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A WONDERFUL HORSE.

Sir Robert Smyth, in a letter to George Selwyn, thus humorously describes a bargain of a horse, which was to be sold in his day, 1767:

"Dr. Thistlethwayte is dead, and since he has no further use for his horses, they are to be sold by auction. Amongst them is a little bay gelding, about 13 or 14 hands high, with a flaming, full long tail; strong enough to carry you, the mayor, and all the money you ever spent [in elections] at Gloucester together. The doctor, (some eight and forty stone weight,) always shot off his back, and the keeper killed all the deer from him. I mention these circumstances as proofs of his sedateness. He goes fast enough to carry you close to fox-hounds in full chase; but if your affairs do not require so much expedition, a snail would distance him. His figure is such, that if you were to meet a tailor on his back, you would pull off your hat to him, though you did not owe him one shilling. I know twenty men of weight who want him, but the weight of metal will have him. He is six years old, and cost five pounds. Peter Bathurst will bid fifteen or twenty for him, and perhaps others may bid more. Some one will buy him who, perhaps, may be wise enough to think that five or six guineas, on a point of health, pleasure, and safety, are not absolutely thrown away."

"JERUSALEM WHALLEY."

Thomas Whalley received this sobriquet in Ireland from the circumstance of his having won a bet by performing a journey to Jerusalem on foot, except so far as it was necessary to cross the sea, and finishing the exploit by playing ball against the walls of that celebrated city. He was a perfect specimen of the Irish gentleman of the olden time. Gallant, reckless, and profuse, he made no account of money, limb, or life, when a feat was to be won, or a daring deed to be attempted. He spent a fine fortune in pursuits not more profitable than his expedition to play ball at Jerusalem; and rendered himself a cripple for life by jumping from the drawing-room window of Daly's club-house, in College-green, Dublin, on to the roof of a hackney-coach which was passing. -Lord Cloncurry's Life and Times.

UNFORTUNATE IRISH GENTLEMEN.

Mr. Henry, of Straffan, inherited a considerable estate in the county of Kildare, with an accumulation in money that amounted, at the period of his majority, to not less than 80,000l. Long before his death, all his money, and a good half of his estate, were gone-spent in a manner that will be sufficiently explained by recounting one or two items. When Henry became of age, Straffan was one of the best old-fashioned houses in the country, well furnished, and well supplied in chamber and cellar-in a word, wanting nothing. This house, nevertheless, the owner turned out of window at an enormous expense; and so completely, that when Mr. Barton purchased the estate a few years afterwards, he found it to be in danger of tumbling about his ears, and was obliged to pull it down and rebuild. The alterations were made upon no settled plan or design, but from a medley of designs, drawn by some half dozen of Henry's friends, whom he set to work as amateur architects, one wet day when they happened to be visiting at Straffan. Henry impartially mixed up all together, and then modified the hodge-podge, as it was worked out, according to his own taste. Of course, all this was done at monstrous cost, and every detail of housekeeping was carried out upon a similar model. There were two packs of hounds in the kennel, though Henry never hunted; and a numerous stud in the stable, though he seldom rode; and withal, a boundless and profuse hospitality.

Among his strange freaks he bought a large vessel, and having provided himself with letters of marque, proceeded upon an experimental cruise in the North Sea. There he soon captured a Danish merchantman, and brought her into port; but it unfortunately happened that there was, at the time, no sufficient casus belli between him and the Dane, and so the result was an action for damages, in which Henry was heavily mulcted.

Another characteristic incident marked this unlucky voyage. When Henry was about to embark, he happened to fall in conversation with a gentleman who was walking upon the pier, and who was literally a walking gentleman, O'H—— by name; the chat ended in Mr. O'H- being invited on board the yacht, and though it was lost while bringing a cargo of slates from Wales, for the buildings at Straffan, O'H-

never quitted the owner until the latter married Lady Cecily Fitzgerald, when he was got rid of at the cost of buying him a commission in the army.

A somewhat similar occurrence happened to a gentleman in the same neighbourhood. Sir chancing to walk out in his demesne one morning, met a respectable-looking man strolling about, with whom he fell into some slight conversation, after a courteous salutation. As Sir was going in to breakfast, he invited the stranger to join him, which he did, and remained his guest, until he died some twenty years after. The man was a Dublin tradesman, who, having fallen into difficulties, was keeping out of the way of his creditors, when he had the good fortune to meet Sir Both host and guest were remarkably silent men, so that the communications which passed between them were characterised in the country by a recital of the conversation that filled up the time of dinner one day when the baronet entertained company. When the first bottle had passed round, D, who sat at the foot of the table, for the first time, found his speech, and used it to call out, "Sir who is your wine-merchant?” "So-and-so," replied Sir "Then, by my sowl, he don't use you well," rejoined D--, and so ended the discourse. They suited one another, however, and poor D▬▬ fortunately died a short time before his patron.-Lord Cloncurry's Life and Times.

