University of Virginia Library

11. CHAPTER XI.
GAMBLING POETS, SAVANTS, PHILOSOPHERS, WITS, AND STATESMEN.

PERHAPS the stern moralist who may have turned over these pages has frowned at the facts of the preceding chapter. If so, I know not what he will do at those which I am about to record.

If it may be said that gamesters must be madmen, or rogues, how has it come to pass that men of genius, talent, and virtue withal, have been gamesters?

Men of genius, `gifted men,' as they are called, are much to be pitied. One of them has said — `Oh! if my pillow could reveal my sufferings last night!' His was true grief — for it had no witness.[105] The endowments of this nature of ours are so strangely mixed — the events of our lives are

so unexpectedly ruled, that one might almost prefer to have been fashioned after those imaginary beings who act so consistently in the nursery tales and other figments. Most men seem to have a double soul; and in your men of genius — your celebrities — the battle between the two seems like the tremendous conflict so grandly (and horribly) described by Milton. Who loved his country more than Cato? Who cared more for his country's honour? And yet Cato was not only unable to resist the soft impeachments of alcohol —

but he was also a dice-player, a gambler.[106]

Julius Cæsar did not drink; but what a profligate he was! And I have no doubt that he was a gambler: it is certain that he got rid of millions nobody knew how.

I believe, however, that the following is an undeniable fact. You may find suspicious gamesters in every rank of life, but among men of genius you will generally, if not always, find only victims resigned to the caprices of fortune. The

professions which imply the greatest enthusiasm naturally furnish the greater number of gamesters. Thus, perhaps, we may name ten poet-gamesters to one savant or philosopher who deserved the title or infamy.

Coquillart, a poet of the 15th century, famous for his satirical verses against women, died of grief after having ruined himself by gaming. The great painter Guido — and a painter is certainly a poet — was another example. By nature gentle and honourable, he might have been the most fortunate of men if the demon of gambling had not poisoned his existence, the end of which was truly wretched.

Rotrou, the acknowledged master of Corneille, hurried his poetical effusions in order to raise money for gambling. This man of genius was but a spoilt child in the matter of play. He once received two or three hundred louis, and mistrusting himself, went and hid them under some vine-branches, in order not to gamble all away at once. Vain precaution! On the following night his bag was empty.

The poet Voiture was the delight of his contemporaries, conspicuous as he was for the most

exquisite polish and inexhaustible wit; but he was also one of the most desperate gamesters of his time. Like Rotrou, he mistrusted his folly, and sometimes refrained. `I have discovered,' he once wrote to a friend, `as well as Aristotle, that there is no beatitude in play; and in fact I have given over gambling; it is now seven months since I played — which is very important news, and which I forgot to tell you.' He would have died rich had he always refrained. His relapses were terrible; one night he lost fifteen hundred pistoles (about £750).

The list of foreign poets ruined by gambling might be extended; whilst, on the other hand, it is impossible, I believe, to quote a single instance of the kind among the poets of England, — perhaps because very few of them had anything to lose. The reader will probably remember Dr Johnson's exclamation on hearing of the large debt left unpaid by poor Goldsmith at his death — `Was ever poet so trusted before!' . . .

The great philosophers Montaigne and Descartes, seduced at an early age by the allurements of gambling, managed at length to overcome the evil, presenting examples of reformation — which

proves that this mania is not absolutely incurable. Descartes became a gamester in his seventeenth year; but it is said that the combinations of cards, or the doctrine of probabilities, interested him more than his winnings.[107]

The celebrated Cardan, one of the most universal and most eccentric geniuses of his age, declares in his autobiography, that the rage for gambling long entailed upon him the loss of reputation and fortune, and that it retarded his progress in the sciences. `Nothing,' says he, `could justify me, unless it was that my love of gaming was less than my horror of privation.' A very bad excuse, indeed; but Cardan reformed and ceased to be a gambler.

Three of the greatest geniuses of England — Lords Halifax, Anglesey, and Shaftesbury — were gamblers; and Locke tells a very funny story about one of their gambling bouts. This philosopher, who neglected nothing, however eccentric, that had any relation to the working of the human understanding, happened to be present while my Lords Halifax, Anglesey, and Shaftesbury were playing, and had the patience to write down, word

for word, all their discordant utterances during the phases of the game; the result being a dialogue of speakers who only used exclamations — all talking in chorus, but more to themselves than to each other. Lord Anglesey observing Locke's occupation, asked him what he was writing. `My Lord,' replied Locke, `I am anxious not to lose anything you utter.' This irony made them all blush, and put an end to the game.

M. Sallo, Counsellor to the Parliament of Paris, died, says Vigneul de Marville, of a disease to which the children of the Muses are rarely subject, and for which we find no remedy in Hippocrates and Galen; — he died of a lingering disease after having lost 100,000 crowns at the gaming table — all he possessed. By way of diversion to his cankering grief, he started the well-known Journal des Savans, but lived to write only 13 sheets of it, for he was wounded to the death.[108]

The physician Paschasius Justus was a deplorable instance of an incorrigible gambler. This otherwise most excellent and learned man having passed three-fourths of his life in a continual struggle with vice, at length resolved to cure him

self of the disease by occupying his mind with a work which might be useful to his contemporaries and posterity.[109] He began his book, but still he gamed; he finished it, but the evil was still in him. `I have lost everything but God!' he exclaimed. He prayed for delivery from his soul's disease;[110] but his prayer was not heard; he died like any gambler — more wretched than reformed.

M. Dusaulx, author of a work on Gaming, exclaims therein — `I have gambled like you, Paschasius, perhaps with greater fury. Like you I write against gaming. Can I say that I am stronger than you, in more critical circumstances?'[111]

What, then, is that mania which can be overcome neither by the love of glory nor the study of wisdom!

The literary men of Greece and Rome rarely played any games but those of skill, such as tennis, backgammon, and chess; and even in these it was considered `indecent' to appear too skilful. Cicero stigmatizes two of his contemporaries for taking too

great a delight in such games, on account of their skill in playing them.[112]

Quinctilian advised his pupils to avoid all sterile amusements, which, he said, were only the resource of the ignorant.

In after-times men of merit, such as John Huss and Cardinal Cajetan, bewailed both the time lost in the most innocent games, and the disastrous passions which are thereby excited. Montaigne calls chess a stupid and childish game. `I hate and shun it,' he says, `because it occupies one too seriously; I am ashamed of giving it the attention which would be sufficient for some useful purpose.' King James I., the British Solomon, forbade chess to his son, in the famous book of royal instruction which he wrote for him.

As to the plea of `filling up time,' Addison has made some very pertinent observations: — `Whether any kind of gaming has ever thus much to say for itself, I shall not determine; but I think it is very wonderful to see persons of the best sense passing away a dozen hours together in shuffling and dividing a pack of cards, with no other conversation but

what is made up of a few game-phrases, and no other ideas but those of black or red spots ranged together in different figures. Would not a man laugh to hear any one of his species complaining that life is short?'

Men of intellect may rest assured that whether they win or lose at play, it will always be at the cost of their genius; the soul cannot support two passions together. The passion of play, although fatigued, is never satiated, and therefore it always leaves behind protracted agitation. The famous Roman lawyer Scævola suffered from playing at backgammon; his head was always affected by it, especially when he lost the game, in fact, it seemed to craze him. One day he returned expressly from the country merely to try and convince his opponent in a game which he had lost, that if he had played otherwise he would have won! It seems that on his journey home he mentally went through the game again, detected his mistake, and could not rest until he went back and got his adversary to admit the fact — for the sake of his amour propre.[113]

`It is rare,' says Rousseau, `that thinkers take

much delight in play, which suspends the habit of thinking or diverts it upon sterile combinations; and so one of the benefits — perhaps the only benefit conferred by the taste for the sciences, is that it somewhat deadens that sordid passion of play.'

