n; and F.
B., conducted all the affairs of life with great gravity, telling Tom
Sarjent that he had news of importance for our private ear, Tom with
still more gravity than F. B.'s, said, "Go, my children, you had best
discuss this topic in a separate room, apart from the din and fun of
a convivial assembly;" and ringing the bell he bade Betsy bring him
another glass of rum-and-water, and one for Mr. Desborough, to be
charged to him.

We adjourned to another parlour then, where gas was lighted up: and F.
B. over a pint of beer narrated poor Honeyman's mishap. "Saving your
presence, Clive," said Bayham, "and with every regard for the youthful
bloom of your young heart's affections, your uncle Charles Honeyman,
sir, is a bad lot. I have known him these twenty years, when I was at
his father's as a private tutor. Old Miss Honeyman is one of those cards
which we call trumps--so was old Honeyman a trump; but Charles and his
sister----"

I stamped on F. B.'s foot under the table. He seemed to have forgotten
that he was about to speak of Clive's mother.

"Hem! of your poor mother, I--hem--I may say vidi tantum. I scarcely
knew her. She married very young: as I was when she left Borhambury. But
Charles exhibited his character at a very early age--and it was not a
charming one--no, by no means a model of virtue. He always had a genius
for running into debt. He borrowed from every one of the pupils--I don't
know how he spent it except in hardbake and alycompaine--and even from
old Nosey's groom,--pardon me, we used to call your grandfather by that
playful epithet (boys will be boys, you know),--even from the doctor's
groom he took money, and I recollect thrashing Charles Honeyman for that
disgraceful action.

"At college, without any particular show, he was always in debt and
difficulties. Take warning by him, dear youth! By him and by me, if you
like. See me--me, F. Bayham, descended from the ancient kings that long
the Tuscan sceptre swayed, dodge down a street to get out of sight of a
boot-shop, and my colossal frame tremble if a chap puts his hand on my
shoulder, as you did, Pendennis, the other day in the Strand, when I
thought a straw might have knocked me down! I have had my errors, Clive.
I know 'em. I'll take another pint of beer, if you please. Betsy, has
Mrs. Nokes any cold meat in the bar? and an accustomed pickle? Ha! Give
her my compliments, and say F. B. is hungry. I resume my tale. Faults
F. B. has, and knows