and yawning at City board-rooms. They call that business:
they think he is idling when he comes here, poor fellow! As if life was
long enough for our art; and the best labour we can give, good enough
for it! He went away groaning this morning, and quite saddened in
spirits. The Colonel wants to set up himself for Parliament, or to
set Clive up; but he says he won't. I hope he won't; do not you, Mrs.
Pendennis?"

The painter turned as he spoke; and the bright northern light which fell
upon the sitter's head was intercepted, and lighted up his own as he
addressed us. Out of that bright light looked his pale thoughtful face,
and long locks and eager brown eyes. The palette on his arm was a great
shield painted of many colours: he carried his mall-stick and a sheaf
of brushes along with the weapons of his glorious but harmless war. With
these he achieves conquests, wherein none are wounded save the
envious: with that he shelters him against how much idleness, ambition,
temptations! Occupied over that consoling work, idle thoughts cannot
gain mastery over him: selfish wishes or desires are kept at bay. Art is
truth: and truth is religion: and its study and practice a daily work of
pious duty. What are the world's struggles, brawls, successes, to that
calm recluse pursuing his calling? See, twinkling in the darkness round
his chamber, numberless beautiful trophies of the graceful victories
which he has won:--sweet flowers of fancy reared by him:--kind shapes
of beauty which he has devised and moulded. The world enters into the
artist's studio, and scornfully bids him a price for his genius, or
makes dull pretence to admire it. What know you of his art? You cannot
read the alphabet of that sacred book, good old Thomas Newcome! What can
you tell of its glories, joys, secrets, consolations? Between his
two best-beloved mistresses, poor Clive's luckless father somehow
interposes; and with sorrowful, even angry protests. In place of Art the
Colonel brings him a ledger; and in lieu of first love, shows him Rosey.

No wonder that Clive hangs his head; rebels sometimes, desponds always:
he has positively determined to refuse to stand for Newcome, Ridley
says. Laura is glad of his refusal, and begins to think of him once more
as of the Clive of old days.

CHAPTER LXVI. In which the Colonel and the Newcome Athenaeum are both lectured

At breakfast with his family, on the morning after the little
entertainment to which we we