FOOTNOTES:
[5] The love of money compels.
Talleyrand whilst at cards announces the death of the Duc d'Enghien—"The curse of Scotland"—Wilberforce at faro—Successful gamblers—The Rev. Caleb Colton—Colonel Panton—Dennis O'Kelly—Richard Rigby—Anecdotes—Strange incidents at play—Aged gamesters—A duel with death—General Wade and the poor officer—Anecdote of a caprice of Fortune—Stock Exchange speculation—A man who profited by tips.
The history of card-playing is connected with many dramatic incidents. If the story be true, one of the most striking of these was when Talleyrand, who had been playing very late at "la bouillotte" with the Duchesse de Luynes, suddenly laid down his cards, and in his cold, impassive voice asked, "Has the Prince de Condé any other grandchildren than the Duc d'Enghien?" Receiving an answer in the negative he calmly said, "Then the house of Condé has come to an end."
At that very moment the ill-fated Duc was being led out to be shot at the château of Vincennes.
A grim historical interest is also generally supposed to be connected with the nine of diamonds, which is known as "the curse of Scotland," the reason assigned being that the Duke of Cumberland wrote his sanguinary orders on the back of such a card in 1746. Notwithstanding this popular tradition, the nine of diamonds had been known as "the curse of Scotland" as far back as thirty years before Culloden—perhaps because a somewhat similar design formed the arms of Colonel Packer, who was on the scaffold when Charles I. was executed. Another reason given is that there were nine lozenges resembling diamonds in the arms of the Earl of Stair who made the Union.
Cards have at times attracted the most saintly persons. The first time the philanthropic Wilberforce was at Brooks's he joined in playing faro—according to his own account—from mere shyness. A friend of his, very much surprised, called out to him, "What, Wilberforce, is that you?" George Selwyn, who was keeping the bank, resented the interference, and said in his most expressive tones, "Oh, sir, don't interrupt Mr. Wilberforce, he could not be better employed."
Oddly enough, one of the most remarkable instances of a really successful gambler was an English clergyman, the Reverend Caleb Colton. A man of considerable learning, he was originally a fellow of King's College, Cambridge, and curate of Tiverton. In 1812 he created some slight stir with two poems entitled "Hypocrisy" and "Napoleon." His literary reputation was further enhanced in 1818, when the author had become Vicar of Kew, by the publication of a volume of maxims called Lacon: or Many Things in Few Words. This work, however, was not absolutely original, being in a great measure founded upon Lord Bacon's Essays, Burdon's Materials for Thinking, and the well-known aphorisms of La Rochefoucauld.
La Bouillotte.
From a scarce print after Bosio.
About this time Mr. Colton began to speculate, and, having dabbled rather recklessly in Spanish bonds, his affairs became involved. This frightened the reverend gentleman, and, though there appears to have been no pressing reason for taking such a step, he absconded.
His affairs were subsequently put in order, after which Mr. Colton for a time betook himself to America, eventually returning to Europe and settling down in Paris. Here he took up his abode in the Palais Royal, at that time the head-quarters of dissipation and amusement—surely the queerest spot ever selected by an English clergyman for his abode.
Colton now began to make an exhaustive study of the intricacies and mysteries of the gaming-table, every facility for putting theory into practice being at his very door. Unlike most searchers after infallible methods of winning, he was completely successful, and in the course of a year or two won over £25,000 by some method of staking, of which no reliable record seems to exist. More wonderful still, the Reverend Caleb kept his winnings, part of which he devoted to the purchase of pictures. He was a cultivated man, and published an ode, which was privately circulated, on the death of Lord Byron.
The end of Mr. Colton was a tragic one, for in 1832 he blew out his brains at the house of a friend living at Fontainebleau. The act in question was, of course, attributed to the effect of gambling losses. A thrilling story was told which described how the unfortunate clergyman, after ruinous losses at Frascati's, had blown his brains out in the forest of St. Germain, and, as always follows in such cases, an outcry arose, demanding the suppression of the tables in the Palais Royal and at Frascati's. Gambling, however, was in no way responsible for Colton's end, the real cause of his suicide having been a disease necessitating a painful operation, to which the successful gambler preferred death.
