SIR, A COMPLAINT. In the midst of all the pleasure and gaiety of Commemoration it may seem out of place for me to ventilate my grievances, and enlarge upon the insults I have received from an ungrateful University; yet, Sir, this is the task I have set myself, and this task I will endeavour conscientiously to perform, especially as I do not speak for myself alone but on behalf of a large class of unhappy beings who have been at various times Founders and Benefactors of the University. Yes, Sir, I am one of those wretched and misguided persons who bequeathed the savings of a careful life to the University of Oxford. Better, far better, would it have been had we thrown our money into the sea, or squandered it on our own pleasures than have left it for the benefit, as we thought, of the University we so deeply loved. For what return have we met with for our bounty? We have become the laughing-stocks of Oxford. The veriest fool can raise a laugh by an allusion to the "Pious Founder"-a laugh which is much greater if the wit happens to be one whose existence at the Univer sity depends on the Scholarship he holds, and which one of us founded. As the unsophisticated inhabitants of the Black Country are supposed to greet a new curate with "eave a brick at 'is 'ead," so the mention of the "Pious Founder" raises a derisive jeer, which, as we are now happily incorporeal beings, is more painful to us than the brickbat of the collier. But our miseries are greatest as Commemoration comes round-“The Commemoration of the Founders and Benefactors of the University"-for so with bitter mocking irony it is called, mockery as cruel as that by which the execution of a Japanese noble is termed the Happy Despatch. How are we commemorated? A Latin speech, not one word of which is intelligible, is read through in the Theatre while the spectators crack jokes, converse audibly, or (if they be of the fair sex) criticise their neighbours' bonnets. And then, worse than all, the remarks that are made on ourselves, as fair ladies are taken round the different colleges and shown the paintings in the Halls; we hear such ejaculations as "What a funny old man !” "What a horrid old creature!" inter The Newdigate Prize Poem entitled The Blast of the Blue Devils,' is withdrawn in deference to the feelings of the successful candidate. As he declines our proffered advertisement, we can only hope our readers will read the poem with the same pleasure which we have received from it. THE SHOTOVER PAPERS, Or, Echoes from Oxford. "Take thy correction mildly, kiss the rod."-SHAKESPEARE, Richard II., A. 5, Sc. 1. VOL. I. October 17th, 1874., NO. VIII. SALUTATIO. BY WASHINGTON IRVING. "He makes no friend who never made a foe."-TENNYSON, Elaine. ONE of the most tickling, dear, mischievous, pleasures of this life is to laugh in one's sleeve-to sit snug in a corner, unnoticed and unknown, and hear the wise men of Gotham, who are profound judges, of horseflesh, pronounce from the style of our work, who are the authors. This listening incog, and receiving a hearty praising over another man's back, is a situation so celestially whimsical, that we have done little else than laugh in our sleeve ever since our first number was published. The University has at last allayed the titillations of curiosity, by fixing on five young gentlemen of literary talents-that is to say, they are equal to the composition of a newspaper squib, a hodge podge criticism, or some such trifle, and may occasionally raise a smile by their effu. sions; but pardon us, sweet sirs, if we modestly doubt your capability of supporting the burden of the "Shotover Papers," and of keeping up a laugh for half-a-year, as we have done, and intend to do until the whole University becomes a community of laughing philosophers like ourselves. We have no intention, however, of undervaluing the abilities of these five young men, whom we verily believe, according to common acceptation, young men of promise. Were we ill-natured we might publish smething that would get our representatives into difficulties; but far be it from us to do anything to the injury of persons to whom we are under such obligations. While they stand before us, we, like little Teucer, behind the sevenfold shield of Ajax, can launch unseen our sportive arrows, which we trust will never inflict a wound, unless, like his, they fly, "heaven directed," to some consciencestruck bosom. Another marvellous great source of pleasure to us is the abuse our work Q has received from several wooden gentle. men, whose censures we covet more than ever we did anything in our lives. The moment we declared open war against folly and stupidity we expected to receive no quarter, and to provoke a confederacy of all the blockheads in the place. For it is one of our indisputable facts, that so soon as you catch a gander by the tail, the whole flock, geese, goslings, one and all, have a fellow-feeling on the occasion and begin to cackle and hiss like so many devils bewitched. As we have a profound respect for these ancient and respectable birds, on the score of their once saving the capitol, we hereby declare that we mean no offence whatever by comparing them to the aforesaid confederacy. We have heard in our walks such criticisms on "Shotover Papers," as almost induced a belief that folly had here, as in the East, her moments of inspired idiotism. Every silly royster has, as if by an instinctive sense of anticipated danger, joined in the cry, and condemned us without mercy. are All is thus as it should be. It would have mortified us very sensibly had we been disappointed in this particular, as we should then have been apprehensive that our shafts had fallen to the ground innocent of the "blood or brains" of a single numskull. Our efforts have been crowned with wonderful success. All the queer fish, the grubs, the flats, the noddies, and the live-oak-and-timber-gentlemen pointing their empty guns at us; and we are threatened with a most puissant confederacy of the "pigmies and cranes," and other "light militia," backed by the heavy armed artillery of dulness and stupidity. The veriest dreams of our most sanguine moments are thus realised. We have no fear of the censures of the wise, the good, or the fair; for they will ever be sacred from our attacks. We reverence the wise, love the good, and adore the fair; we declare ourselves champions in their cause-in the cause of morality-and we throw our gauntlet to all the world besides. J. C. PYTHAGORAS-SMITH. From the Lay of the First Minstrel. By Sir Walter Scott-free, Bart. It was an Oxford Scholar bright, (The sun shone fair on Charsley's Hall,) And he would get him thoroughly tight, For Gilbey'll still be lord of all. Blithely he saw the coming dun, As bright as sun on Charsley's Hall, Alas! his race was well nigh run And Gilbey'll still be lord of all. The dun drinks wine and tastes it well, (The sun shone fair on Charsley's Hall,) Then came Cremation and he fell, So Gilbey'll still be lord of all. (The sun shone fair on Charsley's Hall,) He fell by Gilbey's fiery art, То prove that Gilbey's lord of all. The Scholar spurned the knife and fork, (The sun shone fair on Charsley's Hall,) And cut his throat with Gilbey's cork, So Gilbey'll still be lord of all. The human body is composed of bones and other things. It is used for holding a considerable quantity of blood. Harvey first discovered the circulation of this fluid; he hit upon it while reading the "Shotover Papers," which has the briskest in the world. The circulation of the blood may be illustrated by an interesting experiment : Obtain a large cat. Nail it by its ears to a door. Dissolve the continuity of its principal arteries and insert glass tubes into the orifices produced. The blood will be distinctly seen circulating. It has been demonstrated before the Royal Society that the circulation is quickened by pouring hot sealing-wax down the nape of the neck. It appears that the cat feels no pain. The British Association has decided that the animal's cries proceed from joy at the advancement of Science. Another part of the human frame is the muscles. These, however, are red and uninteresting. Puns are made about them from time to time. The Nerves are the sole instruments for conveying sensations to the brain. This has been repeatedly demonstrated by German and English Physiologists. A rabbit is tied to a post and is divested of its nerves by means of pincers dipped in sulphuric acid. When the operation is completed, it is observed that the animal neither answers to its name nor appears to take any interest in food placed before it. A well-known and profound savant has declared it to be his intention to |