The Newcomes

there assembled--Mr. Binnie; the Colonel and his son; Mrs. Mackenzie,

  looking uncommonly handsome and perfectly well-dressed; and Miss Rosey,

  in pink crape, with pearly shoulders and blushing cheeks, and beautiful

  fair ringlets--as fresh and comely a sight as it was possible to witness.

  Scarcely had we made our bows, and shaken our hands, and imparted our

  observations about the fineness of the weather, when, behold! as we look

  from the drawing-room windows into the cheerful square of Bryanstone, a

  great family coach arrives, driven by a family coachman in a family wig,

  and we recognise Lady Anne Newcome's carriage, and see her ladyship, her

  mother, her daughter, and her husband, Sir Brian, descend from the

  vehicle. "It is quite a family party," whispers the happy Mrs. Newcome to

  the happy writer conversing with her in the niche of the window. "Knowing

  your intimacy with our brother, Colonel Newcome, we thought it would

  please him to meet you here. Will you be so kind as to take Miss Newcome

  to dinner?"

  Everybody was bent upon being happy and gracious. It was "My dear

  brother, how do you do?" from Sir Brian. "My dear Colonel, how glad we

  are to see you! how well you look!" from Lady Anne. Miss Newcome ran up

  to him with both hands out, and put her beautiful face so close to his

  that I thought, upon my conscience, she was going to kiss him. And Lady

  Kew, advancing in the frankest manner, with a smile, I must own, rather

  awful, playing round her many wrinkles, round her ladyship's hooked nose,

  and displaying her ladyship's teeth (a new and exceedingly handsome set),

  held out her hand to Colonel Newcome, and said briskly, "Colonel, it is

  an age since we met." She turns to Clive with equal graciousness and

  good-humour, and says, "Mr. Clive, let me shake hands with you; I have

  heard all sorts of good of you, that you have been painting the most

  beautiful things, that you are going to be quite famous." Nothing can

  exceed the grace and kindness of Lady Anne Newcome towards Mrs.

  Mackenzie: the pretty widow blushes with pleasure at this greeting; and

  now Lady Anne must be introduced to Mrs. Mackenzie's charming daughter,

  and whispers in the delighted mother's ear, "She is lovely!" Rosey comes

  up looking rosy indeed, and executes a pretty curtsey with a great deal

  of blushing grace.

  Ethel has been so happy to see her dear uncle, that as yet she has had no

  eyes for any one else, until Clive advancing, those bright eyes become

  brighter still with surprise and pleasure as she beholds him. For being

  absent with his family in Italy now, and not likely to see this biography

  for many many months, I may say that he is a much handsomer fellow than

  our designer has represented; and if that wayward artist should take this

  very scene for the purpose of illustration, he is requested to bear in

  mind that the hero of this story will wish to have justice done to his

  person. There exists in Mr. Newcome's possession a charming little

  pencil-drawing of Clive at this age, and which Colonel Newcome took with

  him when he went--whither he is about to go in a very few pages--and

  brought back with him to this country. A florid apparel becomes some men,

  as simple raiment suits others, and Clive in his youth was of the

  ornamental class of mankind--a customer to tailors, a wearer of handsome

  rings, shirt-studs, mustachios, long hair, and the like; nor could he

  help, in his costume or his nature, being picturesque and generous and

  splendid. He was always greatly delighted with that Scotch man-at-arms in

  Quentin Durward, who twists off an inch or two of his gold chain to treat

  a friend and pay for a bottle. He would give a comrade a ring or a fine

  jewelled pin, if he had no money. Silver dressing-cases and brocade

  morning-gowns were in him a sort of propriety at this season of his

  youth. It was a pleasure to persons of colder temperament to sun

  themselves in the warmth of his bright looks and generous humour. His

  laughter cheered one like wine. I do not know that he was very witty; but

  he was pleasant. He was prone to blush: the history of a generous trait

  moistened his eyes instantly. He was instinctively fond of children, and

  of the other sex from one year old to eighty. Coming from the Derby once

  --a merry party--and stopped on the road from Epsom in a lock of

  carriages, during which the people in the carriage ahead saluted us with

  many vituperative epithets, and seized the heads of our leaders,--Clive

  in a twinkling jumped off the box, and the next minute we saw him engaged

  with a half-dozen of the enemy: his hat gone, his fair hair flying off

  his face, his blue eyes flashing with fire, his lips and nostrils

  quivering wrath, his right and left hand hitting out, que c'etoit un

  plaisir voir. His father sat back in the carriage, looking with delight

  and wonder--indeed it was a great sight. Policeman X separated the

  warriors. Clive ascended the box again with a dreadful wound in the coat,

  which was gashed from the waist to the shoulder. I hardly ever saw the

  elder Newcome in such a state of triumph. The postboys quite stared at

  the gratuity he gave them, and wished they might drive his lordship to

  the Oaks.

