1829.] Three Years at Cambridge. 467 
eschewed the Catholics, and had a good opinion of George III. His 
person was as peculiar as his mind, and would have been eminently 
handsome had it not been for a red pimpled nose, on whose volcanic sur- 
face every succeeding week’s tippling threw up a fresh eruption ; a 
mouth from ear to ear; a slight squint, and two legs formed on the prin- 
ciple of mill-posts, with the exception that the thickest part was down- 
wards. Such was Richard Vaughan, who, after a life spent in the service 
of the University, broke his neck at Puckeridge, by a fall from a 
one-horse chaise. He died, as he had lived, drunk : and it is gratify- 
ing to reflect that his last moments were those of an orthodox Christian, 
being spent in the discussion of a glass of brandy and water, cold and 
without sugar. The day of his decease was rendered memorable by my 
first excursion to Newmarket. It wasa fine cool morning in October, and 
as my horses’ hoofs went clattering along the hard flinty road, at the 
rate at least of twelve miles an hour, I thought I had never till then expe- 
rienced true enjoyment. By the time that I reached the heath the racers 
had just started for the Riddlesworth. Gay cavalcades of carriages filled 
with elegantly attired females—groups of Cantabs galloping in every direc- 
tion across the heath in all the pride of youth and health—hundreds of 
pedestrians cheering on their favourite horses—black legs assembled round 
the betting-post, hushed as death in the stillness of intense excitement— 
and, to crown all, a cloudless meridian sun shedding down its mellow 
October radiance on horseman and pedestrian, tandem, chariot, and 
racer—all these combined enchantments lent a grace—a novelty—a fresh- 
ness to the scene, which I, for one, shall never forget. But when the 
horses reached the brow of the hill the interest became inexpressibly 
heightened. A roar like the sound of many waters, or the descent of an 
Alpine avalanche, came up from the assembled multitude; oaths, 
shouts, screams of fear, and peals of laughter, rang aloud in all directions, 
while the high mettled racers, as if inspired by the sound, strained their 
every nerve to gain the goal. By this time they had advanced to within 
a yard of where the umpires had taken their stand. On—on they came, 
bounding forward like a wave, and for a moment all was hushed, as Fanny, 
the favourite of the day, made her last triumphant spring. With foam- 
ing mouth, glaring eye balls, and muscles stretched to the extreme point 
of tension, the generous creature sprung to some distance beyond the 
_ goal, staggered for an instant, made one strong convulsive movement, 
_ and then dropped dead on the course. 
; It is surprising how soon, when the chief heats are over, the heath 
_ becomes deserted. The Newmarket races, unlike those of Epsom or 
Ascot, are matters rather of business than fashion, and when once the 
great sweepstakes are decided, off start the company, some to Cambridge 
and some to Bury, but the majority back into the town, where they ar- 
range their bets, drink success to the turf, and not unfrequently contrive 
_ to acquaint themselves before morning with the sub-tabular proportions 
of the dining room. I was one of those who, immediately the Riddles- 
worth was over, hurried back to the University in order to make due pre- 
arations for the first grand ovation I had yet ventured to give. 
he A Cambridge dinner party! Who that has once witnessed it, can 
forget that Euthanasia of tipple, that Apotheosis of hiccup and huzza? 
Before dinner, the company—more especially the juniors—are much ad~ 
dicted to stiffness and dignity, and, unless properly introduced, will sit 
beside each other a whole hour without speaking. Moreover they inva- 
riably come full-dressed, and, after the cloth is removed; afford, (the 
