the Father of Believers presented the boat to Rafael Mendoza.

It was Rafael Mendoza that saved the Turkish monarchy after the battle
of Nezeeb. By sending three millions of piastres to the Seraskier; by
bribing Colonel de St. Cornichon, the French envoy in the camp of the
victorious Ibrahim, the march of the Egyptian army was stopped--the
menaced empire of the Ottomans was saved from ruin; the Marchioness of
Stokepogis, our ambassador's lady, appeared in a suite of diamonds which
outblazed even the Romanoff jewels, and Rafael Mendoza obtained the
little caique. He never travelled without it. It was scarcely heavier
than an arm-chair. Baroni, the courier, had carried it down to the
Cam that morning, and Rafael had seen the singular sport which we have
mentioned.

The dinner over, the young men rushed from their colleges, flushed,
full-fed, and eager for battle. If the Gown was angry, the Town, too,
was on the alert. From Iffly and Barnwell, from factory and mill, from
wharf and warehouse, the Town poured out to meet the enemy, and their
battle was soon general. From the Addenbrook's hospital to the Blenheim
turnpike, all Cambridge was in an uproar--the college gates closed--the
shops barricaded--the shop-boys away in support of their brother
townsmen--the battle raged, and the Gown had the worst of the fight.

A luncheon of many courses had been provided for Rafael Mendoza at his
inn; but he smiled at the clumsy efforts of the university cooks to
entertain him, and a couple of dates and a glass of water formed his
meal. In vain the discomfited landlord pressed him to partake of the
slighted banquet. "A breakfast! psha!" said he. "My good man, I have
nineteen cooks, at salaries rising from four hundred a year. I can have
a dinner at any hour; but a Town and Gown row" (a brickbat here flying
through the window crashed the caraffe of water in Mendoza's hand)--"a
Town and Gown row is a novelty to me. The Town has the best of it,
clearly, though: the men outnumber the lads. Ha, a good blow! How that
tall townsman went down before yonder slim young fellow in the scarlet
trencher cap."

"That is the Lord Codlingsby," the landlord said.

"A light weight, but a pretty fighter," Mendoza remarked. "Well hit with
your left, Lord Codlingsby; well parried, Lord Codlingsby; claret drawn,
by Jupiter!"

"Ours is werry fine," the landlord said. "Will your Highness have
Chateau Margaux or Lafitte?"

"He never can be going to match