THE DUKE OF QUEENSBURY ON THE TURF.

The Duke of Queensbury, when Earl of March, achieved his first distinction on the turf, his knowledge of which, both in theory and practice, equalled that of the most accomplished adepts of Newmarket. In all his principal matches he rode himself; and, properly accoutred in his velvet cap, red silken jacket, buckskin breeches, and long spurs, his lordship bore away the prize on many a well-contested field. His famous match was with the Duke of Hamilton: both noblemen rode their own horses, and each was supported by numerous partisans. The contest took place on the race-ground at Newmarket: Lord March, thin, agile, and admirably qualified for exertion, was the victor.

Still more celebrated was his Lordship's wager with the amous Count O'Taaffe, of "running against time." It was suggested by Lord March, that it was possible for a carriage

to be drawn with a celerity unprecedented. His Lordship undertook, provided choice of ground were given him, and a certain period for training, to draw a carriage with four wheels, not less than 19 miles within the space of 60 minutes; and many a heavy bet was the consequence. Success mainly depended on the lightness of the carriage, which was built by Wright, of Long Acre, with wood and whalebone; and the four blood horses had silk harness. The run took place on the 29th of August, 1750: the jockeys mounted, the carriage was put in motion, and rushing on with a velocity marvellous in those times of coach-travelling, but easily conceived by railway travellers of the 19th century-gained, within the stipulated hour, the goal of victory.-Abridged from Sir Bernard Burke's Anecdotes of the Aristocracy, 2nd Series.

LAUDAMY AND CALAMY.

Mr. Gillies, in his Reminiscences of Sir Walter Scott, relates:"It happened at a small country town, that Scott suddenly required medical advice for one of his servants, and, on inquiring if there was any doctor at the place, was told that there were two-one long established, and the other a new-comer. The latter gentleman, being luckily found at home, soon made his appearance-a grave, sagacious-looking personage, attired in black, with a shovel hat, in whom, to his utter astonishment, Sir Walter recognised a Scotch blacksmith, who had formerly practised, with tolerable success, as a veterinary operator in the neighbourhood of Ashestiel. 'How, in all the world!' exclaimed he, 'can it be possible that this is John Lundie ? '—' In troth is it your honour-just a' that's for him.''Well, but let us hear: you were a horse-doctor before; now, it seems, you are a man-doctor; how do you get on?'-'Ou, just extraordinar weel; for your honour maun ken my practice is vera sure and orthodox. I depend entirely upon twa simples.'-' And what may their names be? Perhaps it is a secret?'-'I'll tell your honour,' in a low tone; 'my twa simples are just laudamy and calamy !'-'Simples with a vengeance!' replied Scott. 'But, John, do you never happen to kill any of your patients?'-Kill? Ou ay, may be sae! Whiles they die and whiles no ;-but it's the will o' Providence. Ony how, your honour, it wad be lang before it makes up for Flodden!""

HENRY PELHAM, DUKE OF NEWCASTLE.

When Lord Chesterfield intimated to the Duke of Newcastle, as the head of the Government, his intention of bringing forward a measure for reforming the Calendar-a measure which he afterwards carried-the Duke, in the greatest alarm, conjured him "not to stir matters that had been so long quiet," adding that "he did not love newfangled things." After the measure had passed there was a general outcry among all the old women of the land--the Prime Minister included-of "give us back our eleven days.” Newcastle is tartly drawn by Macaulay as "a living, moving, talking caricature." Of his ignorance many anecdotes remain, some well authenticated, some probably invented at coffeehouses, but all exquisitely characteristic. "Oh-yes—yes— to be sure-Annapolis must be defended-troops must be sent to Annapolis.-pray where is Annapolis?"-" Cape Breton an island! wonderful!-show it me on the map. So it is, sure enough. My dear sir, you always bring us good I must go and tell the King that Cape Breton is an island." And this man was, near thirty years, Secretary of State, and, near ten years, First Lord of the Treasury!

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SIR ROBERT WALPOLE'S TEMPER.

Walpole's good temper was equal to his hospitality, if there is any truth in the following:-"General Sutton, the narrator, was one day sitting by my father," says Horace Walpole, his son, "at his dressing. Sir Robert (Walpole) says to John, who was shaving him, 'John, you cut me;' presently afterwards, 'John, you cut me;' and again with the same patience, 'John, you cut me.' Whereupon Sutton started up and cried, By Heaven, if he can bear it I can't, and if you cut him once more I'll knock you down.""

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UTTER RUIN.

When Fordyce, the Scotchman, failed in 1772, he broke half the bankers, and was very willing to have added to the list, Walpole's friend, Mr. Croft; but he begged to be excused lending him a farthing. He went on the same errand to an old Quaker; who said, Friend Fordyce, I have known several persons ruined by two dice; but I will not be ruined by Four dice."

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