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grew, it seemed to the father as if each day sep- and where we had to pay a shilling a glass for

arated them more and more. He himself became negus!"

more melancholy and silent. His friend the Civilian marked the ennui, and commented on it in his laughing way. Sometimes he announced to the club, that Tom Newcome was in love: then he thought it was not Tom's heart but his liver that was affected, and recommended bluepill. O thou fond fool! who art thou, to know any man's heart save thine alone? Wherefore were wings made, and do feathers grow, but that birds should fly? The instinct that bids you love your nest, leads the young ones to seek a tree and a mate of their own. As if Thomas Newcome by poring over poems or pictures ever so much could read them with Clive's eyes!-as if by sitting mum over his wine, but watching till the lad came home with his latch-key (when the Colonel crept back to his own room in his stockings), by prodigal bounties, by stealthy affection, by any schemes or prayers, he could hope to remain first in his son's heart!

One day going into Clive's study, where the lad was so deeply engaged that he did not hear the father's steps advancing, Thomas Newcome found his son, pencil in hand, poring over a paper, which blushing he thrust hastily into his breast-pocket, as soon as he saw his visitor. The father was deeply smitten and mortified. "I am sorry you have any secrets from me, Clive," he gasped out at length.

The boy's face lighted up with humor. "Here it is, father, if you would like to see :"--and he pulled out a paper which contained neither more nor less than a copy of very flowery verses, about a certain young lady, who had succeeded (after I know not how many predecessors) to the place of prima-donna assoluta in Clive's heart. And be pleased, Madam, not to be too eager with your censure and fancy that Mr. Clive or his Chronicler would insinuate any thing wrong. I daresay you felt a flame or two before you were married yourself: and that the Captain or the Curate, and the interesting young foreigner with whom you danced, caused your heart to beat, before you bestowed that treasure on Mr. Candor. Clive was doing no more than your own son will do, when he is eighteen or nineteen years old, himself if he is a lad of any spirit and a worthy son of so charming a lady as yourself.

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DESCRIBES A VISIT TO PARIS; WITH ACCIDENTS AND
INCIDENTS IN LONDON.

MR. CLIVE, as we have said, had now begun to make acquaintances of his own; and the chimney-glass in his study was decorated with such a number of cards of invitation as made his ex-fellow-student of Gandish's, young Moss, when admitted into that sanctum, stare with respectful astonishment. "Lady Barry Rowe at obe," the young Hebrew read out; "Lady Baughton at obe, dadsig! By eyes! what a tip-top swell you're a gettid to be, Newcome! I guess this is a different sort of business to the hops at old Levison's, where you first learned the polka; VOL. IX.-No. 49.-E

"What a regular swell that Newcome has become!" says Mr. Moss to an old companion, another of Clive's fellow-students: "I saw him riding in the Park with the Earl of Kew, and Captain Belsize, and a whole lot of 'em-I know 'em all--and he'd hardly nod to me. I'll have a

horse next Sunday, and then I'll see whether he'll cut me or not. Confound his airs! For all he's such a count, I know he's got an aunt who lets lodgings at Brighton, and an uncle who'll be preaching in the Bench if he dont keep a precious good look out."

followed painting or any other pursuit: and though Clive saw many of his school-fellows in the world, these entering into the army, others talking with delight of college, and its pleasures or studies; yet, having made up his mind that art was his calling, he refused to quit her for any other mistress, and plied his easel very stoutly. He passed through the course of study prescribed by Mr. Gandish, and drew every cast and statue in that gentleman's studio. Grindly, his tutor, getting a curacy, Clive did not replace him; but he took a course of modern languages, which he learned with con

"Newcome is not a bit of a count," answers Moss's companion, indignantly. "He don't care a straw whether a fellow's poor or rich; and he comes up to my room just as willingly as he would go to a duke's. He is always trying to do a friend a good turn. He draws the figure capitally he looks proud, but he isn't, and is the best-siderable aptitude and rapidity. And now, being natured fellow I ever saw."

"He ain't been in our place this eighteen months," says Mr. Moss: "I know that."

"Because when he came, you were always screwing him with some bargain or other," cried the intrepid Hicks, Mr. Moss's companion for the moment. "He said he couldn't afford to know you; you never let him out of your house without a pin, or a box of Eau de Cologne, or a bundle of cigars. And when you cut the arts for the shop, how were you and Newcome to go on together, I should like to know?"

