ur due commonly. The old French satirist
avers that, in a love affair, there is usually one person who loves, and
the other, qui se laisse aimer; it is only in later days, perhaps, when
the treasures of love are spent, and the kind hand cold which ministered
them, that we remember how tender it was; how soft to soothe; how eager
to shield; how ready to support and caress. The ears may no longer hear,
which would have received our words of thanks so delightedly. Let us
hope those fruits of love, though tardy, are yet not all too late; and
though we bring our tribute of reverence and gratitude, it may be to a
gravestone, there is an acceptance even there for the stricken heart's
oblation of fond remorse, contrite memories, and pious tears. I am
thinking of the love of Clive Newcome's father for him (and, perhaps,
young reader, that of yours and mine for ourselves); how the old man lay
awake, and devised kindnesses, and gave his all for the love of his son;
and the young man took, and spent, and slept, and made merry. Did we
not say at our tale's commencement that all stories were old? Careless
prodigals and anxious elders have been from the beginning:--and so may
love, and repentance, and forgiveness endure even till the end.

The stifling fogs, the slippery mud, the dun dreary November mornings,
when the Regent's Park, where the Colonel took his early walk, was
wrapped in yellow mist, must have been a melancholy exchange for the
splendour of Eastern sunrise, and the invigorating gallop at dawn, to
which, for so many years of his life, Thomas Newcome had accustomed
himself. His obstinate habit of early waking accompanied him to England,
and occasioned the despair of his London domestics, who, if master
wasn't so awful early, would have found no fault with him; for a
gentleman as gives less trouble to his servants; as scarcely ever rings
the bell for his self; as will brush his own clothes; as will even
boil his own shaving-water in the little hetna which he keeps up in
his dressing-room; as pays so regular, and never looks twice at the
accounts; such a man deserved to be loved by his household, and I dare
say comparisons were made between him and his son, who do ring the
bells, and scold if his boots ain't nice, and horder about like a young
lord. But Clive, though imperious, was very liberal and good-humoured,
and not the worse served because he insisted upon exerting his youthful
authority. As for friend Binnie, he had a