The Gent has several fashions in the dancing at Rosherville, different from those of the Casino. In the first place, he takes off his hat, and hangs it on a peg, if there is one vacant; if not, he leaves it at the bar. Then he bows to his partner, and, if he knows her very well, courts at the same time: and, subsequently, he salutes the corners with great politeness, previous to commencing the first set. But this particular set does not stand very high in estimation. In common with other balls for the _basse classe_, its component Gents prefer dances of intricate and abnormal fashion: and so it is here also considered _ton_ to perform the _Caledonians_ (which nobody ever knows all through, except the master of the ceremonies), the _Lancers_, _Spanish Dances_, the _Cellarius_, even the _Gavotte_, and other frantic arrangements of gasping professors, including, of course, “_La Polka_” as it is always termed, in their parlance. And on “Gala Nights,” still more wonderful evolutions are gone through, all of which are due to the inventive genius of the aforesaid inimitable M.C., whose friendship the Gent especially prizes. For at Rosherville that great man is to be seen—actually, really to be seen—walking like an ordinary person, amongst ordinary fellow creatures. He is no longer a phantasy of mental conception—not that zephyr in pumps bounding amidst new-laid eggs and tea-things, or matchlessly performing his Marine Hornpipe in top-boots, or Chinese Fandango in handcuffs, or Milanese Fling in the double jack-chains; but a substantial reality,—the glass of fashion, the mould of form, whom we can never fancy putting off the pumps of ceremony for the high-lows of necessity—in a word, THE BARON NATHAN. The Gent at Ramsgate would be the last to persuade that it is really a dull place. He is one of the most strenuous upholders of that greatest of all popular delusions suffered to go unchallenged, that English sea-side watering-places generally are pleasant spots to emigrate to, and Ramsgate in particular. We know, as far as we are concerned, that we once underwent transportation for seven days to that penal settlement; and that we never before suffered (we expect in common with every body else) from such a ghastly gasping after the belief that we were “doing a holiday,” as the Gent would say, as during that time. How the Gent makes up his mind to go to Ramsgate at all we cannot make out; but there he always is: and he divides the measure of his revelry thereat into four goes of excitement: Going on the sands; Going out sailing; Going on the pier; and Going to Sachett’s.