m, and the governor had to choose
between death and retreat. I have heard his brother-officers say that
my dear old father was the bravest man they ever knew, the coolest hand,
sir. What do you think it was Lieutenant Newcome's duty to do under
these circumstances? To remain alone as he was, his troop having turned
about, and to be cut down by the Mahratta horsemen--to perish or to run,
sir?"

"I know which I should have done," says Ridley.

"Exactly. Lieutenant Newcome adopted that course. His bran-new leather
breeches were exceedingly tight, and greatly incommoded the rapidity of
his retreating movement, but he ran away, sir, and afterwards begot your
obedient servant. That is the history of the battle of Asseer-Ghur."

"And now for the moral," says J. J., not a little amused.

"J. J., old boy, this is my battle of Asseer-Ghur. I am off. Dip into
the money-bag: pay the people: be generous, J. J., but not too prodigal.
The chambermaid is ugly, yet let her not want for a crown to console her
at our departure. The waiters have been brisk and servile; reward the
slaves for their labours. Forget not the humble boots, so shall he bless
us when we depart. For artists are gentlemen, though Ethel does not
think so. De--No--God bless her, God bless her," groans out Clive,
cramming his two fists into his eyes. If Ridley admired him before, he
thought none the worse of him now. And if any generous young fellow in
life reads the Fable, which may possibly concern him, let him take a
senior's counsel and remember that there are perils in our battle, God
help us, from which the bravest had best run away.

Early as the morning yet was, Clive had a visitor, and the door opened
to let in Lord Kew's honest face. Ridley retreated before it into his
own den; the appearance of earls scared the modest painter, though he
was proud and pleased that his Clive should have their company. Lord
Kew indeed lived in more splendid apartments on the first floor of the
hotel, Clive and his friend occupying a couple of spacious chambers on
the second story. "You are an early bird," says Kew. "I got up myself in
a panic before daylight almost; Jack was making a deuce of a row in his
room, and fit to blow the door out. I have been coaxing him for this
hour; I wish we had thought of giving him a dose of laudanum last night;
if it finished him, poor old boy, it would do him no harm." And then,
laughing, he gave Clive an account of his interview with Barn