder; for nothing would persuade the neighbours to approach the tree a second time. The adventure made a great noise in the neighbourhood, and thenceforth Misery's pears were respected scrupulously.

the fruit which Misery coveted so ardently; but was astonished when he found it impossible to regain the ground.

"Goodman Misery," said Death, "tell me what kind of a tree is this?"

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"Cannot you see that it is a pear-tree ?" Yes, yes; but how is it that I can move neither hand nor foot upon it ?"

"I' faith that's your business," Goodman Misery answered.

What, Goodman! You dare to play a trick upon me, at whose nod all the world trembles? Do you know the risks you are running ?"

"I am very sorry," was Misery's cool answer. "But what have you risked yourself in coming to disturb the peace of an unfortunate who never did you harm in his life. What fantastic notion led you to me? You have the time to reflect, however; and since I have you now under my thumb, I will do a little good to the

But Goodman Misery was old, and his strength was waning daily. He was content with the fruit of his pear-tree, but it was meagre fare that contented him. One day a knock was made at his door. He threw the door open and beheld a visitor whom he had long ex-poor world, that you have held in bondage for pected, but whom he did not imagine to be quite so near his poor hearth. It was Death, who, on his rounds, had stepped aside to tell him that his hour was near.

"Be welcome," said the Goodman, without flinching a muscle, and looking steadfastly at him as one who did not fear him. Misery had naught on his conscience, though he had lived with very little on his back. Death was surprised to find himself so well received.

"What!" cried Death. "Thou hast no fear of me! No fear of Death! at whose look the strongest tremble, from the shepherd to the king ?"

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دو

No, I have no dread of your presence,' Misery said. "What pleasure have I in this life? If anything in this world could give me a regret, it would be that of parting from my pear-tree, which has fed me through so many years. But you must be settled with, and you brook no delays nor subterfuges when you beckon. All I will ask and beg you to grant me before I die, is, that I may eat one more of my pears in your presence. Afterwards I shall be ready."

"Thy wish is too modest a wish to be refused," said Death.

Misery crept froth into his yard, Death following closely on his heels. The Goodman shuffled many times round his beloved tree, seeking the finest pear. At length having selected a magnificent one, "There," he said, "I choose that one: I pray you lend me your scythe to cut it down."

so many centuries. No! Without the help of a miracle, you will not get out of that tree, until I please to permit you."

Death, who had never found himself in such a plight, saw that he had to deal with some supernatural power.

Goodman Misery," he pleaded, "I deserve this for having been too amiable towards you. But, don't abuse the power which the All Powerful has given you, for an instant, over me. Make no further opposition, I pray you, to the decrees of Heaven. Consent that I shall descend the tree at once, or I will blast it unto death."

"Blast it," Misery answered, "and I protest to you, by all that is most sacred in the world, dead as my tree may be, it will hold you until you get free from it by God's will."

"I perceive," Death went on, "that I entered an unfortunate house for myself today. But come, come, Goodman Misery. I have business in the four quarters of the world, and it must be all ended before sundown. Do you wish to arrest the course of nature? If I were to make my way out of this predicament, you might feel it sharply."

"Nay," said Misery, "I fear nothing. Every man who is above the fear of Death is beyond any threats. Your menaces have no effect on me. I am always ready to start for the next world when the Lord shall summon me."

"Very fine sentiments, Goodman Misery! Thou mayest boast, Goodman, of being the first in this life who has gotten the better of Death. "This instrument is never lent," quoth Death. Heaven commands me that with thy consent "No good soldier permits himself to be dis-I leave thee, to return to thee only on the last armed. But it seems to me it would be better to pluck your pear with the hand. It would be bruised by a fall. Climb into the

tree."

"A good idea," said Misery. "If I had the strength, I would climb; but don't you see I can hardly stand ?"

"Well," Death answered, "I will afford this service. I will climb the tree myself."

day of judgment, when I shall have completed my great work, and man shall be no more. You shall see the end, I promise you; so now, with out hesitation, allow me to come down, or let me fly away. A queen is waiting for me, five hundred leagues away.'

دو

"Ought I to believe you? Or is it only to betray me that you speak thus to me ?"

No, never shalt thou see me again until all Death climbed the pear-tree, and plucked | nature is desolation. The last stroke of my

man ?"

