mutinous individual, looking as
blackhearted as he really was, audaciously shouted, "Where am _I_ to sit?"
But the privy council, incensed by his disloyalty, unanimously opened the
door, and kicked him into the inside. He had all the inside places
to himself; but such is the rapacity of ambition, that he was still
dissatisfied. "I say," he cried out in an extempore petition, addressed to
the emperor through the window, "how am I to catch hold of the reins?" "Any
how," was the answer; "don't trouble _me_, man, in my glory; through the
windows, through the key-holes--how you please." Finally this contumacious
coachman lengthened the checkstrings into a sort of jury-reins,
communicating with the horses; with these he drove as steadily as may be
supposed. The emperor returned after the briefest of circuits; he descended
in great pomp from his throne, with the severest resolution never to
remount it. A public thanksgiving was ordered for his majesty's prosperous
escape from the disease of a broken neck; and the state-coach was dedicated
for ever as a votive offering to the god Fo, Fo--whom the learned more
accurately called Fi, Fi.

A revolution of this same Chinese character did young Oxford of that era
effect in the constitution of mail-coach society. It was a perfect French
revolution; and we had good reason to say, _Ca ira_. In fact, it soon
became _too_ popular. The "public," a well known character, particularly
disagreeable, though slightly respectable, and notorious for affecting the
chief seats in synagogues, had at first loudly opposed this revolution;
but when the opposition showed itself to be ineffectual, our disagreeable
friend went into it with headlong zeal. At first it was a sort of race
between us; and, as the public is usually above thirty, (say generally from
thirty to fifty years old,) naturally we of young Oxford, that averaged
about twenty, had the advantage. Then the public took to bribing, giving
fees to horse-keepers, &c., who hired out their persons as warming-pans on
the box-seat. _That_, you know, was shocking to our moral sensibilities.
Come to bribery, we observed, and there is an end to all morality,
Aristotle's, Cicero's, or anybody's. And, besides, of what use was it?
For _we_ bribed also. And as our bribes to those of the public being
demonstrated out of Euclid to be as five shillings to sixpence, here
again young Oxford had the advantage. But the contest was ruinous to
the principles of the