DOI Heft:
March 1, 1884
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17756#0103
March 1, 1884.]
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
97
SPORTING INTELLIGENCE.
Extracted from “ The Post," by Dumb Crambo Junior.
“Turning the Tables on False “ Disappointment—failed to entice
Alarm.” a Bid at the Hammer.”
“-Squeezing the Last Ounce out of Golden Beam, snatched the Prize
out of the Fire by a Head, whilst Ubique, who was pinned on the Hails,
beat Sir Francis by a Neck.”*—Morning Post, Thursday, Feb. 21.
* This is a Poser. But D. C. Jr. has wrestled with it, and fancies the
above fairly represents the extremely complicated operations described by
Pavo.
THE LAST PUNTER.
Society, frivolous and irresponsible, was frivolous and irre-
I sponsible no longer. It bad made up its mind to sternly put down
I the excessive gambling wbicb then raged in England, and deputed
| Mr. Howard Vincent and Sir James Ingham to see that it was put
; down. Most thoroughly they did their work. Very soon did the
Park Club fall, and its weary disconsolate members were perforce
: compelled to retire to bed at the early and unwholesome hour of
j three, which, in many cases, entailed the consequences of arising at
; noon, with a sad long day to look forward to. Gambling Club after
Gambling Club fell right and left, and many a luckless man without
] five hundred pence was fined five hundred pounds. Then came
! the memorable Black Thursday, when the raid, was made on the
| Society Clubs, and leaders of fashion, representatives of the Aris-
| tocracy, Members of Parliament, and Mashers were ruthlessly sent to
: prison, without the option of a fine, for having beguiled the monotony
I of their lives by the exquisite ecarte and the practical “ poker.” The
; language used by the Generals, when card-playing was forbidden at
the Military Clubs, will never be forgotten by those who heard it,
: but the climax came when a Bishop, apron and all, was sentenced to
j six months’ hard labour, for having played whist at the Athemeum,
Clubs were killed, and Howard Vincent rested on his laurels.
But not for long. It was the Monday after the First Spring Meet-
j ing, and Tattersalls’ was crowded with bookmakers and backers,
| settling over the Two Thousand Guineas, when a cordon of Police
| was drawn round the edifice,—similar tactics being simultaneously
j adopted at the Victoria Club—and punters, plungers, leviathans,
little men, were one and all seized. Betting on horse-races was para-
lyzed, and there being no one at Epsom that year to bet, the Derby
was abandoned, and the thousands of thoroughbreds in these islands
were, by a stroke of financial genius on the part of the Grand Old
Man, sold as Cavalry horses to the Mahdi, who, however, never paid
for them. Once more did Howard Vincent rest on his laurels.
But his brain was too active for repose. He looked round for
another plague-spot, and at once put his finger, or rather his Police,
on to it. Not only were the members of the “ House ” marched out
handcuffed, two and two, but from every broker’s office, from the
“ Ship and Turtle,” and from Birch’s, were collected Stockbrokers,
Jobbers, Clerks, Office-boys, and even Commissionnaires. The
seizure was perfect, and, as Howard Vincent retired to bed that
night, he was enabled to say that he had put down City gambling for
ever.
Other events followed quickly. In the absence of betting, the
members of the Gun Club shot for honour ; but owing to their imper-
fect acquaintance with the commodity in question, had soon to aban-
don their pastime, and pigeons became as plentiful and as useless as
black-beetles. At the University Boat-Race an Undergraduate,
with the hot rashness of youth, laid half-a-crown on his own side,
and that being established by Sir James Ingham’s ruling to be
“ excessive betting,” the Boat-Race was for ever peremptorily sus-
pended, and with it all rowing and sculling, amateur and professional.
It was a sister of an Eton boy who het half-a-dozen pairs of eighteen-
button gloves against Harrow, that finished the national pastime.
For experts proved that half-a-dozen pairs of eighteen-button gloves
would certainly cost more than half-a-crown, and the M.C.C. was
stamped as an essentially gambling Club, and Lord’s converted into
a screw-manufactory for Mr. Chamberlain.
Everything had gone now. There were no more games to be
played. A bold party from King, Duke, and St. James’s Streets,
had, in the recklessness born of despair, hurled themselves into the
North Country, to learn the art of knurr-and-spell, but as they
never returned, or made any sign, it is believed that they perished
miserably in their heroic attempt. Punters grew very scarce ; one
by one they dropped off under the harassing watch of Mr. Howard
Vincent. From millions they fell to thousands, from thousands to
hundreds, from hundreds to tens, and at last there were but four
punters left in England. And these four banded together, and leaving
London at dead of night, and by different and circuitous routes
arrived on Salisbury Plain, where, under the shadow of the great
stones, they sat down to play whist. But Howard Vincent knew
of it, and though three contrived to make their escape, one was
arrested and sentenced to two years’ hard labour.
