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nr Joitton CwmgunbmJ.

r"STRUCK BY A SEA."

THE EMIGRANT DEPOT AT NEW…

THE FATE OF AN ESTATE.

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THE FATE OF AN ESTATE. The announcement of the death of Mr. Charles Hallowell Carew, at the early age of 43, created no little surprise and regret among the numerous circle of friends and acquaintances to whom, when last seen in public, his stalwart figure and .healthy physiognomy spoke of freedom from disease and length of days. But he had long been succumbing to a general breaking-up of the system; and be had not been seen on a race- course, or among any of those haunts where he was such a well-known figure for nearly two years. No one began life more brillantly than Mr. Carew; and, as the owner of Beddington-park, near Epsom, a fine estate, second to none in the county of Surrey, with almost unlimited command of money, the prospect looked fair enough for that voyage where youth is at the prow, Unfortunately, with many popular qualities, open-hearted and generous to a fault, Mr. Carew was lacking in the one great essential of common prudence, and so contrived, by lavish expenditure and most unbosiness-like habits, to squander his ample fortune and leave his patrimony to strangers. Entering the army at an early age, after a year or two in an infantry regiment he ex- changed into the 2nd Life Guards, and in 1819 com- menced a turf career which terminated with the break- ing down of Delight, almost in the moment of victory, in the Chester Cup of 1866. That was about the best horse Mr. Carew ever had—perhaps, indeed, the best of his year, and he might have won the Derby if he had been in it. Saccharometer was his next best; for though he gave 12,000 guineas for Yellow Jack and C Toner, the former could but get second toFazzoletto in the Two Thousand, second to Ellington in the Derby, second to One Act in the Chester Cup, and second to Roger- thorpe in the Goodwood Cup. Mr. Carew was fond of steeplechasin?, and won the Liverpool in 1852 with Miss Mowbray. Other great cross-country performers he had, too—British Yeoman, Shakespeare, Cortolvin, and going back for a moment to the flat, we must not forget how near, in connexion with his friend Lord Poulett, he was to landing the Cambridgeshire with her in 1865, when she was only beaten by a neck by Gardevisure. Fortune—that is, turf fortune—did not smile on him often, it must be confessed, and the large expenses of a stud, hunting, and shooting, of which he was passionately fond, combined with babits of careless profusion, prepared the way for the inevitable end. Soon the broad acres and the stately avenues of Beddington melted away. We believe nothing was left at last, and poor Mr. Carew died at Boulogne on the 17thnit. with scarcely a sixpence that he could-call his own. It was a sad end for one who had entered upon life blessed with all that is commonly supposed to make life worth the having.—The Field.

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