Anxious (writes a correspondent) to show one of the most
splendid and classical of our smaller English cities to a friend from Paris, I took him down to Bath on Saturday night. I knew, of course, that it is most unwise to make any expedition a l'imprevu in England today, and I was prepared for considerable difficulties in obtaining accommodation for the night. I was not prepared for the most antagonistic attitude of the staff of the various hotels at which I tried, and failed, to get rooms : " I wonder, then, if you could tell me of some other hotel I might get into? "—" You won't get into any." By ten o'clock we had at last found ,a single room in a small hotel near the Circus. The next day, being Sunday, everything was shun Roman baths, museum, art gallery, restaurants. Two moderately unclean cafes were open about luncheon time, and in one of these we ate some watery nouilles. We spent the afternoon scaling one of the hilltops around the city, from which you can , survey the terraces, circuses and crescents in all their geometrical beauty. Descending about a quarter to four, we tried to get tea ; it was the same story as at lunch. Of three hotels at which I asked, the manageresses of two pursued me to the door with undisguised suspicion. Discouraged, and not a little ashamed, I took my foreign visitor to the station and boarded a London train. " C'est beau Bath," he said, " mais ce n'est pas tres gai." I ruefully agreed.
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