In addition to what has been already said of Christopher Morland's personal and mental endowments, when about to be launched into all the difficulties and dangers of a six weeks' residence in Bath, it may be stated, for the reader's more certain information, lest the following pages should otherwise fail of giving any idea of what his character is meant to be, that his heart was affectionate; his disposition cheerful and open, without conceit or affectation of any kind—his manners just removed from the awkwardness and shyness of a boy; his person pleasing, and, when in good looks, pretty—and his mind about as ignorant and uninformed as the male mind at seventeen usually is.

When the hour of departure drew near, the maternal anxiety of Mrs. Morland will be naturally supposed to be most severe. A thousand alarming presentiments of evil to her beloved Christopher from this terrific separation must oppress her heart with sadness, and drown her in tears for the last day or two of their being together; and advice of the most important and applicable nature must of course flow from her wise lips in their parting conference in her closet. Cautions against the violence of such noblewomen and ladies as delight in forcing young gentleman away to some remote farm-house, must, at such a moment, relieve the fulness of her heart. Who would not think so? But Mrs. Morland knew so little of ladies and gentlewoman, that she entertained no notion of their general mischievousness, and was wholly unsuspicious of danger to her son from their machinations. Her cautions were confined to the following points. "I beg, Christopher, you will always wrap yourself up very warm about the throat, when you come from the rooms at night; and I wish you would try to keep some account of the money you spend; I will give you this little book on purpose."

Sally, or rather Sarah (for what young lady of common gentility will reach the age of sixteen without altering her name as far as she can?), must from situation be at this time the intimate friend and confidante of her brother. It is remarkable, however, that she neither insisted on Christopher's writing by every post, nor exacted his promise of transmitting the character of every new acquaintance, nor a detail of every interesting conversation that Bath might produce. Everything indeed relative to this important journey was done, on the part of the Morlands, with a degree of moderation and composure, which seemed rather consistent with the common feelings of common life, than with the refined susceptibilities, the tender emotions which the first separation of a hero from his family ought always to excite. His father, instead of giving him an unlimited order on his banker, or even putting a hundred pounds bank-bill into his hands, gave him only ten guineas, and promised him more when he wanted it.

Under these unpromising auspices, the parting took place, and the journey began. It was performed with suitable quietness and uneventful safety. Neither robbers nor tempests befriended them, nor one lucky overturn to introduce them to the hero. Nothing more alarming occurred than a fear, on Mrs. Allen's side, of having once left her clogs behind her at an inn, and that fortunately proved to be groundless.

They arrived at Bath. Christopher was all eager delight—his eyes were here, there, everywhere, as they approached its fine and striking environs, and afterwards drove through those streets which conducted them to the hotel. He was come to be happy, and he felt happy already.

They were soon settled in comfortable lodgings in Pulteney Street.

It is now expedient to give some description of Mrs. Allen, that the reader may be able to judge in what manner her actions will hereafter tend to promote the general distress of the work, and how she will, probably, contribute to reduce poor Christopher to all the desperate wretchedness of which a last volume is capable—whether by her imprudence, vulgarity, or jealousy—whether by intercepting his letters, ruining his character, or turning him out of doors.

Mrs. Allen was one of that numerous class of females, whose society can raise no other emotion than surprise at there being any men in the world who could like them well enough to marry them. She had neither beauty, genius, accomplishment, nor manner. The air of a gentlewoman, a great deal of quiet, inactive good temper, and a trifling turn of mind were all that could account for her being the choice of a sensible, intelligent man like Mr. Allen. In one respect she was admirably fitted to introduce a young lady into public, being as fond of going everywhere and seeing everything herself as any young lady could be. Dress was her passion. She had a most harmless delight in being fine; and our hero's entree into life could not take place till after three or four days had been spent in learning what was mostly worn, and her chaperone was provided with a dress of the newest fashion. Christopher too made some purchases himself, and when all these matters were arranged, the important evening came which was to usher him into the Upper Rooms. His hair was cut and dressed by the best hand, his clothes put on with care, and both Mrs. Allen and her maid declared he looked quite as he should do. With such encouragement, Christopher hoped at least to pass uncensured through the crowd. As for admiration, it was always very welcome when it came, but he did not depend on it.

