names in smock-frocks and white coats, who were invited to have a

lift' by the guard, and who knew every horse and hostler on the road

and off it; and there was a dinner which would have been cheap at

half-a- crown a mouth, if any moderate number of mouths could have

eaten it in the time. And at seven o'clock P.m. Mr Pickwick and his

friends, and Mr Dowler and his wife, respectively retired to their

private sitting-rooms at the White Hart Hotel, opposite the Great

Pump Room, Bath, where the waiters, from their costume, might be

mistaken for Westminster boys, only they destroy the illusion by

behaving themselves much better. Breakfast had scarcely been

cleared away on the succeeding morning, when a waiter brought in Mr

Dowler's card, with a request to be allowed permission to introduce a

friend. Mr Dowler at once followed up the delivery of the card, by

bringing himself and the friend also.

The friend was a charming young man of not much more than fifty,

dressed in a very bright blue coat with resplendent buttons, black

trousers, and the thinnest possible pair of highly-polished boots. A

gold eye-glass was suspended from his neck by a short, broad, black

ribbon; a gold snuff-box was lightly clasped in his left hand; gold rings

innumerable glittered on his fingers; and a large diamond pin set in

gold glistened in his shirt frill. He had a gold watch, and a gold curb

chain with large gold seals; and he carried a pliant ebony cane with a

gold top. His linen was of the very whitest, finest, and stiffest; his wig

of the glossiest, blackest, and curliest. His snuff was princes' mixture;

his scent BOUQUET DU ROI. His features were contracted into a

perpetual smile; and his teeth were in such perfect order that it was

difficult at a small distance to tell the real from the false.

Mr Pickwick,' said Mr Dowler; 'my friend, Angelo Cyrus Bantam,

Esquire, M.C.; Bantam; Mr Pickwick. Know each other.'

'Welcome to Ba-ath, Sir. This is indeed an acquisition. Most welcome

to Ba-ath, sir. It is long - very long, Mr Pickwick, since you drank the

waters. It appears an age, Mr Pickwick. Re-markable!'

Such were the expressions with which Angelo Cyrus Bantam, Esquire,

M.C., took Mr Pickwick's hand; retaining it in his, meantime, and

shrugging up his shoulders with a constant succession of bows, as if

he really could not make up his mind to the trial of letting it go again.

'It is a very long time since I drank the waters, certainly,' replied Mr

Pickwick; 'for, to the best of my knowledge, I was never here before.'

Never in Ba-ath, Mr Pickwick!' exclaimed the Grand Master, letting

the hand fall in astonishment. 'Never in Ba-ath! He! he! Mr Pickwick,

you are a wag. Not bad, not bad. Good, good. He! he! he! Re-

markable!'

The Pickwick Papers