A very fortunate gamester was Colonel Panton, who in the early part of the eighteenth century suddenly realised a considerable fortune by keeping a gaming-house in Piccadilly. Though by nature a confirmed gambler he then exhibited extraordinary common sense, and, having invested his winnings in house property and land, entirely abandoned the card-table and the dice-box. His name is still preserved in Panton Street, Haymarket.
Another sporting character who amassed a large fortune by gambling and the Turf was Colonel Dennis O'Kelly,[6] the owner of the famous race-horse Eclipse.
The rank of Colonel which this Irishman was entitled to assume was procured by him in a characteristically curious way. In 1760, when the county of Middlesex was very backward in raising sufficient men for its militia, a well-known Scotch adventurer, MacGregor by name, whose family had suffered a good deal for the Stuarts in 1745, seeing a good opportunity of making some money, set about raising a regiment in Westminster which the Government promised to recognise as soon as three-fourths of the commissions should be filled up. He found, however, difficulty in obtaining officers and had to ransack the town and hold out commissions to all sorts of people, amongst whom was O'Kelly, who became an ensign, in due course of time rising to be Lieutenant-Colonel. O'Kelly, though totally ignorant of discipline, is said to have presented the most soldierly appearance of any officer in the regiment. This was not saying much, for the third captain was a tea-dealer, the fourth a tailor, and the fifth a boatswain's mate who had bought an ale-house with prize-money and could just sign his name. The most junior officer was a crippled creature of foreign extraction.
When O'Kelly became a major, he is described as having put his regiment through certain military evolutions to the entire satisfaction of the King and his staff, whilst his Lieutenant-Colonelcy was celebrated by a splendid entertainment which many of the aristocracy of Leicestershire attended. O'Kelly was sometimes known as Count O'Kelly, a title which was supposed to have been conferred upon him by his fellow-prisoners during a sojourn in the "Fleet" when he was a young man. Here he met Catherine Hayes, who lived as his faithful companion through life. Though she was never married to him, her position was more or less recognised, and O'Kelly left her an annuity which she continued to enjoy till she died, in the second decade of the nineteenth century, at the age of eighty-five.
Among many racing successes O'Kelly won the Derby twice—in 1781 with Young Eclipse by Eclipse, and three years later again with Sergeant by Eclipse out of Aspasia.
His racing colours were scarlet and black cap.
Whilst there is no doubt but that O'Kelly was very lucky in much that he undertook, his originality and penetration were largely responsible for a success which, however, never gained him admission into fashionable circles.
Though a hospitable man of a certain genial humour, O'Kelly was not very open-handed to dependents. In spite of his affluence he was even mean enough to keep jockeys of the poorer class out of their money, season after season, being sometimes even sued by them in the law courts, and personally dunned on the race-course stands. In such a place, on one disgraceful occasion, an old sportsman made the Captain look extremely small by apostrophising him as a mean, low-lived, waiter-bred skunk. In spite of these failings O'Kelly achieved a certain popularity by the good dinners and excellent wines which he provided at his house at Epsom, his dry and truly Irish facetiousness affording the highest zest to those entertainments. At his country house he would never allow any betting or gambling. A constant subject of jest amongst his familiars was the tone in which at dinner he used to say, "John, bring the aaples," meaning the pines, and the whimsicality with which he would apostrophise his servant on certain occasions. The latter having announced the non-arrival of fish, "Begorra," said his master, "and if you can't get any fish, bring herrings." O'Kelly was a gentlemanly and even graceful man in behaviour, a strong contrast to his bear-like figure, dark and saturnine visage, with the accompaniment of his rough striped coat and old round hat. A quite peaceable man, though a true-bred Milesian, O'Kelly never had the smallest appetite for fighting with any weapon whatever. He was a great contrast in this respect to the bullying Dick England, with whom he once became involved in a law-suit. He was ambitious of honour and distinction, a proof of which was his successful pretension to military rank. In the darling object of his life, however, capricious fortune left him in the lurch; the Jockey Club, whose action in this matter was generally approved, steadily refusing to admit among them a parvenu, not, perhaps, of unequivocal character. This O'Kelly, so much of a philosopher in other things, did not possess philosophy enough to forgive, but, in revenge, never failed to characterise the honourable body which refused to admit him by the very hardest professional names which his wit and bitterness could devise.
