and Vivian Grey
and the Count
d'orsay have ceased to be prototypes; Barnes Newcome
is the ideal.
The American Van Bibber and Mr. Barnes
of New York are merely far-off copies of him. To be sure, Thackeray
says, “I do not know what there was about this young gentleman which inspired every one of his own sex with a strong desire to kick him,” but it is very certain that he was not kicked for yielding to ennui.
As to the other sex, we have the assurance of the highest living authority that in New York, at least, “unless a fashionable woman attends the opera three times a week, dines out seven days in the week, lunches daily at one house or another, and goes nightly to a ball or dance, she feels she is losing her time.”
But at least she cannot suffer from “languor of mind resulting from lack of occupation.”