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Tracks of a Rolling Stone-Part11_Henry J.Coke(1827-1916)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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acquaintance of some celebrities whom his fascinating and

versatile talents attracted thither. As I shall return to



this later on, I will merely mention here the names of such

men as Thackeray, Tennyson, Frederick Locker, Stirling of



Keir, Tom Taylor the dramatist, Millais, Leighton, and others

of lesser note. Cayley was a member of, and regular



attendant at, the Cosmopolitan Club; where he met Dickens,

Foster, Shirley Brooks, John Leech, Dicky Doyle, and the wits



of the day; many of whom occasionally formed part of our

charming coterie in the house I shared with his father.



Speaking of Tom Taylor reminds me of a good turn he once did

me in my college examination at Cambridge. Whewell was then



Master of Trinity. One of the subjects I had to take up was

either the 'Amicitia' or the 'Senectute' (I forget which).



Whewell, more formidable and alarming than ever, opened the

book at hazard, and set me on to construe. I broke down. He



turned over the page; again I stuck fast. The truth is, I

had hardly looked at my lesson, - trusting to my recollection



of parts of it to carry me through, if lucky, with the whole.

'What's your name, sir?' was the Master's gruff inquiry. He



did not catch it. But Tom Taylor - also an examiner -

sitting next to him, repeated my reply, with the addition,



'Just returned from China, where he served as a midshipman in

the late war.' He then took the book out of Whewell's hands,



and giving it to me closed, said good-naturedly: 'Let us

have another try, Mr. Coke.' The chance was not thrown away;



I turned to a part I knew, and rattled off as if my first

examiner had been to blame, not I.



CHAPTER X

BEFORE dropping the curtain on my college days I must relate



a little adventure which is amusing as an illustration of my

reverend friend Napier's enthusiastic spontaneity. My own



share in the farce is a subordinate matter.

During the Christmas party at Holkham I had 'fallen in love,'



as the phrase goes, with a young lady whose uncle (she had

neither father nor mother) had rented a place in the



neighbourhood. At the end of his visit he invited me to

shoot there the following week. For what else had I paid him



assiduous attention, and listened like an angel to the

interminable history of his gout? I went; and before I left,



proposed to, and was accepted by, the young lady. I was

still at Cambridge, not of age, and had but moderate means.



As for the maiden, 'my face is my fortune' she might have

said. The aunt, therefore, very properly pooh-poohed the



whole affair, and declined to entertain the possibility of an

engagement; the elderly gentleman got a bad attack of gout;



and every wire of communication being cut, not an obstacle

was wanting to render persistence the sweetest of miseries.



Napier was my confessor, and became as keen to circumvent the

'old she-dragon,' so he called her, as I was. Frequent and



long were our consultations, but they generally ended in

suggestions and schemes so preposterous, that the only result



was an immoderate fit of laughter on both sides. At length

it came to this (the proposition was not mine): we were to



hire a post chaise and drive to the inn at G-. I was to

write a note to the young lady requesting her to meet me at



some trysting place. The note was to state that a clergyman

would accompany me, who was ready and willing to unite us



there and then in holy matrimony; that I would bring the

licence in my pocket; that after the marriage we could confer



as to ways and means; and that - she could leave the REST to

me.



No enterprise was ever more merrily conceived, or more

seriously undertaken. (Please to remember that my friend was



not so very much older than I; and, in other respects, was

quite as juvenile.)






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