Very much aggrieved at not being admitted into certain of the Clubs at Newmarket and in London, which were frequented by aristocratic sportsmen, he never lost an opportunity of retaliating on those whom he deemed responsible for his exclusion.
On one occasion, when making an arrangement to retain the services of a certain jockey, he told him he had no objection to his riding for any other person provided he had no horse running in the same race; adding, however, that he would be prepared to double his terms provided he would enter into an arrangement and bind himself under a penalty never to ride for any of the black-legged fraternity. The consenting jockey saying that he did not quite understand who the Captain meant by the black-legged fraternity, the latter instantly replied with his usual energy, "Oh, by ——, my dear, and I'll soon make you understand who I mean by the black-legged fraternity:—there's the Duke of G., the Duke of D., Lord A., Lord D., Lord G., Lord C., Lord F., the Right Hon. A.B.C.D., and C.I.F., and all the set of thaves that belong to their humbug societies and bug-a-boo Clubs, where they can meet and rob one another without detection."
This curious definition of the black-legged fraternity is a sufficiently clear demonstration of how severely O'Kelly felt himself affected by his rejection. He made a point of embracing every opportunity of saying anything to excite the irascibility of the sporting aristocracy, whilst shirking no difficulty or expense to obtain that pre-eminence upon the Turf which he eventually enjoyed. Dining at the stewards' ordinary at Burford races, in the year 1775, Lord Robert Spencer in the chair, Lord Abingdon and many other noblemen being present, matches and sweepstakes as usual, after dinner, were proposed and entered into for the following year—amongst the rest, one between Lord A. and Mr. Baily, of Rambridge, in Hampshire, for 300 gs. h. ft., when the Captain was once or twice appealed to by Mr. B. in adjusting the terms, and Lord A. happened to exclaim that he and the gentleman on his side the table ran for honour, the Captain and his friends for profit. The match was at length agreed upon in terms not conformable to the Captain's opinion, and consequently, when he was applied to by B. to stand half, he vociferously replied, "No, but if the match had been made cross and jostle, as I proposed, I would have not only stood all the money, but have brought a spalpeen from Newmarket, no higher than a twopenny loaf, that should (by ——!) have driven his Lordship's horse and jockey into the furzes, and have kept him there for three weeks."
His support of and attachment to Ascot was strikingly conspicuous. During the races there he ran a horse each day for years, whilst his presence and his pocket enlivened the hazard-table at night.
Here it was that, seeing him turning over a quire of bank-notes, a gentleman asked him what he was in want of, when he replied he was looking for a little one. The inquirer said he could accommodate him, and desired to know for what sum. Upon which he answered, a "fifty, or something of that sort, just to set the caster." At this time it was supposed he had seven or eight thousand pounds in his hand, but not a note for less than a hundred. He always threw with great success, and when he held the box, was seldom known to refuse throwing for any sum that the company chose to set him; and when "out" was always as liberal in setting the caster, and preventing a stagnation of trade at the table. On the other hand, his large capital and good luck not infrequently captured the last guinea of the bank.
It was O'Kelly's usual custom to carry a great number of bank-notes in his waistcoat pocket, wisped up together with the greatest indifference. Playing at a hazard-table at Windsor during the races, as a standing better (every chair being full), a strange hand was observed by those on the opposite side of the table, furtively drawing two notes out of his pocket. The alarm was given, and the hand as instantaneously withdrawn, the notes being left more than half out of the pocket. The company were eager for the offender to be taken before a magistrate, and many attempted to secure him for that purpose, but the Captain very philosophically seizing the thief by the collar, merely kicked him downstairs with the exultant exclamation that "'twas a sufficient punishment to be deprived of the pleasure of keeping company with jontlemen."
On one occasion, when at Newmarket, O'Kelly offered to bet a considerable sum with a gentleman who knew nothing about the redoubtable Irishman. The stranger, half suspecting that the challenge came from one of the black-legged fraternity, begged to know what security he would give for so large a sum, if he should lose, and where his estates lay. "O! Begorra, my dear creature, I have the map of them about me, and here it is, sure enough," said O'Kelly, pulling out a pocket-book, and giving unequivocal proofs of his property, by producing bank-notes far exceeding in value the amount of the wager.
