There are such numbers of acquaintances, such a constant succession of engagements of one sort or other, such a round of delights, that the town resembles Vauxhall, where the nearest and dearest friends may walk round and round all night without once meeting: for instance, at dinner you should see a person whose manners and conversation are agreeable and pleasing to you; you may wish in vain to become more intimate, for the chance is, that you will not meet so as to converse a second time for many months; for no one can tell when the dice-box of society may turn up the same numbers again.

I do not mean to infer that you may not barely see the same features again; it is possible that you may catch a glimpse of them on the opposite side of Pall ~178~~Mall or Bond-street, or see them near to you at a crowded rout, without a possibility of approaching.
"It is from this cause, that those who live in London are so totally indifferent to each other; the waves follow so quick, that every vacancy is immediately filled up, and the want is not perceived.

The well-bred civility of modern times, and the example of some 'very popular people,' it is true, have introduced a shaking of hands, a pretended warmth, a dissembled cordiality, into the manners of the cold and warm, alike the dear friend and the acquaintance of yesterday.

Consequently we continually hear such conversation as the following:--' Ah, how d'ye do?
I'm delighted to see you! How is Mrs.M---- ?' 'She's very well, thank you.' 'Has she any increase in family ?' 'Any increase! why I've only been married three months.

I see you are talking of my former wife: bless you, she has been dead these three years.'-- Or, 'Ah, my dear friend, how d'ye do?
You have been out of town some time; where have you been?
In Norfolk ?' 'No, I have been two years in India.'" This description of a friendly salutation appeared to interest and amuse both Talltho and Mortimer.