osey comes up looking rosy indeed, and executes a pretty
curtsey with a great deal of blushing grace.

Ethel has been so happy to see her dear uncle, that as yet she has
had no eyes for any one else, until Clive advancing, those bright eyes
become brighter still with surprise and pleasure as she beholds him. For
being absent with his family in Italy now, and not likely to see this
biography for many many months, I may say that he is a much handsomer
fellow than our designer has represented; and if that wayward artist
should take this very scene for the purpose of illustration, he is
requested to bear in mind that the hero of this story will wish to have
justice done to his person. There exists in Mr. Newcome's possession a
charming little pencil-drawing of Clive at this age, and which Colonel
Newcome took with him when he went--whither he is about to go in a very
few pages--and brought back with him to this country. A florid apparel
becomes some men, as simple raiment suits others, and Clive in his youth
was of the ornamental class of mankind--a customer to tailors, a wearer
of handsome rings, shirt-studs, mustachios, long hair, and the like;
nor could he help, in his costume or his nature, being picturesque and
generous and splendid. He was always greatly delighted with that Scotch
man-at-arms in Quentin Durward, who twists off an inch or two of his
gold chain to treat a friend and pay for a bottle. He would give a
comrade a ring or a fine jewelled pin, if he had no money. Silver
dressing-cases and brocade morning-gowns were in him a sort of propriety
at this season of his youth. It was a pleasure to persons of colder
temperament to sun themselves in the warmth of his bright looks and
generous humour. His laughter cheered one like wine. I do not know
that he was very witty; but he was pleasant. He was prone to blush:
the history of a generous trait moistened his eyes instantly. He was
instinctively fond of children, and of the other sex from one year old
to eighty. Coming from the Derby once--a merry party--and stopped on the
road from Epsom in a lock of carriages, during which the people in the
carriage ahead saluted us with many vituperative epithets, and seized
the heads of our leaders,--Clive in a twinkling jumped off the box, and
the next minute we saw him engaged with a half-dozen of the enemy: his
hat gone, his fair hair flying off his face, his blue eyes flashing with
fire, his lips and nostrils quivering wrath,