"How

scythe shall fall upon thee. The edicts of Death thin mutton-chop whisker. Their garments are are irrevocable. Dost thou hear me, Good- nearly new, and, with the exception of a somewhat profuse quantity of watch-chain knickknacks, they wear no more jewellery than welldressed men should. When they meet on the platform at a railway, they always surname each other in the most cordial manner. are you, Jones ?" "Fine day, Robinson," "Glad to see you, Brown." It is clear at a glance that these persons, though they appear to have abundant leisure, have their minds preoccupied by business. These persons are "bookmakers." Their trade is to attend every race of importance run in this country, in France, and even some few in Germany, and to make money by betting by "bookmaking" not upon the way in which one horse beats the speed or the stamina of another horse, but by careful calculations, and making the result of betting upon one event cover that of another: to turn their money, and make an uncommon good thing out of what to the world outside the betting world, is almost invariably a snare and a loss.

"Yea, I hear; and I believe in thy words. Come down when it shall please thee." At this Death swept through the air, and disappeared from the sight of Misery. The Goodman has never heard of Death since, although he has often been told of his presence in his neighbourhood, almost next door; so that Misery has lived to a wonderful age, and still dwells in rags near his pear-tree. And, according to the solemn promise of Death, Misery lives till the world shall be no more. Upon hawkers' shoulders for centuries past has this legend of the words of Scripture, that poverty shall never cease from out the land, been borne through the villages of France. A learned Frenchman surmises that the Goodman was a French child stolen away into Italy, there re-dressed, and thence escaped home into France. Goodman Misery, in any case, has had bis chief travels in France. Millions of copies, describing his interviews with Peter and Paul, the thief, and Death, have been sold by hawkers among the road-side cabins of France.

YESTERDAY.

WHAT makes the king unhappy?
His queen is young and fair,
His children climb around him,
With waving yellow hair.
His realm is broad and peaceful,
He fears no foreign foe;

And health to his veins comes leaping
In all the winds that blow.

What makes the king unhappy?
Alas! a little thing,
That money cannot purchase,
Or fleets and armies bring.
And yesterday he had it,

With yesterday it went,
And yesterday it perished,
With all the king's content.
For this he sits lamenting,

And sighs, "alack! alack!
I'd give one half my kingdom,
Could yesterday come back!"

BOOKMAKING.

There was a time when betting upon racing was confined to those who really took an interest in, or, had some knowledge of, horses. But times have changed. The peer bets his hundreds, the stock-broker his tens, the costermonger his half-crowns. They cannot all bet one with another, for they have other occupa tions, and their time would be inconveniently consumed in seeking for persons to take or lay them the odds, and who would be good for payment should they lose. The consequence has been that the demand for betting agents has created the supply, and, excepting a few turf magnates who know each other well, everybody who in these days wishes to bet, looks out for a "bookmaker."

As in every other profession, there are good and bad men among the bookmakers; there are honest men who make a living by honest means and fair dealing, and there are men who will take all money paid them, but who make themselves conspicuous by their absence when called upon to pay what they have lost. To the honour of the new calling, the former class predominate greatly, and if any person wishing to bet finds himself in the hands of a "welcher". the name given to scamps who take everything and pay nothing-it must be his own fault.

ANY person visiting the race-course at New- The respectable bookmaker is generallymarket, Epsom, Ascot, Liverpool, Chantilly, or almost invariably a self-made man. One of any similar place in England or France, must of them, a man who could write a cheque (and, late years have observed a number of regular what is more, have it cashed) for fifty thouattendants upon these events, who are seen sand pounds, was once a waiter in a wellthroughout the racing season, first at one town known West-end hotel famous some ten or and then at another, wherever anything in the a dozen years ago as the resort of military men shape of steeplechase or flat race is to come off. given to betting, and for the sanded floor of its There is an uniformity in the appearance of coffee-room. Another, whose word is good these individuals which distinguishes them from any day among turf men for twenty-five or all other classes. Their hats are almost in- thirty thousand pounds, was, about half a variably new, and evidently bought at fashion- dozen years back, butler and valet to a wellable shops. They are, with scarcely an ex-known sporting nobleman. A third, once kept ception, clean shaved, or at most only wear a a small grocer's shop in a country town in the

north of England. A fourth was a journeyman supposed to have very little chance of winning printer. A fifth used to drive a hansom cab. some of which are quoted at sixty, seventy, All these men began with small beginnings, and or even eighty and a hundred, to one, against rose upon their capacity for, and knowledge them. It is very certain that of all these horses of, figures. The writer is no advocate of bet-only one can win, and if the bookmaker ting. If any one asked his advice how to lay confined himself to laying single bets against out his money on a horse-race, he would recom- all the twenty, he would make but a small mend his client to leave the thing alone. In profit if one of the favourites won, and would be fact, the very winnings of the new calling are a heavy loser if any other horse came in first; of themselves proofs enough that, as a rule, the │in other words, if he took the odds of one public must lose its money, and the book-pound each in favour of the twenty horses, and makers must win. any horse against which he had bet more than twenty to one lost the race, he would be a loser. On the one hand he would have re