"I know a relative of his who comes to our 'ouse every three months, to renew a little bill," says Mr. Moss, with a grin: "and I know this, if I go to the Earl of Kew in the Albany, or the Honorable Captain Belsize, Knightsbridge Barracks, they let me in soon enough. I'm told his father ain't got much money."

"How the deuce should I know? or what do I care?" cries the young artist, stamping the heel of his blucher on the pavement. "When I was sick in that confounded Clipstone-street, I know the Colonel came to see me, and Newcome, too, day after day, and night after night. And when I was getting well, they sent me wine and jelly, and all sorts of jolly things. I should like to know how often you came to see me, Moss, and what you did for a fellow ?"

"Well, I kep away, because I thought you wouldn't like to be reminded of that two pound three you owe me, Hicks: that's why I kep away," says Mr. Moss, who, I daresay, was good-natured, too. And when young Moss appeared at the billiard-room that night, it was evident that Hicks had told the story; for the Wardour-street youth was saluted with a roar of queries, "How about that two pound three that Hicks owes you?"

The artless conversation of the two youths will enable us to understand how our Hero's life was speeding. Connected in one way or another with persons in all ranks, it never entered his head to be ashamed of the profession which he had chosen. People in the great world did not in the least trouble themselves regarding him, or care to know whether Mr. Clive Newcome

strong enough to paint without a master, it was found that there was no good light in the house in Fitzroy Square; and Mr. Clive must needs have an atelier hard by, where he could pursue his own devices independently.

If his kind father felt any pang even at this temporary parting, he was greatly soothed and pleased by a little mark of attention on the young man's part, of which his present biographer happened to be a witness; for having walked over with Colonel Newcome to see the new studio, with its tall centre window, and its curtains, and carved wardrobes, china jars, pieces of armor, and other artistical properties, the lad, with a very sweet smile of kindness and affection lighting up his honest face, took one of two Bramah's housekeys with which he was provided, and gave it to his father: "That's your key, sir," he said to the Colonel; "and you must be my first sitter, please, father; for though I'm a historical painter, I shall condescend to do a few portraits, you know." The Colonel took his son's hand, and grasped it; as Clive fondly put the other hand on his father's shoulder. Then Colonel Newcome walked away into the next room for a minute or two, and came back wiping his mustache with his handkerchief, and still holding the key in the other hand. He spoke about some trivial subject when he return

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It is certain the young man worked much better after he had been inducted into this apartment of his own. And the meals at home were gayer; and the rides with his father more frequent and agreeable. The Colonel used his key once or twice, and found Clive and his friend Ridley engaged in depicting a life-guardsman—or a muscular negro-or a Malay from a neighboring crossing, who would appear as Othello, conversing with a Clipstone-street nymph, who was ready to represent Desdemona, Diana, Queen Ellinor (sucking poison from the arm of the Plantagenet of the Blues), or any other model of virgin or maiden excellence.

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ed; but his voice quite trembled; and I thought | a steward to the cabin; half a dozen more dropped his face seemed to glow with love and pleasure. immediately, and the crew bustled about, bringClive has never painted any thing better than that ing basins for the wounded, The Colonel smiled head, which he executed in a couple of sittings; as he saw them fall. I'm an old sailor,' says and wisely left without subjecting it to the chances he to a gentleman on board, As I was coming of further labor. home, Sir, and we had plenty of rough weather on the voyage, I never thought of being unwell. My boy here, who made the voyage twelve years ago last May, may have lost his sea-legs; but for me, Sir- Here a great wave dashed over the three of us; and would you believe it? in five minutes after, the dear old governor was as ill as all the rest of the passengers. When we arrived, we went through a line of ropes to the custom-house, with a crowd of snobs jeering at us on each side; and then were carried off by a bawling commissioner to an hotel, where the Colonel, who speaks French beautifully, you know, told the waiter to get us a petit déjeuner soigné; on which the fellow, grinning, said, ' nice fried sole, Sir-nice mutton chop, Sır,' in regular Temple-bar English; and brought us Harvey sauce with the chops, and the last Bell's Life to amuse us after our luncheon. I wondered if all the Frenchmen read Bell's Life and if all the inns smelt so of brandy-and-water.

Of course our young man commenced as a historical painter, deeming that the highest branch of art, and declining (except for preparatory studies) to operate on any but the largest can

vases.