  All the time we have been making this sketch Ethel is standing, looking

  at Clive; and the blushing youth casts down his eyes before hers. Her

  face assumes a look of arch humour. She passes a slim hand over the

  prettiest lips and a chin with the most lovely of dimples, thereby

  indicating her admiration of Mr. Clive's mustachios and imperial. They

  are of a warm yellowish chestnut colour, and have not yet known the

  razor. He wears a low cravat; a shirt-front of the finest lawn, with ruby

  buttons. His hair, of a lighter colour, waves almost to his "manly

  shoulders broad." "Upon my word; my dear Colonel," says Lady Kew, after

  looking at him, and nodding her head shrewdly, "I think we were right."

  "No doubt right in everything your ladyship does, but in what

  particularly?" asks the Colonel.

  "Right to keep him out of the way. Ethel has been disposed of these ten

  years. Did not Anne tell you? How foolish of her! But all mothers like to

  have young men dying for their daughters. Your son is really the

  handsomest boy in London. Who is that conceited-looking young man in the

  window? Mr. Pen--what? has your son really been very wicked? I was told

  he was a sad scapegrace."

  "I never knew him do, and I don't believe he ever thought, anything that

  was untrue, or unkind, or ungenerous," says the Colonel. "If any one has

  belied my boy to you, and I think I know who his enemy has been----"

  "The young lady is very pretty," remarks Lady Kew, stopping the Colonel's

  further outbreak. "How very young her mother looks! Ethel, my dear!

  Colonel Newcome must present us to Mrs. Mackenzie and Miss Mackenzie;"

  and Ethel, giving a nod to Clive, with whom she has talked for a minute

  or two, again puts her hand in her uncle's, and walks towards Mrs.

  Mackenzie and her daughter.

  And now let the artist, if he has succeeded in drawing Clive to his

  liking, cut a fresh pencil, and give u
s a likeness of Ethel. She is

  seventeen years old; rather taller than the majority of women; of a

  countenance somewhat grave and haughty, but on occasion brightening with

  humour or beaming with kindliness and affection. Too quick to detect

  affectation or insincerity in others, too impatient of dulness or

  pomposity, she is more sarcastic now than she became when after years of

  suffering had softened her nature. Truth looks out of her bright eyes,

  and rises up armed, and flashes scorn or denial, perhaps too readily,

  when she encounters flattery, or meanness, or imposture. After her first

  appearance in the world, if the truth must be told, this young lady was

  popular neither with many men, nor with most women. The innocent dancing

  youth who pressed round her, attracted by her beauty, were rather afraid,

  after a while, of engaging her. This one felt dimly that she despised

  him; another, that his simpering commonplaces (delights of how many

  well-bred maidens!) only occasioned Miss Newcome's laughter. Young Lord

  Croesus, whom all maidens and matrons were eager to secure, was astounded

  to find that he was utterly indifferent to her, and that she would refuse

  him twice or thrice in an evening, and dance as many times with poor Tom

  Spring, who was his father's ninth son, and only at home till he could

  get a ship and go to sea again. The young women were frightened at her

  sarcasm. She seemed to know what fadaises they whispered to their

  partners as they paused in the waltzes; and Fanny, who was luring Lord

  Croesus towards her with her blue eyes, dropped them guiltily to the

  floor when Ethel's turned towards her; and Cecilia sang more out of time

  than usual; and Clara, who was holding Freddy, and Charley, and Tommy

  round her enchanted by her bright conversation and witty mischief, became

  dumb and disturbed when Ethel passed her with her cold face; and old Lady

  Hookham, who was playing off her little Minnie now at young Jack Gorget

  of the Guards, now at the eager and simple Bob Bateson of the

  Coldstreams, would slink off when Ethel made her appearance on the

  ground, whose presence seemed to frighten away the fish and the angler.

