lt edges have passed away.
From the abundance of the letters which the affectionate young fellow
now wrote, the ensuing portion of his youthful history is compiled. It
may serve to recall passages of their early days to such of his seniors
as occasionally turn over the leaves of a novel; and in the story of
his faults, indiscretions, passions, and actions, young readers may be
reminded of their own.

Now that the old Countess, and perhaps Barnes, were away, the barrier
between Clive and this family seemed to be withdrawn. The young folks
who loved him were free to see him as often as he would come. They were
going to Baden: would he come too? Baden was on the road to Switzerland,
he might journey to Strasbourg, Basle, and so on. Clive was glad enough
to go with his cousins, and travel in the orbit of such a lovely girl
as Ethel Newcome. J. J. performed the second part always when Clive was
present: and so they all travelled to Coblentz, Mayence, and Frankfort
together, making the journey which everybody knows, and sketching the
mountains and castles we all of us have sketched. Ethel's beauty made
all the passengers on all the steamers look round and admire. Clive
was proud of being in the suite of such a lovely person. The family
travelled with a pair of those carriages which used to thunder along
the Continental roads a dozen years since, and from interior, box, and
rumble discharge a dozen English people at hotel gates.

The journey is all sunshine and pleasure and novelty: the circular notes
with which Mr. Baines of Fog Court has supplied Clive Newcome, Esquire,
enabled that young gentleman to travel with great ease and comfort. He
has not yet ventured upon engaging a valet-de-chambre, it being agreed
between him and J. J. that two travelling artists have no right to such
an aristocratic appendage; but he has bought a snug little britzska at
Frankfort (the youth has very polite tastes, is already a connoisseur
in wine, and has no scruple in ordering the best at the hotels), and the
britzska travels in company with Lady Anne's caravan, either in its wake
so as to be out of reach of the dust, or more frequently ahead of that
enormous vehicle and its tender, in which come the children and the
governess of Lady Anne Newcome, guarded by a huge and melancholy London
footman, who beholds Rhine and Neckar, valley and mountain, village and
ruin, with a like dismal composure. Little Alfred and little Egbert are
by no means so