Brummell lost not only all his winnings, but "an unfortunate L.10,000,"
as he expressed it, the last that he had at his bankers. Brummell was
now ruined; and, to prevent the possibility of his recovery at any
future period, he raised money at ruinous interest, and finally made his
escape to Calais. Still, when every thing else forsook him, his odd way
of telling his own story remained. "He said," observed one of his
friends at Caen, when talking about his altered circumstances, "that, up
to a particular period of his life, every thing prospered with him, and
that he attributed this good luck to the possession of a silver sixpence
with a hole in it, which somebody had given him some years before, with
an injunction to take good care of it, as every thing would go well with
him so long as he kept it, and everything the contrary if he happened to
lose it." And so it turned out; for having at length, in an evil hour,
given it by mistake to a hackney coachman, a complete reverse of his
affairs took place, and one misfortune followed another until he was
obliged to fly. On his being asked why he did not advertise a reward for
it, he answered--"I did; and twenty people came with sixpences with
holes in them for the reward, but not _my_ sixpence." "And you never
heard any more of it?" "No," he replied; "no doubt that rascal
Rothschild, or some of that set, have got hold of it." But the Beau's
retreat from London was still to be characteristic. As it had become
expedient that he must make his escape without _eclat_, on the day of
his intended retreat he dined coolly at his club, and finished his
London performances by sending from the table a note to his friend
Scrope Davies, couched in the following prompt and expressive form:--

"MY DEAR SCROPE,--Lend me two hundred pounds: the banks are shut,
and all my money is in the 3 per cents. It shall be repaid
to-morrow morning.--Yours, GEORGE BRUMMELL."

The answer was equally prompt and expressive--

"MY DEAR GEORGE,--It is very unfortunate, but all _my_ money is in
the 3 per cents.--Yours, S. DAVIES."

Such is the story;

"I cannot tell how the truth may be,
I tell the tale as 'twas told to me."

Nothing daunted, the Beau went to the opera, allowed himself to be seen
about the house, then quickly retiring, stepped into a friend's chaise
and met his own carriage, which waited for him a short distance from
town. Travelling all night with four ho