first
bright morning I set off for Cheltenham. I was greatly struck with the
entrance to that town: it is to these watering-places that a foreigner
should be taken, in order to give him an adequate idea of the
magnificent opulence, and universal luxury, of England. Our country has,
in every province, what France only has in Paris--a capital, consecrated
to gaiety, idleness, and enjoyment. London is both too busy in one class
of society, and too pompous in another, to please a foreigner, who
has not excellent recommendations to private circles. But at Brighton,
Cheltenham, Hastings, Bath, he may, as at Paris, find all the gaieties
of society without knowing a single individual.

My carriage stopped at the--Hotel. A corpulent and stately waiter, with
gold buckles to a pair of very tight pantaloons, showed me up stairs. I
found myself in a tolerable room facing the street, and garnished
with two pictures of rocks and rivers, with a comely flight of crows,
hovering in the horizon of both, as natural as possible, only they were
a little larger than the trees. Over the chimney-piece, where I had
fondly hoped to find a looking-glass, was a grave print of General
Washington, with one hand stuck out like the spout of a tea-pot. Between
the two windows (unfavourable position!) was an oblong mirror, to which
I immediately hastened, and had the pleasure of seeing my complexion
catch the colour of the curtains that overhung the glass on each side,
and exhibit the pleasing rurality of a pale green.

I shrunk back aghast, turned, and beheld the waiter. Had I seen myself
in a glass delicately shaded by rose-hued curtains, I should gently and
smilingly have said, "Have the goodness to bring me the bill of fare."
As it was, I growled out, "Bring me the bill, and be d--d to you."

The stiff waiter bowed solemnly, and withdrew slowly. I looked round the
room once more, and discovered the additional adornments of a tea-urn,
and a book. "Thank Heaven," thought I, as I took up the latter, "it
can't be one of Jeremy Bentham's." No! it was the Cheltenham Guide. I
turned to the head of amusements--"Dress ball at the rooms every--" some
day or other--which of the seven I utterly forget; but it was the same
as that which witnessed my first arrival in the small drawing-room of
the--Hotel.

"Thank Heaven!" said I to myself, as Bedos entered with my things, and
was ordered immediately to have all in preparation for "the dressball
at the rooms,"