ble us to understand
how our hero's life was speeding. Connected in one way or another with
persons in all ranks, it never entered his head to be ashamed of the
profession which he had chosen. People in the great world did not in
the least trouble themselves regarding him, or care to know whether Mr.
Clive Newcome followed painting or any other pursuit: and though Clive
saw many of his schoolfellows in the world, these entering into the
army, others talking with delight of college, and its pleasures or
studies; yet, having made up his mind that art was his calling, he
refused to quit her for any other mistress, and plied his easel very
stoutly. He passed through the course of study prescribed by Mr.
Gandish, and drew every cast and statue in that gentleman's studio.
Grindley, his tutor, getting a curacy, Clive did not replace him; but
he took a course of modern languages, which he learned with considerable
aptitude and rapidity. And now, being strong enough to paint without
a master, it was found that there was no good light in the house in
Fitzroy Square; and Mr. Clive must needs have an atelier hard by, where
he could pursue his own devices independently.

If his kind father felt any pang even at this temporary parting, he was
greatly soothed and pleased by a little mark of attention on the young
man's part, of which his present biographer happened to be a witness;
for having walked over with Colonel Newcome to see the new studio, with
its tall centre window, and its curtains, and carved wardrobes, china
jars, pieces of armour, and other artistical properties, the lad, with a
very sweet smile of kindness and affection lighting up his honest face,
took one of two Bramah's house-keys with which he was provided, and gave
it to his father: "That's your key, sir," he said to the Colonel; "and
you must be my first sitter, please, father; for though I'm a historical
painter, I shall condescend to do a few portraits, you know." The
Colonel took his son's hand, and grasped it; as Clive fondly put the
other hand on his father's shoulder. Then Colonel Newcome walked
away into the next room for a minute or two, and came back wiping his
moustache with his handkerchief, and still holding the key in the other
hand. He spoke about some trivial subject when he returned; but his
voice quite trembled; and I thought his face seemed to glow with love
and pleasure. Clive has never painted anything better than that head,
which he executed i