Never shall I forget the scene that now presented itself, as long as I live. Poor piggy had gained the open, and was going along doing his "possible," but evidently at the same time not slightly astonished at his novel position; then followed the riders, who would gladly have shaken hands at the moment, could the pig have sunk into the earth by their so doing; and thirdly, scampered after them the owner of the pig (for of course it was a tame piggy), with a pitchfork in his hand, and swearing most lustily in a Hindoo's peculiar way at the pursuers of his pet; lastly, followed the whole party on foot, going as fast as our laughter would permit us. A small ditch soon crossed the road, about two feet wide, which piggy took in gallant style; and our heroes, perceiving that the porker did not charge them, began to screw their courage to the sticking point. The country-bred cleared the "yawner" in his stride; but the Arab stopped short, and over went its rider, a full yard beyond his horse's nose, spear, and all.

On finding itself divested of its rider, the Arab wisely went back to his stables as fast as his legs could carry him, leaving his owner to meet the savage beast face to face on its own level. High beat the heart of the magnanimous Brown as he viewed his rival rolling ingloriously on the earth; and bitter indeed must the disaster have been to the mind of the fallen worthy. However, so far from giving up the chase, he regained his spear, and valiantly followed on foot.

Now whether piggy thought he had got quite far enough from home, or whether it was feeding time, I know not; but he suddenly turned round, and made as fast as he could for his own habitation. At the distance of twenty yards Brown hurled his spear at the unoffending beast, who of course escaped unscathed; whilst Smith being on foot had the best chance of a poke at poor piggy, and to do him justice he evinced a vast deal of generalship; for waiting until piggy had come up to him, he gave chase at once, and gaining on the now exhausted animal, he succeeded in driving his spear right through its body, when down went the squeaker as dead as a door-nail.

What words can describe the different passions that agitated the breasts of our heroes at this moment!-one flushed with victory and elated at his own daring; the other, crest-fallen, and lost even in his own estimation. Brown, though not naturally bloodthirsty, could have sent his spear through Smith, as that worthy had served the pig, with the most intense pleasure in existence.

But what wail is that which rends the air, wild "as the wail above the dead," and coming from a lean, half-naked nigger, who appears more interested than all in the slaughter of the unclean? Hark! what do we hear? "Saib! marra sewer! saib!--atchah sewer, saib! 20 rupee, saib!"-(Sir, my pig, sir, my best pig, cost 20 rupees!). Oh, Smith! Smith! verily thou knowest what it was to be hurled from the seventh heaven of delight to the infinite realms of misery.

The joke was finished. A roar of laughter made the welkin ring. Smith had to fork out 20 rupees for the pig; and being taken with a puckah fever the next day (people hinted it was a decided case of sham), he obtained leave to go to the hills, and from that time to the time I left India, he never had re-visited the scene of his "revenge."

OXFORD PARODIES.

No. IV.

"THE RETUrn of the ADMIRAL.”

How jollily, how joyously we live at B. N. C. !*

Our reading is all moonshine-the wind is not more free:
The champagne is all sparkling; we quaff it day and night,
Like creatures in whose sunny throats a thirsty flame burns bright.
All Oxford knows our triumph; fast birds around us sweep;
Strange "duns" come up to look at us, their masters though so deep;
In our wake, like any serpent, doth the night-policeman go,
And at the toll-bar tarrieth the proctor with his "pro."+

Proud, proud must be each Brasenose man, at least so I should say,
Of all those grooms and flunkies who promptly him obey,
Who've ta'en his horse to covert, who've cleaned, with labour sore,
The snowy "tops" which he shall have when chapel-time is o'er.
Who would not be a Brasenose man to order with a word
His pink and well-built leathers, to turn out like a lord?
I'd shout to yonder hack there, though somewhat screwed it be-
Each morn I'll make thee carry me Lord Redesdale's hounds to see.

