h the quiet of those old men, creeping along in their black gowns
under the ancient arches yonder, whose struggle of life was over, whose
hope and noise and bustle had sunk into that grey calm. There was Thomas
Newcome arrived at the middle of life, standing between the shouting boys
and the tottering seniors and in a situation to moralise upon both, had
not his son Clive, who espied him, come jumping down the steps to greet
his sire. Clive was dressed in his very best; not one of those four
hundred young gentlemen had a better figure, a better tailor, or a neater
boot. Schoolfellows, grinning through the bars, envied him as he walked
away; senior boys made remarks on Colonel Newcome's loose clothes and
long moustaches, his brown hands and unbrushed hat. The Colonel was
smoking a cheroot as he walked; and the gigantic Smith, the cock of the
school, who happened to be looking majestically out of the window, was
pleased to say that he thought Newcome's governor was a fine
manly-looking fellow.

"Tell me about your uncles, Clive," said the Colonel, as they walked on
arm in arm.

"What about them, sir?" asks the boy. "I don't think I know much."

"You have been to stay with them. You wrote about them. Were they
kind to you?"

"Oh, yes, I suppose they are very kind. They always tipped me: only you
know when I go there I scarcely ever see them. Mr. Newcome asks me the
oftenest--two or three times a quarter when he's in town, and gives me a
sovereign regular."

"Well, he must see you to give you the sovereign," says Clive's
father, laughing.

The boy blushed rather.

"Yes. When it's time to go back to Smithfield on a Saturday night, I go
into the dining-room to shake hands, and he gives it to me; but he don't
speak to me much, you know, and I don't care about going to Bryanstone
Square, except for the tip (of course that's important), because I am
made to dine with the children, and they are quite little ones; and a
great cross French governess, who is always crying and shrieking after
them, and finding fault with them. My uncle generally has his dinner
parties on Saturday, or goes out; and aunt gives me ten shillings and
sends me to the play; that's better fun than a dinner party." Here the
lad blushed again. "I used," said he, "when I was younger, to stand on
the stairs and prig things out of the dishes when they came out from
dinner, but I'm past that now. Maria (that's my cousin) used to take the
sweet things and