"We walked out to see the town, which I dare say you know, and therefore shan't describe. We saw some good studies of fishwomen with bare legs; and remarked that the soldiers were very dumpy and small. We were glad when the time came to set off by the diligence; and having the coupé to ourselves, made a very comfortable journey to Paris. It was jolly to hear the postillions crying to their horses, and the bells of the team, and to feel ourselves really in France. We took in provender at Abbeville and Amiens, and were comfortably landed here after about six-andtwenty hours of coaching Didn't I get up the next morning and have a good walk in the Tuil

He painted a prodigious battle-piece of Assaye, with General Wellesley at the head of the 19th dragoons charging the Mahratta Artillery, and sabering them at their guns. A piece of ordnance was dragged into the back-yard, and the Colonel's stud put into requisition to supply studies for this enormous picture. Fred Bayham (a stunning likeness) appeared as the principal figure in the foreground, terrifically wounded, but still of un launted courage, slashing about amidst a group of writhing Malays, and bestriding the body of a dead cab-horse, which Clive painted, until the landlady and rest of the lodgers cried out, and for sanitary reasons the knackers removed the slaughtered charger. So large was this picture that it could only be got out of the great window by means of artifice and coaxing; and its trans-eries? The chestnuts were out, and the statues port caused a shout of triumph among the little all shining; and all the windows of the palace in boys in Charlotte-street. Will it be believed that a blaze. It looks big enough for the king of the the Royal Academicians rejected the Battle of giants to live in. How grand it is! I like the Assaye? The master-piece was so big that Fitz- barbarous splendor of the architecture, and the roy Square could not hold it; and the Colonel ornaments profuse and enormous with which it had thoughts of presenting it to the Oriental Club; is overladen. Think of Louis XVI. with a thoubut Clive (who had taken a trip to Paris with his sand gentlemen at his back, and a mob of yelling father, as a délassement after the fatigues incident ruffians in front of him, giving up his crown withon his great work), when he saw it after a month's out a fight for it; leaving his friends to be butchinterval, declared the thing was rubbish, and mas-ered, and himself sneaking into prison! No end sacred Britons, Malays, Dragoons, Artillery, and

all.

"Hotel de la Terrasse, Rue de Rivoli. April 27-May 1, 183-. "MY DEAR PENDENNIS-You said I might write you a line from Paris: and if you find in my correspondence any valuable hints for the Pall Mall Gazette you are welcome to use them gratis. Now I am here, I wonder I have never been here before; and that I have seen the Dieppe packet a thousand times at Brighton pier without thinking of going on board her. We had a rough little passage to Boulogne. We went into action as we cleared Dover pier, when the first gun was fired, and a stout old lady was carried off by

of little children were skipping and playing in the sunshiny walks, with dresses as bright and cheeks as red as the flowers and roses in the parterres. I couldn't help thinking of Barbaroux and his bloody pikemen swarming in the gardens, and fancied the Swiss in the windows yonder; where they were to be slaughtered when the King had turned his back. What a great man that Carlyle is! I have read the battle in his History' so often, that I knew it before I had seen it. Our windows look out on the obelisk where the guillotine stood. The Colonel doesn't admire Carlyle. He says Mrs. Graham's Letters from Paris' are excellent, and we bought 'Scott's Visit to Paris,' and 'Paris Re-visited,' and read them

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in the diligence. They are famous good reading; | To think I have spent weeks in depicting bony but the Palais Royal is very much altered since Life Guardsmen delivering cut one, or Saint Scott's time: no end of handsome shops; I went George, and painting black beggars off a crossthere directly the same night we arrived, when the Colonel went to bed. But there is none of the fun going on which Scott describes. The laquais de place says Charles X. put an end to it all.

