who does no more than use his opportunities skilfully.  Why not abuse the gentry who buy copper to catch the rise of the market?  Why not abuse the whole of the thousands of men who make the City lively for six days of the week?  Is there any rational man breathing who would scruple to accept profit from the rise of a stock or share?  If I, practically, back South-Eastern Railway shares to rise, who blames me if I sell when my property has increased in value by one-eighth?  My good counsellor, Mr. Ruskin, who is the most virulent enemy of usury, is nevertheless very glad that his father bought Bank of England shares, which have now been converted into Stock, and stand at over 300; Ruskin senior was a shrewd speculator, who backed his fancy; and a bookmaker does the same in a safer way.  Bookmaking is a business which is carried out in its higher branches with perfect sobriety, discretion, mid probity; the gambling element does not come in on the bookmaker’s side, but he deals with gamblers in a fair way.  They know that he will lay them the shortest odds he can; they know that they put their wits against his, and they also know that he will pay them with punctilious accuracy if they happen to beat him in the encounter of brains.  Three or four of the leading betting men “turn over” on the average about half a million each per annum; one firm who bet on commission receive an average of five thousand pounds per day to invest, and the vouchers of all these speculators and agents are as good as bank notes.  Mark that I grant the certainty of the bookmakers winning; they can remain idle in their mansions for months in the year, and the great gambling public supply the means; but I do not find fault with the bookmakers because they use their opportunities, or else I might rave about the iniquity of a godly man who earns in a week 100,000 from a “corner” in tin, or I might reprobate the quack who makes no less than 7000 per cent on every box of pills that he sells.  A good man once chatted with me for a whole evening, and all his talk ran on his own luck in “spotting” shares that were likely to move upward.  Certainly his luck as a gambler had been phenomenal.  I turned the conversation to the Turf case of Wood v.  Cox, and the torrent of eloquence which met me was enough to drown my intellect in its whirl and rush.  My friend was great on the iniquity of gaming and racing, and I rather fancy that he proposed to play on the Betting Ring with a mitrailleuse if ever he had the power.  I know he was most sanguinary—­and I smiled.  He never for an instant seemed to think that he was exactly like a backer of horses, and I have no doubt but that his density is shared by a few odd millions here and there.  The stockbroker is a kind of bookmaker, and the men and women who patronise both and make their wealth are fools who all may be lumped under the same heading.  I knew of one outside-broker—­a mere bucket-shop keeper—­who keeps 600 clerks constantly employed.  That seems to point out rather an extensive gambling business.