CHAPTER IV

CAMBRIDGE (_Continued_)


In these years of all-round training Cambridge was doing for Charles Dilke
what it has done for hundreds of other young men. The exceptional in his
case sprang from the tie which linked this young athlete to the old
scholar who, in his library at Sloane Street, or among his flowers at
Alice Holt, was ceaselessly preoccupied with detail of the undergraduate's
life and work. From the first there was a pathos in his eagerness to
follow and understand all the minutiae of an unfamiliar scene. At the
close of Charles Dilke's first term he wrote (December 1st, 1862):

"Your letter gave me great pleasure, as indeed for one reason or
another, or for no reason if you please, your letters always do;
though not being a Cambridge man, I am at times a little puzzled....
What a bore I shall be after the 13th with my endless enquiries."

Ten days later he is jubilant over the results of the college examination
which closed the first term:

"Hurrah! hurrah! my dear grandson. Ninety-seven out of a hundred--
eleven above the second 'man'--is a position that would satisfy a
whole family of loving friends, even if they were all grandfathers."

After every college examination the grandson sent lists of results,
compiled with elaborate detail. The grandfather studied them, treasured
them, compared them, wanted to know why this man had fallen back, how the
other had advanced, and always with the same warm outflow of sympathy and