lead from him, closely pressed by Corfe, and Upcher also passed Jeffreys. Round the last corner Wilson faltered, and Corfe took the lead and maintained it by a yard until 70 yards from home. Then he was again collared by Wilson, who got in front and led to within 5 yards of the post, where he fell, apparently run clean out; Corfe passed him, but tiring to nothing, he in his turn was caught by Upcher on the post and beaten by a yard. The time was 533 sec. As will be gathered from the brief description given above, the race throughout was a grand spectacle of pluck and pace. I was astonished at the result, as Corfe seemed to me the strongest man of the four. My impression is that the race was run too slow for him. Had Jeffreys cut the work out faster at the beginning, I think Corfe would have won; but as the race was run, Wilson remaining fresh till the last 150 yards, was enabled by his fine turn of speed to run Corfe down, and then, not staying to the end, he let up Upcher. The Light Blue have great reason to congratulate themselves in possessing two such grand quarter-ofa-mile runners as Ridley and Upcher, both eligible for next year, and Oxford will have to find a very good man to divide them.

The next event, the Broad Jump, was anticipated with very great interest by both sides, as it was known that the contest would be very close. For Oxford there appeared F. O. Philpott, St. Edmund's Hall, the hurdle-racer, and J. Brookes, of Pembroke. For Cambridge the apparently indefatigable champions Waltham and Phelps. Waltham had won at Cambridge with 19 ft. 7 in., and Phelps had been known to jump well over 20 ft. Philpott, at Oxford, had jumped 20 ft. 7 in. None of them seemed in form at first, but at his third jump Waltham covered 19 ft. 3 in. Philpott could not beat it until his very last try, when he seemed to get into his own style, and made a very fine jump of 19 ft. 6 in. Waltham, however, not to be beaten, and encouraged, no doubt, by the knowledge that he had three more trials, and that the odd event depended on it, went well

at it and cleared 20 ft. 8 in., and that, too, from a bad take off. This event gave the Light Blue the victory, and the cheering of the Cantabs, as may be imagined, was loud and long. Before I pass on to the last and greatest event of the meeting, let me ask those who read this account, and who do not understand athletics from experience derived in practice, whether they appreciate what a wide jump of over 20 ft. is? Let them get up in their drawing-rooms and measure out 20 feet on the floor, and they will be inclined to say, is it possible that a man has cleared that at one bound? Yes, and two feet more. Wonderful as it may seem, A. C. Toswill, of Oriel, Oxford, the Dark Blue champion of last year, though debarred by too long residence from representing them on this occasion, jumped, in the Oxford Games this year, twenty-two feet turo inches. Harrow boys take you with pride to show one or two of Buller and Maitland's mythical jumps; Rugby still shows over 21 feet, jumped by C. Bowen more than thirteen years ago. Little and Roupell raised the University standard of high jumping from 5 ft. 3 in. to 5 ft. 9 in.; but the name of Toswill, of Oriel, must for the present, and will perhaps for some years, be recorded as the only amateur who has beaten 22 feet.

The Three Miles, the long race! I always feel sad when the men start, because I know that my afternoon's enjoyment is nearly over, and that the cheers which greet the winner will recal me from my dreams of the past to the realities of a life full of occupations totally unconnected with Athletics.

The only man of the six competitors who had appeared before was J. H. Morgan, of Trinity, Oxford, whose wonderful performance in 1868 will be in the recollection of so many. The other Oxford competitors to the post were K. A. Deakin, of St. John's, and E. Ashmead Bartlett, of St. Mary's Hall. The Cambridge men were T. T. Paine and L. R. Whigham, both of Trinity, and G. Henderson, of Pembroke. The three miles at the two Universities were run in exactly the same time, 15 min. 58 sec.; but if from this

coincidence a spark of hope was kindled in any Cambridge breast that they were going to see a race, the first two laps told them that they were indeed doomed to disappointment. Race there was none, for Morgan went off with the lead, and although for a time some of the men stuck to him, and Paine, in the second mile, made most gallant efforts to do so, it was all of no avail; he went farther and farther ahead, and apparently faster and faster as he went, until he won by 28 secs. from Paine, who was quite as far ahead of Bartlett, the third man. The time of the winner was 15 min. 34 sec. Of Morgan's running it is impossible to speak too highly. I can simply repeat what was said last year, 'It must be seen to be appreciated.' He finished, on this occasion, fresh as ever, and, in fact, seemed to treat the whole affair as a mere exercise trot. Paine ran a most plucky race, but he met a man far too good for him; in fact, there are few professionals who could beat Morgan at three miles.

