them wherever I could find takers.  ’With you, sir, if you please, in pounds, and the gentleman in the red whiskers, too, if he likes—­very well, in half sovereigns, if you prefer it.’  So I went on, betting on every side, till the bell rung to mount.  As I knew I had plenty of time to spare, I took little notice, and merely giving a look to my girths, I continued leisurely booking my bets.  At last the time came, and at the word ‘Away!’ off went the fat gentleman on the dun, at a spluttering gallop, that flung the mud on every side of us, and once more threw us all a-laughing.  I waited patiently till he got near the upper end of the park, taking bets every minute; and now that he was away, every one offered to wager.  At last, when I had let him get nearly half round, and found no more money could be had, I called out to his friends for the porter, and, throwing myself into the saddle, gathered up the reins in my hand.  The crowd fell back on each side, while from the tent I have already mentioned came a thin fellow with one eye, with a pewter quart in his hand:  he lifted it up towards me, and I took it; but what was my fright to find that the porter was boiling, and the vessel so hot I could barely hold it.  I endeavoured to drink, however:  the first mouthful took all the skin off my lips and tongue—­the second half choked, and the third nearly threw me into an apoplectic fit—­the mob cheering all the time like devils.  Meantime, the old fellow had reached the furze, and was going along like fun.  Again I tried the porter, and a fit of coughing came on that lasted five minutes.  The pewter was now so hot that the edge of the quart took away a piece of my mouth at every effort.  I ventured once more, and with the desperation of a madman I threw down the hot liquid to its last drop.  My head reeled—­my eyes glared—­and my brain was on fire.  I thought I beheld fifty fat gentlemen galloping on every side of me, and all the sky raining jackets in blue and yellow.  Half mechanically I took the reins, and put spurs to my horse; but before I got well away, a loud cheer from the crowd assailed me.  I turned, and saw the dun coming in at a floundering gallop, covered with foam, and so dead blown that neither himself nor the rider could have got twenty yards farther.  The race was, however, won.  My odds were lost to every man on the field, and, worse than all, I was so laughed at, that I could not venture out in the streets, without hearing allusions to my misfortune; for a certain friend of mine, one Tom O’Flaherty—­”

“Tom of the 11th light dragoons?”

“The same—­you know Tom, then?  Maybe you have heard him mention me —­Maurice Malone?”

“Not Mr. Malone, of Fort Peak?”

“Bad luck to him.  I am as well known in connexion with Fort Peak, as the Duke is with Waterloo.  There is not a part of the globe where he has not told that confounded story.”

As my readers may not possibly be all numbered in Mr. O’Flaherty’s acquaintance, I shall venture to give the anecdote which Mr. Malone accounted to be so widely circulated.