And lovers' songs be turned to holy psalms;
A man at arms must now serve on his knees,
And feed on prayers, which are old age's alms."

These, I say, respected our friend, whatever was the coat he wore;
whereas, among the Colonel's own kinsfolk, dire was the dismay, and
indignation even, which they expressed when they came to hear of this,
what they were pleased to call degradation to their family. Clive's dear
mother-in-law made outcries over the good old man as over a pauper, and
inquired of Heaven, what she had done that her blessed child should have
a mendicant for a father? And Mrs. Hobson, in subsequent confidential
communication with the writer of these memoirs, improved the occasion
religiously as her wont was; referred the matter to Heaven too, and
thought fit to assume that the celestial powers had decreed this
humiliation, this dreadful trial for the Newcome family, as a warning to
them all that they should not be too much puffed up with prosperity, nor
set their affections too much upon things of this earth. Had they not
already received one chastisement in Barnes's punishment, and Lady
Clara's awful falling away? They had taught her a lesson, which the
Colonel's lamentable errors had confirmed,--the vanity of trusting in
all earthly grandeurs! Thus it was this worthy woman plumed herself,
as it were, on her relative's misfortunes; and was pleased to think
the latter were designed for the special warning and advantage of her
private family. But Mrs. Hobson's philosophy is only mentioned by the
way. Our story, which is drawing to its close, has to busy itself with
other members of the house of The Newcomes.

My talk with Florac lasted for some time: at its close, when we went to
join the ladies in the drawing-room, we found Ethel cloaked and shawled,
and prepared for her departure with her young ones, who were already
asleep. The little festival was over, and had ended in melancholy--even
in weeping. Our hostess sate in her accustomed seat by her lamp and her
worktable; but, neglecting her needle, she was having perpetual recourse
to her pocket-handkerchief, and uttering ejaculations of pity between
the intervals of her gushes of tears. Madame de Florac was in her usual
place, her head cast downwards, and her hands folded. My wife was at
her side, a grave commiseration showing itself in Laura's countenance,
whilst I read a yet deeper sadness in Ethel's pale face. Miss Newcome's
carriage h