Unfortunately such was not the result among the literary and scientific men, in France or England, during the last quarter of the last century. Many of them bitterly lamented that they ever played, and yet played on, — going through all the grades and degradations appointed for his votaries by the inexorable demon of gambling. BEAU NASH.

Nature had by no means formed Nash for beau. His person was clumsy, large, and awkward; his features were harsh, strong, and peculiarly irregular; yet even with these disadvantages he made love, became an universal admirer of the sex, and was in his turn universally admired. The fact is, he was possessed of, at least, some requisites of a `lover.' He had assiduity, flattery, fine clothes — and as much wit as the ladies he addressed. Accordingly he used to say — `Wit, flattery, and fine

clothes are enough to debauch a nunnery!' This is certainly a fouler calumny of women than Pope's

`Every woman is at heart a rake.'

Beau Nash was a barrister, and had been a remarkable, a distinguished one in his day — although not at the bar. He had the honour to organize and direct the last grand `revel and pageant' before a king, in the Hall of the Middle Temple, of which he was a member.

It had long been customary for the Inns of Court to entertain our monarchs upon their accession to the crown with a revel and pageant, and the last was exhibited in honour of King William, when Nash was chosen to conduct the whole with proper decorum. He was then a very young man, but succeeded so well in giving satisfaction, that the king offered to give him the honour of knighthood, which, however, Nash declined, saying: — `Please your Majesty, if you intend to make me a knight, I wish it may be one of your poor knights of Windsor; and then I shall have a fortune at least able to support my title.'

In the Middle Temple he managed to rise `to the very summit of second-rate luxury,' and seems

to have succeeded in becoming a fashionable recherché, being always one of those who were called good company — a professed dandy among the élégants.

No wonder, then, that we subsequently find him Master of the Ceremonies at Bath, then the theatre of summer amusements for all people of fashion. It was here that he took to gambling, and was at first classed among the needy adventurers who went to that place; there was, however, the great difference between him and them, that his heart was not corrupt; and though by profession a gamester, he was generous, humane, and honourable.

When he gave in his accounts to the Masters of the Temple, among other items he charged was one — `For making one man happy, £10.' Being questioned about the meaning of so strange an item, he frankly declared that, happening to overhear a poor man declare to his wife and large family of children that £10 would make him happy, he could not avoid trying the experiment. He added, that, if they did not choose to acquiesce in his charge, he was ready to refund the money. The Masters, struck with such an uncommon

instance of good nature, publicly thanked him for his benevolence, and desired that the sum might be doubled as a proof of their satisfaction.

`His laws were so strictly enforced that he was styled “King of Bath:&” no rank would protect the offender, nor dignity of station condone a breach of the laws. Nash desired the Duchess of Queensberry, who appeared at a dress ball in an apron of point-lace, said to be worth 500 guineas, to take it off, which she did, at the same time desiring his acceptance of it; and when the Princess Amelia requested to have one dance more after 11 o'clock, Nash replied that the laws of Bath, like those of Lycurgus, were unalterable. Gaming ran high at Bath, and frequently led to disputes and resort to the sword, then generally worn by well-dressed men. Swords were, therefore, prohibited by Nash in the public rooms; still they were worn in the streets, when Nash, in consequence of a duel fought by torchlight, by two notorious gamesters, made the law absolute, “That no swords should, on any account, be worn in Bath.&” '[114]

About the year 1739 the gamblers, in order to evade the laws against gaming, set up E O tables;

and as these proved very profitable to the proprietors at Tunbridge, Nash determined to introduce them at Bath, having been assured by the lawyers that no law existed against them. He therefore set up an E O table, and the speculation flourished for a short time; but the legislature interfered in 1745, and inflicted severe penalties on the keepers of such tables. This was the ruin of Nash's gambling speculation; and for the remaining sixteen years of his life he depended solely on the precarious products of the gaming table. He died at Bath, in 1761, in greatly re-duced circumstances, being represented as `poor, old, and peevish, yet still incapable of turning from his former manner of life.'

`He was buried in the Abbey Church with great ceremony: a solemn hymn was sung by the charity-school children, three clergymen preceded the coffin, the pall was supported by aldermen, and the Masters of the Assembly-Rooms followed as chief mourners; while the streets were filled and the housetops covered with spectators, anxious to witness the respect paid to the venerable founder of the prosperity of the city of Bath.'[115]

The following are the chief anecdotes told of Beau Nash.

A giddy youth, who had resigned his fellowship at Oxford, brought his fortune to Bath, and, without the smallest skill, won a considerable sum; and following it up, in the next October added four thousand pounds to his former capital. Nash one night invited him to supper, and offered to give him fifty guineas to forfeit twenty every time he lost two hundred at one sitting. The young man refused, and was at last undone.

The Duke of B — — loved play to distraction. One night, chagrined at a heavy loss, he pressed Nash to tie him up from deep play in future. The beau accordingly gave his Grace one hundred guineas on condition to receive ten thousand whenever he lost that amount at one sitting. The duke soon lost eight thousand at Hazard, and was going to throw for three thousand more, when Nash caught the dice-box, and entreated the peer to reflect on the penalty if he lost. The duke desisted for that time; but ere long, losing considerably at Newmarket, he willingly paid the penalty.

When the Earl of T — — was a youth he was

passionately fond of play. Nash undertook to cure him. Conscious of his superior skill, he engaged the earl in single play. His lordship lost his estate, equipage, everything! Our generous gamester returned all, only stipulating for the payment of £5000 whenever he might think proper to demand it. Some time after his lordship's death, Nash's affairs being on the wane, he demanded it of his heirs, *who paid it without hesitation.

Nash one day complained of his ill luck to the Earl of Chesterfield, adding that he had lost £500 the last night. The earl replied, `I don't wonder at your *losing money, Nash, but all the world is surprised where you get it to lose.'

`The Corporation of Bath so highly respected Nash, that the Chamber voted a marble statue of him, which was erected in the Pump-room, between the busts of Newton and Pope; this gave rise to a stinging epigram by Lord Chesterfield, concluding with these lines:

THE EARL OF CHESTERFIELD.

Walpole tells us that the celebrated Earl of Chesterfield *lived at White's Club, gaming, and uttering witticisms among the boys of quality; `yet he says to his son, that a member of a gaming club should be a cheat, or he will soon be a beggar;' an inconsistency which reminds one of old Fuller's saw — `A father that whipt his son for swearing, and swore himself whilst he whipt him, did more harm by his example than good by his correction.' GEORGE SELWYN.

The character of Selwyn,' says Mr Jesse, `was in many respects a remarkable one. With brilliant wit, a quick perception of the ridiculous, and a thorough knowledge of the world and human nature, he united classical knowledge and a taste for the fine arts. To these qualities may be added others of a very contradictory nature. With a thorough enjoyment of the pleasures of society, an imperturbable good-humour, a kind heart, and a passionate fondness for children, he united a morbid interest in the details of human suffering, and,

more especially, a taste for witnessing criminal executions. Not only was he a constant frequenter of such scenes of horror, but all the details of crime, the private history of the criminal, his demeanour at his trial, in the dungeon, and on the scaffold, and the state of his feelings in the hour of death and degradation, were to Selwyn matters of the deepest and most extraordinary interest. Even the most frightful particulars relating to suicide and murder, the investigation of the disfigured corpse, the sight of an acquaintance lying in his shroud, seem to have afforded him a painful and unaccountable pleasure. When the first Lord Holland was on his death-bed he was told that Selwyn, who had lived on terms of the closest intimacy with him, had called to inquire after his health. “The next time Mr Selwyn calls,&” he said, “show him up; if I am alive I shall be delighted to see him, and if I am dead he will be glad to see me.&” When some ladies bantered him on his want of feeling in attending to see the terrible Lord Lovat's head cut off — “Why,&” he said, “I made amends by going to the undertaker's to see it sewed on again.&” And yet this was the same individual who delighted in the first words and in the sunny looks of childhood; whose friendship seems to have partaken of all the softness of female affection; and whose heart was never hardened against the wretched and depressed. Such was the “original&” George Selwyn.'

