BEFORE dropping the curtain on my college days I must relatea little adventure which is amusing as an illustration of myreverend friend Napier's enthusiastic spontaneity. My ownshare 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 hadneither father nor mother) had rented a place in theneighbourhood. At the end of his visit he invited me toshoot there the following week. For what else had I paid himassiduous attention, and listened like an angel to theinterminable history of his gout? I went; and before I left,proposed to, and was accepted by, the young lady. I wasstill at Cambridge, not of age, and had but moderate means.

　　As for the maiden, 'my face is my fortune' she might havesaid. The aunt, therefore, very properly pooh-poohed thewhole affair, and declined to entertain the possibility of anengagement; the elderly gentleman got a bad attack of gout;and every wire of communication being cut, not an obstaclewas 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 andlong were our consultations, but they generally ended insuggestions and schemes so preposterous, that the only resultwas an immoderate fit of laughter on both sides. At lengthit came to this (the proposition was not mine): we were tohire a post chaise and drive to the inn at G-. I was towrite a note to the young lady requesting her to meet me atsome trysting place. The note was to state that a clergymanwould accompany me, who was ready and willing to unite usthere and then in holy matrimony; that I would bring thelicence in my pocket; that after the marriage we could conferas to ways and means; and that - she could leave the REST tome.

　　No enterprise was ever more merrily conceived, or moreseriously undertaken. (Please to remember that my friend wasnot so very much older than I; and, in other respects, wasquite as juvenile.)Whatever was to come of it, the drive was worth the venture.

　　The number of possible and impossible contingencies providedfor kept us occupied by the hour. Furnished with a well-filled luncheon basket, we regaled ourselves and fortifiedour courage; while our hilarity increased as we neared, orimagined that we neared, the climax. Unanimously we repeatedDr. Johnson's exclamation in a post chaise: 'Life has notmany things better than this.'

　　But where were we? Our watches told us that we had been twohours covering a distance of eleven miles.

　　'Hi! Hullo! Stop!' shouted Napier. In those days posthorses were ridden, not driven; and about all we could see ofthe post boy was what Mistress Tabitha Bramble saw ofHumphrey Clinker. 'Where the dickens have we got to now?'

　　'Don't know, I'm sure, sir,' says the boy; 'never was inthese 'ere parts afore.'

　　'Why,' shouts the vicar, after a survey of the landscape, 'ifI can see a church by daylight, that's Blakeney steeple; andwe are only three miles from where we started.'

　　Sure enough it was so. There was nothing for it but to stopat the nearest house, give the horses a rest and a feed, andmake a fresh start, - better informed as to our topography.

　　It was past four on that summer afternoon when we reached ourdestination. The plan of campaign was cut and dried. Icalled for writing materials, and indicted my epistle asagreed upon.

　　'To whom are you telling her to address the answer?' asked myaccomplice. 'We're INCOG. you know. It won't do for eitherof us to be known.'

　　'Certainly not,' said I. 'What shall it be? White? Black?

　　Brown? or Green?'

　　'Try Browne with an E,' said he. 'The E gives anaristocratic flavour. We can't afford to risk ourrespectability.'

　　The note sealed, I rang the bell for the landlord, desiredhim to send it up to the hall and tell the messenger to waitfor an answer.

　　As our host was leaving the room he turned round, with hishand on the door, and said:

　　'Beggin' your pardon, Mr. Cook, would you and Mr. Napeerplease to take dinner here? I've soom beatiful lamb chops,and you could have a ducklin' and some nice young peas toyour second course. The post-boy says the 'osses is prettynigh done up; but by the time - '

　　'How did you know our names?' asked my companion.

　　'Law sir! The post-boy, he told me. But, beggin' yourpardon, Mr. Napeer, my daughter, she lives in Holkhamwillage; and I've heard you preach afore now.'

　　'Let's have the dinner by all means,' said I.

　　'If the Bishop sequesters my living,' cried Napier, withsolemnity, 'I'll summon the landlord for defamation ofcharacter. But time's up. You must make for the boat-house,which is on the other side of the park. I'll go with you tothe head of the lake.'

　　We had not gone far, when we heard the sound of anapproaching vehicle. What did we see but an open carriage,with two ladies in it, not a hundred yards behind us.

　　'The aunt! by all that's - !'

　　What - I never heard; for, before the sentence wascompleted, the speaker's long legs were scampering out ofsight in the direction of a clump of trees, I following ashard as I could go.

　　As the carriage drove past, my Friar Lawrence was lying in aditch, while I was behind an oak. We were near enough todiscern the niece, and consequently we feared to berecognised. The situation was neither dignified norromantic. My friend was sanguine, though big ardour wasslightly damped by the ditch water. I doubted the expediencyof trying the boat-house, but he urged the risk of herdisappointment, which made the attempt imperative.

　　The padre returned to the inn to dry himself, and, in duecourse, I rejoined him. He met me with the answer to mynote. 'The boat-house,' it declared, 'was out of thequestion. But so, of course, was the POSSIBILITY of CHANGE.

　　We must put our trust in PROVIDENCE. Time could make NOdifference in OUR case, whatever it might do with OTHERS.

　　SHE, at any rate, could wait for YEARS.' Upon the whole theresult was comf............