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)
(130) Gent. Mag. New Month. Mag. Gorton's Gen. Biograph. Dict.
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 Ecarte at one sitting.(131)
(131) Life of Beau Brummell.
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)
(132) Jesse, ubi supra.
The following occurrence must have caused a 'sensation' to poor Brummell.