This celebrated conversational wit was a devoted frequenter of the gaming table. Writing to Selwyn, in 1765, Lord Holland said: — `All that I can collect from what you say on the subject of money is, that fortune has been a little favourable lately; or may be, the last night only. Till you leave off play entirely you must be — in earnest, and without irony — en verité le serviteur très-humble des événements, “in truth, the very humble servant of events.&” '

His friend the Lord Carlisle, although himself a great gambler, also gave him good advice. `I hope you have left off Hazard,' he wrote to Selwyn; `if you are still so foolish, and will play, the best thing I can wish you is, that you may win and never throw crabs.[117] You do not put it in the

power of chance to make you them, as we all know; and till the ninth miss is born I shall not be convinced to the contrary.'

Again: — `As you have played I am happy to hear you have won; but by this time there may be a triste revers de succès.'

Selwyn had taken to gaming before his father's death — probably from his first introduction to the clubs. His stakes were high, though not extravagantly so, compared with the sums hazarded by his contemporaries. In 1765 he lost £1000 to Mr Shafto, who applied for it in the language of an `embarrassed tradesman.'

`July 1, 1765.

`DEAR SIR, — I have this moment received the favour of your letter. I intended to have gone out of town on Thursday, but as you shall not receive your money before the end of this week, I must postpone my journey till Sunday. A month would have made no difference to me, had I not had others to pay before I leave town, and must pay; therefore must beg that you will leave the whole before this week is out, at White's, as it is to be paid away to others to whom I have lost, and do not choose to leave town till that is done. Be sure

you could not wish an indulgence I should not be happy to grant, if it my power.'

Nor was this the only dun of the kind that Selwyn had `to put up with' on account of the gaming table. He received the following from Edward, Earl of Derby.[118]

The Earl of Derby to George Selwyn.

`Nothing could equal what I feel at troubling you with this disagreeable note; but having lost a very monstrous sum of money last night, I find myself under the necessity of entreating your goodness to excuse the liberty I am taking of applying to you for assistance. If it is not very inconvenient to you, I should be glad of the money you owe me. If it is, I must pay what I can, and desire Brookes to trust me for the remainder. I repeat again my apologies, to which I shall beg leave to add how very sincerely I have the honour to be, my dear sir,

`Your most obedient humble servant,

`DERBY.

This is the very model of a dun, and proves how handsomely such ugly things can be done when one has to deal with a noble instead of a plebeian creditor.

But Selwyn had not only to endure such indignities, but also to inflict them, as appears by the following letter to him from the Honourable General Fitzpatrick, in answer to a dun, which, we are assured, was `gentle and moderate.'

`I am very sorry to hear the night ended so ill; but to give you some idea of the utter impossibility of my being useful on the occasion, I will inform you of the state of my affairs. I won £400 last night, which was immediately appropriated by Mr Martindale, to whom I still owe £300, and I am in Brookes' book for thrice that sum. Add to all this, that at Christmas I expect an inundation of clamorous creditors, who, unless I somehow or other scrape together some money to satisfy them, will overwhelm me entirely. What can be done? If I could coin my heart, or drop my blood into drachms, I would do it, though by this time I should probably have neither heart nor blood left. I am afraid. you will find Stephen

in the same state of insolvency. Adieu! I am obliged to you for the gentleness and moderation of your dun, considering how long I have been your debtor.

`Yours most sincerely,

`R. F.'[119]

Selwyn is said to have been a loser on the whole, and often pillaged. Latterly he appears to have got the better of his propensity for play, if we may judge from the following wise sentiment: — `It was too great a consumer,' he said, `of four things — time, health, fortune, and thinking.' But a writer in the Edinburgh Review seems to doubt Selwyn's reformation; for his initiation of Wilberforce occurred in 1782, when he was 63; and previously, in 1776, he underwent the process of dunning from Lord Derby, before-mentioned, and in 1779 from Mr Crawford (`Fish Crawford,' as he was called), each of whom, like Mr Shafto, `had a sum to make up' — in the infernal style so horridly provoking, even when we are able and willing to pay. However, as Selwyn died comparatively rich, it may be presumed that his fortune suffered to

no great extent by his indulgence in the vice of gaming.

The following are some of George Selwyn's jokes relating to gambling: —

One night, at White's, observing the Postmaster-General, Sir Everard Fawkener, losing a large sum of money at Piquet, Selwyn, pointing to the successful player, remarked — `See now, he is robbing the mail!'

On another occasion, in 1756, observing Mr Ponsonby, the Speaker of the Irish House of Commons, tossing about bank-bills at a Hazard table at Newmarket — `Look,' he said, `how easily the Speaker passes the money-bills!'

A few months afterwards (when the public journals were daily containing an account of some fresh town which had conferred the freedom of its corporation in a gold box on Mr Pitt, afterwards Earl of Chatham, and the Right Honourable Henry Bilson Legge, his fellow-patriot and colleague), Selwyn, who neither admired their politics nor re-spected their principles, proposed to the old and new club at Arthur's, that he should be deputed to present to them the freedom of each club in a dice-box.

On one of the waiters at Arthur's club having been committed to prison for a felony — `What a horrid idea,' said Selwyn, `he will give of us to the people in Newgate!'

When the affairs of Charles Fox were in a more than usually embarrassed state, chiefly through his gambling, his friends raised a subscription among themselves for his relief. One of them remarking that it would require some delicacy in breaking the matter to him, and adding that `he wondered how Fox would take it.' `Take it?' interrupted Selwyn, `why, quarterly, to be sure.'[120]

LORD CARLISLE.

This eminent statesman was regarded by his contemporaries as an able, an influential, and occasionally a powerful speaker.

Though married to a lady for whom in his letters he ever expresses the warmest feelings of admiration and esteem; and surrounded by a young and increasing family, who were evidently the objects of his deepest affection, Lord Carlisle, nevertheless, at times appears to have been unable to extricate himself from the dangerous enticements

to play to which he was exposed. His fatal passion for play — the source of adventitious excitement at night, and of deep distress in the morning — seems to have led to frequent and inconvenient losses, and eventually to have plunged him into comparative distress.

`In recording these failings of a man of otherwise strong sense, of a high sense of honour, and of kindly affections, we have said the worst that can be adduced to his disadvantage. Attached, indeed, as Lord Carlisle may have been to the pleasures of society, and unfortunate as may have been his passion for the gaming table, it is difficult to peruse those passages in his letters in which he deeply reproaches himself for yielding to the fatal fascination of play, and accuses himself of having diminished the inheritance of his children, without a feeling of commiseration for the sensations of a man of strong sense and deep feeling, while reflecting on his moral degradation. It is sufficient, however, to observe of Lord Carlisle, that the deep sense which he entertained of his own folly; the almost maddening moments to which he refers in his letters of self-condemnation and bitter regret; and subsequently his noble victory over the siren

enticements of pleasure, and his thorough emancipation from the trammels of a domineering passion, make adequate amends for his previous unhappy career.'[121]

Lady Sarah Bunbury, writing to George Selwyn, in 1767, says: — `If you are now at Paris with poor C. [evidently Carlisle], who I dare say is now swearing at the French people, give my compliments to him.* * * I call him poor C. because I hope he is only miserable at having been such a *pigeon to Colonel Scott. I never can pity him for losing at play, and I think of it as little as I can, because I cannot bear to be obliged to abate the least of the good opinion I have always had of him.'