would have to pay the odds he had laid against the horse that had won. If, however, the favourite, against which he had only bet five to one was the winner, he would have received twenty pounds, and would only have to pay away six-namely, the five he had bet, plus the one he had been paid by the backer of the horse. If, again, the horse against which he had bet ten to one were the winner, he would, out of the twenty pounds he had received, have to pay away eleven-the ten pounds odds and the one pound received from the backer-and thus he would be a winner of nine pounds, and so on throughout the list of horses.

But how is it that this new calling makes its_money-what is the mode of procedure? Let us suppose that Jones, solicitor, Lin-ceived twenty pounds, but on the other he coln's Inn, wishes to back Formosa for the Derby. Jones has an idea that he knows a thing or two-which he does not-about a horse, and, looking in his newspaper, finds that the odds against the above mare are, let us say, ten to one. All he does, is to send his money to some respectable well-known bookmaker, and the latter returns him a ticket, whereby he promises to pay Jones the given odds, plus the money paid to him, the bookmaker, in the event of Formosa winning. Let us say that Jones makes up his mind to risk a fiver" on the mare's winning; he sends Thompson, the bookmaker, a five-pound note, and gets in return a ticket, by which, in the To a certain extent this theory is true. So event of Formosa winning the Derby, Thomp- much so, that when a favourite horse for a race son pledges himself to pay Jones fifty-five wins, the event is called "a good thing for the pounds; that is, fifty pounds as the odds against bookmakers ;" and when a horse low down in the mare (ten to one), and the five pounds the betting wins, the race is said to be good for paid back again. If Jones should be fortunate, the "backers"-that is, for the outside public. and Formosa should win, the money is safe But, the bookmaker makes betting his profesto be paid the day after the race. Thompson sion, and the very term of "making a book" is a respectable bookmaker, and his ticket is as means to have such a combination of bets in his good as gold. If, on the other hand, the mare book that he not only cannot lose, but, that no lose, then Jones sees no more of his five pounds, matter what horse comes in first, he must win. which become the bookmaker's lawful winnings. Thus, on all the great races he commences The uninitiated will ask how it is that the betting a year, or perhaps eighteen months new calling can be a profitable calling, if, as a before the event. Whenever he sees that he is rule-and, by the way, it is the rule-the book-in danger of losing a heavy sum in the event of makers lay the odds against the horses. Thus, in the example just given, the book maker has a chance of winning five pounds, but he has also a chance of losing fifty; and as the odds are often a hundred, a hundred and fifty, even two hundred, to one against a horse, the bookmaker must risk that amount for the chance of winning a single sovereign. A few minutes' considera- What is meant by the term "to hedge" a tion will demonstrate how, in the long run-bet? Let us suppose that Thompson, the booknay, even on almost every event-the book-maker, finds that if Blue Gown wins the Derby, maker, who makes betting his trade, must win, and the outside public-though a few here and there may win-must lose.

Let us suppose that for a certain race there are twenty horses to run. Of these, we will suppose that the favourite, or the horse believed most likely to win, stands in the betting at five to one-that is, five to one is bet that such horse does not win the race. Let us further suppose that the second horse is quoted at ten to one against him, the third at fifteen or twenty to one, and so on down to what are called the "outsiders"-the horses

any particular horse winning, he either stops betting altogether, and says he "is full" on that horse, or more generally takes the bets offered him by the general public, and "hedges" them at some other place of betting resource, with his brother bookmakers, or with other betting men.

