The Doctor, says Ralph, was as good a punch as he was a physician, and after he settled at Uxbridge, in the latter character, where he first opened his _medical budget_, with the proceeds of his Fellowship at King's College alone to depend on, Ralph took advantage of a stay in London to ride over to see his old college chum and fellow-punster, and reached his _domus_ in the Doctor's absence. Ralph's wig was the worse for a shower of rain he had rode through, and, taking it off, desired the Doctor's man, William, to bring him his master's _old grizzle_ to put on, whilst he dried and put a dust of powder into his. But ere this could be accomplished, the Doctor returned, as fine as may be, in his _best tye_, kept especially for visiting his patients in. As soon as mutual greetings had passed, "Why, zounds, Ralph," exclaimed the Doctor, "what a cursed wig you have got on!" "True," said Ralph, taking it off as he spoke, "it is a bad one, and if you will, as I have another with me, I will toss it into the fire." "By all means," said the Doctor, "for, in truth, it is a very _caxon_," and into the _fire_ went the fry. The Doctor now began to skin his legs, and calling his man, William, "Here," said he, taking off his tye, "bring me my old wig." "Mr. Thicknesse has got it," said William. "And where is it, Ralph," said the Doctor, turning upon his visiter. "_Burnt_, as you desired; and this illustrates the spirit of all mankind," said Ralph; "we can see the shabby wig, and feel the pitiful tricks of our friends, overlooking the disorder of our own wardrobes. As Horace says, 'Nil habeo quod agam;'--'mind every body's business but your own.'" Talking of _gunpowder_ reminds me of TWO OTHER SHOOTING ANECDOTES. All who know anything of either Oxford or Cambridge scholars, know well enough, that their _manners_ are not only _well preserved_ at all seasons, but that when they are in a humour for sporting, it is of very little consequence whether other folk preserve their manners or not. When the late eccentric Joshua Waterhouse, B.D. (who was so barbarously murdered a few years since by Joshua Slade, in Huntingdonshire,) was a student of Catherine Hall, Cambridge, of which he became a Fellow, he was a remarkably strong young man, some six feet high, and not easily frightened. He one day went out to shoot with another man of his college, and his favourite dog, Sancho, had just made his first point, when a keeper came up and told Joshua to take himself off, in no very classic English. Joshua therefore declined compliance. Upon this our keeper began to threaten. Joshua thereupon laid his gun aside, and coolly began taking off his coat (or, as the fancy would say, to _peel_,) observing, "I came out for a day's sport, and a day's sport I'll have." Upon which our keeper shot off, leaving Joshua in possession of the field, from which he used to boast he carried off a full bag. At another time A PARTY OF OXONIANS,