~117~~
Hugh to the college gate repair'd,
And ask'd for Jones;--the porter stared!
"Jones! Sir," quoth he, "discriminate:
Of Mr. Joneses there be eight."
"Ay, but 'tis David Jones," quoth Hugh;
Quoth porter, "We've six Davids too."
"Cot's flesh!" cries Morgan, "cease your mockings,
My David Jones wears worsted stockings!"
Quoth porter, "Which it is, Heaven knows,
For all the eight wear worsted hose."
"My Cot!" says Hugh, "I'm ask'd to dine
With cousin Jones, and quaff his wine."
"That one word 'wine' is worth a dozen,"
Quoth porter, "now I know your cousin;
The wine has stood you, sir, in more stead
Than David, or the hose of worsted;
You'll find your friend at number nine--
We've but one Jones that quaffs his wine."
All these particulars I gleaned from the rapid delivery of the Welsh
rector, who betrayed no little anxiety to discover if I was of the
university; how long I had been matriculated; what was my opinion of the
schools, and above all, if the same system of extravagance was pursued
by the students, and under-graduates. Too cautious to confess myself a
freshman, I was therefore compelled to close the inquiry with a simple
negative to his early questions, and an avowal of my ignorance in the
last particular.
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