Oddly enough the writer had no better account to give of her own husband; she says, in the letter: — `Sir Charles games from morning till night, but he has never yet lost £100 in one day.'[122]

About the year 1776 Lord Carlisle wrote the following letter to George Selwyn: —

`MY DEAR GEORGE,

`I have undone myself, and it is to no purpose to conceal from you my abominable madness and folly, though perhaps the particulars may not be known to the rest of the world. I never lost so much in five times as I have done to-night, and am in debt to the house for the whole. You may be sure I do not tell you this with an idea that you can be of the least assistance to me; it is a great deal more than your abilities are equal to. Let me see you — though I shall be ashamed to look at you after your goodness to me.'

This letter is endorsed by George Selwyn — `After the loss of £10,000.' He tells Selwyn of a set which, at one point of the game, stood to win £50,000.

`Lord Byron, it is almost needless to remark, was nearly related to Lord Carlisle. The mother

of Lord Carlisle was sister to John, fourth Lord Byron, the grandfather of the poet; Lord Carlisle and Lord Byron were consequently first cousins once removed. Had they happened to have been contemporaries, it would be difficult to form an idea of two individuals who, alike from tastes, feelings, and habits of life, were more likely to form a lasting and suitable intimacy. Both were men of high rank; both united an intimate knowledge of society and the world with the ardent temperament of a poet; and both in youth mingled a love of frolic and pleasure with a graver taste for literary pursuits.' CHARLES JAMES FOX.

In the midst of the infatuated votaries of the gaming god in England, towers the mighty intellectual giant Charles James Fox. Nature had fashioned him to be equally an object of admiration and love. In addition to powerful eloquence, he was distinguished by the refinement of his taste in all matters connected with literature and art; he was deeply read in history; had some claims to be regarded as a poet; and possessed a thorough knowledge of the classical authors of antiquity, a

knowledge of which he so often and so happily availed himself in his seat in the House of Commons. To these qualities was added a good— humour which was seldom ruffled, — a peculiar fascination of manner and address, — the most delightful powers of conversation, — a heart perfectly free from vindictiveness, ostentation, and deceit, — a strong sense of justice, — a thorough detestation of tyranny and oppression, — and an almost feminine tenderness of feeling for the sufferings of others. Unfortunately, however, his great talents and delightful qualities in private life rendered his defects the more glaring and lamentable; indeed, it is difficult to think or speak with common patience of those injurious practices and habits — that abandonment to self-gratification, and that criminal waste of the most transcendent abilities which exhausted in social conviviality and the gaming table what were formed to confer blessings on mankind.

So much for the character of Fox, as I have gathered from Mr Jesse;[123] and I continue the extremely interesting subject by quoting from that

delightful book, `The Queens of Society.'[124] `With a father who had made an enormous fortune, with little principle, out of a public office — for Lord Holland owed the bulk of his wealth to his appointment of paymaster to the forces, — and who spoiled him, in his boyhood, Charles James Fox had begun life *as a fop of the first water, and squandered £50,000 in debt before he became of age. After-wards he indulged recklessly and extravagantly in every course of licentiousness which the profligate society of the day opened to him. At Brookes' and the Thatched House Fox ate and drank to excess, threw thousands upon the Faro table, mingled with blacklegs, and made himself notorious for his shameless vices. Newmarket supplied another ex-citement. His back room was so incessantly filled with Jew money-lenders that he called it his Jerusalem Chamber. It was impossible that such a life should not destroy every principle of honour; and there is nothing improbable in the story that he appropriated to himself money which belonged to his dear friend Mrs Crewe, as before related.

`Of his talents, which were certainly great, he made an affected display. Of his learning he was

proud — but rather as adding lustre to his celebrity for universal tastes. He was not at all ashamed, but rather gloried in being able to describe himself as a fool, as he does in his verses to Mrs Crewe: —

`Sensual and self-indulgent — with a grossness that is even patent on his very portrait [and bust], Fox had nevertheless a manner which enchanted the sex, and he was the only politician of the day who thoroughly enlisted the personal sympathies of women of mind and character, as well as of those who might be captivated by his profusion. When he visited Paris in later days, even Madame Récamier, noted for her refinement, and of whom he himself said, with his usual coarse ideas of the sphere of woman, that “she was the only woman who united the attractions of pleasure to those of modesty,&” delighted to be seen with him! At the time of which we are speaking the most celebrated beauties of England were his most ardent supporters.

`The election of 1784, in which he stood and was returned for Westminster, was one of the most famous of the old riotous political demonstrations. . . . . Loving hazard of all kinds for its own sake, Fox had made party hostility a new sphere of gambling, had adopted the character of a demagogue, and at a time when the whole of Europe was undergoing, a great revolution in principles, was welcomed gladly as “The Man of the People.&” In the beginning, of the year he had been convicted of bribery, but in spite of this his popularity increased. . . . The election for Westminster, in which Fox was opposed by Sir Cecil Wray, was the most tempestuous of all. There were 20,000 votes to be polled, and the opposing parties resorted to any means of intimidation, or violence, or persuasion which political enthusiasm could suggest. On the eighth day the poll was against the popular member, and he called upon his friends to make a great effort on his behalf. It was then that the “ladies' canvass&” began. Lady Duncannon, the Duchess of Devonshire, Mrs Crewe, and Mrs Damer dressed themselves in blue and buff — the colours of the American Independents, which Fox had adopted and wore in the House of Com

mons — and set out to visit the purlieus of Westminster. Here, in their enthusiasm, they shook the dirty hands of honest workmen, expressed the greatest interest in their wives and families, and even, as in the case of the Duchess of Devonshire and the butcher, submitted their fair cheeks to be kissed by the possessors of votes! At the butcher's shop, the owner, in his apron and sleeves, stoutly refused his vote, except on one condition — “Would her Grace give him a kiss?&” The request was granted; and the vote thus purchased went to swell the majority which finally secured the return of “The Man of the People.&”

`The colouring of political friends, which concealed his vices, or rather which gave them a false hue, has long since faded away. We now know Fox as he *was. In the latest journals of Horace Walpole his inveterate gambling, his open profligacy, his utter want of honour, is disclosed by one of his own opinion. Corrupted ere yet he had left his home, whilst in age a boy, there is, however, the comfort of reflecting that he outlived his vices which seem to have “cropped out&” by his ancestral connection in the female line with the reprobate Charles II., whom he was thought to resemble in

features. Fox, afterwards, with a green apron tied round his waist, pruning and nailing up his fruit trees at St Ann's Hill, or amusing himself innocently with a few friends, is a pleasing object to remember, even whilst his early career occurs forcibly to the mind.'

Peace, then, to the shade of Charles James Fox! The three last public acts which he performed were worthy of the man, and should suffice to prove that, in spite of his terrible failings, he was most useful in his generation. By one, he laboured to repair the outrages of war — to obtain a breathing time for our allies; and, by an extension of our commerce, to afford, if necessary, to his country all the advantages of a renovated contest, without the danger of drying up our resources. By another, he attempted to remove all legal disabilities arising out of religion — to unite more closely *the interests of Ireland with those of England; and thus, by an extension of common rights, and a participation of common benefits, wisely to render that which has always been considered the weakest and most troublesome portion of our empire, at least a useful and valuable part of England's greatness among the nations. Queen Eliza

beth's Minister, Lord Burleigh, in the presence of the `Irish difficulty' in his day, wished Ireland at the bottom of the sea, and doubtless many at the present time wish the same; but Fox endeavoured to grapple with it manfully and honestly, and it was not his fault that he did not settle it. The vices of Fox were those of the age in which he lived; had he been reserved for the present epoch, what a different biography should we have to write of him! What a helmsman he might be at the present time, when the ship of Old England is at sea and in peril!

