The boy’s face lighted up with humour. “Here it is, father, if you would like to see:”—and he pulled out a paper which contained neither more nor less than a copy of very flowery verses, about a certain young lady, who had succeeded (after I know not how many predecessors) to the place of _prima donna assoluta_ in Clive’s heart. And be pleased, madam, not to be too eager with your censure, and fancy that Mr. Clive or his chronicler would insinuate anything wrong. I dare say you felt a flame or two before you were married yourself: and that the Captain or the Curate, and the interesting young foreigner with whom you danced, caused your heart to beat, before you bestowed that treasure on Mr. Candour. Clive was doing no more than your own son will do when he is eighteen or nineteen years old himself—if he is a lad of any spirit and a worthy son of so charming a lady as yourself. CHAPTER XXII. Describes a Visit to Paris; with Accidents and Incidents in London Mr. Clive, as we have said, had now begun to make acquaintances of his own; and the chimney-glass in his study was decorated with such a number of cards of invitation, as made his ex-fellow-student of Gandish’s, young Moss, when admitted into that sanctum, stare with respectful astonishment. “Lady Bary Rowe at obe,” the young Hebrew read out; “Lady Baughton at obe, dadsig! By eyes! what a tip-top swell you’re a gettid to be, Newcome! I guess this is a different sort of business to the hops at old Levison’s, where you first learned the polka; and where we had to pay a shilling a glass for negus!” “_We_ had to pay! _You_ never paid anything, Moss,” cries Clive, laughing; and indeed the negus imbibed by Mr. Moss did not cost that prudent young fellow a penny. “Well, well; I suppose at these swell parties you ’ave as bush champade as ever you like,” continues Moss. “Lady Kicklebury at obe—small early party. Why, I declare you know the whole peerage! I say, if any of these swells want a little tip-top lace, a real bargain, or diamonds, you know, you might put in a word for us, and do us a good turn.” “Give me some of your cards,” says Clive; “I can distribute them about at the balls I go to. But you must treat my friends better than you serve me. Those cigars which you sent me were abominable, Moss; the groom in the stable won’t smoke them.” “What a regular swell that Newcome has become!” says Mr. Moss to an old companion, another of Clive’s fellow-students: “I saw him riding in the Park with the Earl of Kew, and Captain Belsize, and a whole lot of ’em—_I_ know ’em all—and he’d hardly nod to me. I’ll have a horse next Sunday, and _then_ I’ll see whether he’ll cut me or not. Confound his airs! For all he’s such a count, I know he’s got an aunt who lets lodgings at Brighton, and an uncle who’ll be preaching in the Bench if he don’t keep a precious good look-out.”