Gaming without risk, certainty in chance, Fortune showering her favours
out of the dice-box, are promised by the promoters of a New Joint-Stock
Company just set on foot in Paris, the prospectus of which now lies
before us. This is nothing less than a society for the propagation of
gambling in San Francisco; “capital, one hundred and fifty thousand
francs, in three hundred shares of five hundred francs each,
provisionally registered on May 10, 1850. Chief Office, No. 17, Rue
Vivienne.”
The promoters of this precious CERCLE DE SAN FRANCISCO declare that
certainty will be the issue of this notable scheme, the essence of which
is hazard. “There never was,” they say, “an enterprise more sure of
gain. Three years, with twelve dividends, paid once a quarter, will
produce enormous results. These have been accurately tested by the most
conscientious (?) calculations, based on the produce of the German
gaming-houses, and we have ascertained that each share of five hundred
francs will yield an annual dividend of three thousand francs over and
above interest at six per cent!”
The future House itself is thus painted in bright perspective:—“A fine
house of wood, of two stories, with a magnificent coffee-room on the
ground floor; a vast saloon on the first-floor for two roulette-tables;
on the second, apartments for the manager, the servants; and the
officers; the whole completely furnished, with all necessary
appurtenances for warming and lighting. Tables, implements, counters,
iron coffers for the specie, &c., are to be immediately exported by a
sailing vessel. M. Mauduit, the manager, will accompany these immense
munitions, together with subordinates of known probity. M. Charles,
chief-of-the-play at Aix, in Savoy, is to follow, as director of the
expedition, at the end of October, by steamer. It is expected that
preparations will be complete, so as to open the Cercle in San Francisco
on the 31st December of this year.”
Of all the bare-faced schemes that was ever presented to a French
public, this is surely the most extravagant. There is nothing in _Jerome
Patûrot_ that equals it in impudence.