Three punters were seated round a boulder on the top of Ben
Wy vis, and as cards fell on that boulder were cautiously whispered
such phrases as “ Three ! ” “ Pass ! ” “ Nap ! ” till a Scotch police-
man suddenly seized one of the group, who was sentenced to penal
servitude for life.
In a disused mine on the rockiest, loneliest part of the coast of
Cornwall, where never man comes or goes, where the huge Atlantic
swells wearily against the cliffs, two men, with a dark lantern, are
sitting opposite each other, and are “marking the king.” Another
dark lantern is turned on the pair, and one is taken, and, after
solemn trial, is hung.
There is but one punter left, and he, weary of life and England,
takes sail for far-off climes, and is wrecked, and thrown up on a
lonely island in the Pacific, where he subsists on fruit and water, and
leads a pastoral life under the lovely foliage, and thinks it uncom-
monly dull, and would give all the beauties of Nature for one mad
half-hour again at Jenks’s. He throws himself on a mossy bank,
and, taking a penny from his pocket, tosses with it, right hand
against left. Left is two ahead, when a copper-coloured savage, in a
white frock, with a ley of wild flowers round his neck, comes sud-
denly upon him, and presents him a paper. He takes the paper, and
behold it is a summons at the instance of Mr. Howard Vincent, to
appear before Sir James Ingham, at Bow Street.
Gambling was at last killed, for, with a heartbroken sigh, the
Punter turned over on his side, and murmuring, “I am baccarat! ”
closed his eyes for ever. And the kindly savages buried him ’neath
the sand, and made a rude, a very rude mark on the palm-tree at his
head; for not knowing his name, they could not give it, and not
knowing his age, they could but- guess it, and they guessed it to be—
1000
to
15.
i_
Mrs. Ramsbotham says, what with Mr. Chilblain and the Bir-
mingham Carcase, and the fuss about Mr. Bradawl and his Confirm-
ation, she finds politics hard to understand in the present day.
Paradoxical.—The present Ministry is now known as the “ late ”
Government.
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
97
SPORTING INTELLIGENCE.
Extracted from “ The Post," by Dumb Crambo Junior.
“Turning the Tables on False “ Disappointment—failed to entice
Alarm.” a Bid at the Hammer.”
“-Squeezing the Last Ounce out of Golden Beam, snatched the Prize
out of the Fire by a Head, whilst Ubique, who was pinned on the Hails,
beat Sir Francis by a Neck.”*—Morning Post, Thursday, Feb. 21.
* This is a Poser. But D. C. Jr. has wrestled with it, and fancies the
above fairly represents the extremely complicated operations described by
Pavo.
THE LAST PUNTER.
Society, frivolous and irresponsible, was frivolous and irre-
I sponsible no longer. It bad made up its mind to sternly put down
I the excessive gambling wbicb then raged in England, and deputed
| Mr. Howard Vincent and Sir James Ingham to see that it was put
; down. Most thoroughly they did their work. Very soon did the
Park Club fall, and its weary disconsolate members were perforce
: compelled to retire to bed at the early and unwholesome hour of
j three, which, in many cases, entailed the consequences of arising at
; noon, with a sad long day to look forward to. Gambling Club after
Gambling Club fell right and left, and many a luckless man without
] five hundred pence was fined five hundred pounds. Then came
! the memorable Black Thursday, when the raid, was made on the
| Society Clubs, and leaders of fashion, representatives of the Aris-
| tocracy, Members of Parliament, and Mashers were ruthlessly sent to
: prison, without the option of a fine, for having beguiled the monotony
I of their lives by the exquisite ecarte and the practical “ poker.” The
; language used by the Generals, when card-playing was forbidden at
the Military Clubs, will never be forgotten by those who heard it,
: but the climax came when a Bishop, apron and all, was sentenced to
j six months’ hard labour, for having played whist at the Athemeum,
Clubs were killed, and Howard Vincent rested on his laurels.