he will be the loser of a thousand pounds; that is, so many of the public have taken the odds of five to one against the horse, that even calculating what he will pocket by other horses losing, he will still be a loser to the above amount should the favourite win. Still the public go on backing the horse, and thereby increasing his risk. If he were to shut up his book, and refuse to bet against the horse any more, he would lose many clients, for members of the new calling are supposed to be always ready to take the odds to any amount from the backers of horses. So Thompson goes to

some brother bookmaker, or to some "turf
swell," and backs the horse to the amount of
a thousand pounds; thus so arranging his
book, that what he will lose to the public if
the horse win, he will win from others if the
horse loses. This is called "hedging," or squaring
the account in the bookmaker's betting-book.
The transaction is perfectly lawful. The public
want to bet in favour of the horse, but there
are other betting-men whose book it will
suit to bet against it. The bookmaker ac-
commodates both parties, and transacts his own
business in the way most profitable to himself.
Like all other men, the members of the new
calling are liable to make mistakes. It not
unfrequently happens that they "stand to
win" too heavily upon one or two horses, so
that, to use their own expression, "the pot
boils over."
At last year's Derby, many of the
bookmakers were sold when Hermit won. This
season the dead heat run at Newmarket by
Formosa and Moslem was most unexpected.
Formosa was the favourite, and the new calling
looked upon the race as won before it was run.
Just before the horses started the betting was
seven to two against Formosa, and a hundred
to eight, or twelve-and-a-half to one against
Moslem;
and yet the two ran a dead heat, con-
sequently the stakes and bets had to be divided.
There are two rules which no respectable
bookmaker ever breaks. The first is, never
to risk a single shilling over and above what
he can pay down in hard cash twenty-four
hours after the race; the second is, never to
stand too much upon any one horse without
hedging his money.

sence attracts several other persons to meet him on business, and business is thirsty work. When established in this way, he generally makes gentlemen's servants and small tradesmen his victims. For a time, perhaps, he works "on the square," not being trusted with enough to make it worth his while to be dishonest. He begins with taking shilling and halfcrown bets, rarely going as high as a sovereign on any horse. His chief game is to get his clients to bet on what are called double events, which, though tempting in the odds they offer, are almost a certainty in favour of those who bet against them, which bookmakers, whether honest men or "welchers," invariably do.

A "double event" bet is to back two named horses to win two named races. As the odds against this are necessarily high, the temptation to the outside public is proportionably great. The way to calculate a double event bet is to multiply the odds against the one horse by the odds against the other. Thus, let us suppose that the betting against Blue Gown winning the Derby is ten to one, and the odds against Lady Elizabeth winning the Oaks are twelve to one. Ten times twelve make a hundred and twenty; therefore the odds against the two horses winning the double event are a hundred and twenty to one. Let us suppose that the first event comes off right, and that Blue Gown does win the Derby; it follows as a matter of course that the whole bet then depends upon Lady Elizabeth's winning the Oaks; and thus the total amount of the odds, a hundred and twenty to one, is laid against her. If the bookmaker believed there was any chance whatever of the second event turning against him, he would either hedge his money-which, of course, he has every possible facility of doing-or he would buy the bet from the backer for a comparatively small sum.

It will hardly be believed what perfect confidence betting-men among the general public --and in these days, particularly among what may be termed the lower middle classes, to bet is the rule, and not to bet the exception -will repose in bookmakers whom they know. From the West-end of London a "welcher" It is an every-day occurrence for a small bookmaker generally goes to the far east; and, tradesman to put 66 a fiver" or a "tenner" among the low public-houses of Whitechapel or into the hands of a bookmaker on the eve of the Commercial-road, manages to prove to the a great race, and to beg the bookmaker to lay it off-scourings of the Jewish population that there out for him to the best advantage; not even are even keener wits in matters financial than telling him what horses to back. The book-themselves. Another dodge of these rascals is maker generally returns the money with a fair to adopt the names of some well-known and profit next day; deducting his own eommission respectable bookmaker, and, by inserting adof a shilling in the pound. vertisements in the sporting papers, induce The "welcher" bears towards the respect-backers of the pigeon kind to send their golden able bookmaker much the same relative posi- eggs to the nests of the hawks. Of course this tion that the keepers of silver hells in former little game does not last long. days used to hold towards those who ruled at Crockford's and the great gaming houses. The "welcher," properly so called, takes the money offered him to back a horse; but when he has taken money enough from his dupes, departs from the scene of his labours, and trusts to his luck, a dyed wig, or a pair of false whiskers, not to be recognised. His plan of operations generally is to begin as a betting agent, or bookmaker as he calls himself, in the West-end of London. There he gets round him a knot of clients, whom he meets in some public-house, the master of which encourages him; for his pre

There was a time when "welchers" and such like unmitigated rascals were only to be found in London; but now, thanks to railways and cheap trains, they are to be found in almost every large town in England. Manchester is full of welchers; Liverpool numbers its welchers by the hundred; similarly, there are any number of these ruffians in Leeds, or Birmingham, or Bristol. Nay, in even much smaller towns, such as Cheltenham, Leamington, and Bath. The nature of their frauds, and the intense rascality of their calling, oblize them to be rolling stones. When the metropolis is too

hot for them, they betake themselves to Liverpool, or Leeds; and when those become too hot, they emigrate to Manchester or Birmingham. If prosperous, a welcher will perhaps take a low public-house, which becomes the resort of similar scoundrels; if he do not get on, after two or three years of provincial life, he returns to London, and ends in a police office and a jail.

