the wind, the velocity of their wheels illuming the flinty road with sparks of fire. Two of the tandems were abreast of each other; Wilton Burney and his friend close behind. Just then they came to an angle of the road; on the left hand was a deep pond, indicated, rather than protected, by a light rotten railing; the road to Oxford turned sharply on the right. They had mistaken, or forgotten the turning; in a moment the rattle of the wheels ceased, there was a crash, the rail gave way, and then a heavy splash, as of some weighty substance in the water; the two first tandems, horses and occupants, were suddenly immersed ; the third was upset by coming in collision with a side post. The air resounded with the cries of the drowning men; the plunging of the horses treading them into eternity. The night was awfully dark. Wilton Burney had fallen over the side of his vehicle, when it upset: he fell on to a bank, and his head coming in contact with a butt of timber had stunned him for a minute. When he recovered his consciousness, all was for a moment silent as the grave; then he heard a low groan, and then a feeble struggling and splashing in the water. The groan was the last of his poor friend, who had sat beside him in the tandem when it was overturned. He had fractured his skull against a mile-stone, and died upon the spot; the horses having broken their light harness, disengaged themselves, and fled. Poor Wilton, groping in the dark, drew the lifeless body of his friend from beneath the vehicle on to the bank; the pulse was silent. He felt the heart: it had ceased to beat. He shouted help! help! but save the murmuring echo of his voice, there was no response to his call; he staggered to the edge of the fatal pond, he listened in the hope of hearing some directing signs, whereby he might exert himself to save the sinking in death; but not a struggle nor a sigh met his anxious ear. He felt for the broken rail, and having found it, thrust it forward into the water: he could feel nothing but the wheels of a floating carriage-all, all, he feared, was gone, and for ever, save his own heart!—all of six noble, generous, youthful friends had ceased to vibrate! what was to be done? He was heart-broken in spirit, helpless to himself and his poor friends, alone in the dead of night -a dreadful thought, a wish for death oppressed him. But could he die and leave such a horrible tale involved in mystery? It would be cowardly! all those he lamented, had parents, brothers, sisters, relatives and friends to grieve for their fate and mourn their loss he had none, the cup of affliction could not be drained for him; he was alone in the world, an orphan from his infancy, and yet he alone was saved; such were his thoughts in the overwhelming horror of the scene. He had meditated destruction. He lifted his eyes involuntarily upwards; the pale moon was just emerging from a cloud; a streak of light reflected on the fatal water, and disclosed the horrible certainty of his worst fears. Commingled in death lay carriages, horses, and bodies; the sight seared his eye balls; his brain felt the fluttering rush of blood which terminates in despair; the overcharged heart, struggling for relief of tears, burst forth in agony of expression: he dropt on his knees for the first time in his life. Wilton Burney turned his thoughts to heaven, and found relief in prayer. The religion of the heart, the adoration of the soul, the hallowed confidence of communion with our Creator is the only true religion. Let F F man prescribe his formulas, and consecrate the temple of worship as he may; the voluntary prostration of mind and body is the only worship worthy of the Deity. In the deep anguish of affliction, in the incipient madness of despair, Wilton Burney invoked forgiveness and relief. Almost afraid to supplicate the Power too long neglected, he commenced tremulously and fearfully indistinct; the throat felt parched, and the tongue paralyzed. As he proceeded he gained strength and clearness of perception; a flood of tears, like a refreshing shower upon the desert, came to his relief, and bedewed his earliest invocation; the elasticity of the mind returned-nature resumed her empire o'er the brain--truth opened the portals of virtue to his benighted vision-he sought the altar of sacrifice, and the ascending eloquence of the spirit, poured forth in confidence, produced assurance of forgiveness and redemption. He rose a new man, an altered and a better man; and ere personal relief could arrive to his assistance, he had the firmness of heart to look upon the desolation before him with calmness, and contemplate with pious gratitude, not unalloyed with deepest affliction-his own miraculous preservation. Two, out of six, of the horses engaged in the three tandems having disentangled themselves from their harness, and one of them from drowning, had found their way to Oxford-their arrival in that condition creating the greatest alarm for the safety of the party. Honest old Jessop, the livery man, attended by one of his grooms, set out immediately to learn the result and afford assistance. That some dreadful accident had occurred, he was fully assured by