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The Gaming Table by Andrew Steinmetz

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THE RISE AND PROGRESS OF MODERN GAMING IN ENGLAND

CHAPTER VI. page 24


Chicken-hazard is scotched, not killed; but a poor, weazened,
etiolated biped is that once game-bird now. And there is Doncaster,
every year--Doncaster, with its subscription-rooms under authority,
winked at by a pious corporation, patronized by nobles and gentlemen
supporters of the turf, and who are good enough, sometimes, to
make laws for us plebeians in the Houses of Lords and Commons.
There is Doncaster, with policemen to keep order, and admit none
but "respectable" people--subscribers, who fear Heaven and
honour the Queen. Are you aware, my Lord Chief-Justice, are you
aware, Mr Attorney, Mr Solicitor-General, have you the slightest
notion, ye Inspectors of Police, that in the teeth of the law,
and under its very eyes, a shameless gaming-house exists in moral
Yorkshire, throughout every Doncaster St Leger race-week? Of
course you haven't; never dreamed of such a thing--never could,
never would. Hie you, then, and prosecute this wretched gang of
betting-touts, congregating at the corner of Bride Lane, Fleet
Street; quick, lodge informations against this publican who
has suffered card-playing to take place, raffles, or St Leger
sweeps to be held in his house. "You have seen a farmer's dog
bark at a beggar, and the creature run from the cur. There thou
might'st behold the great image of authority: a dog's obeyed in
office." You have--very well. Take crazy King Lear's words as
a text for a sermon against legislative inconsistencies, and come
back with me to Hombourg Kursaal.'

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