Among the outside public there is an idea that the whole betting world regulates its financial operations very much by relying on information obtained from training stables, through persons who betray the trust reposed in them, and who divulge secrets respecting this horse beating his stable companion at a trial; that filly breaking down at exercise, or the other colt going wrong in his fetlock. This means of gaining information, however, is altogether a thing of the past. Ask any bookmaker what rule he observes in his betting throughout the year, and he will reply that he "follows the money." He means that the market price of each horse guides him in all his speculations, and that of the quality or qualification of the horses he knows little or nothing. The said "money," or "market price" the betting odds, in fact-are much more influenced by the owners of the horses wanting to push up or pull down their horses in the betting, than by any capabilities, or want of the same, in the horses themselves. Of course, when the owner of a really good horse thinks that the animal has a good chance to win a certain race, he backs him; but rarely without making his money safe by hedging upon some other horse in the same race. And in the same way, when a horse is considered quite unfit to run, he is generally "scratched" out of the race, or allowed to start merely to make the running for some other horse. It is only when the competing horses are actually at the post, just before starting, that their condition causes any change worth speaking of in the odds; and even then the cautious betters prefer bookmaking upon figures to betting upon the horses. Racing as now conducted is a pure matter of money making, and races might just as well be run by costermongers' donkeys as by the best blood in England, so far as it is conducive to any improvement in the breed of horses, apart from racing purposes.

AN UNOFFICIAL REPORT.

In a recent number of All the Year Round, the published opinions of certain practical men reporting their impressions of what they saw at Paris, when visiting that city on the occasion of the Great Exhibition, were made the subject of an article. That article, and those reports reviewed in it, reminded me of some professional strictures made by a representative of a very different industry from any of those reported on to the Society of Arts.

One day last season, when the Paris Exhibition was in the fulness of its popularity, and

when excursions for the benefit of all conditions of men were thriving, I crossed from Boulogne to Dover aboard a steamboat crammed from end to end with passengers.

Among that large assembly, was an individual personage who particularly attracted my attention, and whom I continually found myself staring at, with a persistency hardly consistent with the rules of good-breeding, as laid down by the best authorities on general etiquette. I think it must have been a certain incongruousness in the look of this personage which made me stare at him so much. The man and his costume, or get up, as the slang of the

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day goes, were so entirely inconsistent and at variance with each other. They told two different tales in unmistakable, though inarticulate, language. Let me try to translate their silent evidence into words.

To begin with, then, so far as his hair and his headdress went, this small personage-for he was short of stature and light in build-was, to all appearance, a Frenchman; his hair being cut exceedingly short, and the cap he wore upon his head being of that peculiar kind which is known in France as a helmet-cap: a headdress now almost confined to omnibus conductors, but which used formerly to be much worn by the guards of diligences and others. He wore, moreover, a short boy's jacket with an upright collar, like a soldier's. This garment was, however, worn open, and was of a dark brown, or invisible green tint, it was difficult to see which. With this jacket the sum of those indications which seemed to point to French origin came to an end. The gentleman's legs, which were somewhat bowed, were unmistakably English; and as to his face, though he was closely shaved, except as to his upper lip (on which there was about a week's growth of hair), it was the most indubitably English face you could desire to see-English in feature, in expression, in colour. As to his social standing, it was evident that he belonged to what is mysteriously called the "working class," and had it been necessary to define his position with nicer accuracy, I think I should have been disposed to attribute to him a connexion with that branch of industry which is carried on in stables and straw yards. Such a guess would not have been very far from the mark, as it afterwards turned out.

It surprised me to see the person whom I have thus attempted to sketch travelling by a boat which was not an excursion boat, and apparently alone. For, he belonged to a class of travellers, who travel for the most part in large numbers, and by excursion trains. Here was another thing to stimulate my curiosity. I ought to mention, by the way, that the question of his nationality had been set at rest by a few words which he had spoken in unmistakable, if not "very choice," English. I was not long in carrying out my determination to get into conversation with this personage. We were standing close together in the forward part of the ship, whither I had gone to smoke, and I

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