ment. Clive was still his hero as ever, his patron, his splendid
young prince and chieftain. Who was so brave, who was so handsome,
generous, witty as Clive? To hear Clive sing, as the lad would whilst
they were seated at their work, or driving along on this happy journey,
through fair landscapes in the sunshine, gave J. J. the keenest pleasure;
his wit was a little slow, but he would laugh with his eyes at Clive's
sallies, or ponder over them and explode with laughter presently, giving
a new source of amusement to these merry travellers, and little Alfred
would laugh at J.J.'s laughing; and so, with a hundred harmless jokes to
enliven, and the ever-changing, ever-charming smiles of Nature to cheer
and accompany it, the happy day's journey would come to an end.

So they travelled by the accustomed route to the prettiest town of all
places where Pleasure has set up her tents, and there enjoyed themselves
to the fullest extent.

Among Colonel Newcome's papers to which the family biographer has had
access, there are a couple of letters from Clive, dated Baden this time,
and full of happiness, gaiety, and affection. Letter No. 1 says: "Ethel
is the prettiest girl here. At the Assemblies all the princes, counts,
dukes, etc., are dying to dance with her. She sends her dearest love to
her uncle." By the side of the words "Prettiest girl" are written in a
frank female hand the monosyllable "_stuff_"; and as a note to the
expression "dearest love," with a star to mark the text and the note, are
squeezed in the same feminine characters at the bottom of Clive's page
the words "_that I do_. E. N."

In letter No. 2, Clive, after giving amusing details of life at Baden and
the company whom he met there, concludes with this: "Ethel is looking
over my shoulder. She thinks me such a delightful creature that she is
never easy without me. She bids me to say that I am the best of sons and
cousins, and am, in a word, a darling du--" The rest of this important
word is not given, but "_goose_" is added in the female hand.

Ethel takes up the pen. "My dear uncle," she says, "while Clive is
sketching out of the window, let me write to you a line or two on his
paper, _though I know you like to hear no one speak_ but him. I wish I
could draw him for you as he stands yonder looking the picture of good
health, good spirits, and good-humour. Everybody likes him. He is quite
unaffected; always gay, always pleased, and he draws more beautifully
eve