with materials.

After Antwerp, Clive's correspondent gets a letter dated from the Hotel
de Suede at Brussels, which contains an elaborate eulogy of the cookery
and comfort of that hotel, where the wines, according to the writer's
opinion, are unmatched almost in Europe. And this is followed by a
description of Waterloo, and a sketch of Hougoumont, in which J. J. is
represented running away in the character of a French grenadier, Clive
pursuing him in the lifeguard's habit, and mounted on a thundering
charger.

Next follows a letter from Bonn. Verses about Drachenfels of a not very
superior style of versification; an account of Crichton, an old Grey
Friars man, who has become a student at the university; of a commerz,
a drunken bout, and a students' duel at Bonn. "And whom should I find
here," says Mr. Clive, "but Aunt Anne, Ethel, Miss Quigley, and the
little ones, the whole detachment under the command of Kuhn? Uncle
Brian is staying at Aix. He is recovered from his attack. And, upon my
conscience, I think my pretty cousin looks prettier every day.

"When they are not in London," Clive goes on to write, "or I sometimes
think when Barnes or old Lady Kew are not looking over them, they are
quite different. You know how cold they have latterly seemed to us, and
how their conduct annoyed my dear old father. Nothing can be kinder
than their behaviour since we have met. It was on the little hill
at Godesberg: J. J. and I were mounting to the ruin, followed by the
beggars who waylay you, and have taken the place of the other robbers
who used to live there, when there came a procession of donkeys down
the steep, and I heard a little voice cry, 'Hullo! it's Clive! hooray,
Clive!' and an ass came pattering down the declivity, with a little pair
of white trousers at an immensely wide angle over the donkey's back, and
behold there was little Alfred grinning with all his might.

"He turned his beast and was for galloping up the hill again, I suppose
to inform his relations; but the donkey refused with many kicks, one of
which sent Alfred plunging amongst the stones, and we were rubbing him
down just as the rest of the party came upon us. Miss Quigley looked
very grim on an old white pony; my aunt was on a black horse that might
have turned grey, he is so old. Then come two donkeysful of children,
with Kuhn as supercargo; then Ethel on donkey-back, too, with a bunch
of wildflowers in her hand, a great straw hat with a crimson