But not for long. It was the Monday after the First Spring Meet-
j ing, and Tattersalls’ was crowded with bookmakers and backers,
| settling over the Two Thousand Guineas, when a cordon of Police
| was drawn round the edifice,—similar tactics being simultaneously
j adopted at the Victoria Club—and punters, plungers, leviathans,
little men, were one and all seized. Betting on horse-races was para-
lyzed, and there being no one at Epsom that year to bet, the Derby
was abandoned, and the thousands of thoroughbreds in these islands
were, by a stroke of financial genius on the part of the Grand Old
Man, sold as Cavalry horses to the Mahdi, who, however, never paid
for them. Once more did Howard Vincent rest on his laurels.
But his brain was too active for repose. He looked round for
another plague-spot, and at once put his finger, or rather his Police,
on to it. Not only were the members of the “ House ” marched out
handcuffed, two and two, but from every broker’s office, from the
“ Ship and Turtle,” and from Birch’s, were collected Stockbrokers,
Jobbers, Clerks, Office-boys, and even Commissionnaires. The
seizure was perfect, and, as Howard Vincent retired to bed that
night, he was enabled to say that he had put down City gambling for
ever.
Other events followed quickly. In the absence of betting, the
members of the Gun Club shot for honour ; but owing to their imper-
fect acquaintance with the commodity in question, had soon to aban-
don their pastime, and pigeons became as plentiful and as useless as
black-beetles. At the University Boat-Race an Undergraduate,
with the hot rashness of youth, laid half-a-crown on his own side,
and that being established by Sir James Ingham’s ruling to be
“ excessive betting,” the Boat-Race was for ever peremptorily sus-
pended, and with it all rowing and sculling, amateur and professional.
It was a sister of an Eton boy who het half-a-dozen pairs of eighteen-
button gloves against Harrow, that finished the national pastime.
For experts proved that half-a-dozen pairs of eighteen-button gloves
would certainly cost more than half-a-crown, and the M.C.C. was
stamped as an essentially gambling Club, and Lord’s converted into
a screw-manufactory for Mr. Chamberlain.
Everything had gone now. There were no more games to be
played. A bold party from King, Duke, and St. James’s Streets,
had, in the recklessness born of despair, hurled themselves into the
North Country, to learn the art of knurr-and-spell, but as they
never returned, or made any sign, it is believed that they perished
miserably in their heroic attempt. Punters grew very scarce ; one
by one they dropped off under the harassing watch of Mr. Howard
Vincent. From millions they fell to thousands, from thousands to
hundreds, from hundreds to tens, and at last there were but four
punters left in England. And these four banded together, and leaving
London at dead of night, and by different and circuitous routes
arrived on Salisbury Plain, where, under the shadow of the great
stones, they sat down to play whist. But Howard Vincent knew
of it, and though three contrived to make their escape, one was
arrested and sentenced to two years’ hard labour.
Three punters were seated round a boulder on the top of Ben
Wy vis, and as cards fell on that boulder were cautiously whispered
such phrases as “ Three ! ” “ Pass ! ” “ Nap ! ” till a Scotch police-
man suddenly seized one of the group, who was sentenced to penal
servitude for life.
In a disused mine on the rockiest, loneliest part of the coast of
Cornwall, where never man comes or goes, where the huge Atlantic
swells wearily against the cliffs, two men, with a dark lantern, are
sitting opposite each other, and are “marking the king.” Another
dark lantern is turned on the pair, and one is taken, and, after
solemn trial, is hung.
There is but one punter left, and he, weary of life and England,
takes sail for far-off climes, and is wrecked, and thrown up on a
lonely island in the Pacific, where he subsists on fruit and water, and
leads a pastoral life under the lovely foliage, and thinks it uncom-
monly dull, and would give all the beauties of Nature for one mad
half-hour again at Jenks’s. He throws himself on a mossy bank,
and, taking a penny from his pocket, tosses with it, right hand
against left. Left is two ahead, when a copper-coloured savage, in a
white frock, with a ley of wild flowers round his neck, comes sud-
denly upon him, and presents him a paper. He takes the paper, and
behold it is a summons at the instance of Mr. Howard Vincent, to
appear before Sir James Ingham, at Bow Street.
Gambling was at last killed, for, with a heartbroken sigh, the
Punter turned over on his side, and murmuring, “I am baccarat! ”
closed his eyes for ever. And the kindly savages buried him ’neath
the sand, and made a rude, a very rude mark on the palm-tree at his
head; for not knowing his name, they could not give it, and not
knowing his age, they could but- guess it, and they guessed it to be—
1000
to
15.
i_
Mrs. Ramsbotham says, what with Mr. Chilblain and the Bir-
mingham Carcase, and the fuss about Mr. Bradawl and his Confirm-
ation, she finds politics hard to understand in the present day.
Paradoxical.—The present Ministry is now known as the “ late ”
Government.