HEADS OR TAILS.

Hawke's Bay Times, Volume IV, Issue 187, 12 August 1864, Page 1 (Supplement)

HEADS OR TAILS.

The following is one of a series of articles which have appeared in the Otago Daily Times, intituled “ Shingles from an old roof,” by a Free and Easy Shingler;— I saw two good-fur-nothing scamps of errand boys the other day, playing at pitch-and-toss in the public streets. The one bad set down his basket of groceries, and the other his tray of meat; and, regardless of the sneaking little terrier, who, witii his tail neatly tucked between his legs, was making insidious approaches to the latter, they tossed up the coins with wild excitement, their little eyes gleaming with eager avarice, as they watched the rise and fall of the battered tokens, such as .the good folk of Otago are fain to accept in lieu of more legitimate smallchange. Little recked they of angry masters, or of mistresses rendered impatient by delay. They were engaged in the pursuit of bad halfpence, and didn’t care a button for else in the wide world. Ah! they are naughty boys—idle young vagabonds, “Don’t care” will come to a bad ending, and as we used to read in the spellingbook, many—Oh! how many years ago. That is to say, the old Shingler did. You, Mr. Tomnoddy, possibly travelled by a more royal road asinorum ; and so never heard of the vulgar old tale to which I refer. I am told that wonderful discoveries have been made in the science of education since 1 wore a round jacket, and had “ longs” and “ shorts” regularly drilled into me vi cl armis ; and it is no longer considered necessary to improve a youngster’s brains by the castigation of his antipodal extremities. Would°to Heaven the new piocess, whatever it may be, had been found out at an earlier period, so that the connection between cause and effect might have been more clearly and less forcibly demonstrated in my case. But rcvenous a nos moutons. Do you think, my masters, that there are no naughty boys of larger growth —no hirsute players of pitch-and-toss in the world ? Can any one of you lay his hand upon his heart—soft or horny as the case may be—(l mean the hand not the heart, perhaps) —and honestly declare that he has never staueu nis own hopes and prospects, or the hopes and prospects of others on the toss-up of a metaphorical sous P You, my dear sir, who opened that wonderful sto . e, replete with all the novelties of the season, on the strength of unlimited credit, with the chance of success if the trade was brisk, and the certainty of failure if trade was dull. You, who started that glittering dram-shop where the plateglass mirrors reflect the gilded cornices, and the prettiest and most seductive of barmaids presents the Circean cup to doubly intoxicated customers. You, who have dabbled in long leases of choice sections and snug corner-lots. You, who went into that farm without suffi-

