you can; only think what a loss you would be!' With these pathetic

words, Sam Weller departed.

'A very singular young man that,' said the powdered-headed footman,

looking after Mr Weller, with a countenance which clearly showed he

could make nothing of him.

Sam said nothing at all. He winked, shook his head, smiled, winked

again; and, with an expression of countenance which seemed to

denote that he was greatly amused with something or other, walked

merrily away.

At precisely twenty minutes before eight o'clock that night, Angelo

Cyrus Bantam, Esq., the Master of the Ceremonies, emerged from his

chariot at the door of the Assembly Rooms in the same wig, the same

teeth, the same eye-glass, the same watch and seals, the same rings,

the same shirt-pin, and the same cane. The only observable

alterations in his appearance were, that he wore a brighter blue coat,

with a white silk lining, black tights, black silk stockings, and pumps,

and a white waistcoat, and was, if possible, just a thought more

scented.

Thus attired, the Master of the Ceremonies, in strict discharge of the

important duties of his all-important office, planted himself in the

room to receive the company. Bath being full, the company, and the

sixpences for tea, poured in, in shoals. In the ballroom, the long card-

room, the octagonal card-room, the staircases, and the passages, the

hum of many voices, and the sound of many feet, were perfectly

bewildering. Dresses rustled, feathers waved, lights shone, and jewels

sparkled. There was the music - not of the quadrille band, for it had

not yet commenced; but the music of soft, tiny footsteps, with now

and then a clear, merry laugh - low and gentle, but very pleasant to

hear in a female voice, whether in Bath or elsewhere. Brilliant eyes,

lighted up with pleasurable expectation, gleamed from every side; and,

look where you would, some exquisite form glided gracefully through

the throng, and was no sooner lost, than it was replaced by another as

dainty and bewitching.

In the tea-room, and hovering round the card-tables, were a vast

number of queer old ladies, and decrepit old gentlemen, discussing all

the small talk and scandal of the day, with a relish and gusto which

sufficiently bespoke the intensity of the pleasure they derived from the

occupation. Mingled with these groups, were three or four match-

making mammas, appearing to be wholly absorbed by the

conversation in which they were taking part, but failing not from time

to time to cast an anxious sidelong glance upon their daughters, who,

remembering the maternal injunction to make the best use of their

youth, had already commenced incipient flirtations in the mislaying

The Pickwick Papers