Besides having been owner of the equine wonder Eclipse, old O'Kelly was in his last years the possessor of a wonderful parrot said to have been purchased at Bristol, where it had been bred—the only parrot of this kind ever born in England. This extraordinary bird died at a great age in the early years of the nineteenth century. It was of moderate size, chiefly green in colour, with some grey and red, and spoke with a clear and distinct articulation, and with so little inferiority to the female human voice divine, that when its tones were heard outside in the street, people would dispute as to whether the voice was that of a woman or a parrot.
After O'Kelly's death it became the property of his nephew and heir, Colonel Andrew O'Kelly, who lived in Half-Moon Street, which quiet thoroughfare was very much enlivened by the performances of the parrot at a window. When pressed to sing by passers-by, lively Poll would swear and laugh at them, all the time spreading and fluttering its wings in triumph. The bird's favours were divided between an old lady and the Colonel, with both of whom it would converse on a variety of topics. When the latter was returning home. Poll, if at the window, would espy him across the street, upon which it would instantly clap its wings, and set up an impatient squalling—"The Colonel! the Colonel is coming! open the door!" If in a bad mood and asked to talk, Poll would sometimes reply sullenly, "I'll see you damn'd first!" At times, especially if not near the window, with the sash up below its cage—which was the bird's favourite place—being asked, "How d'ye do to-day, Poll?" the parrot would curtly answer, "Why, I don't know," "Middling," or "What's that to you?"
Colonel O'Kelly was very proud of his bird and had regular "parrot concerts," on which occasions Half-Moon Street was filled with carriages and an admiring crowd, to such a degree as to be scarcely passable. Although solicited by many distinguished people, the Colonel did not permit his parrot to leave his home and pay visits. So great became the parrot's renown that his owner was once offered a very large sum, by a well-known caterer of amusements, to allow Poll to appear in public, the bird's life to be heavily insured.
Colonel O'Kelly, it should be added, had profited by the good English and French education which his uncle had bestowed upon him. He was Lieutenant-Colonel in the Middlesex Militia, and pursued the Turf with some spirit.
Another gambler who achieved prosperity was Mr. Richard Rigby, who rose to affluence owing to an incident on a race-course.
Having at an early age inherited a comfortable fortune, young Mr. Rigby proceeded to squander it whilst yet incapable of appreciating the value of money. Gaming, racing, and other forms of getting into difficulties occupied his time, with the result that most of his inheritance soon passed into the hands of lawyers and money-lenders. He would probably have sunk into a state of abject destitution had not the Turf, which had so largely contributed to diminish his fortune, also been the means of restoring him to opulence.
The Duke of Bedford of that day had given great offence to the gentlemen in the neighbourhood of Litchfield, by an improper and unfair interference at their races; and as at the end of the eighteenth century it was by no means safe or easy effectually to punish a man fortified by rank, privilege, and wealth, they at last determined to bestow on this illustrious offender manual correction. The overbearing conduct of the Duke in some matter relating to the starting of their horses, and their weights, in which he had no kind of right to interfere, soon afforded the confederates an opportunity of executing their purpose. He was in one moment separated from his attendants, surrounded by the party, hustled and unmercifully horsewhipped by an exasperated country attorney, with a keen sense of his wrongs and a muscular arm. The lawyer persevered in this severe discipline without being interrupted by his Grace's outcries and repeated declarations that he was the Duke of Bedford, an assertion which Mr. Humphries, the assailant, positively denied, adding that a peer of the realm would never have conducted himself in so scandalous a manner. The matter soon circulated over the course, and reaching Mr. Rigby's ear, the latter with a generous, if perhaps calculated gallantry, burst through the crowd, rescued the distressed noble, completely thrashed his antagonist, and conveyed the Duke to a place of safety.
The result of this affair was most fortunate for the spendthrift, who, as a consequence, eventually amassed a huge fortune.
The Russell family were very grateful for the singular service which Mr. Rigby had rendered to the Duke, whose rescuer was loaded with favours. These eventually culminated in his obtaining the most lucrative office in the gift of the Crown, that of Paymaster-General; the emoluments arising from which, during the American War, amounted annually to £50,000.
