as are found in the Monte Carlo of to-day. The privilege of entrance was never very select, but it was an understood thing that all who were admitted to the rooms should know how to behave, and should learn how to dress. At the time that Thomas Robertson wrote his comedy called " 'Play,' and introduced some graceful pictures of holiday life at Baden-Baden, I suppose the place was in its full tide of success and fashion, and that is about the time that I visited this charming and well ordered nook a few miles from the main railway station, called "Oos," facetiously known by all punters of those days as "Double Zeros.'

Life at Baden-Baden in those days was not particularly strait-laced, but you saw there all that was most distinguished in the aristocratic and the half world also. There were races at Iffizheim and pigeon shooting matches and drives through the woods to the mountains; there were balls and concerts and theatres, and shops where winners invested in diamonds, and losers obtained advances on priceless jewels; fortunes were lost there, and folly went hand in hand with fun; but Baden and its sister watering places never sank to the tipsy depravity of the "American Bar." It was a case of levelling up" at Baden, not of "levelling down." No doubt some of the scum of European society floated that way, but the atmosphere of the place made them be on their best behavior and not their worst. A man who did not know how to present himself in society, either in dress or conversation, would have been politely shown the door-on the wrong side. The snob who made a disturbance in the well-ordered rooms where discreet silence prevailed would have been politely hustled out. The "Corinthian"

who would have dared to swear and curse and shout at a Baden hotel or restaurant, and to insult the guests assembled there, would have been firmly but politely presented with the key of the street," and not even then allowed to bully and holloa like a tipsy costermonger. In those days mere wealth, or mere impudence, did not secure for their owners any special privilege of impertinence toward the majority. On the contrary, the majority were perfectly able and willing to take care of themselves, and to protect the women under their care.

But gradually, I suppose, the tide of

progress—or shall I call it license ?--affect. ed the German as it did the other gambling places. They were quietly closed before scandal was allowed to place upon them its festering finger. Ems, Homburg, Wiesbaden, and Baden-Baden were as brands snatched from the burning. They were handed over from dissipation to health, and from pleasure to education. The water cures healed the body, and the schools assisted the mind. Lawn tennis succeeded the board of green cloth, and the cricketball was heard instead of the eternal click of the roulette table. There were stranger experiences, however, elsewhere. Some mysterious chance helped me to see the last act of what I may presume was the most disreputable little gambling hell in Europe. Like its brothers and sisters in iniquity it was situated amid enchanting scenery-the last place in the world you would expect to find amid the " peace of solitary mountains" and in the heart of a smiling valley with its simple villages and waterfalls. It was at the close of a summer holiday in Switzerland that my friends, not without ominous warnings, left me on the platform of the station of "Saxon les Bains" in the Rhone Valley. Here gambling was kept up some time after the German tables were closed; and I very much doubt if such a villainous set of people, such a scum of blackguardism, could have been found at any other place on the European continent. Outside all was fair and smiling-little villas, seductive chalets, a miniature casino concealed in some gardens, dusty and burnt up with the summer heat, and a second-class hotel with a background of lovely mountains. I was des. tined to enjoy a strange experience. Arriving late in the afternoon, I sat down in the untidy salle a manger of the hotel for table d'hôte, but before the dinner was half over I was astonished to find that my left-hand neighbor-an untidy, careworn looking_woman-burst into a flood of tears. Being of a sympathetic turn of mind, I tried to console her, or at any rate to ascertain the cause of her despair. appeared that her husband, who was a French commercial traveller, was upstairs in bed, half tipsy with brandy, and threatening his wretched wife that he would commit suicide before morning. He had lost every farthing of his employer's money on the morning of that very day, and they had only a few francs between them

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to pay the hotel bill, for which they were being pressed by the landlord. I then understood the object of the flood of tears. I was expected out of my charity to extricate my fair neighbor from her difficulty, and save her demented husband from a premature death. But my own finances at the end of a holiday did not permit me to indulge in any very extensive scheme of charity. My purse would not yield more than a small gold piece, which was naturally promptly conveyed to the gambling table. Whether I saved the wretched woman from the beating which she hourly expected, or her drunken husband from the doom he contemplated, I never discovered, for the early dawn saw me many miles from the vile hole known as Saxon les Bains. But in the few memorable hours that I spent there I had impressions that I am not likely to forget. Ever anxious to see what is to be seen wherever I may be, I made my way after dinner to the gambling tables. It is impossible to describe the vile appearance of the men and women who crowded round the tables, or to record the language that was used. The croupiers all seemed to favor the most disreputable, and on more than one occasion there was a free fight over some disputed stake. The smallest coin that could be staked was a florin, and I am bound to say I saw very little gold on the table. I happened to be rather lucky, and my good fortune aided me in securing my winnings before they were appropriated by the thieves--men and women-in whose undesirable company I was placed. I was only playing with florins, and as there appeared to be no gold on the board I was paid in silver pieces. As time wore on I got heavier and heavier, all my pockets were filled, and, as may be guessed, the winning of a very few pounds in silver pieces would eventually retard my progress somewhat, and make me an easy prey to any one concealed in the shrubberies who was armed with a stout club. On one occasion two friends of mine who had been playing and winning at St. Sebastian on the Spanish frontier were kindly provided by the "administration" with a couple of old Dogberrys, who with pikes and lanterns escorted them and their gains to their hotel. The authorities at Saxon les Bains were not so considerate to me, and I had to make the best of my way home unattended. I saw at once when I left the