  No wonder that the other Mayfair nymphs were afraid of this severe Diana,

  whose looks were so cold and whose arrows were so keen.

  But those who had no cause to heed Diana's shot or coldness might admire

  her beauty; nor could the famous Parisian marble, which Clive said she

  resembled, be more perfect in form than this young lady. Her hair and

  eyebrows were jet black (these latter may have been too thick according

  to some physiognomists, giving rather a stern expression to the eyes, and

  hence causing those guilty ones to tremble who came under her lash), but

  her complexion was as dazzlingly fair and her cheeks as red as Miss

  Rosey's own, who had a right to those beauties, being a blonde by nature.

  In Miss Ethel's black hair there was a slight natural ripple, as when a

  fresh breeze blows over the melan hudor--a ripple such as Roman ladies

  nineteen hundred years ago, and our own beauties a short time since,

  endeavoured to imitate by art, paper, and I believe crumpling-irons. Her

  eyes were grey; her mouth rather large; her teeth as regular and bright

  as Lady Kew's own; her voice low and sweet; and her smile, when it

  lighted up her face and eyes, as beautiful as spring sunshine; also they

  could lighten and flash often, and sometimes, though rarely, rain. As for

  her figure--but as this tall slender form is concealed in a simple white

  muslin robe (of the sort which I believe is called demi-toilette), in

  which her fair arms are enveloped, and which is confined at her slim

  waist by an azure ribbon, and descends to her feet--let us make a

  respectful bow to that fair image of Youth, Health, and Modesty, and

  fancy it as pretty as we will. Miss Ethel made a very stately curtsey to

  Mrs. Mackenzie, surveying that widow calmly, so that the elder lady

  looked up and fluttered; but towards Rosey she held out her hand, and

  smiled with the utmost kindness, and the smile was returned by the other;

  and the blushes with which Miss Mackenzie was always ready at this time,

  became her very much. As for Mrs. Mackenzie--the very largest curve that

  shall not be a caricature, and actually disfigure the widow's

  countenance--a smile so wide and steady, so exceedingly rident, indeed,

  as almost to be ridiculous, may be drawn upon her buxom face, if the

  artist chooses to attempt it as it appeared during the whole of this

  summer evening, before dinner came (when people ordinarily look very

  grave), when she was introduced to the company: when she was made known

  to our friends Julia and Maria,--the darling child, lovely little dears!

  how like their papa and mamma!--when Sir Brian Newcome gave her his arm

  downstairs to the dining-room when anybody spoke to her: when John

  offered her meat, or the gentleman in the white waistcoat, wine; when she

  accepted or when she refused these refreshments; when Mr. Newcome told

  her a dreadfully stupid story; when the Colonel called cheerily from his

  end of the table, "My dear Mrs. Mackenzie, you don't take any wine

  to-day; may I not have the honour of drinking a glass of champagne with

  you?" when the new boy from the country upset some sauce upon her

  shoulder: when Mrs. Newcome made the sign for departure; and I have no

  doubt in the drawing-room, when the ladies retired thither. "Mrs. Mack is

  perfectly awful," Clive told me afterwards, "since that dinner in

  Bryanstone Square. Lady Kew and Lady Anne are never out of her mouth; she

  has had white muslin dresses made just like Ethel's for herself and her

  daughter. She has bought a Peerage, and knows the pedigree of the whole

  Kew family. She won't go out in a cab now without the boy on the box; and

  in the plate for the cards which she has established in the drawing-room,

  you know, Lady Kew's pasteboard always will come up to the top, though I

  poke it down whenever I go into the room. As for poor Lady Trotter, the

  governess of St. Kitt's, you know, and the Bishop of Tobago, they are

  quite bowled out: Mrs. Mack has not mentioned them for a week."

