came very fidgetty and troublesome to his physician; and the latter, as the only means of getting rid of him for a time, advised him to try the hot wells at Bristol. The patient, of course supposing that such a change of air and water would contribute to ease his malady, instantly acceded to the proposition, and received from the physician a letter addressed to a brother Galen at Bristol; in which, he said, his case was fully described. Having received his despatches, the manufacturer got into his carriage and started.

"When he had proceeded about half-way, however, a fit of the maladie imaginaire came on him so strong, as to excite his curiosity to know the doctor's real opinion of his disorder; accordingly, calling for tea at an inn on the road, he held the letter over the spout of the tea-kettle, the steam issuing from which, speedily dissolved the wafer, and he read as follows:

DEAR SIR,

The bearer is a fat Wiltshire clothier:-make the most of him whilst he remains at Bristol, as I have done at Bath. Towards the end of autumn, you may send him back for the winter; and I shall manage in such a manner, as to give you another turn next summer.

Your's truly, &c.'

"This letter proved a complete cathartic to the clothier and put an end to all his hypochondriacal vagaries; for he ordered his coachman to turn the horses' heads round, and he drove home into Wiltshire, damning all physicians, quacks, apothecaries, and hot wells.” having by this time lost all temper and

Mr.

patience, arose from his seat, and when the peals of laughter had partially subsided, he declared that he never before was so insulted in his life; and that were it not for the disparity of his own and Mr. Selwyn's age, the latter should find that a medical man could resent an affront as readily as any other person.

"Being fully aware of that," retorted George, "I have no inclination to encounter such awful odds; for, if your pistol were to miss fire, how could I stand the explosion of a whole apothecary's shop?"

The Duke and others endeavoured to restore harmony, but in vain; for the oculist's feelings were wounded, and he left the house in high dudgeon.

XIII.

A BRIGHTON ODDITY.

SEVERAL gentlemen, at Boodle's, appeared one evening to be greatly amused by the writer's description of an eccentric character, who resides in the neighbourhood of Brighton, named Buckhorse.

This man, by successful traffic in horses for many years, had amassed together a considerable sum of money. His riches, however, imparted to him none of that amenity and good manners which they generally do on men of, even slender, education. He has always remained perfectly illiterate; and is, consequently, at this day, as coarse and saucy in his habits and conversation, as when he commenced his career as a stableboy. Notwithstanding this, however, he fancies that wealth entitles him to a rank in society, which birth and education, only, can confer; and he is ever on the qui vive to imitate the manners of the great, and the language of the learned,-to the infinite amusement of the inhabitants and visiters of Brighton, who occasionally associate with him, in order to draw him out and laugh at his eccentricities.

From the continual blunders which he makes in attempting to express himself in highly sounding language, it might be supposed that Buckhorse is a stupid ignoramus in every thing which does not regard the condition of a horse: not so, however; for, though

able only to make his mark, he is feelingly alive to the prospect of gain, from whatever source it may arise; and he can calculate that gain, by a sort of intuitive or mental arithmetic, even to the utmost farthing. He is, moreover, a perfect Master of Arts in all that professional cunning which is so characteristic of the knights of the stall and the corn-bin; as will be fully exemplified in some of the following anecdotes.

A few years ago, Buckhorse was severely attacked by rheumatism; and, after trying a variety of reme dies, was at last persuaded by the writer, who had some dealings with him at the time, to undergo a shampooing. On inquiring what was the cause of his disorder, Buckhorse replied as follows:

"Vy, ye see, Sir, I vent on a 'quatic execution on the hocean, wi' my vife and some other ladies and gen'lemen, and it blew the tremendyusest gale as never was seen; so, ve vere obliged to use our hoars; and I thinks, that from prespiring and fartigue, I took cold in my lines; but my Missus says as how the rheuma tise comed by catching cold from being scroudged in the pit, to see Kean hact the Merchant o' Wenus, and being afterwards hexposed to the veather and the helements, on our road 'ome."

"But have you done nothing to get rid of this rheumatism?" inquired the writer.

"Oh, yes!" replied Buckhorse, "I've took lots o' potecary's stuff, and 'ave been on a coolin' regiment this fortnight; for I'aven't drank no wynd nor any spiritual and fomented liquors whatsomever: but it's no use, bless you, for I'm worn to a shador,-a mere skelinton, and the rheumatise is as bad as ever; so, I

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thinks I'm a goin' to the regency (regions) below, as fast as I can. ""

"Pooh! nonsense!" said the writer, "you must get shampooed; that is the proper method of getting rid of your complaint."

Buckhorse promised to follow this friendly advice without delay.

Meeting him a few days afterwards, the writer inquired how his health was, and whether he had found benefit from the vapour baths.

Buckhorse replied: "Lord bless you, Sir, them 'ere baths are no good: I got quite pieboiled by that black fellow, that savage Hingeon, Molly-nooks, who squeedged and kneaded me about, like a lump o' biscuit-baker's dough. I couldn't a-bear it no longer; so, I disgarded him."

"But has Molyneux done you no good?"

"Lord bless you, Sir! no more than nothin' at all." "But you ought to go to Mahommed; he has cured many persons, and is well known as a clever man."

"Lord bless you, my dear Sir, I can't a-bear them 'ere Hingeon canibals. I made such a diskivery about 'em, that I vonder as how the King lets 'em live in a Christian country."

"What!" observed the writer, laughing heartily, "you are surely not afraid of being killed and eaten ?"

"An't I though!-vy, the landlord o' the Ship told me in a great secret, the day afore yesterday, as how them 'ere 'Ottenpot chaps, Molly-nooks and Mahometan, knocked their customers about, and byld 'em alive in steam, in order to make their flesh tender: and that ven the poor devils kicked the bucket, the insurrection fellows brought 'em back to these here