SPORT AT THE VARSITIES 149 



that he had earned his reward, handed him over the five 

 shillings. 



Amongst the odd sporting characters in Cambridge in 

 my time was old Callaby, who kept a " fancy establish- 

 ment " in Ram Yard. There was always a badger on the 

 premises for " gents' dogs " to display their prowess in 

 " drawing " ; rats, too, were always in stock for those who 

 enjoyed the noble sport of watching a terrier slaughter the 

 terrified rodents; there was a raven who was a perfect 

 marvel of cunning and wickedness, and whom Callaby 

 would back to kill rats against most dogs. But the most 

 pitiable and remarkable object in this strange menagerie 

 was a forlorn and dilapidated eagle, whose melancholy fate 

 it was to afford sport to foolish human fledglings by slaying 

 rats. I think I have never seen a more pathetic sight than 

 that eagle as he looked round with an air of shame and 

 humiliation on the thoughtless boys who had come to 

 witness his degradation. So must blind Samson have 

 looked when he made sport for the Philistines. 



I shall never forget old Callaby's rage when one morning 

 a band of us, filled with the spirit of mischief, raided his 

 den and set loose the whole menagerie in the yard. Dogs, 

 cats, rats, ferrets, weasels, gamecocks, the badger, the raven, 

 and the eagle all suddenly found themselves mixed up, 

 and there was a general melee, the din of which speedily 

 brought old Callaby on the scene in a state bordering upon 

 frenzy. I thought he would have shot some of us in his 

 rage, for he picked up a loaded rifle — there was a shooting- 

 gallery attached to the den — and for a moment he looked 

 as if he seriously meant homicide. However, he was 

 eventually pacified and his ruffled feelings soothed by coin 

 of the realm. But it " arrides me " now, as Elia would 

 have said, to call up the picture of that motley crowd of 

 birds and beasts, hereditary foes, all suddenly and without 

 warning thrown face to face. The eagle alone preserved 

 his dignity, and stood in the centre of the screaming mass 

 in disdainful silence. 



Another noted character, too, was the ostler of the Blue 

 Boar — Hills, I think his name was — who, though very stout, 

 was an extraordinary sprinter. He used to tuck his 



