y be a sneer or a simple assertion: our
vulgarities and our insolences may, perhaps, make us as remarkable
as that high breeding which we assume to possess. It may be that the
Continental society ridicules and detests us, as we walk domineering
over Europe; but, after all, which of us would denationalize himself?
who wouldn't be an Englishman? Come, sir, cosmopolite as you are,
passing all your winters at Rome or at Paris; exiled by choice, or
poverty, from your own country; preferring easier manners, cheaper
pleasures, a simpler life: are you not still proud of your British
citizenship? and would you like to be a Frenchman?

Kicklebury has a great acquaintance at Noirbourg, and as he walks into
the great concert-room at night, introducing his mother and sisters
there, he seemed to look about with a little anxiety, lest all of his
acquaintance should recognize him. There are some in that most strange
and motley company with whom he had rather not exchange salutations,
under present circumstances. Pleasure-seekers from every nation in the
world are here, sharpers of both sexes, wearers of the stars and cordons
of every court in Europe; Russian princesses, Spanish grandees, Belgian,
French, and English nobles, every degree of Briton, from the ambassador,
who has his conge, to the London apprentice who has come out for his
fortnight's lark. Kicklebury knows them all, and has a good-natured nod
for each.

"Who is that lady with the three daughters who saluted you, Kicklebury?"
asks his mother.

"That is our Ambassadress at X., ma'am. I saw her yesterday buying a
penny toy for one of her little children in Frankfort Fair."

Lady Kicklebury looks towards Lady X.: she makes her excellency an
undeveloped curtsy, as it were; she waves her plumed head (Lady K. is
got up in great style, in a rich dejeuner toilette, perfectly regardless
of expense); she salutes the ambassadress with a sweeping gesture from
her chair, and backs before her as before royalty, and turns to her
daughters large eyes full of meaning, and spreads out her silks in
state.

"And who is that distinguished-looking man who just passed, and who gave
you a reserved nod?" asks her ladyship. "Is that Lord X.?"

Kicklebury burst out laughing. "That, ma'am, is Mr. Higmore, of Conduit
Street, tailor, draper, and habit-maker: and I owe him a hundred pound."

"The insolence of that sort of people is really intolerable," says Lady
Kicklebury. "There MUST be some d