Now, in the heyday of Larry’s political usefulness, gaming was a licensed institution in the city of New Orleans.  The magnificent charity of the State, the Hospital for the Indigent, was sustained by means derived from this tax.

It was the enlightened policy of French legislation to tax a vice which could not be suppressed by criminal laws.  The experience of civilization has, or ought to have taught every people, that the vice of gaming is one which no law can reach so completely as to suppress in toto.  Then, if it will exist, disarm it as much as possible of the power to harm—­let it be taxed, and give the exclusive privilege to game to those who pay the tax and keep houses for the purpose of gaming.  These will effectually suppress it.  Everywhere else they are entitled to the game, and will keep close watch that it runs into no other net.  Let this tax be appropriated to the support of an institution where, in disease and indigence, its victims may find support and relief.  Make it public, that all may see and know its habitues, and who may feel the reforming influence of public opinion.  For, at last, this is the only power by which the morals of a community are preserved.  Let laws punish crimes—­public opinion reform vices.

Larry was a lawmaker, and though he loved a little fun at times, even at the expense of the law, he was very solicitous as to the health of the public morals.  In several visits at Prado’s, he was successful in plucking some of the hair from the tiger.  It was exceedingly pleasant to have a little pocket-change to evince his liberality socially with his friends, when it did not trench upon the crop, which was always a lean one on the sand-plains of St. Helena; for, like the great Corsican, Larry had a desolate home in St. Helena.

On one occasion, however, he went too close to the varmint, and returned to his little dirty apartments on the Rue Rampart minus all his gains, with a heavy instalment from the crop.  His wonted spirits were gone.  He moped to the State House, and he sat melancholy in his seat; he heeded not even the call of the yeas and nays upon important legislation.  Larry was sick at heart, sick in his pocket, and was only seen to pluck up spirit enough to go to the warrant-clerk, and humbly insist upon a warrant on the treasurer for a week’s pay to meet a week’s board.  On Monday, however, he came into the Senate with more buoyancy of spirit than had been his wont for some days; for Larry was a senator now, and had under his special charge and guardianship the people and their morals of three extensive parishes.

The Senate was scarcely organized and the minutes read, when it was plain Larry meant mischief.  The hour for motions had arrived, and Larry was on his feet:  he cleared his throat, and, throwing back his head, said:  “Mr. President, I have a motion in my hand, which I will read to the Senate: 

“’Resolved, That a joint committee, of one from the Senate, and two from the House, be appointed to report a bill abolishing licensed gaming in the city of New Orleans.’”