In 1782, on Lord North's retirement, Mr. Rigby lost his post, and was also called upon to refund a large sum declared to be public money which should have been accounted for. Under these circumstances Rigby applied to Thomas Rumbold, who, originally a waiter at White's, had risen to be Governor of Madras. Whilst fulfilling his duties in St. James's Street, the latter had often advanced Rigby, who was a desperate punter, small sums, and on this occasion his services were once more sought. The ex-waiter had returned to England with immense wealth, procured, it was declared, by very doubtful means. Public indignation having been aroused, a bill to strip the Anglo-Indian of his ill-gotten gains had been introduced in the House of Commons.
Under these circumstances an arrangement was effected, which settled his own difficulties and at the same time saved the fortune of his old friend from White's.
The latter advanced Rigby a large sum, which enabled him to adjust matters regarding the missing money, whilst the bill of confiscation was dropped, its introducer being an intimate friend of the former Paymaster.
Rigby's nephew and heir soon after married Rumbold's daughter, so all ended happily owing, as it was said, to Rigby's former devotion to hazard.
Mr. Rigby appears to have been a generous man, as the following anecdote shows. Being one evening at a hazard-table in Dublin he was very successful; and having won a considerable sum, he was putting it in his purse when a person behind said in a low voice to himself, "Had I that sum, what a happy man should I be!" Mr. Rigby, without looking back, put the purse over his shoulder, saying, "Take it, my friend, and be happy." The stranger made no reply, but accepted it, and retired. Every one present was astonished at Mr. Rigby's uncommon beneficence, whilst he derived additional pleasure from being informed that the person who had received the benefit was a half-pay officer in great distress. Some years after, a gentleman waited upon him in his own equipage, and being introduced to Mr. Rigby, acquainted him that he came to acquit a debt that he had contracted with him in Dublin. Mr. Rigby was greatly surprised at this declaration, as he was an entire stranger. "Yes, sir," continued the visitor, "you assisted me with above a hundred pounds at a time that I was in the utmost indigence, without knowing or even seeing me"; and then related the affair at the gaming-table. "With that money," continued the stranger, "I was enabled to pay some debts and fit myself out for India, where I have been so fortunate as to make an ample fortune." Mr. Rigby declined to take the money, but, through the pressing solicitations of the gentleman, accepted a valuable diamond ring.
The strange incidents which arose at the old hazard-tables, frequented as they were by all sorts and conditions of men, often produced strange changes in men's lives.
General Wade had so great a propensity to gaming, that he frequented places of every description where play was going forward, without considering the low company he met there. At one of these places, one night, in the eagerness of his diversion, he pulled out an exceedingly valuable gold snuff-box, richly set with diamonds, took a pinch, and passed it round, keeping the dice-box four or five mains before he was "out," when recollecting something of the circumstances, and not perceiving the snuff-box, he swore vehemently no man should stir till it was produced, and a general search should ensue. On his right sat a person dressed as an officer, very shabby, who from time to time, with great humility, had begged the honour of going a shilling with him, and had by that means picked up four or five; on him the suspicion fell, and it was proposed to search him first. Begging leave to be heard, he said, "I know the General well; not he, nor all the powers upon earth, shall subject me to a search while I have life to oppose it. I declare, on the honour of a soldier, I know nothing of the snuff-box, and hope that will satisfy all suspicions: follow me into the next room, where I will defend that honour, or perish!" The eyes of all were now turned on the General for an answer, who, clapping his hand eagerly down for his sword, felt the snuff-box (supposed to have been lost, and put there from habit) in a secret side-pocket of his breeches, made for that purpose. The injustice of his suspicions greatly affected the General, who naturally felt a good deal of compassion for his poor fellow-soldier. Overcome with remorse, he at once left the room, having said, "Sir, I here, with great reason, ask your pardon, and I hope to find it granted by your breakfasting with me, and hereafter ranking me among your friends." As may be easily supposed the invitation was complied with, and when, after some conversation, the General conjured the officer to say what could be the true reason that he should object to being searched: "Why, General," was the answer, "being upon half-pay, and friendless, I am obliged to husband every penny; I had that day very little appetite, and as I could not eat what I had paid for, nor afford to lose it, the leg and wing of a fowl were then wrapped up in a piece of paper in my pocket; the thought of which coming to light, appeared ten times more terrible than fighting every one in the room." "Enough! my dear boy, you have said enough! Let us dine together to-morrow; we must prevent your being subjected again to such a dilemma." They met the next day, and the General then gave him a captain's commission, together with a purse of guineas to enable him to join his regiment.
