and in the fall was broken to pieces-the hunting men facetiously shouting, "How the Mercury has fallen! We shall have a thaw." This, by the by, really occurred, and enabled many a hunting man to witness a capital run with Sir Thomas Mostyn two days after. The scene that took place in the Quad the next morning, the horror and dismay of the Dons, the surprise and laughter of the younger members of the college, defied description. The hunting men forgot their usual lounge to Randall's and Sadler's stables, and the reading men their Aristotle, to gaze on the figure which lay prostrate in the fountain. The local Press was filled with poetical effusions for a month after, but though a great commotion was aroused, little attempt was made to discover the culprits, who escaped the retribution they deserved.

In those days most undergraduates with any means thought more of sport than of work. One of them, working away at an equation, was asked by an examiner how he was getting on. "Why, sir," was the reply, "I work x pretty well when I get him in the open; but I have just run him to earth under a root, and for the life of me I cannot dig him out."

To not a few a University career meant merely a time of unchecked revelry and enjoyment. Some verses on Oxford life, written in the early part of the last century, give a good idea of the unedifying existence then led by those known as "riding men."

Think not they came in Oxford's shades to seek
The love of learning, or the grace of Greek :
Accuse not them, too innocently dull,

Of harb'ring knowledge in their cocoa skull.

Full many a youth, whose cheek turns pale to look
On shunn'd Castalia, clears the wintry brook,
And though Parnassus makes his courage quail,
Braves the broad horrors of the post and rail,
Then home returning, o'er the festive board
Where witless songs of ribaldry are roar'd,
He stuns the ears of wond'ring freshmen well
With moving accidents of flood and fell,
Or joins the chaunt, and warms the Phallic strain
With spurious bumpers of unpaid champagne.
His courage rising as the liquor flows,

He boasts each art, and ev'ry science knows ;

No gun like his through Wytham's covers rang,
No dog like his can face the badger's fang,
None won but he the Woodstock glover's smile,
None bilked the turnpike in such topping style;

In vain he sees his tradesmen's bills expand
In fearful length from Bond Street to the Strand,
While yet no gold can buy the art to wear
The costly gewgaws with a Brummel's air,
While Hoby's boots for him refuse to shine,
As if his scout had black'd them with port wine,
And doomed of fortune to be twice the sport,
He swallows blacking, tho' he's dunn'd for port.

It was a thoughtless age, and many reckless jokes were played. One of the most novel of these was perpetrated by an undergraduate, who, after a pleasant dinner one evening, was so much struck with the irregularity of the steps in a staircase at his college as to decide on rolling them. With the assistance of some companions he contrived to drag

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a huge garden roller to the topmost landing, and from thence started it on a downward career. the course of its descent the roller would certainly have killed any one it might have met. As a matter of fact, a studious undergraduate, who looked out of his doorway to ascertain the cause of the tremendous row the roller made, would have been annihilated had he not just drawn back in time to allow it to pass as it came crashing down.

The life of a subaltern in many a smart regiment was much of the same sort as that led by sporting undergraduates. The younger officers were often wild spirits who subjected newly-joined comrades to ordeals, -sometimes burlesque, sometimes serious-when, for some reason or other, they felt doubtful as to the new-comer being a welcome addition to their number.

Though the whole system of ragging is morally indefensible, in some cases the process in question probably improved a few rough diamonds, whilst, when the intended victim showed true mettle, he was, as a rule, soon left in peace.

A good many years ago the officers of a certain smart cavalry regiment were much disturbed to hear that a subaltern, of whom no one seemed to know anything, was about to join, and their irritation was not at all lessened when he appeared, his general turn-out not being, in their eyes, up to the regimental standard.

During the first two or three days after his arrival several attempts were made to draw him out, but these invariably met with complete lack of success,

for, though the new lieutenant answered civilly enough, there was a reserve about his replies which completely baffled his interlocutors. After mess he retired early to his quarters; and very soon his unsociable habits were bitterly denounced, and at length it was decided to give him some forcible intimation that the regiment had decided he must leave.

Accordingly, on a certain evening, when, as usual, the unpopular officer had gone to his rooms, a select band of subalterns went to deliver the ultimatum.

Opening the door of his sitting-room, they found the object of their dislike sitting in an arm-chair, smoking a pipe and reading. A spokesman, who had previously been selected, then advanced, the others remaining grouped about the door.

"We have come," said the spokesman, " to tell you that, all things considered, we have decided that you are not quite the kind of man ever likely to suit this regiment; from what you have seen of us you must realise this yourself, and so the best thing you can do is to go. I may as well add that if you don't choose to understand this hint, we shall make it so hot for you that you will have to-so take your choice."

Whilst the spokesman was delivering this speech the unpopular young soldier sat perfectly unmoved in his chair, puffing at his pipe, apparently still reading his book, which, however, when the spokesman had finished, he shut with a bang. Then, rising to his feet, he said:

"Now you shall hear what I have got to say. I am

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going to give you and your friends a choice too. There," he said, pointing to the other side of the room, "is the window, and there," pointing to the group of officers, "is the door. Out of one or the other the lot of you will go, so you had better make up your minds quickly as to which of the two you prefer."

This was said in a most determined manner, and there was so much fire in the young fellow's eye, his whole appearance being threatening in the extreme (for he was a powerful man), that after a whispered consultation it was decided to withdraw. The result of this interview was that the spirited defender of his own privacy gained a good deal of prestige, and before very long, his manly characteristics being generally recognised, he became one of the most popular officers who had ever served in the regiment.

In this case, of course, the subalterns had totally mistaken their man, whom they were quite wrong in attempting to rag, but there have been instances in which young fellows have pretty well deserved what they got as did the hero, or rather victim, of the following, which occurred not very many years ago.

A conceited young puppy, who belonged to the militia battalion of a certain Highland regiment, boasting of a particularly glorious record, being asked to a ball in Scotland, got into his head the ridiculous idea that, as uniform was to be worn, he might just as well remove the metal M from his shoulder strapsthe distinctive badge of militia battalions-and pass himself off as an officer of the regular army.