rses, of cookery, wines, and cigars, and military
history, rendered him a most acceptable companion. He knew the history
and achievements of every regiment in the army; of every general and
commanding officer. He was known to have been 'out' more than once
himself, and had made up a hundred quarrels. He was certainly not a man
of an ascetic life or a profound intellectual culture: but though poor
he was known to be most honourable; though more than middle-aged he was
cheerful, busy, and kindly; and though the youngsters called him Old
Goby, he bore his years very gaily and handsomely, and I dare say
numbers of ladies besides Mrs. Mackenzie thought him delightful. Goby's
talk and rattle perhaps somewhat bored James Binnie, but Thomas Newcome
found the Captain excellent company; and Goby did justice to the good
qualities of the Colonel.

Clive's father liked Brussels very well. He and his son occupied very
handsome quarters, near the spacious apartments in the Park which James
Binnie's family inhabited. Waterloo was not far off, to which the Indian
officer paid several visits with Captain Goby for a guide; and many of
Marlborough's battlefields were near, in which Goby certainly took but
a minor interest; but on the other hand Clive beheld these with the
greatest pleasure, and painted more than one dashing piece, in which
Churchill and Eugene, Cutts and Cadogan, were the heroes; whose flowing
periwigs, huge boots, and thundering Flemish chargers were, he thought,
more novel and picturesque than the Duke's surtout, and the French
Grenadiers' hairy caps, which so many English and French artists have
portrayed.

Mr. and Mrs. Pendennis were invited by our kind Colonel to pass a
month--six months if they chose--at Brussels, and were most splendidly
entertained by our friends in that city. A suite of handsome rooms was
set apart for us. My study communicated with Clive's atelier. Many
an hour did we pass, and many a ride and walk did we take together. I
observed that Clive never mentioned Miss Newcome's name, and Laura and I
agreed that it was as well not to recall it. Only once, when we read the
death of Lady Glenlivat, Lord Farintosh's mother, in the newspaper, I
remember to have said, "I suppose that marriage will be put off again."

"Qu'est ce que cela me fait?" says Mr. Clive gloomily, over his
picture--a cheerful piece representing Count Egmont going to execution;
in which I have the honour to figure as a halberdier, Ca