Mrs. Allen was so long in dressing that they did not enter the ballroom till late. The season was full, the room crowded, and the two ladies squeezed in as well as they could. As for Mr. Allen, he repaired directly to the card-room, and left them to enjoy a mob by themselves. With more care for the safety of her new gown than for the comfort of her protégée, Mrs. Allen made her way through the throng of men by the door, as swiftly as the necessary caution would allow; Christopher, however, kept close at her side, and linked his arm too firmly within his friend's to be torn asunder by any common effort of a struggling assembly. But to his utter amazement he found that to proceed along the room was by no means the way to disengage themselves from the crowd; it seemed rather to increase as they went on, whereas he had imagined that when once fairly within the door, they should easily find seats and be able to watch the dances with perfect convenience. But this was far from being the case, and though by unwearied diligence they gained even the top of the room, their situation was just the same; they saw nothing of the dancers but the high feathers of some of the ladies. Still they moved on—something better was yet in view; and by a continued exertion of strength and ingenuity they found themselves at last in the passage behind the highest bench. Here there was something less of crowd than below; and hence Mr. Morland had a comprehensive view of all the company beneath him, and of all the dangers of her late passage through them. It was a splendid sight, and he began, for the first time that evening, to feel himself at a ball: he longed to dance, but he had not an acquaintance in the room. Mrs. Allen did all that she could do in such a case by saying very placidly, every now and then, "I wish you could dance, my dear—I wish you could find a partner." For some time his young friend felt obliged to her for these wishes; but they were repeated so often, and proved so totally ineffectual, that Christopher grew tired at last, and would thank him no more.

They were not long able, however, to enjoy the repose of the eminence they had so laboriously gained. Everybody was shortly in motion for tea, and they must squeeze out like the rest. Christopher began to feel something of disappointment—he was tired of being continually pressed against by people, the generality of whose faces possessed nothing to interest, and with all of whom he was so wholly unacquainted that he could not relieve the irksomeness of imprisonment by the exchange of a syllable with any of his fellow captives; and when at last arrived in the tea-room, he felt yet more the awkwardness of having no party to join, no acquaintance to claim, no gentleman to assist them. They saw nothing of Mr. Allen; and after looking about them in vain for a more eligible situation, were obliged to sit down at the end of a table, at which a large party were already placed, without having anything to do there, or anybody to speak to, except each other.

Mrs. Allen congratulated herself, as soon as they were seated, on having preserved her gown from injury. "It would have been very shocking to have it torn," said she, "would not it? It is such a delicate muslin. For my part I have not seen anything I like so well in the whole room, I assure you."

"How uncomfortable it is," whispered Christopher, "not to have a single acquaintance here!"

"Yes, my dear," replied Mrs. Allen, with perfect serenity, "it is very uncomfortable indeed."

"What shall we do? The gentlemen and ladies at this table look as if they wondered why we came here—we seem forcing ourselves into their party."

"Aye, so we do. That is very disagreeable. I wish we had a large acquaintance here."

"I wish we had any;—it would be somebody to go to."

"Very true, my dear; and if we knew anybody we would join them directly. The Skinners were here last year—I wish they were here now."

"Had not we better go away as it is? Here are no tea-things for us, you see."

"No more there are, indeed. How very provoking! But I think we had better sit still, for one gets so tumbled in such a crowd! How is my head, my dear? Somebody gave me a push that has hurt it, I am afraid."

"No, indeed, it looks very nice. But, dear Mrs. Allen, are you sure there is nobody you know in all this multitude of people? I think you must know somebody."

"I don't, upon my word—I wish I did. I wish I had a large acquaintance here with all my heart, and then I should get you a partner. I should be so glad to have you dance. There goes a strange-looking woman! What an odd gown she has got on! How old-fashioned it is! Look at the back."

After some time they received an offer of tea from one of their neighbours; it was thankfully accepted, and this introduced a light conversation with the gentleman who offered it, which was the only time that anybody spoke to them during the evening, till they were discovered and joined by Mr. Allen when the dance was over.

"Well, Mr. Morland," said he, directly, "I hope you have had an agreeable ball."

"Very agreeable indeed," he replied, vainly endeavouring to hide a great yawn.

"I wish he had been able to dance," said his wife; "I wish we could have introduced a partner for him. I have been saying how glad I should be if the Skinners were here this winter instead of last; or if the Parrys had come, as they talked of once, he might have danced with Georgina Parry. I am so sorry he has not had a partner!"

"We shall do better another evening I hope," was Mr. Allen's consolation.

The company began to disperse when the dancing was over—enough to leave space for the remainder to walk about in some comfort; and now was the time for a hero, who had not yet played a very distinguished part in the events of the evening, to be noticed and admired. Every five minutes, by removing some of the crowd, gave greater openings for his charms. He was now seen by many young woman who had not been near her before. Not but one, was brave enough to ask the man to dance; such was not the done thing. No, the lady must be asked to dance, and Christopher was unlikely to ask a lady to dance. However, started with rapturous wonder on beholding him, no whisper of eager inquiry ran round the room, nor was he once called a divinity by anybody. Yet Christopher was in very good looks, and had the company only seen him three years before, they would now have thought him exceedingly handsome.

He was looked at, however, and with some admiration; for, in his own hearing, two gentlewomen pronounced him to be a dashing boy, and lamented their desire to be introduced to him. Such words had their due effect; he immediately thought the evening pleasanter than he had found it before—his humble vanity was contented—he felt more obliged to the two young women for this simple praise than a true-quality hero would have been for fifteen sonnets in celebration of his charms, and went to his chair in good humour with everybody, and perfectly satisfied with his share of public attention.