  During the dinner it seemed to me that the lovely young lady by whom I

  sate cast many glances towards Mrs. Mackenzie, which did not betoken

  particular pleasure. Miss Ethel asked me several questions regarding

  Clive, and also respecting Miss Mackenzie: perhaps her questions were

  rather downright and imperious, and she patronised me in a manner that

  would not have given all gentlemen pleasure. I was Clive's friend, his

  schoolfellow? had I seen him a great deal? know him very well--very well

  indeed? Was it true that he had been very thoughtless? very wild? Who

  told her so? That was not her question (with a blush). It was not true,

  and I ought to know? He was not spoiled? He was very good-natured,

  generous, told the truth? He loved his profession very much, and had

  great talent? Indeed she was very glad. Why do they sneer at his

  profession? It seemed to her quite as good as her father's and brother's.

  Were artists not very dissipated? Not more so, nor often so much as other
/>
  young men? Was Mr. Binnie rich, and was he going to leave all his money

  to his niece? How long have you known them? Is Miss Mackenzie as

  good-natured as she looks? Not very clever, I suppose. Mrs. Mackenzie

  looks very--No, thank you, no more. Grandmamma (she is very deaf, and

  cannot hear) scolded me for reading the book you wrote, and took the book

  away. I afterwards got it, and read it all. I don't think there was any

  harm in it. Why do you give such bad characters of women? Don't you know

  any good ones? Yes, two as good as any in the world. They are unselfish:

  they are pious; they are always doing good; they live in the country? Why

  don't you put them into a book? Why don't you put my uncle into a book?

  He is so good, that nobody could make him good enough. Before I came out,

  I heard a young lady--(Lady Clavering's daughter, Miss Amory) sing a song

  of yours. I have never spoken to an author before. I saw Mr. Lyon at Lady

  Popinjoy's, and heard him speak. He said it was very hot, and he looked

  so, I am sure. Who is the greatest author now alive? You will tell me

  when you come upstairs after dinner;--and the young lady sails away,

  following the matrons, who rise and ascend to the drawing-room. Miss

  Newcome has been watching the behaviour of the author by whom she sate;

  curious to know what such a person's habits are; whether he speaks and

  acts like other people; and in what respect authors are different from

  persons "in society."

  When we had sufficiently enjoyed claret and politics below-stairs, the

  gentlemen went to the drawing-room to partake of coffee and the ladies'

  delightful conversation. We had heard previously the tinkling of the

  piano above, and the well-known sound of a couple of Miss Rosey's five

  songs. The two young ladies were engaged over an album at a side-table,

  when the males of the party arrived. The book contained a number of

  Clive's drawings made in the time of his very early youth for the

  amusement of his little cousins. Miss Ethel seemed to be very much

  pleased with these performances, which Miss Mackenzie likewise examined

  with great good-nature and satisfaction. So she did the views of Rome,

  Naples, Marble Hill in the county of Sussex, etc., in the same

  collection: so she did the Berlin cockatoo and spaniel which Mrs. Newcome

  was working in idle moments: so she did the "Books of Beauty," "Flowers

  of Loveliness," and so forth. She thought the prints very sweet and

  pretty: she thought the poetry very pretty and sweet. Which did she like

  best, Mr. Niminy's "Lines to a bunch of violets," or Miss Piminy's

  "Stanzas to a wreath of roses"? Miss Mackenzie was quite puzzled to say

  which of these masterpieces she preferred; she found them alike so

  pretty. She appealed, as in most cases, to mamma. "How, my darling love,

  can I pretend to know?" mamma says. "I have been a soldier's wife,

  battling about the world. I have not had your advantages. I had no

  drawing-masters, nor music-masters as you have. You, dearest child, must

  instruct me in these things." This poses Rosey: who prefers to have her

  opinions dealt out to her like her frocks, bonnets, handkerchiefs, her

  shoes and gloves, and the order thereof; the lumps of sugar for her tea,

  the proper quantity of raspberry jam for breakfast; who trusts for all

  supplies corporeal and spiritual to her mother. For her own part, Rosey

  is pleased with everything in nature. Does she love music? Oh, yes.

  Bellini and Donizetti? Oh, yes. Dancing? They had no dancing at

  grandmamma's, but she adores dancing, and Mr. Clive dances very well

  indeed. (A smile from Miss Ethel at this admission.) Does she like the

  country? Oh, she is so happy in the country! London? London is

  delightful, and so is the seaside. She does not really know which she

  likes best, London or the country, for mamma is not near her to decide,

  being engaged listening to Sir Brian, who is laying down the law to her,

  and smiling, smiling with all her might. In fact, Mr. Newcome says to Mr.