' 'What do you mean, Mr. Landlord?' 'Sir,' says he, this
horse was stolen from me about six months ago; and I have never seen
him since.' I did not much relish this piece of information," rejoined
the sergeant, "but I could not help laughing at the conceit of the
horse-dealer, to prevent me from going to a place where his theft of
the horse would be discovered: I wished I had attended to his caution,
as the sale to me was not regular, and I was left to make the best
terms I could with the landlord." What they were he kept to himself.
Fielding was a contemporary member of the home-circuit, with Sergeant
Bond and myself. In the performance of the duties of conviviality,
over which the learned sergeant, as head of the circuit, presided, he
found in Fielding a powerful auxiliary. He was the son of the author
of _Tom Jones_, and inherited to a great degree the wit and talents of
his father.
As a companion, Fielding was invariably pleasant and inimitably
entertaining. His conversation abounded with anecdotes, of which he
had an inexhaustible fund: his great stock was of Irish stories which
he gave with great truth and humour.
I have repeatedly heard him say, that the lowest class of the Irish
had more native humour than any other body of people in the same rank
in life. He would then relate, in proof of it, the event of a bet
which was made on the subject at one of the club-houses in St.
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