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The Kickleburys On The Rhine
by
When this great lady did the present writer the honor to shake his hand (I had the honor to teach writing and the rudiments of Latin to the young and intelligent Lord Viscount Pimlico), there seemed to be a commotion in the Kicklebury party–heads were nodded together, and turned towards Lady Knightsbridge: in whose honor, when Lady Kicklebury had sufficiently reconnoitred her with her eye-glass, the baronet’s lady rose and swept a reverential curtsy, backing until she fell up against the cushions at the stern of the boat. Lady Knightsbridge did not see this salute, for she did not acknowledge it, but walked away slimly (she seems to glide in and out of the room), and disappeared up the stair to the deck.
Lankin and I took our places, the horse-dealer making room for us; and I could not help looking, with a little air of triumph, over to the Kicklebury faction, as much as to say, “You fine folks, with your large footman and supercilious airs, see what WE can do.”
As I looked–smiling, and nodding, and laughing at me, in a knowing, pretty way, and then leaning to mamma as if in explanation, what face should I see but that of the young lady at Mrs. Perkins’s, with whom I had had that pleasant conversation which had been interrupted by the demand of Captain Hicks for a dance? So, then, that was Miss Kicklebury, about whom Miss Perkins, my young friend, has so often spoken to me: the young ladies were in conversation when I had the happiness of joining them; and Miss P. went away presently, to look to her guests–that is Miss Fanny Kicklebury.
A sudden pang shot athwart my bosom–Lankin might have perceived it, but the honest Serjeant was so awe-stricken by his late interview with the Countess of Knightsbridge, that his mind was unfit to grapple with other subjects–a pang of feeling (which I concealed under the grin and graceful bow wherewith Miss Fanny’s salutations were acknowledged) tore my heart-strings–as I thought of–I need not say–of HICKS.
He had danced with her, he had supped with her–he was here, on board the boat. Where was that dragoon? I looked round for him. In quite a far corner,–but so that he could command the Kicklebury party, I thought,–he was eating his breakfast, the great healthy oaf, and consuming one broiled egg after another.
In the course of the afternoon, all parties, as it may be supposed, emerged upon deck again, and Miss Fanny and her mamma began walking the quarter-deck with a quick pace, like a couple of post-captains. When Miss Fanny saw me, she stopped and smiled, and recognized the gentleman who had amused her so at Mrs. Perkins’s. What a dear sweet creature Eliza Perkins was! They had been at school together. She was going to write to Eliza everything that happened on the voyage.
“EVERYTHING?” I said, in my particularly sarcastic manner.
“Well, everything that was worth telling. There was a great number of things that were very stupid, and of people that were very stupid. Everything that YOU say, Mr. Titmarsh, I am sure I may put down. You have seen Mr. Titmarsh’s funny books, mamma?”
Mamma said she had heard–she had no doubt they were very amusing. “Was not that–ahem–Lady Knightsbridge, to whom I saw you speaking, sir?”
“Yes; she is going to nurse Lord Knightsbridge, who has the gout at Rougetnoirbourg.”
“Indeed! how very fortunate! what an extraordinary coincidence! We are going too,” said Lady Kicklebury.
I remarked “that everybody was going to Rougetnoirbourg this year; and I heard of two gentlemen–Count Carambole and Colonel Cannon–who had been obliged to sleep there on a billiard-table for want of a bed.”
“My son Kicklebury–are you acquainted with Sir Thomas Kicklebury?” her ladyship said, with great stateliness–“is at Noirbourg, and will take lodgings for us. The springs are particularly recommended for my daughter, Mrs. Milliken and, at great personal sacrifice, I am going thither myself: but what will not a mother do, Mr. Titmarsh? Did I understand you to say that you have the–the entree at Knightsbridge House? The parties are not what they used to be, I am told. Not that I have any knowledge. I am but a poor country baronet’s widow, Mr. Titmarsh; though the Kickleburys date from Henry III., and MY family is not of the most modern in the country. You have heard of General Guff, my father, perhaps? aide-de-camp to the Duke of York, and wounded by his Royal Highness’s side at the bombardment of Valenciennes. WE move IN OUR OWN SPHERE.”