Whilst fortune as a rule seems to delight in favouring novices at play, and is somewhat pitiless to those who have wooed her for years, there have been certain old gamblers who, by making a study of some particular game, have attained to such perfection in playing it as seldom to lose. With some of these play endures as a dominant passion after almost all the other faculties have become impaired.
Not very many years ago a well-known figure in a certain Parisian Club, existing mainly for the purposes of play, was an old gentleman who, paralysed below the waist, was most afternoons carried upstairs in an invalid chair, placed in a fauteuil, and propped up with cushions in order that he might hold a bank at his favourite écarté, a game at which he was an expert of the highest kind.
Up to within a day or two of his death he continued to indulge in a game which was practically his only link with the living world, his faculties, though usually somewhat clouded, recovering all their old vitality as far as concerned the purposes of the card-table.
A case of much the same sort was described by Brillat Savarin, who, in the country where he resided, knew an old guardsman who had served under Louis XV. and Louis XVI.
This aged individual, rather below than above the average of ordinary men in general intelligence, possessed an extraordinary aptitude for games—an expert at all the old ones, he would master any novelty in this line after having played it once or twice.
With the advent of old age he had become paralysed—two faculties alone remaining unimpaired—that of digestion and that of play. Every day for twenty years he had been in the habit of frequenting a house where he was made welcome. Here he would sit in a semi-comatose condition, hidden away in a corner, seemingly indifferent to anything that was done or said. When, however, the card-table was drawn out, he immediately revived, and having dragged himself to a seat, soon demonstrated that his powers as a gamester were as brilliant as in the long dead past when he was a dashing officer at Versailles.
One day there came down into this part of France a Parisian banker who was soon discovered to be a passionate votary of piquet, a game which he declared himself ready to play with any one for very large stakes. A council of war was held, and eventually it was decided that the old guardsman should champion country against town, a war fund being raised by general subscription, winnings or losings to be allocated according to the size of the different shares.
When the banker sat down to the card-table to find himself confronted by a grim, gaunt, twisted figure, he at first believed himself the victim of a joke, but when he saw this spectre take the cards, shuffle and deal with the air of a professor, he began to divine that no unworthy antagonist was pitted against him. This conclusion was before long considerably strengthened, for the unfortunate Parisian was outmatched in play to such an extent that he eventually retired the loser of a very substantial sum. Before setting out for his return journey to Paris, the banker in question, whilst thanking all he had met for their hospitality, declared that there was only one thing he had to deplore, which was having been so bold as to pit himself against a corpse at cards.
There is an awful story told of a gambler who refused to die, and who, when in extremis, had the card-table drawn up to his bedside with strong meats and drinks, and held the cards against Death himself; but the grim tyrant held all the trumps, and soon snatched his prey.
Utter absorption to extraneous influences brands gamblers as with a hot iron, and so great is the fascination which play exercises over certain natures, that there exist people who fully believe that there is only one thing less pleasant than winning—which is to lose. The originator of the maxim in question was Lieutenant-Colonel Aubrey, one of the boldest and most adventurous men that England has ever known, who lived on into the twentieth century.
Piquet and hazard, particularly the former, were the games in which the Colonel was known to excel, and on which he adventured greater sums than any man living in his time. The Duke of York, George IV., Colonel Fitzpatrick, Alderman Combe, and other distinguished personages were his antagonists and associates at play, and he was always considered an "honourable" man.
The domination exercised by gambling sometimes amounts almost to insanity, all sense of decency and proportion being lost. This was the case with a certain English Colonel, who was so addicted to gambling, that having one night lost all the money he could command, determined to stake his wife's diamond ear-rings, and going straight home, asked her to lend them to him. She took them from her ears, saying that she knew for what purpose he wanted them, and that he was welcome. The jewels in question proved lucky, and the Colonel won largely, gaining back all that he had lost that night. In the warmth of his gratitude to his wife, he, at her desire, took an oath that he would never more play at any game with cards or dice. Some time afterwards he was found in a hay-yard with a friend, drawing straws out of the hay-rick, and betting upon which should be the longest! As might be expected, he lived in alternate extravagance and distress, sometimes surrounded with every sort of luxury, and sometimes in dire want of half a crown. Nevertheless, he continued gambling all his life. Bewailing a run of ill-luck to a serious friend one day, the soldier in question said, "Is it not astonishing how I always lose?" "That's not what surprises me," was the reply, "so much as where you get the money to pay." As a matter of fact too many gamblers have taken much the same point of view as was adopted by a certain Italian gamester who, after an intolerable run of ill-luck, apostrophised Fortune, calling her a vixenish jade.
