"Dr. Stewart, of Plymouth, told me one day that a friend of his passing Dr. Budd's house was startled by the sudden descent of a leg of mutton in the street, flung out of the window by the irate Doctor because either somewhat over- or underdone.
"Dr. Budd would often, when giving a dinner party, rise at the conclusion of the first courses, saying ’I shan't take any sweets,’ would go to the fireside and fill a long 'churchwarden' clay, then, leaning against the mantelpiece, calmly smoke and join in the conversation of the guests as they continued at table.
"He was a tall, heavily-built man, with a full, high-coloured face, not intellectual in appearance, and with warm brown hair and side whiskers."
He was out shooting one day with Mr. Calmady. A pheasant rose, and both men raised their guns, and the bird came down like lead.
"That's my burd," shouted Budd.
"I really think not; I am sure I brought it down," said Mr. Calmady.
"It's my burd, I zay. I'll swear to it. Never missed in my life, any more than blundered in my profession. It's mine."
"Very well. Yours it shall be."
Up rose another pheasant. Each hastened to load, when it turned out that the Doctor's gun had not been discharged at all.
A gentleman writes me: "My mother remembers travelling by train in the same carriage with the Doctor. Two other men also got in; and one, who may have been the worse for liquor, began grossly to insult the other; whereupon the Doctor interfered and took the part of the insulted man. 'What business is this of yours?' shouted the offender. At this moment the train drew up in the Plymouth station. Dr. Budd jumped
