it was in 1824, Washington Irving dined with him " near the Park." They sat long at table when Fitzroy Stanhope and their host repeated incessant anecdotes about Davies, much to the annoyance of Kenney, who was also of the party, who complained bitterly "it was nothing but Scrope Davies this and Scrope Davies that; they killed me with their Scrope Davies." (Irving's life, II., 168—9.)
These reformers, who met in the public glare of the opera had their little differences in private life. Among the Hobhouse manuscripts at the British Museum (Addit. MSS. 36457, ff. 408—9) is a letter from Scrope, written from 11 Great Ryder Street in 1819, complaining that Hobhouse had used "offensive and vulgar expressions to him yesterday," and demanding an apology. The request was at once met in the frankest way. Hobhouse sent a letter of regret stating that he had shown it to Kinnaird and authorising Davies to bring it under the notice of Bickersteth.
During all these years Scrope gambled in St. James's Street and plunged at Newmarket. For a time success crowned his ventures but then the tide of fortune ran heavily against him. It was his habit, after a heavy loss on the turf, to cut his throat. The cynics spread the rumour that this was a device to gain time. At all events it was practised so often that the surgeon declared his intention of not answering any future summons. Oakes was the name of this operator and he is reported to have said "there is no danger : I have sewn him up six times already."
The fatal day, when he could face his creditors no more, came in December 1820. No resource was open to him save flight to the continent. Like Byron, like Brummell, he crossed the channel. The comment of Byron was "our friend, Scrope, is dished, diddled and done up."
