380 POSTHUMOUS PAPERS OF
bering- the maternal injunction to make the best nse of their time, had already commenced incipient flirtations in the mislaying- scarfs, putting- on gloves, setting down cups, and so forth ; slight matters apparently, but which may be turned to surprisingly good account by expert prac- titioners.
Lounging near the doors, and in remote corners, were various knots of silly young men, displaying every variety 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 al- ready taken up their positions for the evening, were divers unmarried ladies past their grand climateric, 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 mir- rors, 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. They lay on hot water, and call it tea. Drink it." said Mr. Dowler, in a loud voice, di- recting 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 ecstacy.
" My dear Sir, I am highly honoured. Ba — ath is favoured. Mrs. Dowler, you embellish the rooms. I congratulate you on your fea- thers. Ke — markable !"
'* Any body here?" inquired Dowler, suspiciously.
" Any body I The elite of Ba — ath. Mr. Pickwick, do you see the 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 thd
Dowager Lady Snuphanuph."
" Is it indeed ?" said Mr. Pickwick.
" No less a person, I assure you," said the Master of the Ceremonies; " Hush. Draw a little nearer, Mr. Pickwick. You see the splendidly dressed young man coming this way ?"
" The one with the long hair, and the particularly small forehead?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.
- ' The same. The richest young man in Ba — ath at this moment.
Young Lord Mutanhed."
- You don't say so ?" said Mr. Pickwick.
- Yes. You'll hear his voice in a moment, Mr. Pickwick. He'