Each term our pace grew faster, and faster still it

grew,

Yet talked we to our tradespeople, and gulled them not a few;
And we looked into our banker's, but nothing could we see,
And at last there came the fearful time for what we call "degree."
We read 'twas but an instant!-for speedily the pride

Of being plucked twice for "little go" all chance of ours defied;
This gave boldness to th' examiners, as, sitting in a row,
They told us we might mizzle, for indeed it was no go.

That night a horrid proctor fell on us where we lay,
And we knew some fine policemen were carrying us away;
And we heard the wash of waters-hard by the gutter we
And a whistle from a friend of ours who knew how it would be.
Till dawn they watched the body in its most unpleasant sleep,
And the two next terms, at morning, they refused to let us keep;
And ever from that moment did one shudder for to see,
The proctor or policeman that had followed in our lee.

* I sing of B. N. C. in 1841, with twenty pinks "to the fore." + Lurking for the returning tandem.

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MY FIRST HORSE.

BY SCRIBBLE.

Oxford used to be a pleasant place; and Trinity was the pleasantest place in Oxford: at least, so I thought, and many agreed with me. There were hunt breakfasts, and hunt dinners, and boating suppers; steeple-chases on foot, and steeple-chases on horse-back: there was plenty of money and plenty of credit; and where there are these two, there's sure to be plenty of fun. They say things are altered now, and undergraduates have become religious controversialists. I hope they are all the better for it; but I may be forgiven if I doubt it. The only fox they ever run into is he of the "Book of Martyrs." They have imitated the hare lately, in her doublings; their turns have been quick, and their late movements not quite so straight ahead as those who follow the "varmint" ought to go. I don't like the change. In Mrs. Scribble's absence, I am always "laudator temporis acti."

When I first went to college, I might have been out hunting a dozen times nine on a rough pony, and three on my grandmother's gig horse. It was enough to make a sportsman of me, and it did. I remember the old gig horse well-what a Roman nose! But he could jump, like many a good half-bred one: so well, indeed, that when I reached Oxford, I had a very inadequate notion of what a horse could do. To me he was an omnipotent animal, and so he was to a great many more of us freshmen: though of course we never admitted our ignorance, but had all been sportsmen from our youth up.

There's a good deal to be learnt of every thing in Oxford, in a short time; and how to ride is one of the things. I went up at Easter: by the beginning of the long vacation my education was half completed. Wine parties, breakfast parties, bottled porter, Stilton cheese, rides to Woodstock and Bicester, a pull or two to Nuneham, a team to Banbury, had made a man of me: but more than all, a constant attendance at lectures on Cowley Marsh and Bullingdon, with one of Mr. S-m's hacks, where we rode handicap sweepstakes, and jumped hurdles from 7 till 9 every evening, was laying a train of equestrian conceit fated to explode in the purchase of a hunter.

The summer passed; October come; and I went back to Trinity. Many things make an impression upon us-our first wife: our first child; our first legacy; our first tail-coat; but I think nothing lives longer in my recollection than my first horse. How I came by him you shall hear the gradual steps by which I approached the fearful responsibility which eat up at one fell swoop the money which was to pay a whole term's bills. The mental anxiety I endured till I got him and when I had him, and the melancholy decease of poor "Brickdust," are subjects worthy a better pen than mine.

I was easy of persuasion: a breakfast or two and as many suppers,

in which the whole conversation consisted of gates, gaps, runs, and riders, seduced me into a day with Mark Morell's harriers. Leathers and tops, necessary or not, were easily lugged into that. Need I say that a few days after, I had conquered my aversion to the expense of foxhunting, and started from Trinity gates for Bicester windmill, in a borrowed pink? The road to cover-what a scene! First a buggy with two Christchurch men; then a team from Merton; then three men on hacks, covered with white mud, and reeking with the pace.

"There goes Tom Rice, of Christchurch: you should just see him ride!"

"How do, Woodhouse?" as a good-looking dark man of thirteen stone galloped by. "I wonder whether he rides Jerry to-day."

"Here comes Newdipate. Did you see him jump the brook at Waterferry the other day?"

"Let's have a glass of cherry brandy at old Simmons's."

