The Newcomes

near relatives. He dismissed his cab at Ludgate Hill, and walked thence by the dismal precincts of Newgate, and across the muddy pave

Grey Friars Square, with its blackened trees and garden, surrounded by ancient hou

creeping along in their black gowns under the ancient arches yonder, whose struggle of life was over, whose hope and noise and bustle had sunk into that grey calm. There was Thomas Newcome arrived at the middle of life, standing between the shouting boys and the tottering seniors, and in a situation to moralise upon both, had not his son Clive, who has espied him from within Mr. Hopkinson’s, or let us say at once Hopkey’s house, come jumping down the steps to greet his sire. Clive was dressed in his very best; not o

Clive,” said the Colonel,

” asks the boy. “I don

h them. You wrote about th

hen I go there I scarcely ever see them. Mr. Newcome asks me the oftenest — tw

ive you the sovereign,” say

blushe

is always crying and shrieking after them, and finding fault with them. My uncle generally has his dinner-parties on Saturday, or goes out; and aunt gives me ten shillings and sends me to the play; that’s better fun than a dinner-party.” Here the lad blushed again. “I used,” says he, “when I was younger, to stand on the stairs and prig things out of the dishes when they came out fr

ather, amused at the lad’s candid pratt

ies and some not. There’s Jones now, the fifth form master, every man sees he’s a gentleman, though he wears ever so old clothes; and there’s Mr. Brown, who oils his hair, and wears rings, and white choker

ticket,” says the C

ways of her own too, yet somehow she looks grander,”— and here the lad laughed again. “And do you know, I often think that as good a lady as Aunt Anne herself, is old Aunt Honeyman at Brighton — that is, in all essentials, you know. For she is not proud, and she is not

to speak no ill of them?”

. That time I went down to Newcome, I went to see old Aunt Sarah, and she told me everything, and showed me the room where my grandfather — you know; and do you know I was a little hurt at first, for

y. Indeed, how many men do we know in the world without caring to know who their fathers were? and how many mor

up to him, and walking on as proud as a peac

u say,” said

rned at Smithfield; about the one that was at the battle of Bosworth; and the old old Newcome who was bar — that is, who w

our father to be an honourable man, why not your grandfather, and his ancestors before him? But if we can’t inherit a good na

thers had his house — a handsome and roomy mansion in Bryanstone Square. Colonel Newcome was bent on paying a visit to his sister-inlaw, and as he knocked at the door, where

er today,” said the Colonel. “Does Mrs.

nswered Clive. “My uncle never a

her! Newcome thought. Why, if he had come to me in India with all his family, he mig

d opened the door; and without waiting fo

said Clive; “my aunt w

domestic. This latter speech was addressed to a pastrycook’s boy, with a large sugar temple and many conical papers containing delicacies for desser

y shut the door in our face

e it’s different here to what it is in India. here are the children in the square — those are the girls in blue — that’s the French gover

oit hors du squar!” screams out the lady of the mustachio

it me to make acquaintance with my nieces,” he said, “and with their

are young ladies of condition. I am forced to keep the eyes of lynx upon these young persons, otherwise heaven knows what would come to them. Only yesterday, my back is turned for a moment, I cast my eyes on a book, having but little time for literature, monsieur — for literature, which I adore — when a cry makes itself to hear. I turn m

me at cricket with you, too,” says the kind

s. You conceive, monsieur, that I also must be cautious when I speak to a man so distinguished

ds his hat or his boots, was surveying his little nieces with that kind expression which his face alw

says

t were, kissing them in the direction of a grand barouche that was advancing along the Square)—“you know mademoise

y child!” c

Clive went too,”

exclaimed; and, turning round, Colonel Newcome had the sat

f a gentleman reposed on her voluminous bosom. She wore another picture of two darling heads, with pink cheeks and golden hair, on one of her wrists, with many more chains, bracelets, bangles, and knick-knacks. A pair of dirty gloves marred the splendour of this appearance; a heap of books from the library strewed the back seat of the carriage, and showed that her

twinkle of his eyes,

. She liked him. “What, you, Clive?” she said. “

e. “My father is come; an

st gentleman stepped forward and took off his hat and bowed, and stood bareheaded. She surveyed him blandly, and with infinite grace put forward one of the pudgy little hands in one of the dirty gloves. Can you fancy a t

wcome, mong frere.” (In a whisper, “My children’s governess and my friend, a most superior woman.”) “Was it not kind of Colonel Newcome to come to see me? Have you had a pleasa

dont parle l’univers, dont mon pere m’a si souvent parle!” but this

him, and you must not be jealous of his love for his aunt. We feel that we quite know you through him, and we know that you know us, and we hope you will like us. Do you think your pa will like us, Clive? Or perhaps you will like Lady Anne best? Yes; you have been to her first, of course? Not been? Oh! bec

uffog, who is called in his native country the Ezekiel of Clackmannan? Mr. Shaloony, the great Irish patriot? our papers have told you of him. These and some more I have been good enough to promise me a visit to-night. A stranger coming to London could scarcely have a better opportunity of seeing some of our great illustrations of science and literature. And you will meet our own family — not Sir Brian’s, who — who have other society and amusements — but mine. I hope Mr. Newcom

he asked artists to bring their sketch-books from Kensington, or luckless pianists to trudge with their music from Brompton. She rewarded them with a smile and a cup of tea, and thought they were made happy by her condescension. If, after two or three of these delightful evenings, they ceased