There is Rosey's boudoir which her father-in-law loved to
ornament--there is Clive's studio with a hundred sketches--there is the
Colonel's bare room at the top of the house, with his little iron
bedstead and ship's drawers, and a camel trunk or two which have
accompanied him on many an Indian march, and his old regulation sword,
and that one which the native officers of his regiment gave him when he
bade them farewell. I can fancy the brokers' faces as they look over this
camp wardrobe, and that the uniforms will not fetch much in Holywell
Street. There is the old one still, and that new one which he ordered and
wore when poor little Rosey was presented at court. I had not the heart
to examine their plunder, and go amongst those wreckers. F. B. used to
attend the sale regularly, and report its proceedings to us with eyes
full of tears. "A fellow laughed at me," says F. B., "because when I came
into the dear old drawing-room I took my hat off. I told him that if he
dared say another word I would knock him down.
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