So ended the Games in 1869, Cambridge again securing a good victory, having gained five events against three won by Oxford, and one being a dead heat. Once only since these games were established in 1864, has Oxford claimed the victory, though this year she seemed to hold it in her hands. In 1864 each University won four events; in 1865 Cambridge six against Oxford three; in 1866 Cambridge five against Oxford three, there being one dead heat; in 1867 Cambridge six and Oxford three; and in 1868 Oxford five against Cambridge four. In all, Cambridge has won on four occasions, Oxford on one, and one drawn.

The judges this year were again men renowned in old University athletic sports, namely, the Hon. F. G. Pelham, formerly of Trinity, Cambridge, who ran for his University in the hundred yards in 1865 and in the quarter in 1865, 1866, and 1867. The other was the Earl of Jersey, of Balliol, Oxford, who represented his University in the mile and two miles in 1865. The referee was P. M. Thornton, of Jesus College, Cambridge, who ran for the

VOL. XV.-NO. LXXXIX.

Light Blue in the quarter and mile in 1864. He, moreover, is rightly regarded as in very truth the virtual founder, though not the originator, of athletic games at his University. All the races were most admirably started by A. W. Lambert, of St. John's, Cambridge, who ran in the quarter of a mile last year.

The Public Schools were very badly represented this year compared with previous years, Eton claiming only Royds and SomersSmith, Harrow the great Morgan, Charterhouse Cooper. Upcher comes from Rossall, Wilson from Durham, Laing from Blackheath, Scott from Brighton College, and Shelton from Guildford.

I am in hopes soon to see two more contests added to the programme, viz., a walking race and pole jumping. That they both would produce great competition will not, I think, be denied, and they commend themselves to the notice of the committees as being so extensively practised at both Universities.

High pole-jumping, when well executed, is perhaps the neatest exercise ever witnessed in athletic sports; nor need any objection be raised to lengthening the programme, for it is not too long at present, and by beginning with the walking race at one P.M. the whole time would not be really increased.

Before I bid farewell for another interval to the contests which I have been for the last few years permitted to chronicle in these pages, let me enter my humble protest against the tone and spirit of articles that have lately appeared in some of the newspapers to the effect that the widespread practice of athletic pursuits at our colleges and schools is injuring the intellectual capacities and scholastic attainments of Young England. Of course when recreations of so fascinating a nature have received such a re-enforcement as has lately occurred at the two Universities, and in London, by reason of the facilities previously unknown which are now afforded for their practice, there is the danger that (for a time) there may be a little excess in their pursuit. But I challenge any one to prove that the

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standard of University scholarship and learning has in any way become lower since the establishment of these contests; and I deny that mental culture or intellectual pursuits are cared for less than in former years. Moreover, any temporary excess at present arising from the novelty of the pursuits and the recent progress they have made will soon pass away, and there will remain the great benefits that always accrue to a nation from the fact that her young men exercise their bodies as well as their minds by system and not at random. As far as I have seen-and I have endeavoured to observe carefully-I see that these pursuits have gone far to empty the billiard-rooms of our towns; they have put an end to

the card-playing at the small hours of the night, and the mid-day wineparties got up to kill time; they have given to the hard-worked and preoccupied reading man a ready means of clearing his head and of changing the objectless routine of a walk for the advantage of a systematized course of exercise, without trenching on the precious hours of his studies. Nor is this all. I believe they have gone far to make our youth more manly, more noble, and more good-hearted. If I am right in my views, and if, as I think, this influence for good is likely to continue, such meetings as that I have attempted to describe are worthy of the support, patronage, and assistance of every right-thinking Englishman.