"Thou mayest," said he, "indeed cause me to lose millions, but I defy thy utmost power to make me pay them."
In certain rare instances fortune seems to delight in suddenly showering her gifts upon some one who is not a gambler.
A remarkable exemplification of this occurred in Australia not so many years ago, when what was probably the biggest stake ever played for was lost and won. A curious feature of the game having been that neither winner nor loser knew that they were playing for anything but an insignificant stake.
A young Englishman, who had gone out to Australia with a slender capital, was one day standing at the door of his hut, wondering if fortune would ever smile upon him, when two travel-stained men, having much the appearance of tramps, appeared and, saying that they had come a long way, begged that they might be allowed to rest for the night. In accordance with the traditions of Colonial hospitality, the young man at once proceeded to do all he could to make his rough-looking guests comfortable, and in due course sat down with them to the best dinner which his slender resources could provide. The meal over, pipes were lit, and conversation (always limited in remote regions), being exhausted, one of the men pulled out of his pocket an old greasy-looking pack of cards and proposed a game. To make a long story short the young man, who, it must be added, was no gambler, eventually consented to hold a small bank at écarté against his two visitors. He stipulated, however, that when either he or his opponents should have chanced to lose such money as they had in their pockets, the game should come to an end. For a time fortune wavered, but a sudden run in favour of the host swept all the modest capital of his antagonists to his side of the table.
A discussion now ensued, the guests being anxious to continue the game, declaring that any losings should be promptly remitted on their arrival at the nearest town. The Englishman, however, was obdurate. "We agreed to play for ready money only, and ready money it shall be," said he, "your losses after all are trifling. We are all tired and had better turn in."
This was not at all to the taste of the losers, who argued and entreated, with, however, complete lack of success, when suddenly one of them said: "Bill, where's that bit of paper we got up country, perhaps he'll play us for that." A well-thumbed document was then produced which appeared to be the title to some plots of land up country. The owners did not seem to attach any great importance to it, for after some discussion it was eventually agreed that the document, which the host considered a very flimsy security, should be estimated as worth something like ten pounds; the game was resumed, and luck continuing in the same direction, the Englishman went to bed with the slip of paper in his pocket-book. The next morning the men proceeded on their way, having, at the request of their host, given an address so that, should any question arise as to the title of the land, they might be referred to.
About a week after this the Englishman, who had forgotten all about the slip of paper, which he had sent, with some other securities, to the bank, was once more standing in front of his hut, when a mounted stranger appeared, and saying that he had come a long way, begged for a night's entertainment and lodging. The new arrival, though roughly-dressed, was a man who, it was easy to see, enjoyed the command of a certain amount of money. He was, he declared, anxious to purchase plots of land for which he professed himself ready to give a liberal price. Particularly persistent in inquiring of his host if he knew of any claims likely to be sold, he eventually elicited from him the story of the bit of paper, over which he seemed to be very much amused. "I expect," said he, "that it's worth nothing at all, but I've taken a fancy to you and I daresay you won't be sorry to take a tenner for it." The Englishman, however, said he would rather do nothing till he had had another look at the paper in the bank. "Besides," he added, "I've a fancy to keep it."
"Well," replied the stranger, "that's queer. I'm a man of fancies too, and though you may think me a flat, I'll give you another chance—£20 for the paper!"
This offer and yet others of £30, £40, and at last of £50, having met with no better success than the first, the stranger eventually dropped the subject, and the next morning rode off, apparently very much amused at what he called the pigheadedness of his host.
About ten days passed and once more the same horseman appeared, this time in a more serious mood. A veritable craving for the little bit of paper, he said, had seized him, and as the thing was positively getting on his mind he had ridden out to say that, to end the matter and do his young friend a good turn, he was ready to give £200 (which he had brought in cash) for it.
The Englishman now began to think that the document was really valuable, and bluntly told his visitor that no offer whatever would be accepted.
