"I have given then to a friend, the Rev. Marcus Flather a draft for two
hundred and fifty pounds sterling, drawn upon you at your agent's in
Calcutta, which sum will go in liquidation of dear Clive's first year's
board with me, or, upon my word of honour as a gentleman and clergyman,
shall be paid back at three months after sight, if you will draw upon me.
As I never--no, were it my last penny in the world--would dishonour your
draft, I implore you, my dear Colonel, not to refuse mine. My credit in
this city, where credit is everything, and the awful future so little
thought of, my engagements to Mr. Flather, my own prospects in life, and
the comfort of my dear sister's declining years, all--all depend upon
this bold, this eventful measure. My ruin or my earthly happiness lies
entirely in your hands. Can I doubt which way your kind heart will lead
you, and that you will come to the aid of your affectionate
brother-in-law? Charles Honeyman."

"Our little Clive has been to London on a visit to his uncles and to the
Hermitage, Clapham, to pay his duty to his step-grandmother, the wealthy
Mrs. Newcome. I pass over words disparaging of myself which the child in
his artless prattles subsequently narrated. She was very gracious to him,
and presented him with a five-pound note, a copy of Kirk White's Poems,
and a work called Little Henry and his Bearer, relating to India, and the
excellent Catechism of our Church. Clive is full of humour, and I enclose
you a rude scrap representing the Bishopess of Clapham, as she is
called,--the other figure is a rude though entertaining sketch of some
other droll personage.

"Lieutenant-Colonel Newcome, etc."