ashion, to proclaim that he would set
fire to the house and burn it to the ground to prevent its being profaned
by less sacred associations. He had done things even more extravagant
than this, and would take boisterous roars of laughter as his odd
compliment was discussed.

The minuteness of his record of the gaieties shows how amused and
interested Boz was in all that he saw. Nothing escaped him of the
routine, day, hour, and place; all is given, even the different rooms at
the Assembly House. "In the ball-room, the long card-room, the octagon
card-room, the staircases, the passages, the hum of many voices and the
sound of many feet were perfectly bewildering; dresses rustled, feathers
waved, lights shone, and jewels sparkled. There was the music, not of
the quadrille band, for it had not yet commenced," &c. Here Bantam,
M.C., arrived at precisely twenty minutes before eight, "to receive the
company." And such company! "Brilliant eyes, lighted up with
pleasurable expectation, gleamed from every side, and, look where you
would, some exquisite form glided gracefully through the throng, and was
no sooner lost than it was replaced by another as dainty and bewitching";
the warmth of which description showing how delighted was the young man
with all he saw. But how did he secure admission? For it was a highly
fashionable company; there were vouchers and tickets to be secured. But
these were slight difficulties for our brilliant "pushful" young man. He
could make his way, and his mission found him interest. He certainly saw
as much of Bath as anyone could in the time. Yet, gay and sprightly as
was his account of Bath, there may have been a reason why Boz may have
not recalled the place with pleasurable feelings. It will be recollected
that, after giving a few lines to the account of Mr. Pickwick and friends
being set down at the White Hart, he carries them off at once to lodgings
in the Crescent. That first-class hotel was, alas! not open to the poor,
over-worked reporter; and he could tell of nothing that went on within
its portals. Hotel life on a handsome scale was not for _him_, and he
was obliged to put up at far humbler quarters, a sort of common inn.

There is nothing more quaint or interesting than this genuine antique--the
Saracen's Head in Walcot. It may pair off with the old White Horse in
Canongate, where "Great Sam" put up for a night. It is surely the most
effective of all the old inns one coul