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tables that I was a marked man. melodramatic villains followed me out of the room, and as I anticipated danger in the dark shrubberies of the casino gardens, for the gas supply was very limited indeed, I resolved, heavily weighted as I was in the handicap, to make a bolt for it, and to show my evil-looking friends a clean pair of heels. Jingling and rattling I arrived at the mean-looking hotel, and having found my way to my room proceeded to fling my gains on to the bed and to count the spoil. To my astonishment I heard crafty steps creeping about the corridor. Incautiously I had forgotten to lock the door. Had I wanted to do so it would have been impossible, as I found, when examining the door, that the lock and bolts had been deliberately wrenched away. There was no time to be lost, for the cat-like steps still crept about the sages, waiting for my light to be extinguished. There was no help for it but to make a barricade. I dragged the heaviest furniture from its place and barred the door with the wardrobe, the chairs and tables. But sleep was impossible. All night long my door was being tried by the guests of the hotel proprietor who had taken a fancy to my silver pieces. By the first train I was on my way to Geneva with my prize secure. And I saw no more of Saxon les Bains, whose evil career came to an end the next year. It was ruined by the power of its inherent vice and reckless depravity.

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At last, after many years' waiting, the chance of visiting Monte Carlo presented itself. I was to go under the happiest auspices and in the company of old friends. Expectation had led me to hope for much, and in this instance all that I had imagined as to the beauty of the Riviera was exceeded. The best way to approach the paradise of flowers and sunshine is to start from Paris-after a rest-by the train de luxe. You come to the most interesting bits of the scenery in the early morning after a good sleep and a comfortable breakfast, and all that the enthusiast can desire is a flood of sunshine. We got it almost from daybreak. I can conceive no greater pleasure than the gradual ascent as it were into the favored regions of the sun. Hour after hour the gloom and mist are left behind. We reach the gray olives when the day is breaking. We arrive at Marseilles and the calm blue Mediterranean shore

when the sun is mounting to the heavens. No more tracks of olive strewn plains, no more rocks and barren pastures-all beauty when Marseilles is left behind. At once we are in another world. Hitherto our English eyes have only been accustomed to apple and cherry orchards at home, but here the landscape is starred out with ripe red oranges and golden lemons. There seems to be everything in nature here. We can scarcely believe our eyes. Orange trees in blossom and in fruit at the same hour; violets and anemones blooming side by side with acres of rose trees; spring, summer and autumn, as we know them, united in one long embrace. After Cannes the scenery intensifies in beauty. The train, rushing through little tunnels, skirts blue, land-locked bays, sparkling with yachts and gay with men of war. The windows of all the villas are open, and although yesterday we were shivering in the Strand now there are sun-blinds and tents in the gardens, and lawn-tennis players are seen in flannels resting from some tournament among the flowers. Each sunny spot on the Riviera has its admirers, but none can rival Monte Carlo for situation and grandeur. Nowhere else is there the background of majestic rock; nowhere else the castled 'promontory of Monaco where the palace of the prince is half hidden by bowers of mimosa and geranium. The key-note of the despair of the place is struck within a moment of arrival. An old friend who comes to meet us at the station, a good fellow who enjoys fun like the rest of us, is already preparing to depart. He has been over to Mentone and he owns he likes it better. Another who has had but a slight apprenticeship of the Principality has made up his mind to join his friends at Nice. A third is enthusiastic about the peaceful villa gardens where so many English make a home on the sunny road between Nice and Monte Carlo. A fourth, who has only remained behind to welcome us, cordially owns that "he has had enough of it." What is the matter with the place? What plague has stricken it? There is nothing to find fault with at the hotels, except the prices, which must run high at such places where money is no object. Some prefer noise, others quiet. To some the Grand and the Paris are too fast to others the decorous Metropole is, according to them, too slow. As to the mere eating and drinking, all

own that you can dine or breakfast here as well if not better than at the Café Anglais or Delmonico's. Every luxury that man or woman can desire is to be had here for the asking. The sun is shining in the heavens, the air is exhilarating, not depressing. The flowers scent the very at mosphere, the music is of the very best that can be obtained in Europe. Why then are all the visitors except the confirmed gamblers talking of removing away to select Cannes or lovely Beaulieu? There is something wrong with the place, something that does not meet the eye. What is the matter with Monte Carlo? To the outward gaze it is, indeed, a paradise. Who poisoned it? Let us look for ourselves and see.