the state in which three of his horses had returned. On the road he met two waggons; in front of the first, sat the melancholy spectre of that once gay spirit, Wilton Burney: his hat was pulled close over his bent forehead, and his handkerchief pressed to his started eyes. The dreadful occurrence spoke for itself in the contents of the waggons: in the first, upon some clean straw lay extended the forms of five manly youths, almost arrived at maturity; the second conveyed the fragments of the broken vehicles and harness, with the carcasses of three fine horses. In this way the mournful procession, led by old Jessop and his man on horseback, reached Oxford just as the industrious tradesmen were opening their shops; the report of such an awful calamity spread with a rapidity that furnished wings to curiosity, and ere they had reached the yet unclosed gates of Brasennose, the crowded state of the high street denoted some dire event which had produced an intensity of anxious feeling and alarm visibly depicted upon every countenance. It would be harrowing to the feeling heart, to relate the painful scenes which followed through all the terrible afflictions of surviving relatives and friends. In mercy to the wounded and the desolate who have had to lament the untimely bereavement of near and dear connections, under similar deprivation, we forbear to pursue the melancholy subject through its subsequent progress to the tomb; suffice it to say, it involved twenty noble families in consanguinity of the deepest grief, and cast a gloom over the city and university of Oxford, which lingered in the memory of living witnesses until their dying day. "SIMILE SIMILI GAUDET." BY GELERT. "We are brethren and fellows in our way of life." "Simile simili gaudet" is a proverb sanctioned by nature-it applies equally to the human as well as brute creation, and its truth is stamped by its antiquity. Perhaps in no stage of human life is its applicability more exemplified than during one's college career; "kindred spirits" are discovered even by the freshman before he has been in residence a fortnight, and under its magnetic influence mere acquaintanceship will ripen into steady and sincere friendship, the bonds of which death alone can sever. Many, many years have passed away since I made my first bow to the Vice-Chancellor of Oxford; and ever, as my thoughts recur to those happy days, do I feel a boyish light-heartedness, which makes me almost wish myself an undergraduate again; aye, an undergraduate again, subject to all the pains of cutting lectures, chapel, and collections-to all the afterclaps of duns, Hughes and Hunt, clinging as they did to those unfortunate men who had taken them to their shoulders, like the old man of the sea to Sinbad the sailor. But these trials and difficulties during one's college-life endured but for a moment: reflection did not go far; and if she conjured up a few clouds to imply that storms were at hand, and that a day of reckoning must come, still the first "kindred spirit" that met one was gifted with the power of laying the storm, and of calling back the sun to shine with his wonted splendour. But I must stick to my text, "Simile Simili gaudet," and barring a sconce which some old friend would inflict for quoting three words of Latin, consecutively, must explain my reason for affixing said quotation to the present article. In the old college to which I belonged, about ten men were to be found who seldom failed, when the hounds were within reach, to breakfast together, hunt afterwards, and wind up the day with a dinner at Dickeson's or Venables'. Similar tastes and pursuits had fraternized the "set;" and a spirit of freemasonry pervaded the whole, that would have done credit to those early Christians who had all things in common. Every thing relating to sport, by field or flood, emanated from one or other of these men; and whatever one proposed was always acceded to and supported by the rest of his party throughout the college. For instance, boating had ceased for some years to be a prominent diversion in the college, and traditions alone remained of the prowess and stamina of its ancient members on the river, when from Iffley Lock the ponderous eight-oar took ten minutes to reach Folly bridge, and the crew instantly jumping ashore bore the great burden to her station in Mother Hall's yard. But these things had gone by: they had been discouraged by the tutors, and had gradually sunk into abeyance. The set to which I allude, and to which I had the happiness to belong, no sooner set the subject afloat, than the whole college hailed with acclamation the prospect of "a place on the river;" and Stephen Davis (poor fellow!) was commissioned to build a boat of the first quality, and to spare neither pains nor expense in turning her out. Never shall I forget the enthusiasm that spread throughout the college when "the racing 8" was launched; every member came cheerfully forward with his contribution, and about 20 men engaged to put themselves into immediate training for the arduous task of competing in a race, the result of which was to shed such glory on the college. It will be gratifying to know