Come all you gay fellows, so merry and witty,
Ye Somerset lads of the elegant city,
Ye sons of the turf who delight in a race,
And ye Nimrods of Bath who are fond of the chase;
Come join us, and pledge us, like true brothers all,
At old Matthew Temple's, the Castle and Ball.
Will Partridge, the father of sports, in the chair,
With honest George Wingrove will welcome you there,
While Handy, who once on two horses could ride,
And merry Jack Bedford will meet you beside;
Then for sport or for spree, or to keep up the ball,
We've an excellent fellow, you'll own, in Bill Hall.

Captain Beaven, a yeoman of merry renown,
Will keep up the joke with the gay ones from town,
While, if you'd go off in a canter or speed,
You've only to take a few lessons with Mead;
Then Sharland can suit every beau to a T,
So haste to the Castle, ye lovers of glee.
Sweet Margerim, clerk of the course, will be found
With any young sportsman to trot o'er the ground,
Though his Honesty, since at Wells races 'twas tried,
It must be admitted, has bolted aside;
The Newcombe's are good at all sports in the ring,
While, like Chanticleer, Hunt the Cocker will sing.
Jack Langley, the fam'd 'Squire Western of Bath,
A jolly fox-hunter, who's fond of a laugh,
With mellow Tom Williams, of Brewers a pair,
Are the bacchanals form'd for to banish dull care;
Then haste to the Castle, ye true merry sprites,
Where the song, and the chase, and the fancy delights.
Give a host more to name of the jovial and free,
That my song would extend till to-morrow d'ye see:
But a truce to particulars; take them all round,
There's nothing in Bath like themselves to be found;
Where harmony, friendship, and mirth can combine,
The pleasures of life with kind hearts and good wine.

And in good truth, there is no place within the dominions of King Bladud, where the social man can find more cheerful companions, the sporting man more kindred spirits, and the lovers of the characteristic and the humorous meet with a greater variety of genuine eccentricity, unalloyed with any baser or offensive material. Matthew Temple himself is a great original, pure Somerset, perfectly good-natured, ever ready to oblige, and although for many years the commander-in-chief of the Castle, is yet in all the chicanery of his

profession, and the usual obtrusiveness of a landlord, as unlike the generality of his brethren as a raw recruit is to an effective soldier. Old Master William Partridge is also worthy of notice as the father of the turf, and then if you would ride to hounds, no man in Bath can mount you better, or afford you such good corn, great attentions, and a warm stall for a prime hack. Rich in anecdote, and what is still better, with a charitable purse and a worthy heart, there are few men who have earned for themselves more respect in this life, or deserve it better, than William Handy, Esq. the once celebrated equestrian, who having realized a handsome competency, retired, some years since, to Bath, to enjoy his otium cum dignitate: here, at an advanced age, with all the spirits of youth, and a lively interest in every thing relating to sporting, you will meet with the character I have described; and, take my word for it, will not be disappointed in the likeness. Among the bon vivants of Sportsmans' Hall I must not omit that care-killing soul Captain Beaven, whose easy flow of good-humour and love of good sport is not less conspicuous than his love for a pretty lass, and his delight in a good song and a cheerful glass. Honest George Wingrove, a wealthy baker, and the patriarch of the room, will never prove a crusty customer, I am sure; and if that good-looking fellow Mead, the riding-master, does sometimes "o'erstep the modesty of nature" in his mode of addressing his pupils, adopting the familiar style of addressing them by their christian name—as, for instance, "set upright, Sally; more forward, Eliza; keep your rein-hand more square, Ellen;" and soon; he hath, however, yet many good points that amply compensate for this perverseness of habit. Among the genuine good ones, the real thing, as the sporting phrase has it, not a biped in Bath beats Tom Williams, who, agreeable to our Eton Gradus, is good at every thing: a more jovial, worthy-hearted, respected soul breathes not within the merry court of King Bladud, and very few there that can rival him in a good horse, a long run, or as a lively companion. Tom is married to the sister of Bartley, the comedian, and carries with him into private life the estimation which ever attends him in public. For a rum story, a bit of real life, or a roguish joke, who shall excel Jack Bedford? And then, if your honour would knock the balls about, why "Jack's the lad" to accommodate you. And little Bill Hall, who keeps the Kingston billiard-rooms, will be most happy to make his best bow to you without any view to the mace. But, i' faith, I am sketching away here in Sportsman's Hall at old Matthew Temple's, and could continue so to do for another chapter; forgetting, as Transit says, that we have yet to traverse the whole city of Bath through, spying into the vagaries and varieties of the more polished, and taking a slight occasional glance at the lowest grade of society, in order to diversify and keep up the chiaroscuro of our pictures.

