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Updated: May 20, 2025
Newcome's order, but is actually at her door at five minutes past ten, having arrayed himself to the wonderment of Clive, and left the boy to talk with his friend and fellow-passenger, Mr. Binnie, who has just arrived from Portsmouth, who has dined with him, and who, by previous arrangement, has taken up his quarters at the same hotel.
I will shake the dust off my feet and leave that house. I will And Mr. Newcome's friends may then sneer at me and abuse me, and blacken my darling child's heart towards me if they choose. And I thank you, Mrs. Pendennis, for all your kindness towards my daughter's family, and for the furniture which you have sent into the house, and for the trouble you have taken about our family arrangements.
You have no more sense, Anne, than a goose. I have told you so a hundred times. Lady Anne requested you to stay, and I, my good young friend, request you to go away." "I needed no request," said Clive. "My going, Lady Kew, is my own act. I was going without requiring any guide to show me to the door." "No doubt you were, and my arrival is the signal for Mr. Newcome's bon jour.
Whether we are at the height of romantic passion with Esmond's devotion to Beatrix, and his transactions with the duke and the prince over diamonds and title deeds; whether the note is that of the simplest human pathos, as in Colonel Newcome's death-bed; whether we are indulged with society at Baymouth and Oxbridge; whether we take part in Marlborough's campaigns or assist at the Back Kitchen we are in the House of Life, a mansion not too frequently opened to us by the writers of prose fiction.
But peccadilloes such as these, which it is well to realize in view of the absurd claims to artistic impeccability for Thackeray made by rash admirers, melt away into nothing when one recalls Rawdon Crawley's horsewhipping of the Marquis; George Osborn's departure for battle, Colonel Newcome's death, or the incomparable scene where Lady Castlewood welcomes home the wandering Esmond; that "rapture of reconciliation"! It is by such things that great novelists live, and it may be doubted if their errors are ever counted against them, if only they can create in this fashion.
And now having partially explained how the Prince de Moncontour was present at Mr. Barnes Newcome's wedding, let us show how it was that Barnes's first-cousin, the Earl of Kew, did not attend that ceremony. We do not propose to describe at length or with precision the circumstances of the duel which ended so unfortunately for young Lord Kew.
Thackeray's admirable description of Mrs. Newcome's villa is drawn from the life: "In Egypt itself there were not more savoury fleshpots than those at Clapham. Her mansion was long the resort of the most favoured among the religious world.
We shall say no more regarding Thomas Newcome's political doings; his speeches against Barnes, and the Baronet's replies. The nephew was beaten by his stout old uncle.
'And why should she, Loo, my dear? says I. 'I don't want to meet Lady Newcome, nor Lord Kew, nor any of 'em. Lord Kew, ain't it an odd name? Tearing young swell, that Lord Kew: tremendous wild fellow." "I was a clerk in that house, sir, as a young man; I was there in the old woman's time, and Mr. Newcome's the father of these young men as good a man as ever stood on 'Change." And then Mr.
The Colonel was smoking a cheroot as he walked; and the gigantic Smith, the cock of the school, who happened to be looking majestically out of the window, was pleased to say that he thought Newcome's governor was a fine manly-looking fellow. "Tell me about your uncles, Clive," said the Colonel, as they walked on arm in arm. "What about them, sir?" asks the boy. "I don't think I know much."
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