It appears from a letter addressed by Lord Carlisle to Lady Holland (Fox's mother) in 1773, that he had become security for Fox to the amount of fifteen or sixteen thousand pounds; and a letter to Selwyn in 1777, puts the ruinous character of their gaming transactions in the strongest light. Lord Ilchester (Fox's cousin) had lost thirteen thousand pounds at one sitting to Lord Carlisle, who offered to take three thousand pounds down. Nothing was paid. But ten years afterwards, when Lord Carlisle pressed for his money, he complained that an attempt was made to construe the offer into a remission of the ten thousand pounds: — `The

only way, in honour, that Lord Ilchester could have accepted my offer, would have been by taking some steps to pay the £3000. I remained in a state of uncertainty, I think, for nearly three years; but his taking no notice of it during that time, convinced me that he had no intention of availing himself of it. Charles Fox was also at a much earlier period clear that he never meant to accept it. There is also great injustice in the behaviour of the family in passing by the instantaneous payment of, I believe, five thousand pounds, to Charles, won at the same sitting, without any observations. At one period of the play I remember there was a balance in favour of one of these gentlemen (but which I protest I do not remember) of about fifty thousand.'

At the time in question Fox was hardly eighteen. The following letter from Lord Carlisle, written in 1771, contains highly interesting information respecting the youthful habits and already vast intellectual pre-eminence of this memorable statesman: — `It gives me great pain to hear that Charles begins to be unreasonably impatient at losing. I fear it is the prologue to much fretfulness of temper, for disappointment in raising money, and any

serious reflections upon his situation, will (in spite of his affected spirits and dissipation) occasion him many disagreeable moments.' Lord Carlisle's fears proved groundless in this respect. As before stated, Fox was always remarkable for his sweetness of temper, which remained with him to the last; but it is most painful to think how much mankind has lost through his recklessness.

Gibbon writes to Lord Sheffield in 1773, `You know Lord Holland is paying Charles Fox's debts. They amount to £140,000.'[125]

His love of play was desperate. A few evenings before he moved the repeal of the Marriage Act, in February, 1772, he had been at Brompton on two errands, — one to consult Justice Fielding on the penal laws, the other to borrow £10,000, which he brought to town at the hazard of being robbed. He played admirably both at Whist and Piquet, — with such skill, indeed, that by the general admission of Brookes' Club, he might have made four thousand pounds a-year, as they calculated, at these games, if he could have confined himself to them. But his misfortune arose from playing games of chance, particularly at Faro.

After eating and drinking plentifully, he would sit down at the Faro table, and invariably rose a loser. Once, indeed, and once only, he won about eight thousand pounds in the course of a single evening. Part of the money he paid to his creditors, and the remainder he lost almost immediately.

Before he attained his thirtieth year he had completely dissipated everything that he could either command or could procure by the most ruinous expedients. He had even undergone, at times, many of the severest privations incidental to the vicissitudes that attend a gamester's progress; frequently wanting money to defray the common daily wants of the most pressing nature. Topham Beauclerc, who lived much in Fox's society, declared that no man could form an idea of the extremities to which he had been driven to raise money, often losing his last guinea at the Faro table. The very sedan-chairmen, whom he was unable to pay, used to dun him for arrears. In 1781, he might be considered as an extinct volcano, — for the pecuniary aliment that had fed the flame was long consumed. Yet he even then occupied a house or lodgings in St James's Street, close to

Brookes', where he passed almost every hour which was not devoted to the House of Commons. Brookes' was then the rallying point or rendezvous of the Opposition, where Faro, Whist, and supper prolonged the night, the principal members of the minority in both Houses met, in order to compare their information, or to concert and mature their parliamentary measures. Great sums were then borrowed of Jews at exorbitant premiums.

His brother Stephen was enormously fat; George Selwyn said he was in the right to deal with Shylocks, as he could give them pounds of flesh.

Walpole, in 1781, walking up St James's Street, saw a cart at Fox's door, with copper and an old chest of drawers, loading. His success at Faro had awakened a host of creditors; but, unless his bank had swelled to the size of the Bank of England, it could not have yielded a half-penny apiece for each. Epsom too had been unpropitious; and one creditor had actually seized and carried off Fox's goods, which did not seem worth removing. Yet, shortly after this, whom should Walpole find sauntering by his own door but Fox, who came up and talked to him at the coach window, on the

Marriage Bill, with as much sang-froid as if he knew nothing of what had happened. Doubtless this indifference was to be attributed quite as much to the callousness of the reckless gambler as to anything that might be called `philosophy.'

It seems clear that the ruling passion of Fox was partly owing to the lax training of his father, who, by his lavish allowances, not only fostered his propensity to play, but had also been accustomed to give him, when a mere boy, money to amuse himself at the gaming table. According to Chesterfield, the first Lord Holland `had no fixed prin-ciples in religion or morality,' and he censures him to his son for being `too unwary in ridiculing and exposing them.' He gave full swing to Charles in his youth. `Let nothing be done,' said his lordship, `to break his spirit, the world will do that for him.' At his death, in 1774, he left him £154,000 to pay his debts; it was all `bespoke,' and Fox soon became as deeply pledged as before.[126]

The following are authentic anecdotes of Fox, as a gambler.

Fox had a gambling debt to pay to Sir John Slade. Finding himself in cash, after a lucky run at Faro, he sent a complimentary card to the knight, desiring to discharge the claim. Sir John no sooner saw the money than he called for pen and ink, and began to figure. `What now?' cried Fox. `Only calculating the interest,' replied the other. `Are you so?' coolly rejoined Charles James, and pocketed the cash, adding — `I thought it was a debt of honour. As you seem to consider it a trading debt, and as I make it an invariable rule to pay my Jew-creditors last, you must wait a little longer for your money.'

Fox once played cards with Fitzpatrick at Brookes' from ten o'clock at night till near six o'clock the next morning — a waiter standing by to tell them `whose deal it was' — they being too sleepy to know.

On another occasion he won about £8000; and one of his bond-creditors, who soon heard of his

good luck, presented himself and asked for payment. `Impossible, sir,' replied Fox; `I must first discharge my debts of honour.' The bond— creditor remonstrated, and finding Fox inflexible, tore the bond to pieces and flung it into the fire, exclaiming — `Now, sir, your debt to me is a debt of honour.' Struck by the creditor's witty rejoinder, Fox instantly paid the money.

Amidst the wildest excesses of youth, even while the perpetual victim of his passion for play, Fox eagerly cultivated his taste for letters, especially the Greek and Roman historians and poets; and he found resources in their works under the

most severe depressions occasioned by ill-successes at the gaming table. One morning, after Fox had passed the whole night in company with Topham Beauclerc at Faro, the two friends were about to separate. Fox had lost throughout the night, and was in a frame of mind approaching to desperation. Beauclerc's anxiety for the consequences which might ensue led him to be early at Fox's lodgings; and on arriving he inquired, not without apprehension, whether he had risen. The servant replied that Mr Fox was in the drawing-room, when Beauclerc walked up-stairs and cautiously opened the door, expecting to behold a frantic gamester stretched on the floor, bewailing his losses, or plunged in moody despair; but he was astonished to find him reading a Greek Herodotus.

On perceiving his friend's surprise, Fox exclaimed, `What would you have me do? I have lost my last shilling.'

Upon other occasions, after staking and losing all that he could raise at Faro, instead of exclaiming against fortune, or manifesting the agitation natural under such circumstances, he would lay his head on the table and retain his place, but,

exhausted by mental and bodily fatigue, almost immediately fall into a profound sleep.