that after such a demonstration on the part of all, eight men were picked out who did their duty like men, and contrived to place their boat so well in the Oxford races, that two of the crew were afterwards chosen to pull in the University boat, then matched against Cambridge, in a six-mile race on the Thames, between Westminster and Putney bridges; but in this last race, it is but justice to add, that our two friends' laurels were not increased, though they, as well as the whole crew, did their 66 speedy utmost," and struggled manfully to the end. The love of sporting, especially hunting, was the passion that influenced our party; this all-engrossing subject, whenever broached, awakened a "wild response " in each of our hearts; and many a brilliant run, and many a hair-breadth escape was discussed evening after evening over the social bottle which drew tighter and tighter the bonds of friendship, till we became, ere our little society broke up, like the hosts of Israel-"as one man.' Oh those palmy days of social joy and happiness! when Bicester Windmill or Pusey Furze was the meet, and the long flowing surplice covered over tops and leathers during matins, the very contraband habit giving a zest to the pleasure then the hunt breakfast of beefsteaks, coffee, and beer-cup, fortifying the man, if he needed it, with a spur at both ends: then the riding to cover, not the least agreeable part of the diversion, on a thorough-bred hack, which was led by a rusty-headed, hatless stableman, near the college back-gates, and which carried you to cover, were the distance within 20 miles, within the hour. In referring to the deeds of those days as recorded in my diary, I find none mentioned with greater goût than our sport from Chesterton House; it stands A1 in my list of Oxford runs, and I doubt not, when it meets the eye of any of my contemporaries who were present on that occasion, and saw the finish, it will recall to their minds a scene of joyous and unalloyed happiness. "'Twas on a dark day in December, When the face of all nature looked black; As I cantered along on my hack," Well, it was on one of those dark-grey cloudy mornings in December, when "the sun looks just like a turnip in pea-soup," that our old party, about eight in number, sat down to breakfast in Peter Branksome's rooms, No. 8, two pair of stairs to the right, in college. Jim Dickeson, who bore the cognomen of King of the Cannibal Isles, probably from his strong resemblance to that monarch, had brought in a handsome supply of beefsteaks, a couple of spread-eagles, and two or three tankards of his best " cup." It was a saint's day (a red-letter day in the calendar, and a red-coat day in the college); there were consequently no lectures, and we had arranged to join D.'s hounds at Chesterton House-it was a favourite meet, and sport was expected. Breakfast was scarcely over when two or three outcollege men, booted and spurred, and with weeds in their cheeks, entered the room, declaring it was late, and that they expected to have found us already "gone away." The master of the hounds was known to be punctuality itself, the pet-patch of gorse to be drawn was not an acre, and the field had frequently found, from bitter experience, that if they did not get a good start, they got no start at all. Half-a-dozen tickers were produced at once, time was declared half-past ten, and distance eleven miles. Well, all thought there was no time to spare, and none to lose; so the whole party were in a few minutes mounted, and ganging jollily to cover. The hounds had just reached the scene of action, and were being walked up and down by the huntsman and whips, awaiting the word of command from the master; and such a pack of hounds as D.'s were in those days! What blood, bone, and symmetry did they exhibit! their condition, how blooming! their general appearance, how workmanlike! Good indeed was the fox that could baffle them, or outwit the skill of their general. "Yoi in lads," says the huntsman, as he gave his hounds the wind, and waved his hand significantly towards the gorse: every hound obeyed the signal at once, and disappeared as effectually from sight as though the earth had swallowed them. Ranged on one side of the cover, and close to its edge, stands the field, their animation for a while suppressed, and a silent but earnest expectation depicted in every man's countenance. "Conticuere omnes, intentique ora tenebant." "Yoi at him, Vestris," says Wing-a-head, as the bitch challenged, and again doubled her tongue to announce that Charles Fox was a-foot. "Have at him, Bobadill:" half-a-dozen hounds speak at once, and a crash ensues. "Give him room, gentlemen, or they'll chop him in the long gorse," says Wing-a-head quietly. "Stand still: there he goes!" and giving one nervous, ecstatic shake of the horn, every hound was out of cover in an instant, bristling with life and energy, and well at him. The fox crossed the Gravenall brook, where half the field were at once engulphed; and the lucky half getting over, held their course along those fine grass meadows at a * A foul split down the back, and broiled in that form, is called a spread-eagle in the 'versity. |