His estimate was correct. The bit of paper, won in the Australian hut from two wandering miners, eventually gave its possessor a fortune of something not very far short of a million pounds, for, owing to the title which it conveyed, he became the largest shareholder in one of the richest mines in all Australia. The lucky winner is alive to-day, and makes no secret of the origin of his wealth, which came to him as if by the stroke of some magic wand. It is only fair to say that in due course he provided handsomely for the two miners who had played with him what was almost certainly the highest game of écarté on record.
The would-be purchaser, it afterwards appeared, was a speculator in mines, who, having by some means or other learnt the value of the piece of paper, had traced it with the intention of thus acquiring a highly valuable property.
The modern English view of gambling is a sadly confused one, the card-table and the race-course being bitterly denounced, whilst speculation in stocks and shares is considered an entirely legitimate method of attempting to make money. As a matter of fact, in a great number of instances, this amounts to no more or less than backing a stock to either rise or fall in value. Outside brokers exist, it is even said, who do not always actually buy or sell any shares at all, but simply, as it were, allow their clients to bet with them on a selected stock rising or falling in price. These are to all purpose and effect mere bookmakers, though, for some unknown reason, their calling is not regarded with the same odium which British austerity is generally ready to affix to members of the Ring.
For those who are not versed in the intricacies of City matters speculation almost invariably results in loss, the odds being about 99 to 1 against the ordinary individual proving successful.
Speculation on the Stock Exchange, gambling generally, and betting on the Turf are exactly similar from the point of view of the moralist; there is no difference between all three.
During the recent debates upon the Budget a member stated in the House of Commons that ninety per cent of the business of the London Stock Exchange was of a gambling description, and represented only purchases made with a view to a rise in prices. He wished to see such transactions taxed.
The Chancellor of the Exchequer replied that were this done it might stop such transactions altogether.
Another member—Mr. Markham—supported such a tax, adding that he did not wish to appear in a false light, and would admit that he gambled himself, and, like most fools, always lost money—a remark which excited considerable merriment.
Unimpeachable information about stocks and shares has ruined many a man—nothing indeed is more fatal, as a rule, than so-called good tips about the rise and fall of stocks, which, when originating from an inspired quarter, are so much sought after by speculators.
There have, of course, been instances where tips have made people a fortune.
A few years ago an author, who, though fairly successful, had made no particular stir in the literary world, and whose books did not seem likely to have had a very enormous sale, suddenly purchased a nice estate in which was included a luxurious country house, where he began to entertain. An old friend of his on a visit frankly expressed himself surprised at this sudden accession of prosperity, and alone one wet day with his host in the smoking-room bluntly asked:
"However did you make so much money, surely not by your books?"
"No," was the reply, "by speculating in the City."
"An experience as rare as it was pleasant—I suppose you were given some good tips."
"Yes, not taking them was the secret of my success!"
The host then proceeded to explain that, chancing to know a number of men in the City who were in the best possible position to have sound information as to the rise and fall of stocks and shares, the thought one day struck him that he might profit by such opportunities. Accordingly he let it be known that he had a certain amount of money which it was his intention to try and increase by careful speculation.
Tips poured in upon him—he was entreated to become a bear of this and a bull of that—people appeared anxious to put him into all sorts of ventures, and he became the recipient of much "exclusive" information.
His idea of speculation, however, was original. Told to buy a certain stock he invariably sold it; warned of a coming fall, he speculated for a rise; in fact it became his practice to act in a manner exactly contrary to that indicated by his many advisers, whom, meanwhile, he kept in ignorance of what he was doing.
By this curious and original method in a comparatively short time he accumulated a comfortable fortune, and then decided to abandon speculation and spend the rest of his days in prosperous ease.
As this shrewd and fortunate speculator explained to his friend, human nature must be reckoned with in all things, and in a vast number of cases those who give tips are interested in the particular stocks which they not unnaturally seek to bolster up—a really good thing does not need much puffing.
On the other hand, regular schemes to depress certain stocks are often engineered in a most clever manner, adverse rumours being spread as to a probable fall in order to facilitate large purchases at a small figure; these having been made, the stock rises with startling rapidity. The best maxim for speculators, not well versed in City matters, is to take plenty of advice, and in the vast majority of cases to operate in an exactly contrary way.