Bicester was full. Oh! Deakins-Oh! Hitchman-famous, the one for horses, the other for daughters. Many a time since have I ridden and driven round your gate-posts, but never with the pride and spirits I rode into the Crown that morning; no, not even when I went to dine there after taking my degree.

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Now, then, what does Mr. Scribble ride?" "Brickdust."

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Sir," said the man, "here you are. Stirrups do, sir?" "No: two holes longer."

"That's it, sir. He can jump any thing."

Away we went to cover; and I had just time to see that I was on a perfect hunter, rather long in the tooth, but very short in the leg, when a hound challenged, and away went a fox for Middleton Park.

"Hark to melody!" said the worthy divine Griff. Lloyd, on a fleabitten grey.

"Now, gentlemen!" said that kindest and best of masters, Mr. Drake. "Get to 'em, Tom."

And away went Winkfield.

The country was new to me; the horse was new to me; but I never had had a fall: and when we got to Middleton, into the covers, I was more than satisfied with my own performance. Brickdust was as good as gold; but I was too green to beat the men I saw there. They rode from knowledge-I from ignorance; and a very pretty chance we had of trying our luck, for we ran from Middleton to Chesterton Village, and killed our fox, with scarcely a check. The last thing I remember was a rattling brook; and when I opened my eyes on the other side of it, I found I had left four gentlemen swimming about in it very promiscuously, amongst whom were Tom Rice, and H-y P-n. To have been made prime minister on the spot would have been but a poor remuneration for my labours, as I thought, that day.

I ate no dinner. I went to bed and dreamed of Brickdust. Never was such a horse! I made a slight mistake or two in lecture the next day.

"Mr. Scribble, who led the Greeks at the battle of Marathon ?" "Brickdust, sir."

"I'm sorry, sir, you can't discriminate between wit and impertinence.'

The tutor did not like my answer.

I went to the stables; I looked at the horse; I went to my rooms; I went back again after dinner. It was no use: I was fated.

Well I might say so the old family gigger certainly was not equal to him.

"Cheap horse to any gentleman, sir: cheaper than hiring, for any gent. as hunts regular."

"What do you call a cheap horse?"

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Well, sir, I don't want to sell him, or else there are plenty after him. I could take £55 for him."

£55! something under a quarter's allowance; but I didn't say No. That's a word I had then great difficulty in saying.

A fortnight afterwards I went to the steeple-chase at Aylesbury, and had ordered a horse to be sent on to meet me there, as the stag-hounds were to uncart a deer afterwards. I couldn't have Brickdust, because he was engaged; but I sent for another. My love for the horse had increased; but he had hardly been ridden since the run from Bicester. Never mind! there could be nothing wrong with such a sweet horse as that.

The day for the Aylesbury meeting came. I was now master of a pink of my own; and I had certainly progressed much in the practice, if not in the science of riding. Down High Street we went-six of usin a barouche and four, through the gate on the other side of Magdalen (Maudlin) Bridge, happy in the consciousness of having something to ride when we got to Aylesbury. Nobody, to have heard or seen the carriage full, would have believed that four out of the six were at the end of their small capital, and in another twelvemonth were to be in the Queen's Bench, in Australia; but so it was—and so it is, and probably will be for years to come.

Aylesbury is a sporting little town; and we drove into the inn yard high in expectation.

"Mr. Scribble's horse!"

No answer.

"What are you going to ride, Scribble?"

"I'm sure I don't know: one of S's, I believe." The devil was assuredly at my eldow.

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Why the deuce don't you buy Brickdust? he'll carry you splendidly; and you've spent half the money in hacking already.'

It was the very shove I wanted to send me up to the mark. Just then Mr. S's man appeared, leading Brickdust. There he stood: his coat a bright bay, with a long tail and black legs, not much the worse for wear; splendid quarters, with a shoulder rather low, but well back, and plenty of length in his neck and head; the latter well put on ; with a full and sensible eye.

"There he is: what a nice-looking horse!" said the last speaker.