cient means to stock or cultivate it. You who tendered for that contract at hazardous rates, knowing that you ran the risk of losing the horse or winning the saddle. Have not every one of you been playing a game of “heads or tails” with Fortune? Herein only do you differ from my naughty little boys—the odds are all in your favour. With you it is a game of—heads, you win; tails, somebody loses. And, after spinning the trumpery coin in the air, if luck declares against you, 'why where is the dismal record of the Insolvent Debtors Court, and the possible experiences of Stoddart’s Hotel, for the encouragement of others. It is you, my very dear, but misguided friends, who constitute the lachrymose fraternity of Croakers, whose hearts sink within you when the escorts are small, or the weather is bad, and who prate most wofully of dull times, when in all truth and soberness the dulness is our own brains, which fail to discern the narrow line of demarcation that separates the unfortunate man from the rogue. Of course, this concerns not you, Mr. Tomnoddy. You belong to the upper crust of provincial “ society,” and your name is inscribed at the top of the page. Ah ! be not over-confident. Are you not also dallying with lucky pennies ? Have you (excuse the question) paid for that beautiful Brussels carpet and elegant suite of furniture ? Is there no debt save that of gratitude, due to your wine-merchant? Does that exquisite scent in your mouchoir really and truly belong to you ? In fine, are you not indulging in the good things of life to an extent which, if your income was narrowly scrutinized, you cannot afford ? Oh ! you are a very honourable man; so are you all—all honourable men. I know all about that, my dear sir. Yet I have heard of one—only one—who came to grief in a neighbouring province, and endured a tedious incarceration in consequence; very improper, of course; but so it was. The fellow—l beg his pardon, the gentleman—had a humorous sense of gratitude, however ; for when he was liberated, and the detaining creditor benevolently invited him to “ liquor i;p,” he replied ; “ No ; I have been eating and drinking at your expense for the last six months, and I think I ought to treat you now.” How would you like to confess a similar obligation, Mr. Tomnoddy ? “ Not at all!” Then stop your extravagant little game of “ pitch and toss,” and face your tailor like a man. And you can’t do that in “ pegtops” that you have not paid for. Well, the Old Shingler is fain to admit that there are worse gamblers even than these —men who hazard on a die their health and lives, and “ play at cherry-pit with Satan” for their souls. Desperate gamblers are these. Heads, they lose—tails, the old serpent wins. But let me not trench on sacred ground. “ : Tis not my vocation, Hal.” There are plenty of clericalshinglers in Otago; and if there were not, the rusty nail of conscience ever leaves its abiding mark on the toughest heart, of oak or humanity. But my dear fair friends what shall I say to you? You never play at pitch and toss. Skipping ropes are more in your line. But do not some of you skip a little too high ? And when you chance to catch your dear little toes in the rope and perpetrate a very obvious stumble, don't you feel that you have been playing a foolish game of Heads or tails ? and do not your affectionate sisters—who, by long practice or superiorgenius.have acquired the art of skipping with discretion—do they not, I ask you, witness your fall with secret self-gratulation, and raise their lovely white hands in horror of your sullied robes ? Oh ! sweet darlings, 5 tis not because you have played and won that you should turn your well-shaped backs upon her who has played and lost! There is a game of pitch and toss which I have often seen played with consummate science by women; and the peculiarity of this game lies in the fact, that whilst she can only win the veriest trifle, she is pretty certain to lose a most valuable consideration ; like the lucky boy, who picked up a halfpenny’ and broke a window. When Paterfamilias comes home from his office, or his labour, wearied with the fatigue and annoyances of the day—petulant in temper, it may be vexed by matters which, consultin'? w>ur peace of mind, my dear madam, he keeps to himself, as the Spartan boy concealed the fox which gnawed his vitals ; do you not often meet your troubled caro sposo with unsightly fmwns on your fair brow, and angry glances flashing from those bright eyes which first enthralled his heart, and a disfiguring pout on those cherry lips whereon he sealed vows of eternal love—pe; haps too with angry words? And if this be so, do you know what you are doing ? You are playing at pitch and stay with your mutual happiness; and if you toss not your hand in time, the misery of your after-life will prove the heavy forfeit which

you will have so foolishly staked and lost. There are other gamblers yet, into whom the Old Shingler would like to drive a few nails if space would permit. There is the young lady gambler, who plays with hearts as children do with chuckystanes; with whom it is a mere game of “ heads or tails,” whether she shall marry poor Briefless—whose talents, unfortunately, are not of the metallic order —or wed with rich Gripus, who has houses and lands, and shares—Heaven help him ! —in the Dunedin Gas Company. Yes jingle the coins, my dear, spin them prettily in the air. Ah ! heads are nowhere, and you shall be Mrs. Gripus, and when Briefless is Attor-ney-General or Judge of the Big-jaw Court you shall find out how dearly you loved him. There is the elderly young lady, too, who, having flirted every sensible suitor miles away from her crinoline, is balancing in her mind whether she shall become the better half of a fool—deservedly the last chance she will ever have of entering the estate of wedlock ; and though last, not the least, of gamblers, is the confirmed old bachelor, who has patched away his chances of comfort by selfishly tossing with a headless halfpenny. Ah ! if he had but played fair, he might have won—- “ Love, honor, and obedience—troops of friends’' But his scheming has gained for him only a loss; and, when the clay is spent, and the shades of evening draw nigh, and he can play his accustomed game no longer, he will sneak away by himself, lonely and unpitied, with the lightest of purses and the heavies of hearts. Let me confess my own pecadilloes. Bless you! the free and easy shingler is no better than the rest. Many a silly game of pitch and toss has he played in his time. Well, well! he is older now, and no longer stakes his welfare on the turning of a coin. Ah !if he could but begin the game of life again, with the teachings of his fifty summers as capital in hand—but vestigia nulla retrorsum.