A GAMBLING PARTY IN ST.

JAMES'S CLOSE We must now ask our readers to shift the scene--if they don't mind doing this for us--to the apartments of the Earl of Wynchgate in St.James's Close.

The hour is nine o'clock in the evening, and the picture before us is one of revelry and dissipation so characteristic of the nobility of England.

The atmosphere of the room is thick with blue Havana smoke such as is used by the nobility, while on the green baize table a litter of counters and cards, in which aces, kings, and even two spots are heaped in confusion, proclaim the reckless nature of the play.
Seated about the table are six men, dressed in the height of fashion, each with collar and white necktie and broad white shirt, their faces stamped with all, or nearly all, of the baser passions of mankind.
Lord Wynchgate--for he it was who sat at the head of the table--rose with an oath, and flung his cards upon the table.
All turned and looked at him, with an oath.

"Curse it, Dogwood," he exclaimed, with another oath, to the man who sat beside him.