up with humour. "Here it is, father, if you would
like to see:"--and he pulled out a paper which contained neither more
nor less than a copy of very flowery verses, about a certain young lady,
who had succeeded (after I know not how many predecessors) to the place
of prima-donna assoluta in Clive's heart. And be pleased, madam, not
to be too eager with your censure, and fancy that Mr. Clive or his
chronicler would insinuate anything wrong. I dare say you felt a flame
or two before you were married yourself: and that the Captain or the
Curate, and the interesting young foreigner with whom you danced, caused
your heart to beat, before you bestowed that treasure on Mr. Candour.
Clive was doing no more than your own son will do when he is eighteen
or nineteen years old himself--if he is a lad of any spirit and a worthy
son of so charming a lady as yourself.

CHAPTER XXII. Describes a Visit to Paris; with Accidents and Incidents
in London

Mr. Clive, as we have said, had now begun to make acquaintances of his
own; and the chimney-glass in his study was decorated with such a number
of cards of invitation, as made his ex-fellow-student of Gandish's,
young Moss, when admitted into that sanctum, stare with respectful
astonishment. "Lady Bary Rowe at obe," the young Hebrew read out; "Lady
Baughton at obe, dadsig! By eyes! what a tip-top swell you're a gettid
to be, Newcome! I guess this is a different sort of business to the hops
at old Levison's, where you first learned the polka; and where we had to
pay a shilling a glass for negus!"

"We had to pay! You never paid anything, Moss," cries Clive, laughing;
and indeed the negus imbibed by Mr. Moss did not cost that prudent young
fellow a penny.

"Well, well; I suppose at these swell parties you 'ave as bush champade
as ever you like," continues Moss. "Lady Kicklebury at obe--small early
party. Why, I declare you know the whole peerage! I say, if any of these
swells want a little tip-top lace, a real bargain, or diamonds, you
know, you might put in a word for us, and do us a good turn."

"Give me some of your cards," says Clive; "I can distribute them about
at the balls I go to. But you must treat my friends better than you
serve me. Those cigars which you sent me were abominable, Moss; the
groom in the stable won't smoke them."

"What a regular swell that Newcome has become!" says Mr. Moss to an old
companion, another of Clive's fellow-students: "I saw him riding in