D. D. R.

IN the mean time, while Dick Stan

more is hugging himself in the warm atmosphere of hope, while Lord Bearwarden hovers on the brink of a stream in which he narrowly escaped drowning long ago, while Tom Ryfe is plunged in depths of anxiety, jealousy, and humiliation, that scorch like liquid fire, Miss Bruce's dark eyes, and winning, wilful ways, have kindled the torch of mistrust and discord between two people of whom she has rarely seen the one and never heard of the other.

Mr. Bargrave's chambers in Gray's Inn were at no time more remarkable for cleanliness than other like apartments in the same locality; but the dust lies inch-thick now in all places where dust can lie, because that Dorothea, more moping and tearful than ever, has not the heart to clean up, no nor even to wash her own hands and face in the afternoon, as heretofore.

She loves her 'Jim,' of course, all the more passionately that he makes her perfectly miserable, neglecting her for days together, and when they do meet, treating her with an indifference far more lacerating than any amount of cruelty or open scorn.

Not that he is always good-humoured. On the contrary, Gentleman Jim,' as they call him, has lost much of the rollicking, devil-maycare recklessness that earned his nickname, and is often morose now -sometimes even fierce and savage to brutality.

The poor woman has had a quarrel with him, not two hours ago, originating, it is but fair to state, in her own extremely irritating conduct regarding beer, Jim being anxious to treat his ladye-love with that fluid for the purpose, as he said, of 'drowning unkindness,' and possibly with the further view of quenching an inconvenient curiosity she has lately indulged about his movements. No

man likes to be watched; and the more reason the woman he is betraying has to doubt him, the less patience he shows for her anxiety, the less he tolerates her inquiries, her jealousy, or her reproaches.

Now Dorothea's suspicions, sharpened by affection, have of late grown extremely wearisome, and Jim has been heard to threaten, more than once, that if so be as she doesn't mend her manners, and live conformable, he'll take an' hook it, he will, blessed if he won't!'-a dark saying which sinks deeply and painfully into the forlorn one's heart. When, therefore, instead of drinking her share, as usual, of a foaming quart measure containing beer, dashed with something stronger, this poor thing set it down untasted, and forthwith began to cry, the cracksman's anger knew no bounds.

'Drop it!' he exclaimed, brutally. 'You'd best, I tell ye! D'ye think I want my blessed drink watered with your blessed nonsense? What's come to ye, ye contrairy devil? I thought I'd larned ye better. I'll see if I can't larn ye still. Would ye now!'

It was almost a blow,-such a push as is the next thing to actual violence, and it sent her staggering from the sloppy bar at which their altercation took place against a bench by the wall, where she sat down pale and gasping, to the indignation of a slatternly woman nursing her child, and the concern of an honest coal heaver, who had a virago of a wife at home.

'Easy, mate!' expostulated that worthy, putting his broad frame between the happy pair. 'Hold on a bit, an' give her a drop when she comes to. She'd a' throwed her arms about your neck a while ago, an' now she'd as soon knife ye as look at ye.'

Wild-eyed and pale, Dorothea glared round, as Clytemnestra may have glared when her hand rested on the fatal axe; but this Holborn Agamemnon did not seem destined to fall by a woman's blow, inasmuch as the tide was effectually turned by another woman's interference.

The slatternly lady, shouldering her child, as a soldier does his fire

lock, thrust herself eagerly forward.

'Knife him!' she exclaimed, with a most unfeminine execration. 'I'd knife him, precious soon, if it was me, the blessed willen! To take an' use a woman like that there-a nasty, cowardly, sneakin', ugly, tallow-faced beast!'

Had it not been for the imputation on his beauty, Dorothea might perhaps have blazed out in open rebellion, or remained passive in silent sulks; but to hear her Jim, the flash man of a dozen gin-shops, the beloved of a score of rivals, called 'ugly,' was more than flesh and blood could endure. She turned fiercely on her auxiliary and gave battle at once.

Keep

And who arst you to interfere, mem, if I may wenture to make the inquiry?' said she, with that polite but spasmodic intonation that denotes the approaching row. yerself to yerself, if you please, mem. And I'll thank ye not to go for to come between me and my young man, not till you've got a young man of your own, mem, and if you'd like to walk out, there's the door, mem, and don't you try for to give me none o' your sauce, for I'm not a-goin' to put up with it.'

