scarves, putting on gloves, setting down cups, and so forth; slight

matters apparently, but which may be turned to surprisingly good

account by expert practitioners.

Lounging near the doors, and in remote corners, were various knots of

silly young men, displaying various varieties of puppyism and

stupidity; amusing all sensible people near them with their folly and

conceit; and happily thinking themselves the objects of general

admiration - a wise and merciful dispensation which no good man will

quarrel with.

And lastly, seated on some of the back benches, where they had

already taken up their positions for the evening, were divers

unmarried ladies past their grand climacteric, who, not dancing

because there were no partners for them, and not playing cards lest

they should be set down as irretrievably single, were in the favourable

situation of being able to abuse everybody without reflecting on

themselves. In short, they could abuse everybody, because everybody

was there. It was a scene of gaiety, glitter, and show; of richly-dressed

people, handsome mirrors, chalked floors, girandoles and wax-

candles; and in all parts of the scene, gliding from spot to spot in

silent softness, bowing obsequiously to this party, nodding familiarly

to that, and smiling complacently on all, was the sprucely-attired

person of Angelo Cyrus Bantam, Esquire, the Master of the

Ceremonies.

Stop in the tea-room. Take your sixpenn'orth. Then lay on hot water,

and call it tea. Drink it,' said Mr Dowler, in a loud voice, directing Mr

Pickwick, who advanced at the head of the little party, with Mrs.

Dowler on his arm. Into the tea-room Mr Pickwick turned; and

catching sight of him, Mr Bantam corkscrewed his way through the

crowd and welcomed him with ecstasy.

'My dear Sir, I am highly honoured. Ba-ath is favoured. Mrs. Dowler,

you embellish the rooms. I congratulate you on your feathers. Re-

markable!'

Anybody here?' inquired Dowler suspiciously.

Anybody! The ELITE of Ba-ath. Mr Pickwick, do you see the old lady

in the gauze turban?'

The fat old lady?' inquired Mr Pickwick innocently.

Hush, my dear sir - nobody's fat or old in Ba-ath. That's the Dowager

Lady Snuphanuph.'

'Is it, indeed?' said Mr Pickwick.

The Pickwick Papers