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.