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.

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 L135,000;[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 oblige;_

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 _levee_ in the palace; show as much readiness to enter

into a pigeon-match at Battersea Red House, as into a flirtation