Departure of
Arabella.

will, I insist on having my clothes made after the pattern of the beautiful daughter of Augustus, being convinced that none other can be half so becoming."

"What fashion was that, pray, madam?" said the woman; "I never saw it."

"How!" replied Arabella, "have you already forgot the fashion of the Princess Julia's robe, which you said was worn but last month? or are you ignorant that the Princess Julia and the daughter of Augustus is the same person?”

"I protest, madam," said the woman, extremely confused, "I had forgot that till you called it to my mind.”

"Well,” said Arabella, “make me a robe in the same taste.” The dress is described at length and wonderful it was, if only that she wore no hoop at that period. The tale of the Princess Julia had spread, and all were disposed for jesting, but "her noble air and the inexpressible grace which accompanied all her movements drew the admiration of the whole assembly."

They had stayed a long time in Bath, when Sir Charles, having affairs that required his presence in London, proposed to his niece the leaving Bath in a few days, to which she consented, and accordingly they set out for London in Arabella's coach and six, attended by the servants on horseback, her women having been sent away before in the stage.

Nothing very remarkable happened during this journey, with the exception of several small mistakes of Arabella's, such as her supposing a neat country girl, who was riding behind a man, to be some lady or princess in disguise forced away by a lover she hated, and entreating Mr. Glanville to attempt her rescue, who could not be persuaded to believe it was as she said, and forbade his son to meddle in other people's affairs.

CHAPTER XXXI.

AMONG the books of this time now forgotten is "Pompey the Little, or the Life and Adventures of a Lap-dog"; it was written by Coventry, about 1750, and survived long enough to find a place in Mrs. Barbauld's "British Novelists." Lady Mary calls it

a real and exact representation of life, as it is now acted in London, as it was in my time, and as it will be I do not doubt a hundred years hence, with some little variation of dress and perhaps of government. I found in it many of my acquaintances. Lady T. and Lady O. are so well painted, I fancied I heard them talk, and have heard them say the very things there repeated.

On such good authority, I take from "Pompey" as a specimen of real manners this description of a fine gentleman, with the account of a fashionable visit and the latest news from Bath. The little book is written satirically, and this is of course exaggerated.

Dress was his darling vanity; and consequently his rooms were more filled with clothes than curiosities: there all the pride of Paris was exhibited to view; suits of velvet and embroidery, sword hilts, red-heeled shoes, and snuff boxes, lay about in negligent confusion. Nor did he appear with less éclat without doors; for he had shown his gilt chariot and bay horses in all the streets of gay resort, and was allowed to have the most splendid brilliant equipage in London. The club at White's voted him a member; and there was a rivalry among the ladies of fashion, who should first engage him to their assemblies. Not any one came into the side-box at a playhouse with so graceful a negligence; and it was generally confessed that he had the most accomplished manner of talking nonsense of any man of quality in London.

The two sisters had lain longer in bed than usual the morn

The season at
Bath.

ing after their arrival in town, which was owing to the fatigue of their journey. They had but just finished their breakfast at twelve o'clock; Aurora was sitting down to her harpsichord and Theodosia reading the play bills for the evening, when the door opened and the count was ushered by a servant into the room.

When the first ceremonies were over, and the count had expressed the prodigious satisfaction he felt in seeing them returned to town, he inquired what kind of a season they had at Bath.

"Why, really," said Theodosia, "a very good one: there were many agreeable people there, and all of them easy and sociable; which made our time pass away cheerfully and pleasantly."

"You amaze me!" cries the count. "Impossible, madam ! How can it be, ladies? I had letters from Lord Marmozet and Lady Betty Scornful, assuring me that, except you and themselves, there were not three decent creatures in the place. I have Lady Betty's letter in my pocket, I believe at this moment—Oh, no, upon recollection, I put it this morning into my cabinet, where I preserve all my letters from people of quality."

Aurora, smothering a laugh, said she was extremely obliged to Lord Marmozet and Lady Betty for ranking her and her sister in the catalogue of decent beings; “But surely," added she, "they must have been delirious when they wrote their letters, for the Bath was extremely full."