Fox's best friends are said to have been half ruined in annuities given by them as securities for him to the Jews. £500,000 a-year of such annuities of Fox and his `society' were advertised to be sold at one time. Walpole wondered what Fox would do when he had sold the estates of his friends. Walpole further notes that in the debate on the Thirty-nine Articles, February 6, 1772, Fox did not shine; nor could it be wondered at. He had sat up playing at Hazard, at Almack's, from Tuesday evening, the 4th, till five in the afternoon of Wednesday, the 5th. An hour before he had recovered £12,000 that he had lost; and by dinner, which was at five o'clock, he had ended losing £11,000! On the Thursday he spoke in the above debate, went to dinner at past eleven at night; from thence to White's, where he drank till seven the next morning; thence to Almack's, where he won £6000; and between three and four in the afternoon he set out for Newmarket. His brother Stephen lost £11,000 two nights after, and Charles £10,000 more on the 13th; so that in

three nights the two brothers — the eldest not twenty-five years of age — lost £32,000![128]

On one occasion Stephen Fox was dreadfully fleeced at a gaming house at the West End. He entered it with £13,000, and left without a farthing.

Assuredly these Foxes were misnamed. Pigeons — dupes of sharpers at play — would have been a more appropriate cognomen. WILBERFORCE AND PITT.

These eminent statesmen were gamesters at one period of their lives. When Wilberforce came to London in 1780, after his return to Parliament, his great success signalized his entry into public life, and he was at once elected a member of the leading clubs — Miles' and Evans', Brookes', Boodle's, White's, and Goosetree's. The latter was Wilberforce's usual resort, where his friendship with Pitt — who played with characteristic and intense eagerness, and whom he had slightly known at Cambridge — greatly increased. He once lost £100 at the Faro table.

`We played a good deal at Goosetree's,' he states,; and I well remember the intense earnestness which Pitt displayed when joining in these games of chance. He perceived their increasing fascination, and soon after abandoned them for ever.'

Wilberforce's own case is thus recorded by his biographers, on the authority of his private Journal: — `We can have no play to-night,' com-plained some of the party at the club, `for St Andrew is not here to keep bank.' `Wilberforce,' said Mr Bankes, who never joined himself, `if you will keep it I will give you a guinea.' The playful challenge was accepted, but as the game grew deep he rose the winner of £600. Much of this was lost by those who were only heirs to fortunes, and therefore could not meet such a call without inconvenience. The pain he felt at their annoyance cured him of a taste which seemed but too likely to become predominant.

Goosetree's being then almost exclusively composed of incipient orators and embryo statesmen, the call for a gambling table there may be regarded as a decisive proof of the universal prevalence of the vice.

`The first time I was at Brookes',' says Wilberforce, `scarcely knowing any one, I joined, from mere shyness, in play at the Faro tables, where George Selwyn kept bank. A friend, who knew my inexperience, and regarded me as a victim decked out for sacrifice, called to me — “What, Wilberforce, is that you?&” Selwyn quite resented the interference, and, turning to him, said in his most expressive tone, “Oh, sir, don't interrupt Mr Wilberforce, he could not be better employed.&”

Again: `The very first time I went to Boodle's I won twenty-five guineas of the Duke of Norfolk. I belonged at this time to five clubs — Miles' and Evans', Brookes', Boodle's, White's, and Goose-tree's.' SIR PHILIP FRANCIS.

Sir Philip Francis, the eminent politician and supposed author of the celebrated `Letters of Junius,' was a gambler, and the convivial companion of Fox. During the short administration of that statesman he was made a Knight of the Bath. One evening, Roger Wilbraham came up to the Whist table, at Brookes', where Sir Philip, who for the first time wore the ribbon of the Order, was en

gaged in a rubber, and thus accosted him. Laying hold of the ribbon, and examining it for some time, he said: — `So, this is the way they have rewarded you at last; they have given you a little bit of red ribbon for your services, Sir Philip, have they? A pretty bit of red ribbon to hang about your neck; and that satisfies you, does it? Now, I wonder what I shall have. What do you think they will give me, Sir Philip?' The newly-made knight, who had twenty-five guineas depending on the rubber, and who was not very well pleased at the interruption, suddenly turned round, and looking at him fiercely, exclaimed, `A halter, and be,' &c. THE REV. CALEB C. COLTON.

Unquestionably this reverend gentleman was one of the most lucky of gamesters — having died in full possession of the gifts vouchsafed to him by the goddess of fortune.

He was educated at Eton, graduated at King's College, Cambridge, as Bachelor of Arts in 1801, and Master of Arts in 1804, and obtained a fellowship, having also a curacy at Tiverton, held conjointly. Some six years after he appeared in print as a denouncer of a `ghost story,' and in 1812, as

the author of `Hypocrisy,' a satirical poem, and `Napoleon,' a poem. In 1818 he was presented by his college to the vicarage of Kew with Petersham, in Surrey. Two years after he established a literary reputation — lasting to the present time — by the publication of a volume of aphorisms or maxims, under the title of `LACON; or, Many Things in Few Words.' This work is very far from original, being founded mainly on Lord Bacon's celebrated Essays, and Burdon's `Materials for Thinking,' La Bruyière, and De la Rochefoucault; still it is highly creditable to the abilities of the writer. It has passed through several editions; and even at the present time its only rival is, `The Guesses at Truth,' although we have numerous collections of apothegmatic extracts from authors, a class of works which is not without its fascination, if readers are inclined to think.[129]

Two years after he returned to his `Napoleon,' which he republished, with extensive additions, under the new title of `The Conflagration of Moscow.

It would appear that Colton at this period gave in to the fashionable gaming of the day; at any rate, he dabbled deeply in Spanish bonds, became involved in pecuniary difficulties, and, without in-vestigating his affairs closely — which might have been easily arranged — he absconded.

He subsequently made appearance, in order to retain his living; but in 1828 he lost it, a successor being appointed by his college. He then went to the United States of America; what he did there is not on record; but he subsequently returned to Europe, went to Paris, took up his abode in the Palais Royal, and — devoted his talents to the mysteries of the gaming table, by which he was so successful that in the course of a year or two he won £25,000!

Oddly enough, one of his `maxims' in his Lacon runs as follows: `The gamester, if he die a martyr to his profession, is doubly ruined. He adds his soul to every other loss, and, by the act of suicide, renounces earth, to forfeit heaven.'

It has been suggested that this was writing his own epitaph, and it would appear so from the notices of the man in most of the biographies; but nothing could be further from the fact. Caleb

Colton managed to *keep his gambling fortune, and what is more, devoted it to a worthy purpose. Part of his wealth he employed in forming a picture-gallery; and he printed at Paris, for private distribution, an ode on the death of Lord Byron. He certainly committed suicide, but the act was not the gamester's martyrdom. He was afflicted by a disease which necessitated some painful surgical operation, and rather than submit to it, he blew out his brains, at the house of a friend, at Fontainebleau, in 1832.[130]

BEAU BRUMMELL.

This singular man was an inveterate gambler, and for some time very `lucky;' but the reaction came at last; the stakes were too high, and the purses of his companions too long for him to stand against any continued run of bad luck; indeed, the play at Wattier's, which was very deep, eventually ruined the club, as well as Brummell and several other members of it; a certain baronet now living, according to Captain Jesse, is asserted to have lost ten thousand pounds there at Ecarté at one sitting.[131]

The season of 1814 saw Brummell a winner, and a loser likewise --and this time he lost not only his winnings, but `an unfortunate ten thousand pounds,' which, when relating the circumstance to a friend many years afterwards, he said was all that remained at his banker's. One night — the fifth of a most relentless run of ill-luck — his friend Pemberton Mills heard him exclaim that he had lost every shilling, and only wished some one would bind him never to play again: — `I will,' said Mills; and taking out a ten-pound note he offered it to Brummell on condition that he should forfeit a thousand if he played at White's within a month from that evening. The Beau took it, and for a few days discontinued coming to the club; but about a fortnight after Mills, happening to go in, saw him hard at work. Of course the thousand pounds was forfeited; but his friend, instead of claiming it, merely went up to him and, touching him gently on the shoulder, said — `Well, Brummell, you may at least give me back the ten pounds you had the other night.'

