Punch (33.1857)

October 3, 1857.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. 135

THE GAMBLER'S WIFE.

<3 Romance.

here did the money
go to?

" But you don't
know where it came
from ? "

"Tell the story."
"Well, everybody
worthy of the name
of a human Londoner
is now, or recently
has been, out of
town, and the only
unhappy creatures
left behind are police-
magistrates, whose
turn it is to remain,
the judge at cham-
bers, one or two club
bores whom nobody
would ask, some
editors and journal-
ists, and-"

" Bother ! one
knows all that. What
about the money ?"

"You don't know
' all that.' Don't be
rude. We were going to mention somebody else. This was Mrs.
Montague Blakesby, of Gower Street,_Bedford Square."
" And why was she obliged to remain in town ? "
"Because her husband, Mr. Montague Blakesby, of the same
address, thought that he should enjoy himself much more without
Mrs. Montague, and without a child, and a nurse, and a parrot, and
about seventeen boxes, which his wife deemed absolutely essential to
her peace of mind in travel. So he proposed that she should go with
the child, and nurse, and parrot, and seventeen boxes, to Brighton, and
that he should 'take his chance of a little fresh air,' (as he heartlessly
put it) and join her at Brighton in his own good time."
"Well, why didn't she go?"

" Because she was a woman of spirit, and, like a woman of spirit, as
she could not get Baden, refused to have Brighton. So they had a
sulk, and he left Gower Street early one morning. Being a tender
husband, he would not wake his pretty wife from her morning's dream,
but, leaving a cheque upon her dressing-table, stole out of the house
with an enamelled sac de riuit"

"And he went to Baden ? "

"He did."

" And gambled ?"

"For shame! nobody gambles, at least no respectable English
gentleman. But as everybody goes to the tables, why Mr Montague
went there too, and as everybody tries his luck, Mr. Montague tried
his luck."

"And as everybody wins—at least they all come home and say so—
Mr. Montague won."
" Yes, a good deal."

"And repenting of his nnkindness towards his wife, he wrote her an
affectionate letter, forgiving her for her petulance, and mentioning that
he had made up his winnings into a packet, and that he should expend
them in Paris (en route for England), in the purchase of something upon
which he knew that her dear heart had long been set."

"You have been married, Sir, and know the tenderness which the
thought of a wife inspires in a husband—at a distance from her. That
was just the letter he wrote from Baden to Gower Street."

" Well, then he came home, was received in Gower Street with
smiles, and all was right ? "

_" On second thoughts, one would say that you had not been married,
Sir. Do you imagine that a woman of spirit would remain in Gower
Street, under those circumstances, or any others ? Mrs. Blakesby's
pretty blue eyes had scarcely opened upon her widowed couch, and
the cheque upon her toilette table, than she rose, and, giving a slight
consideration to the amount mentioned on the paper (it was anything
but what it ought to have been, but still it was a respectable sum)
ordered her coffee, and desired that the child, nurse, parrot, and
seventeen boxes might be ready for the Scarborough train at twelve
o'clock."

" And they went to Scarborough ? "

" And from Scarborough she wrote to Paris, where Mr. Montague
received the letter. He read it on the Boulevard des Italiens, and was
delighted that instead of hot and crowded Brighton, his wife was
refreshing her blue eyes in the healthy breezes of the Yorkshire
Coast ? "

" You are a good man, Sir, but you evidently do not understand the
conjugal relation. Mr. Montague Blakesby was not delighted at
all; he waxed angry at his wife's presuming to think for herself, as to
her place of making holiday. And he did not buy her a single present
in Paris."

" How mean. How did he excuse himself ? "

"He wrote her another letter, expressing his deep regret that,
desiring to increase his little winnings to a sum that would enable him
to buy his darling (that's what he was brute enough to write) some-
thing more worthy of her, he risked them once again, and lost them all.
And to give a lively colour to his story, he appended to his letter the
sketch which you may observe above engraven. It represents (he
alleged) his agony when the demon of gambling had tempted him to
lose the coins he had treasured for his heart's idol."

"And he had not lost the money ? "

" Not a sou. Brought it safe to Paris : in fact, to 7x)ndon."

" And to repeat the original question, Where did the money go to. ? "

" It was just enough to pay Mrs. Blue-eye's bills at Scarborough
for herself, child, nurse, parrot, and warehousing of seventeen boxes,
for the cheque 'went before she well knew where she was ;' and if lie
had not remitted his winnings, the blue-eyes, child, nurse, parrot, and
seventeen boxes would have remained in pawn at Scarborough."

" There seem several morals to this story. One is, that a husband
should always do what his wife desires. Another is-

" That one being of an anti-matrimonial character, it shall not be
printed. Whatever is is right. Let's liquor."

VERBUM SAPIENTL

There came a sharp cry o'er the dark heaving sea,
A cry that the beast of the jungle was free ;
The beast we had petted and thought we had tamed
Was fouling his maw with the flesh he had shamed.

Our fairest, our feeblest, were tortured to sate
His merciless lust and more merciful hate,
And the wail of their agony compass'd the earth
And thrill'd every heart in the land of their birth.

Thrill'd every ?—not every—No ! one was unmoved,
The tidings he sorted, and some he improved,
He was deaf to the death-shriek that rang o'er the foam,
And yet he could hear the least whisper from Rome.

Eor his Sovereign was there, who his " titles " bestowed,
And there more than half his allegiance was owed,
So that country or kindred could have little part
Of the petty lay element left in his heart.

Should he mourn if our children were torn limb from limb,

Or our women—for what are our women to Mm ?

No offspring, no tie, no sweet burden has he,

No wife clasps his neck and no child climbs his knee.

A lonely, a barren, affectionless man
(There are sermons in stones) will discourse if he can;
He will love the class only to which he belongs
And will raise their estate upon other men's wrongs.

In a want of regard for his class he will see
The source of disasters of every degree—
Would he himself trust to professional lore,
And flash his red stockings in redder Cawnpore ?

Be this as it may—for ourselves, at the least,
We care more for wife or for child than for priest;
We are true to the light on our Fathers that broke,
When they honoured Veleda beneath the dark oak.

For women and children were saintly and dear
In the forests of old ere a priest had come near,
And long ere he'd plundered their boughs to repair
What he dare not uncover—his sham Peter's chair.

Let him vaunt his old wood, his old bones and his stuff,
Till we've relics and rosaries more than enough,
But if with our heartstrings he trades for a plea,
There never was Wise-man so simple as he.

A Fact fresh from the Minories.

A Cigar-Merchant waited upon a Tailor, and proposed to him to
do business upon the " Mutual Accommodation System." The latter
assented upon the understanding that the tobacconist was to find his
own cloth. " Let's be honest," he said ; " Cabbage for Cabbage."