smiling attentions from those whose object it is to get on themselves, and who, keeping that object always in view, will never waste a dinner on a man that is not recommended by fortune, rank, literary reputation, or decided fashion. The other three families on my list were humdrum, living east of Tottenham-court Road. However in the space of two days I left my card on all, and waited the result. In the meantime I went to the opera, the only fashionable place to which I had it in my power to go. It was the first time I had ever been there, and my ecstacies were extreme. I sat in the centre of the pit, looking round and round at all the well-filled boxes. I could not fail to be struck with the very different style and very superior order of women whom I saw on every side, to what I had been accustomed to see at Bath; they appeared a separate breed and distinct race of people. But I had soon made my eyes acquainted with the contents of every box, and the novelty being over, I began to feel with a sickening sensation that I was alone in this brilliant crowd-an insignificant, unremarked, unthought-of being. This was different from Bath indeed; there, had I made my appearance at the theatre, a hundred eyes would have been directed to the box-door as I entered, and many a nod and smile from a curtained private box would have invited me to make happy an expectant party.

Here I strained my eyes in vain over the vast space before me, to find a single person of my acquaintance. I felt mortified and humble. After the opera, I went into `the crush-room, where my mortification increased almost to agony, to see the greetings and familiar smiles which took place on every side of me ; parties talked of at which I had never been, and to which every body was going as a matter of course,-and the idea of a party, to which I was not asked, or might not have gone if I liked, was a

circumstance entirely new to me. I saw the most lovely forms pass before me, and, in my hearing, offer a seat in their carriage to the men who were putting on their shawls, whom I could almost have knocked down from envy and spite. I thought I had been impudent, but I felt myself looking downright sheepish and crest-fallen. I actually blushed with shame at not having the credit of speaking to a soul; and even fancied people were looking at me, and ridiculing my loneliness. In the worst humour in the world I returned to my lodgings; but had my griefs agreeably dispelled, and my hopes reanimated by the sight of a card from Lady M. C., one of the eight I had called upon, indicating a ball on the following Thursday,—and a goodnatured note from Lord B., my father's friend, asking me to dinner on Friday. Here I thought was an opportunity of making acquaintance, and gaining, at least, one or two steps in the fashionable world. "A ball-room is my element," said I; "there I cannot fail of success,-and Lord B., I am sure, has asked a party on purpose to introduce me.”

Continual rain had hitherto prevented my visiting the Park, of which I had heard much, and certainly expected to meet there numbers of my acquaintance who might be in town without my having yet known it. The next day, therefore, proving extremely fine, I ordered out my gig, of Bath make, which, though not exactly new, was always considered a neat turn out by my friends in Milsomstreet. I had no servant, and sadly missed some friend to sit by my side, such as I might have had by dozens in Bath at every street-corner. Nothing is so atrocious as one man in a gig,—at least, I think so now: it did not seem so strange to me then, so I entered the Park from Piccadilly in solitary grandeur. It was immensely full, and I was as much struck and bedazzled with the sight as I had been at the Opera. I was a little confused at first by the

whirling, turning, and cutting in and out, which always takes place at the lower end of the Park, nick-named TilburyFort,—but contrived to get undamaged into the ring, and proceeded slowly on, poking and peering into every carriage that passed, in expectation of seeing a face that I knew. I might have saved myself the trouble; almost every third carriage was a coronetted one,—and, at that time, I do not think I knew more than four lords in the whole country; one was Lord B., confined to his house by the gout, the other three were Irish peers at Bath. "How different again," thought I, "is this from Bath; there I was quite safe in bowing to every carriage, for I was sure to be acquainted with the inmates of all." I was struck, as before, with the superiority of the people I saw, and made comparisons not very favourable to my native city. This made me more eager than ever for London acquaintance; and, though it certainly appeared more difficult of attainment than I had expected, yet a person like myself, I thought, could not wish for it in vain. I had now got as far as Cumberland-Gate, and had not met a creature I knew, except a family-party in a dingy-yellow chariot, whom I had called on in Gowerstreet, and a young clerk in the office where I was employed, mounted on an evident hack, to whom I felt grateful for a bow. Again I was alone in the midst of thousands,—and, what is worse, I felt it. How I envied the crowds of well-mounted men I saw on every side, either leisurely riding and chatting in knots together, or ranging themselves in the shade opposite Grosvenor-Gate, to review the passing equipages,-or else cantering up to carriage-windows, invited by a friendly nod, the glass obligingly let down to admit the lounging elbow,-and sometimes, indeed, the whole head was thrust in to address a retiring beauty, who reclined in cushioned ease at

the further extremity of the carriage. I turned, and drove down again with no very pleasurable sensations; for, in addition to my other mortifications, I perceived, upon comparison with the exquisitely neat, well-built, and dapper gigs which passed me, my own appeared quite gauky and traveller-like,—at least a foot too high, and more than a year behind the last fashion. I now began to feel that horrid sensation, that frightful apprehension, of being looked and laughed at by the passing multitude. I could almost fancy I heard them pity my forlorn situation, and remark upon my stale equipage. Impatient to get to the end of the line, I cursed the slow movement of the carriages. However I made my exit at last, and turned home to dinner.--But I must break off here for the present. At another opportunity I will continue my history, and relate what befel me at Lady M. C.'s party, and other events which more nearly concern, and more deeply interest me, than I ever supposed a Bath man could be concerned or interested.

A WORD OR TWO ANENT FOX HUNTING,

WITH THE WONDERFUL EXPLOITS OF

MY FRIEND BOB.

66

poor Tom, whom the foul Fiend hath made proud of heart to ride on a bay trotting horse."-King Lear.

There are

My friend Bob is a vastly clever young man. few things which he cannot do even to his own satisfaction, which, considering his fastidious taste, with respect to other people, is saying all that is necessary. It is the case

with a great many gifted persons of my acquaintance that they cannot restrain themselves from claiming their just dues when they hear others boasting of things which they can do much better themselves. Such a person is my friend Bob. We happened to be invited, one day last winter, at a large dinner-party, where we met the chief of the neighbouring gentry. While the ladies remained, little transpired to put him upon his mettle. Country ladies are usually rather literary, but the sex are not apt to arrogate much consequence to themselves or to their opinions, and Bob contented himself with dropping an oblique hint that it was thought his volume of essays would beat Washington Irving out-and-out. The ladies expressed their astonishment at his genius, and the gentlemen stopped eating and stared, but Bob was perfectly composed, spoke ambiguously of himself and the Great Unknown, and generously volunteered his autograph to a lady at the farther end of the table, From this time, it will readily be supposed, that my friend had the conversation pretty much his own way. Every one was afraid to speak, for fear of getting into a scrape; and every one looked for the literary remarks which fell from him, as though they had been nothing but pearls and rubies. I must say that he was very condescending (great geniuses always are), for he had not talked above an hour and a half when he remembered that he had not heard a single voice but his own, and appealed to the company, whether it was not now their turn to entertain him. The appeal was thought very just; and a modest young gentleman commenced, with a propitiatory look at my friend, to discourse upon the last new opera. Bob quite forgot the obligations we already owed him, and here likewise played a solo on the first fiddle, talked feelingly of his dear friend Rossini, and mo