ays the Colonel is not to think of coming to him: and I don't want to
go back just yet, to see all the fellows from Gandish's and the Life
Academy, and have them grinning at my misfortune.

"The governor would send his regards, I dare say, but he is out, and I
am always yours affectionately, Clive Newcome."

"P.S.--He tipped me himself this morning; isn't he a kind, dear old
fellow?"

Arthur Pendennis, Esq., to Clive Newcome, Esq.

"'Pall Mall Gazette,' Journal of Politics, Literature and Fashion, 225
Catherine Street, Strand,

"Dear Clive--I regret very much for Fred Bayham's sake (who has lately
taken the responsible office of Fine Arts Critic for the P. G.) that
your extensive picture of the 'Battle of Assaye' has not found a place
in the Royal Academy Exhibition. F. B. is at least fifteen shillings
out of pocket by its rejection, as he had prepared a flaming eulogium of
your work, which of course is so much waste paper in consequence of this
calamity. Never mind. Courage, my son. The Duke of Wellington you know
was best back at Seringapatam before he succeeded at Assaye. I hope you
will fight other battles, and that fortune in future years will be
more favourable to you. The town does not talk very much of your
discomfiture. You see the parliamentary debates are very interesting
just now, and somehow the 'Battle of Assaye' did not seem to excite the
public mind.

"I have been to Fitzroy Square; both to the stables and the house. The
Houyhnhnm's legs are very well; the horse slipped on his side and not
on his knees, and has received no sort of injury. Not so Mr. Binnie;
his ankle is much wrenched and inflamed. He must keep his sofa for many
days, perhaps weeks. But you know he is a very cheerful philosopher, and
endures the evils of life with much equanimity. His sister has come to
him. I don't know whether that may be considered as a consolation of his
evil or an aggravation of it. You know he uses the sarcastic method in
his talk, and it was difficult to understand from him whether he was
pleased or bored by the embraces of his relative. She was an infant when
he last beheld her, on his departure to India. She is now (to speak with
respect) a very brisk, plump, pretty little widow; having, seemingly,
recovered from her grief at the death of her husband, Captain Mackenzie
in the West Indies. Mr. Binnie was just on the point of visiting his
relatives, who reside at Musselburgh, near Edinburgh, when he met wit