The slatternly woman ran her guns out and returned the broadside with promptitude.

'Door, indeed! you poor wheyfaced drab, you dare to say the word door to me, a respectable woman, as Mister Tripes here knows me well, and have a score against me behind that there wery door as you disgraces, and as it's you as ought to be t'other side, you ought, for it's out of the streets as you come, well I knows, an' say another word, and I'll take that there bonnet off of your head, and chuck it into them streets and you arter it. Oh dear! oh dear! that ever I should be spoke to like this here, and my master out o' work a month come Toosday, and this here gentleman standing by; but I'll set my mark on ye, if I get six months for it-I will!'

Thus speaking, or rather screaming, and brandishing her baby, as the Gonfaloniere waves his gon alon, the slatternly woman, swelling into

a fury for the nonce, made a dive at Dorothea, which, but for the interposition of this here gentleman,' as she called the coalheaver, might have produced considerable mischief. That good man, however, took a deal of weathering,' as sailors say, and ere either of the combatants could get round his bulky person, the presence of a policeman at the door warned them that ordeal by battle had better be deferred till a more fitting opportunity. They burst into tears therefore, simultaneously, and the dispute ended, as such disputes often do, in a general reconciliation, cemented by the consumption of much exciseable fluid, some of it at the expense of the philanthropic coalheaver, whose simple faith involved a persuasion that the closest connection must always be preserved between good-fellowship and beer.

After these potations, it is not surprising that the slatternly woman should have found herself, baby and all, under the care of the civil power at a police-station, or that Gentleman Jim and his ladyelove should have adjourned to sober themselves in the steaming gallery of a playhouse.

Behold them, then, wedged into a front seat, Dorothea's bonnet hanging over the rail, Jim's gaudy handkerchief bulging with oranges, both spectators too absorbed in the action of the piece to realize its improbabilities, and the woman thoroughly identifying herself with the character and fortunes of its heroine.

The theatre is small, but the audience if not select are enthusiastic; the stage is narrow, but affords room for a deal of strutting and striding about on the part of an overpowering actor in the inevitable belt and boots of the melodramatic highwayman. The play represents certain startling passages in the career of one Claude Duval, formerly a running footman, afterwardsstrange anomaly!-a robber on horseback, distinguished for polite manners and bold riding.

In

This remarkable person has a wife, devoted to him of course. the English drama all wives are

good; in the French all are bad, and people tell you that a play is the reflection of real life. Besides this dutiful spouse, he cherishes an attachment for a young lady of high birth and aristocratic (stage) manners. She returns his tenderness, as it is extremely natural a young person so educated and brought up would return that of a criminal, who has made an impression on her heart by shooting her servants, rifling her trunks, and forcing her to dance a minuet with him on a deserted heath under a harvest moon.

This improbable incident affords a favourite scene, in which Dorothea's whole soul is absorbed, and to which Jim devotes an earnest attention, as of one who weighs the verisimilitude of an illustration, that he may accept the purport of the parable it conveys.

Dead servants (in profusion), struggling horses, the coach upset, and the harvest moon, are depicted in the back scene, which represents besides an illimitable heath, and a gibbet in the middle distance: all this under a glare of light, as indeed it might well be, for the moon is quite as large as the hind-wheel of the coach.

In the foreground are grouped, the hero himself, a comic servant with a red nose and a fiddle, an open trunk, and a young lady in travelling costume, viz., white satin shoes, paste diamonds, ball-dress, and lace veil. The tips of her fingers rest in the gloved hand of her assailant, whose voice comes deep and mellow through the velvet mask he wears.

'My preservier!' says the lady, a little inconsequently, while her fingers are lifted to the mask and saluted with such a smack as elicits a 'hooray!' from some disrespectful urchin at the back of the pit.

To presurrve beauty from the jeer of insult, the grasp of vie-olence is my duty and my prow-fession. To adore it is my ree-ligion-and my fate!' replies the gallant highwayman, contriving with some address to retain his hold of the lady's hand, though encumbered by spurs, a sword, pistols, a mask, and an enormous three-cornered hat.