Among the members who indulged in high play at Brookes' Club was Alderman Combe, the brewer, who is said to have made as much money

in this way as he did by brewing. One evening whilst he filled the office of Lord Mayor, he was busy at a full Hazard table at Brookes', where the wit and the dice-box circulated together with great glee, and where Beau Brummell was one of the party. `Come, Mash-tub,' said Brummell, who was the caster, `what do you set?' `Twenty-five guineas,' answered the Alderman. `Well, then,' returned the Beau, `have at the mare's pony' (a gaming term for 25 guineas). He continued to throw until he drove home the brewer's twelve ponies running; and then getting up, and making him a low bow, whilst pocketing the cash, he said — `Thank you, Alderman; for the future I shall never drink any porter but yours.' `I wish, sir,' replied the brewer, `that every other blackguard in London would tell me the same.'[132]

The following occurrence must have caused a `sensation' to poor Brummell.

Among the members of Wattier's Club was Bligh, a notorious madman, of whom Mr Raikes relates: — `One evening at the Macao table, when the play was very deep, Brummell, having lost a considerable stake, affected, in his farcical way, a

very tragic air, and cried out — “Waiter, bring me a flat candlestick and a pistol.&” Upon which Bligh, who was sitting opposite to him, calmly produced two loaded pistols from his coat pocket, which he placed on the table, and said, “Mr Brummell, if you are really desirous to put a period to your existence, I am extremely happy to offer you the means without troubling the waiter.&” The effect upon those present may easily be imagined, at finding themselves in the company of a known madman who had loaded weapons about him.'

Brummell was at last completely beggared, though for some time he continued to hold on by the help of funds raised on the mutual security of himself and his friends, some of whom were not in a much more flourishing condition than himself; their names, however, and still more, their expectations, lent a charm to their bills, in the eyes of the usurers, and money was procured, of course at ruinous interest. It is said that some unpleasant circumstances, connected with the division of one of these loans, occasioned the Beau's expatriation, and that a personal altercation took place between Brummell and a certain Mr M — , when that gentleman accused him of taking the lion's share.

He died in utter poverty, and an idiot, at Caen, in the year 1840, aged 62 years. Brummell had a very odd way of accounting for the sad change which took place in his affairs. He said that up to a particular period of his life everything prospered with him, and that he attributed good luck to the possession of a certain silver sixpence with a hole in it, which somebody had given him years before, with an injunction to take good care of it, as everything would go well with him so long as he did, and the reverse if he happened to lose it. The promised prosperity attended him for many years, whilst he held the sixpence fast; but having at length, in an evil hour, unfortunately given it by mistake to a hackney-coachman, a complete reverse of his previous good fortune ensued, till actual ruin overtook him at last, and obliged him to expatriate himself. `On my asking him,' says the narrator, `why he did not advertise and offer a reward for the lost treasure; he said, “I did, and twenty people came with sixpences having holes in them to obtain the promised reward, but mine was not amongst them!&” And you never afterwards,' said I, `ascertained what became of it? “Oh

yes,&” he replied, “no doubt that rascal Rothschild, or some of his set, got hold of it.&” ' Whatever poor Brummell's supernatural tendencies may have generally been, he had unquestionably a superstitious veneration for his lost sixpence. TOM DUNCOMBE.

Tom Duncombe graduated and took honours among the greatest gamblers of the day. Like Fox, he was heir to a good fortune — ten or twelve thousand a year — the whole of which he managed to anticipate before he was thirty. `Tom Duncombe ran Charles Fox close. When Mr Duncombe, sen., of Copgrove, caused his prodigal son's debts to be estimated with a view to their settlement, they were found to exceed £135,000;[133] and the hopeful heir went on adding to them till all possibility of extrication was at an end. But he spent his money (or other people's money), so long as he had any, like a gentleman; his heart was open like his hand; he was generous, cordial, high-spirited; and his expectations — till they were known to be

discounted to the uttermost farthing — kept up his credit, improved his social position, and gained friends. “Society&” (says his son) “opened its arms to the possessor of a good name and the inheritor of a good estate. Paterfamiliases and Materfamiliases rivalled each other in endeavouring to make things pleasant in their households for his particular delectation, especially if they had grown-up daughters; hospitable hosts invited him to dinner, fashionable matrons to balls; political leaders sought to secure him as a partisan; debutantes of the season endeavoured to attract him as an admirer; tradesmen thronged to his doorsteps for his custom, and his table was daily covered with written applications for his patronage.&” Noblesse obligé; and so does fashion. The aspirant had confessedly a hard time of it. “He must be seen at Tattersall's as well as at Almack's; be more frequent in attendance in the green-room of the theatre than at a levée in the palace; show as much readiness to enter into a pigeon-match at Battersea Red House, as into a flirtation in May Fair; distinguish himself in the hunting-field as much as at the dinner-table; and make as effective an appearance in the park as in the senate; in short, he must be everything — not by turns, but all at once — sportsman, exquisite, gourmand, rake, senator, and at least a dozen other variations of the man of fashion, — his changes of character being often quicker than those attempted by certain actors who nightly undertake the performance of an entire dramatis personæ.&” '

Tommy Duncombe was not only indefatigable at Crockford's, but at every other rendezvous of the votaries of fortune; a skilful player withal, and not unfrequently a winner beyond expectation. One night at Crockford's he astonished the house by carrying off sixteen hundred pounds. He frequently played at cards with Count D'Orsay, from whom, it is said, he invariably managed to win — the Count persisting in playing with his pleasant companion, although warned by others that he would never be a match for `Honest Tommy Duncombe.'

Tom Duncombe died poor, but, says his son, `rich in the memory of those who esteemed him, as Honest Tom Duncombe.'

Perhaps the best thing the son could have done was to leave his father's memory at rest in the estimation of `those who esteemed him;' but having dragged his name once more, and promin

ently, before a censorious world, he can scarcely resent the following estimate of Tom Duncombe, by a well-informed reviewer in the Times. Alluding to the concluding summary of the father's character and doings, this keen writer passes a sentence which is worth preserving: —

`Much of this would do for a patriot and philanthropist of the highest class — for a Pym, a Hampden, or a Wilberforce; or, we could fancy, a son of Andrew Marvell, vowing over his grave “to endeavour to imitate the virtues and emulate the self-sacrificing patriotism of so estimable a parent, and so good a man.&” But we can hardly fancy, we cannot leave, a son of Duncombe in such a frame of mind. We cannot say to him —

Macte novâ virtute, puer; sic itur ad astra.

“In virtue renewed go on; thus to the skies we go.&” We are unfeignedly reluctant to check a filial effusion, or to tell disagreeable truths; but there are occasions when a sense of public duty imperatively requires them to be told.

`Why did this exemplary parent die poor? When did he abandon the allurements of a patrician circle? He died poor because he wasted a

fine fortune. If he abandoned a patrician circle, it was because he was tired of it, or thought he could make a better thing of democracy. If he conquered his passions, it was, like St Evremond — by indulging them.

` “Honest Tom Duncombe!&” We never heard him so designated before except in pleasantry. “As honest as any man living, that is an old man, and not honester than I.&” We cannot go further than Verges; it is a stretch of charity to go so far when we call to mind the magnificent reversion and the French jobs. A ruined spendthrift, although he may have many good qualities, can never, strictly speaking, be termed honest. It is absurd to say of him that he is nobody's enemy but his own — with family, friends, and tradespeople paying the penalty for his self-indulgence. He must be satisfied to be called honourable — to be charged with no transgression of the law of honour; which Paley defines as “a system of rules constructed by people of fashion, and calculated to facilitate their intercourse with one another, *and for no other purpose.&”

`There was one quality of honesty, however, which “honest Tom Duncombe&” did possess.

