Clive smoked his pipe, drank his glass of Marsala,
sang his song, and took part in the general chorus as gaily as the
jolliest of the boys. He was the cock of the whole painting school, the
favourite of all; and to be liked by the people, you may be pretty sure
that we for our parts must like them.
Then, besides the painters, he had, as he has informed us, the other
society of Rome. Every winter there is a gay and pleasant English colony
in that capital, of course more or less remarkable for rank, fashion, and
agreeability with every varying year. In Clive's year some very pleasant
folks set up their winter quarters in the usual foreigners' resort round
about the Piazza di Spagna. I was amused to find, lately, looking over
the travels of the respectable M. de Poellnitz, that, a hundred and
twenty years ago, the same quarter, the same streets and palaces, scarce
changed from those days, were even then polite foreigners' resort. Of one
or two of the gentlemen Clive had made the acquaintance in the
hunting-field; others he had met during his brief appearance in the
London world.
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