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"Three ounces," answered the New Englander despairingly,

"Oh I no, no, no," laughed the gamestress, "une montre, pas plus."

The ring brought back one of the watches, but the next whirl swept them both away and the man retired to meditate and begin the world anew.

It was a common practise for miners to lay an unopened bag of dust upon a card, call the amount of his venture, and if he won receive the same from the dealer without opening his bag at alL At Stockton in 1850, a 'sucker,' as one of his nativity was called, entered a gambling saloon and cast his eye over the several monte tables. It was an eye which with its surroundings resembled a dead coal dropped into a can of lard. In long bristles the hair hung from a flat rakish head resting on shoulders fit for a Rhodian Colossus, and surmounting a puncheon-shaped body stuck upon keg-like legs. Stepping up to a table which seemed to strike his fancy he leaned over and peered into the face of the dealer.

"D' ye 'low a man to bet his pile on one kyerd?" he innocently asked.

"Yes, you may bet your pile," answered the dealer.

After a long search within the folds of his sliirt he drew forth a bag containing his treasures and slapping it onthe 'caballo' exclaimed: " I go two ounces on that boss." The first time he lost; the next he won. Half an hour of fluctuations saw the Illinoisan loser to about the extent, as the dealer thought, of what the contents of the bag would cover. Hence the game was arrested and the process of settlement begun. While the dealer was adjusting the scales, the little thick man stood immovable as a pillar, a roseate hue meanwhile mounting his flabby face; but when the bag was open and bits of lead instead of gold greeted with dull unwelcome stare the gamblers's gaze, the tub-like man began to revolve, and gathering momentum as he approached the door, disappeared amidst