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Up those fatal steps then to the great white building from whose portals the careless and slip-slop administration, so it is rumored, thought fit to expel the Prime Minister of England. This is the seat of the disease that is eating the life out of Monte Carlo. This is the canker spot of the lovely Principality. It is here if you take a seat at the café in the pretty flowered square, and smoke a meditative cigar, that you can quietly observe the inner and the despairing life of Monte Carlo. day long, from eleven o'clock in the morning until the clock strikes eleven at night, they ascend and descend-men and women, honest people and scoundrels, the over dressed and the well-nigh raggedthe marble steps that-good chance or bad chance-must eventually lead to ruin. How confident and buoyant is the newcomer; how gloomy and meditative the old hand; how dejected and despairing comes out one; how feverishly excited and talking at the top of his voice comes the gambler, who for the moment thinks that he is destined beyond all others to alter the course of the inevitable. On every face, even of the youngest and prettiest, are already marked the lines of anxiety. Why do not our artists come and paint this, the most dramatic picture in all Monte Carlo ?

Before now we have seen in pictures the interior of the gaming rooms, the light, the excitement, the greed, the various expressions on the faces. But the true drama is here on the Casino steps, which must be trodden in despair at last in spite of luck, in spite of systems, in spite of marking of cards, and mathematical cal

culations, in spite of pilfering and cheating, and borrowing and sponging by the tragic figure, half dead, hopeless, penniless -a pathetic ruin. The pitcher has gone once too often to the well. It is broken at last. And to this complexion every gambler in the world must come.

The people at Monte Carlo appear to act on the principle that every respectable person should be eyed with suspicion, and every shady-looking customer welcomed with open arms. The change from the sun and gayety outside to the squalor and gloom of the outer hall is very striking to the spectator who can remember the old Baden days. No wonder that hotel robberies are of daily occurrence, that you cannot leave your room without danger of your trunk being rifled; that squabbles and wranglings occur over the stakes, that a croupier has been proved to be in league with the knights of industry," who swarm like bees about the place, when free admission is given to such a seedy society as this. Respectability is in a minority, whereas a few years ago, it had a decided majority, and the company, as it ever does, has given a tone to the scene. In the outer hall, that reminds one of the entrance to a railway station, ill-decorated, untidy and divested of all style, lounge escrocs, smoking and spitting, men and women, who are well known as evil characters by every police department in Europe. A lady points me out a man who robbed her and her husband only a season or so ago, and was kicked out of the Principality. Here he is back again, practising his old tricks, and conveniently provided with an admission ticket by the courteous administration. Here are well-known characters in the black book of our own Scotland Yard. As I stand watching this curious assembly, I see a little man come out of the room in an excited state, his hands full of money, chuckling to himself, and followed by a couple of women, who cling to either arm. Ten minutes afterward I discover that he has robbed a friend of mine of a winning stake amounting to about £20.

Where

on earth do all these people come from? Where do they hide at Monte Carlo? We do not meet them at our hotels; we do not sit beside them at table d'hôte or the restaurants; they are never to be seen at the concerts or public places; they come out mysteriously, like bats or owls, and flit about the stifling rooms and fœtid tables. They are the vultures, ready to prey on the

carcasses of the good-natured and inexperienced. People at home are under the impression that the gambling rooms have a certain allurement of refinement and fastidious taste. It used to be so in the old days, but is not so now. Badly ventilated they are, il decorated, very second-rate and down at heel; the old drawing-room style has been abolished, out of deference to the company that visits them. Strange to say, I was reminded far more of dingy Saxon les Bains, than of aristocratic Ems and Homburg. At Monte Carlo they suit their room to their company, and a nice shady company it appears to be. There are three social periods at the tables. First, in the morning, the inveterate gamblers who make a trade of it, and are to be seen in their chairs almost from morning until night; secondly, in the afternoon, what may be called the provincial and suburban rush that brings the amiable punters by train from the neighboring peaceful spots shut out from temptation, and consequently sheltered by respectability. Lastly, the desperate and bejewelled division, the after-dinner crowd, in which peers, and officers, and statesmen, and people of the highest respectability from every city in the world, attired as gentlemen and ladies, rub shoulders with thieves and demi-reps, the ostracized and the suspected, the bold and the brazen, and the queens of the half-world, plastered over with jewels, which are the admiration and envy of all beholders, particularly of the hotel robbers, who mark down their prey.