"Full,” cries the count, interrupting her; "oh, madam, that is very possible, and yet there might be no company, that is none of us; nobody that one knows; for as for all the tramontanes that come by the cross post, we never reckon them anything but monsters in human shape that serve to fill up the stage of life, like ciphers in a play. For instance, you often see an awkward girl appear in the rooms with a frosty face, as if she was just come from feeding poultry in her father's yard; or you see a booby squire, with a head resembling a stone-ball over a gate-post. Now it would be the most ridiculous thing in life to call such people company. 'Tis the want of titles and not the want of faces that makes a place empty; for if there is nobody one knows, if there is none of us in a place, we esteem all the rest as mob and rabble."

Clinker."

In Smollett's "Humphrey Clinker," written in 1766, there is a good deal about Bath. We saw something "Humphrey of Smollett in connection with Goldsmith, as one of the set of brilliant writers of our period. His books are little read now, and almost forgotten, but, like himself, found favorites during his life. The omnivorous Lady Mary enjoyed him; she writes, after receiving his translation of "Don Quixote":

I am sorry my friend Smollett loses his time in translations. He has certainly a talent for invention, though I think it flags a little in his last work (“Count Fathom ”). 'Don Quixote" is a difficult undertaking. I shall never desire to read any attempt to new-dress him. I had rather take pains to understand him in the original Spanish than sleep over a stupid translation.

"Humphrey Clinker" is all in letters; and the different characters recount their impressions in characteristic ways. This is the description which the sentimental, languishing heroine, Miss Lydia Medford, sends to her friend. As Beau Nash had died in 1761, at a great age, the "pretty little Master of Ceremonies" must have been his successor.

Bath, April 26, 1766.

Letter from

TO MISS WILlis, at Gloucester. My Dearest Companion: The pleasure I received from yours, which came to hand yesterday, is not to be expressed. Love and friendship are, without doubt, charming passions; Lydia Medford. which absence serves only to heighten and improve. Your kind present of the garnet bracelets I shall keep as carefully as I preserve my own life; and I beg you will accept, in return, of my heart house-wife, with the tortoise-shell memorandum book, as a trifling pledge of my unalterable affection.

Bath is to me a new world-all is gaiety, good humor, and diversion. The eye is continually entertained with splendor of dress and equipage; and the ear with the sound of coaches, chaises, chairs, and other carriages. The merry bells ring round from morn till night. Then we are welcomed by the

The Master of
Ceremonies.

Ladies in the bath.

The pump

room.

city waits in our own lodgings; we have music in the pumproom every morning, cotillions every forenoon in the room, balls twice a week, and concerts every other night, besides private assemblies and parties without number. As soon as we were settled in our lodgings, we were visited by the Master of the Ceremonies; a pretty little gentleman, so sweet, so fine, so civil, and polite, that in our country he might pass for the Prince of Wales: then he talks so charmingly, both in verse and prose, that you would be delighted to hear him discourse; for you must know he is a great writer, and has got five tragedies ready for the stage. He did us the favor to dine with us by my uncle's invitation; and the next day squired my aunt and me to every part of Bath; which, to be sure, is an earthly paradise. The Square, the Circus, and the Parades put you in mind of the sumptuous palaces represented in prints and pictures ; and the new buildings, such as Princes-row, Harlequin'srow, Bladud's-row, and twenty other rows, look like so many enchanted palaces raised on hanging terraces.

At eight in the morning we go in dishabille to the pumproom; which is crowded like a Welch fair; and there you see the highest quality and the lowest trades-folk jostling each other, without ceremony, hail-fellow well-met. The noise of the music playing in the gallery, the heat and flavor of such a crowd, and the hum and buzz of their conversation, gave me the headache and vertigo the first day; but afterward all these things became familiar, and even agreeable. Right under the pump-room windows is the King's Bath; a huge cistern, where you see the patients up to their necks in hot water. The ladies wear jackets and petticoats of brown linen, with chip hats, in which they fix their handkerchiefs to wipe the sweat from their faces; but, truly, whether it is owing to the steam that surrounds them, or to the heat of the water, or the nature of the dress, or to all three causes together, they look so flushed, and so frightful, that I always turn my eyes another way.

For my part, I content myself with drinking about half a pint of the water every morning. The pumper, with his wife and servant, attend within a bar; and the glasses, of different sizes, stand ranged in order before them, so that you have nothing to do but to point at that which you choose, and it is filled immediately, hot and sparkling from the pump. It is the only water I could ever drink without being sick. Far from