were parties already cozily established
on deck under the awning; and steady-going travellers for'ard, smoking
already the pleasant morning cigar, and watching the phenomena of
departure.

The bell rings: they leave off bawling, "Anybody else for the shore?"
The last grape and Bell's Life merchant has scuffled over the plank: the
Johns of the departing nobility and gentry line the brink of the quay,
and touch their hats: Hutchison touches his hat to me--to ME, heaven
bless him! I turn round inexpressibly affected and delighted, and whom
do I see but Captain Hicks!

"Hallo! YOU here?" says Hicks, in a tone which seems to mean, "Confound
you, you are everywhere."

Hicks is one of those young men who seem to be everywhere a great deal
too often.

How are they always getting leave from their regiments? If they are
not wanted in this country, (as wanted they cannot be, for you see them
sprawling over the railing in Rotten Row all day, and shaking their
heels at every ball in town,)--if they are not wanted in this country, I
say, why the deuce are they not sent off to India, or to Demerara, or to
Sierra Leone, by Jove?--the farther the better; and I should wish a good
unwholesome climate to try 'em, and make 'em hardy. Here is this Hicks,
then--Captain Launcelot Hicks, if you please--whose life is nothing but
breakfast, smoking, riding-school, billiards, mess, polking, billiards,
and smoking again, and da capo--pulling down his moustaches, and going
to take a tour after the immense labors of the season.

"How do you do, Captain Hicks?" I say. "Where are you going?"

"Oh, I am going to the Whine," says Hicks; "evewybody goes to the
Whine." The WHINE indeed! I dare say he can no more spell properly than
he can speak.

"Who is on board--anybody?" I ask, with the air of a man of fashion.
"To whom does that immense pile of luggage belong--under charge of the
lady's-maid, the courier, and the British footman? A large white K is
painted on all the boxes."

"How the deuce should I know?" says Hicks, looking, as I fancy, both red
and angry, and strutting off with his great cavalry lurch and swagger:
whilst my friend the Serjeant looks at him lost in admiration, and
surveys his shining little boots, his chains and breloques, his whiskers
and ambrosial moustaches, his gloves and other dandifications, with a
pleased wonder; as the ladies of the Sultan's harem surveyed the great
Lady from Park Lane who paid them a visit; or the