O,

"Next morning the governor had letters to deliver after breakfast; and left me at the Louvre door. I shall come and live here I think. I feel as if I never want to go away. I had not been ten minutes in the place before I fell in love with the most beautiful creature the world has ever seen. She was standing silent and majestic in the centre of one of the rooms of the statue gallery; and the very first glimpse of her struck one breathless with the sense of her beauty. I could not see the color of her eyes and hair exactly, but the latter is light, and the eyes I should think are gray. Her complexion is of a beautiful warm marble tinge. She is not a clever woman, evidently; I do not think she laughs or talks much -she seems too lazy to do more than smile. She is only beautiful. This divine creature has lost an arm which has been cut off at the shoulder, but she looks none the less lovely for the accident. She may be some two-and-thirty years old; and she was born about two thousand years ago. Her name is the Venus of Milo. O, Victrix! lucky Paris! (I don't mean this present Lutetia, but Priam's son.) How could he give the apple to any else but this enslaver-this joy of gods and men at whose benign presence the flowers spring up, and the smiling ocean sparkles, and the soft skies beam with serene light! I wish we might sacrifice. I would bring a spotless kid, snowy-coated, and a pair of doves, and a jar of honey-yea, honey from Morel's in Piccadilly, thyme-flavored, narbonian, and we would acknowledge the Sovereign Loveliness, and adjure the Divine Aphrodite. Did you ever see my pretty young cousin, Miss Newcome, Sir Brian's daughter She has a great look of the huntress Diana. It is sometimes too proud and too cold for me. The blare of those horns is too shrill, and the rapid pursuit through bush and bramble too daring. O, thou generous Venus! O, thou beautiful bountiful calm! At thy soft feet let me kneel-on cushions of Tyrian purple. Don't show this to Warrington, please. I never thought when I began that Pegasus was going to run away with me.

"I wish I had read Greek a little more at school: it's too late at my age; I shall be nineteen soon, and have got my own business; but when we return I think I shall try and read it with Cribs. What have I been doing, spending six months over a picture of Sepoys and Dragoons cutting each other's throats? Art ought not to be a fever. It ought to be a calm; not a screaming bull-fight or a battle of gladiators, but a temple for placid contemplation, wrapt worship, stately rhythmic ceremony, and music solemn and tender. I shall take down my Snyders' and Rubens' when I get home; and turn quietist.

"What a grand thing it is to think of half a mile of pictures at the Louvre! Not but that there are a score under the old pepper-boxes in Trafalgar Square as fine as the best here. I don't care for any Raphael here, as much as our own St. Catharine. There is nothing more grand Could the pyramids of Egypt or the Colossus of Rhodes be greater than our Sebastian; and for our Bacchus and Ariadne, you can not beat the best, you know. But if we have fine jewels, here there are whole sets of them: there are kings and all their splendid courts round about them. J. J. and I must come and live here. O, such portraits of Titian! O, such swells by Vandyke! I'm sure he must have been as fine a gentleman as any he painted! It's a shame they haven't got a Sir Joshua or two. At a feast of painters he has a right to a place, and at the high table too. Do you remember Tom Rogers, of Gandish's? He used to come to my rooms-my other rooms in the Square. Tom is here, with a fine carrotty beard, and a velvet jacket, cut open at the sleeves, to show that Tom has a shirt. I dare say it was clean last Sunday. He has not learned French yet, but pretends to have forgotten English; and promises to introduce me to a set of the French artists, his camarades. There seems to be a scarcity of soap among these young fellows; and I think I shall cut off my mustaches; only Warrington will have nothing to laugh at when I come home.

"The Colonel and I went to dine at the Café de Paris, and afterward to the opera. Ask for huitrés de Marenne when you dine here. We dined with a tremendous French swell, the Vicomte de Florac, officier d'ordonnance to one of the princes, and son of some old friends of my father's. They are of very high birth, but very poor. He will be a duke when his cousin, the Duc d'Ivry, dies. His father is quite old. The vicomte was born in England. He pointed out to us no end of famous people at the opera-a few of the Fauxbourg St. Germain, and ever so many of the present people :-M. Thiers, and Count Molé, and Georges Sand, and Victor Hugo, and Jules Janin-I forget half their names. And yesterday we went to see his mother, Madame de Florac. I suppose she was an old flame of the Colonel's, for their meeting was uncommonly ceremonious and tender. It was like an elderly Sir Charles Grandison saluting a middle-aged Miss Byron. And only fancy! the Colonel has been here once before since his return to England! It must have been last year, when he was away for ten days, while I was painting that rubbishing picture of the Black Prince waiting on King John. Madame de F. is a very grand lady, and must have been a great beauty in her time. There are two pictures by Gerard in her salon-of her and M. de Florac. M. de Florac, old swell, powder, thick eyebrows, hooked nose; no end of stars, ribbons, and embroidery. Madame also in

4

the dress of the Empire-pensive, beautiful, black | own extravagance. At first he thought he might velvet, and a look something like my cousin's. have retired from the army altogether; but after She wore a little old-fashioned brooch yesterday, three years at home, he finds he can not live and said, Voila, la reconnoissez-vous? Last upon his income. When he gets his promotion year when you were here, it was in the country;' as full Colonel, he will be entitled to a thousand and she smiled at him: and the dear old boy a year; that, and what he has invested in India, gave a sort of groan and dropped his head in his and a little in this country, will be plenty for hand. I know what it is. I've gone through it both of us. He never seems to think of my myself. I kept for six months an absurd ribbon making money by my profession. Why, supof that infernal little flirt, Fanny Freeman. Don't pose I sell the Battle of Assaye for £500 that you remember how angry I was when you abused will be enough to carry me on ever so long, her? without dipping into the purse of the dear old father.