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Merry reader, for such I hope thou art, we have now travelled on for
nearly two years together; and many a varied scene in life's pilgrimage
have we set before you, from the gilded dome of royalty to the humble
shed of the Emeralder; but our visit to Bath will afford you a richer
treat than aught that has yet preceded it. It was when the party broke
up at Temple's, and that was not before the single admonition of old
father Time had sounded his morning bell, that a few bon vivantsof the Castle, accompanied by the English Spy and his merry friends,
sallied forth in quest of strange adventure; for it must be admitted,
that in the elegant city
"Candles and ladies' eyes oft shine most bright,
When both should be extinguish'd for the night."

A fancy ball at the Upper Rooms on this night had attracted all the elegance, fashion, and beauty to be found within the gay circle of pleasure, and thither we bent our steps, having first provided ourselves with the necessary introductions. The scene above all others in the fascination of gay life and the display of female charms is a fancy ball; a species of entertainment better suited to the modest character of our countrywomen than the masquerade, and, in general, much better liked in this country, where the masked entertainment, unless in private, is always avoided by females of rank and character. One of the most amusing scenes which first presented itself to our notice on approaching the entrance to the rooms was the eager anxiety and determined perseverance of the liveried Mercuries and Bath dromedaries, alias chairmen, to procure for their respective masters and mistresses a priority of admission; an officious zeal that was often productive of the most ludicrous circumstances, and, in two or three instances, as far as indispensable absence from the pleasures of the night could operate, of the most fatal effects. A well-known city beau, who had been at considerable expense in obtaining from London the splendid dress of a Greek prince, was completely upset and rolled into the kennel by his chairmen running foul of a sedan, in which Lord Molyneaux and his friend Lord Ducie had both crammed themselves in the dress of Tyrolese chieftains. The Countess of D————, who personated Psyche, in attempting to extricate herself from an unpleasant situation, in which the obstinacy of her chairmen had placed her, actually had her glittering wings torn away, unintentionally, from her shoulders by the rude hand of a Bath rustic, whose humanity prompted him to attempt her deliverance. Old Lady L————, in the highest state of possible alarm, from feeling her sedan inclining full twenty degrees too much to the right, popped her head up, and raising the top part of the machine, screamed out most piteously for assistance, and on drawing it back again, tore off her new head-dress, and let her false front shut in between the flap of the chair, by which accident, all the beautiful Parisian curls of her ladyship were rendered quite flat and uninteresting. An old gentleman of fortune, who was suffering under hypochondriacal affection, and had resolved to attempt Sir John Falstaff, received the end of a sedan pole plump in his chest, by which powerful application he was driven through the back part of the machine, and effectually cured of "la maladie imaginaire" by the acuteness of a little real pain. The flambeau of a spruce livery servant setting fire to the greasy tail of a Bath chairman's surtout produced a most awkward rencontre, by which a husband and wife, who had not been associated together for some years, but were proceeding to the ball in separate chairs, were, by the accidental concussion of their sedans in a moment of alarm, actually thrown into each other's arms; and such was the gallantry of the gentleman, that he marched into the ball-room bearing up the slender frame of his heretofore forsaken rib, to whom he from that time has become reunited. The lady mayoress of the city was excessively indignant on finding her preeminence of entrée disputed by the wife of a Bristol butcher; while the chair of the master of the ceremonies was for some time blocked in between the sedans of two old tabbies, whose expressions of alarm, attempts at faintings, and little flights of scandal, had so annoyed the poor M. C. that when he entered the ball-room, he felt as irritable as a tantalized lover between two female furies. In short, the scene was rich in amusement for the group of merry hearts who had left the Castle in quest of adventure; and while we were enjoying the ludicrous effects produced by the jostling of the sedans, my friend Transit had sketched the affair in his usual happy style, and designated it thus:

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THE BATTLE OF THE CHAIRS.