He was not a hypocrite. He was not devoid of right feeling. He had plenty of good sense; and it would have given him a sickening pang on his death-bed to think that his frailties were to be perpetuated by his descendants; that he was to be pointed out as a shining star to guide, instead of a beacon-fire to warn. “No,&” he would have said, if he could have anticipated this most ill-chosen, however well-intentioned, tribute, “spare me this terrible irony. Do not provoke the inevitable retort. Say of me, if you must say anything, that I was not a bad man, though an erring one; that I was kindly disposed towards my fellow-creatures; that I did some good in my generation, and was able and willing to do more, but that I heedlessly wasted time, money, health, intellect, personal gifts, social advantages and opportunities; that my career was a failure, and my whole scheme of life a melancholy mistake.&” '[134]

This is a terrible rejoinder to a son endeavouring to raise a monument to his beloved and respected parent. But, if we will rake up rottenness from the grave — rottenness in which we are interested — we must take our chance whether we

shall find a Hamlet who will say, `Alas! poor Yorick!' and say *no more than the musing Dane upon the occasion. WAS THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON A GAMESTER?

A few years after the battle of Waterloo there appeared a French work entitled `L'Academie des Jeux, par Philidor,' which was soon translated into English, and here published under the title of `Rouge et Noir; or, the Academies.' It was a denunciation of gambling in all its varieties, and was, no doubt, well-intentioned. There was, however, in the publication the following astounding statement: —

`Not long ago the carriage of the heir-apparent to the T * * * * * of England, in going to his B * * * * 's levée, was arrested for debt in the open street. That great captain, who gained, if not laurels, an immense treasure, on the plains of Wa * * * * oo, besides that fortune transmitted to him by the English people, was impoverished in a few months by this ignoble passion.'

There can be no doubt that the alleged gambling of the great warrior and statesman was the public scandal of the day, as appears by the duke's

own letters on the subject, published in the last volume of his Dispatches. Even the eminent counsel, Mr Adolphus, thought proper to allude to the report in one of his speeches at the bar. This called forth the following letter from the duke to Mr Adolphus: —

`17 Sept., 1823.

`The Duke of Wellington presents his compliments to Mr Adolphus, and encloses him the “Morning Chronicle&” of Friday, the 12th instant, to which the duke's attention has just been called, in which Mr Adolphus will observe that he is stated to have represented the duke as a person *known sometimes to play at Hazard, who might be committed as a rogue and vagabond.

`The duke concludes that this paper contains a correct statement of what Mr Adolphus said upon the occasion, and he assures Mr Adolphus that he would not trouble him upon the subject if circumstances did not exist which rendered this communication desirable.

`Some years have elapsed since the public have been informed, *from the very best authority, that the duke had totally ruined himself at play; and Mr Adolphus was present upon one occasion when a

witness swore that he had heard the duke was constantly obliged to sell the offices in the Ordnance himself, instead of allowing them to be sold by others! ! The duke has suffered some inconvenience from this report in a variety of ways, and he is anxious that at least it should not be re-peated by a gentleman of such celebrity and authority as Mr Adolphus.

`He therefore assures Mr Adolphus that in the whole course of his life he never won or lost £20 at any game, and that he never played at Hazard, or any game of chance, in any public place or club, nor been for some years at all at any such place.

`From these circumstances, Mr Adolphus will see that there is no ground for making use of the duke's name as an example of a person *known sometimes to play at Hazard, who might be committed as a rogue and vagabond.' Mr Adolphus to Field-Marshal the Duke of Wellington.

`Percy Street, 21st Sept., 1823.

`Mr Adolphus has the honour to acknowledge the receipt of a note from his Grace the Duke of Wellington, and would have done so yesterday,

but was detained in court till a late hour in the evening. Mr Adolphus is extremely sorry that any expression used by him should have occasioned a moment's uneasiness to the Duke of Wellington. Mr Adolphus cannot deny that the report in the “Chronicle&” is accurate, so far as it recites his mere words; but the scope of his argument, and the intended sense of his expression, was, that if the Vagrant Act were to receive the extensive construction contended for, the most illustrious subject of the realm might be degraded to the condition of the most abject and worthless, for an act in itself indifferent — and which, until the times had assumed a character of affected rigour, was considered rather as a proof of good society than as an offence against good order. Mr Adolphus is, however, perfectly sensible that his illustration in his Grace's person was in all respects improper, and, considering the matters to which his Grace has adverted, peculiarly unfortunate Mr Adolphus feels with regret that any public expression of his sentiments on this subject in the newspapers would not abate, but much increase, the evil. Should an opportunity ever present itself of doing it naturally and without affectation, Mr Adolphus would most readily explain, in speaking at the bar, the error he had committed; but it is very unlikely that there should exist an occasion of which he can avail himself with a due regard to delicacy. Mr Adolphus relies, however, on the Duke of Wellington's exalted mind for credit to his assurance that he never meant to treat his name but with the respect due to his Grace's exalted rank and infinitely higher renown.'

To Mr Adolphus.

`Woolford, 23rd Sept., 1823.

`The Duke of Wellington presents his compliments to Mr Adolphus, and assures Mr Adolphus that he is convinced that Mr Adolphus never intended to reflect injuriously upon him. If the duke had believed that Mr Adolphus could have entertained such an intention he would not have addressed him. The duke troubles Mr Adolphus again upon this subject, as, in consequence of the editor of the “Morning Chronicle&” having thought proper to advert to this subject in a paragraph published on the 18th instant, the duke has referred the paper of that date and that of the 12th to

the Attorney and Solicitor-general, his counsel, to consider whether the editor ought not to be prosecuted.

`The duke requests, therefore, that Mr Adolphus will not notice the subject in the way he proposes until the gentlemen above mentioned will have decided upon the advice which they will give the duke.'[135]

The result was, however, that the matter was allowed to drop, as the duke was advised by his counsel that the paragraph in the “Morning Chronicle,&” though vile, was not actionable. The positive declaration of the duke, `that in the whole course of his life he never won or lost £20 at any game, and that he never played at Hazard, or any game of chance, in any public place or club, nor been for some years at all at any such place,' should set the matter at rest. Certainly the duke was afterwards an original member of Crockford's Club, founded in 1827, but, unlike Blücher, who repeatedly lost everything at play, `The Great Captain,' as Mr Timbs puts it, `was never known to play deep at any game but war or politics.'[136]

This remarkable deference to private character and public opinion, on the part of the Duke of Wellington, is in wonderful contrast with the easy morality of the Old Bailey advocate, Mr Adolphus, who did not hesitate to declare gambling `an act in itself indifferent — and which, until the times had assumed a character of *affected rigour, was considered rather as a proof of good society than as an offence against good order.' This averment of so distinguished a man may, perhaps, mitigate the horror we now feel of the gambling propensities of our ancestors; and it is a proof of some sort of advancement in morals, or good taste, to know that no modern advocate would dare to utter such a sentiment.

Other great names have been associated with gambling; thus Mr T. H. Duncombe says, speaking of Crockford's soon after its foundation: — `Sir St Vincent Cotton (Lord Combermere), Lord Fitzroy Somerset (Raglan), the Marquis of Anglesey, Sir Hussey Vivian, Wilson Croker, Disraeli, Horace Twiss, Copley, George Anson, and George Payne *were pretty sure of being present, many of them playing high.'

Respecting this statement the Times'[137] reviewer observes: — `We do not know what the Chancellor of the Exchequer will say to this. Mr Wilson Croker (who affected great strictness) would have fainted away. But the authority of a writer who does not know Sir St Vincent Cotton (the ex-driver of the Brighton coach) from Sir Stapleton Cotton (the Peninsular hero) will go for little in such matters; and as for Copley, Lord Lyndhurst (just then promoted from the Rolls to the Woolsack), why not say at once that he attended the nocturnal sittings at Crockford's in his robes.'