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"Your father and I knew each other when we were children, my friend,' the Countess said to me (in the sweetest French accent). He was looking into the garden of the house where they live, in the Rue Saint Dominique. You must come and see me often, always. You remind me of him,' and she added, with a very sweet, kind smile, Do you like best to think that he was better-looking than you, or that you excel him?' I said I should like to be like him. But who is? There are cleverer fellows, I dare say; but where is there such a good one? I wonder whether he was very fond of Madame de Florac? The old Count doesn't show. He is quite old, and wears a pigtail. We saw it bobbing over his garden chair. He lets the upper part of his house; Major-General the Honorable Zeno F. Pokey, of Cincinnati, U. S., lives in it. We saw Mrs. Pokey's carriage in the court, and her footmen smoking cigars there; a tottering old man with feeble legs, as old as old Count de Florac, seemed to be the only domestie who waited on the family below.

"Madame de Florac and my father talked about my profession. The Countess said it was a belle carrière. The Colonel said it was better than the army. Ah oui, Monsieur,' says she, very sadly. And then he said, 'that presently I should very likely come to study at Paris, when he knew there would be a kind friend to watch over son garçon.'

But you will be here to watch over him yourself, mon ami?' says the French lady.

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"Father shook his head. I shall very probably have to go back to India,' he said. My furlough is expired. I am now taking my extra leave. If I can get my promotion, I need not Without that I can not afford to live in Europe. But my absence in all probability will be but very short,' he said. 'And Clive is old enough now to go on without me.'

return.

"Is this the reason why father has been so gloomy for some months past? I thought it might have been some of my follies which made him uncomfortable; and you know I have been trying my best to amend-I have not half such a tailor's bill this year as last. I owe scarcely any thing. I have paid off Moss every halfpenny for his confounded rings and gimcracks. I asked father about this melancholy news as we walked away from Madame de Florac,

"He is not near so rich as we thought. Since he has been at home he says he has spent greatly more than his income, and is quite angry at his

"The Viscount de Florac called to dine with us. The Colonel said he did not care about going out: and so the Viscount and I went together. Trois Frères Provençaux-he ordered the dinner, and of course I paid. Then we went to a little theatre, and he took me behind the scenes-such a queer place! We went to the loge of Mademoiselle Finette, who acted the part of Le petit Tambour,' in which she sings a famous song with a drum. He asked her and several literary fellows to supper at the Café Anglais. And I came home ever so late, and lost twenty Napoleons at a game called Bouillotte, It was all the change out of a twenty-pound note which dear old Binnie gave me before we set out, with a quotation out of Horace you know, about Neque tu choreas sperne puer. Oh me! how guilty I felt as I walked home at ever so much o'clock to the Hotel de la Terrasse, and sneaked into our apartment! But the Colonel was sound asleep. His dear old boots stood sentries at his bedroom door, and I slunk into mine as silently as I could.

"P.S. Wednesday. There's just one scrap of paper left. I have got J. J.'s letter. He has been to the private view of the Academy (so that his own picture is in), and the Battle of Assaye' is refused. Smee told him it was too big. I dare say it's very bad. I'm glad I'm away, and the fellows are not condoling with me.

"Please go and see Mr. Binnie. He has come to grief. He rode the Colonel's horse; came down on the pavement and wrenched his leg, and I'm afraid the gray's. Please look at his legs; we can't understand John's report of them. He, I mean Mr. B., was going to Scotland to see his relations when the accident happened. You know he has always been going to Scotland to see his relations. He makes light of the business, and says the Colonel is not to think of coming to him: and I don't want to go back just yet, to see all the fellows from Gandish's, and the Life Academy, and have them grinning at my misfortune.

"The governor would send his regards I dare say, but he is out, and I am always yours affectionately, "CLIVE NEWCOME.

"P.S. He tipped me himself this morning; isn't he a kind dear old fellow?".

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