And modern Monte Carlo has apparently become converted to the use and advantage of the American bar. She is not alone in that respect. At some of the most respectable Swiss hotels in the holiday season may be seen, either ostentatiously displayed or hidden away in a corner, a gaudy bar, at which cock tails, pick-me-ups, and deleterious drinks are administered by a showy young lady, or some accredited professor in the art of slow poison. Monte Carlo is well provided with these social rendezvous. It is the fashion when play is over for the refined and the vulgar, the man of breeding and the social outcast, to foregather at one or other of these bars, which give quite a tone to the society of Monte Carlo. The downright good-fellowship, the hail-fellow-well-met principle, the good-natured, reckless Tom and Jerryism instituted by the leading Corinthians" who frequent these houses of

call, spread, however, beyond the midnight hours when the prosperous and the dejected consecrate their victories or console themselves for defeat with a friendly glass. The men who would take off their hats and be uncommonly subservient to their patrons on a race-course, or in a paddock at home and abroad, here meet those who have known or betted with them, on a common platform of equality. There is nothing a jockey or a tout enjoys so much as standing a drink" to a real live lord. It would not matter so much to the visitors at Monte Carlo if this delightful amity, this "liberty, fraternity, and 'liberty, fraternity, and equality," ended where it began, over a consoling cock-tail. No one is compelled to visit American bars, nor can any one expect that the manners of these institutions will be particularly refined or elevating. But, strange to say, it will be found that the conviviality of the cock-tail spreads in other directions. It extends to screaming about the streets in the morning hours, to outrageous extravagances and tomfooleries that extend the carousal beyond its allotted time; to bellowings and horn-blowings by popular characters, and to turning each public restaurant at the dinner-hour into a field for the display of the high spirits and eccentricity of the Corinthians, who are denied the companionship of Bob Logic. Now, no one in his senses would object to high spirits, or the overflow of the exuberance of youth; but when it extends to disturbing the comfort and conversation of pleasant dinner parties by yells and song and wild practical joking, it may not be unreasonable to observe that with the advent of high spirits came the extinction of good manners. The man who sits on the top of a coach at the Derby with a false nose on his face and a doll stuck in his hat, may be in his own estimationa very comical fellow. But such a highspirited young gentleman if he brought the manners of the Epsom Hill and the custom of the stables into the East Room at the Criterion, or the Bristol Restaurant at the height of the season might, with reason, be voted somewhat of a nuisance. Tony Lumpkin is, no doubt, the best of good fellows, but in Goldsmith's play he very properly bestows his best jokes and songs on the yokels who frequent the popular hostelry, "The Three Pigeons. But a Tony Lumpkin at Ranelagh or Vauxhall would surely have been resented by the fine gentlemen and ladies of the

period, who liked fun well enough, but were not indifferent to good breeding and courtesy toward women. However, they do not think so at Monte Carlo, which has recently adopted the merry, free-and-easy tone beloved by the uncouth patrons of the Margate jetty.

No religious interference, no preaching or protests or prating of prudes, no circulation of false reports about suicides, no philippics on the evils of the gaming-table will ever cause the downfall of this lovely spot. If Monte Carlo is ever to be reformed, as its brothers and sisters elsewhere were reformed, it will be by the innate force of its own social depravity, and the growth of the cancer-fibres of its own unbridled luxury. Vulgarity and knavery are the two worst enemies of the Monte Carlo administration. When the place becomes socially impossible to visit its destiny is fixed. Monte Carlo will revive its old charm and position once more, its unrivalled beauty and majesty-not because there is a revulsion against gambling-because gambling must exist as long as the world lasts-but because the ragged Falstaff's army, the camp-followers of the gaming-tables, will at last become intolerable to the householders and peaceful residents of this enchanting spot. One fine morning Monte Carlo will arise and find her lovely home purged from its impurity, clean, respectable, swept and garnished. Nothing can take from her the glorious gifts of nature, her bright blue sky, her castled promontory, her flower-gardens and orange groves, her lovely atmosphere that can soothe the jarred nerves of dwellers in great cities, and bring the roses back to the pale cheeks of the sick. The question is whether these extraordinary gifts of nature were not destined for a better purpose than the one to which they are applied. ready to Monte Carlo, that has turned its paradise into a pest-house, that has allowed luxury to run riot, and evil to triumph over good, has been given the awful warning, the tremendous doom that buried Pompeii and reduced Herculaneum to ashes. That mighty earthquake shock, that rocked the very place to its foundation, and sent the affrighted pleasureseekers, pale and terror-stricken, to the streets, was surely not given as a sign in vain. When revelry exceeds the bounds of license then comes the ruin. Already the "writing is on the wall."-Contemporary Magazine.

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