Fitz-Boodle."

"What! of Boodle Hall--my husband's old friend; of Charles I.'s
creation? My dear sir, I beg you a thousand pardons, and am delighted
to welcome a person of whom I have heard Frank say so much. Frank!" (to
Berry, who soon entered in very glossy boots and a white waistcoat), "do
you know, darling, I mistook Mr. Fitz-Boodle for Mr. Fitz-Simons--that
horrid Irish horse-dealing person; and I never, never, never can pardon
myself for being so rude to him."

The big eyes here assumed an expression that was intended to kill me
outright with kindness: from being calm, still, reserved, Angelica
suddenly became gay, smiling, confidential, and folatre. She told me she
had heard I was a sad creature, and that she intended to reform me, and
that I must come and see Frank a great deal.

Now, although Mr. Fitz-Simons, for whom I was mistaken, is as low
a fellow as ever came out of Dublin, and having been a captain in
somebody's army, is now a blackleg and horse-dealer by profession; yet,
if I had brought him home to Mrs. Fitz-Boodle to dinner, I should have
liked far better that that imaginary lady should have received him with
decent civility, and not insulted the stranger within her husband's
gates. And, although it was delightful to be received so cordially
when the mistake was discovered, yet I found that ALL Berry's old
acquaintances were by no means so warmly welcomed; for another old
school-chum presently made his appearance, who was treated in a very
different manner.

This was no other than poor Jack Butts, who is a sort of small artist
and picture-dealer by profession, and was a dayboy at Slaughter House
when we were there, and very serviceable in bringing in sausages,
pots of pickles, and other articles of merchandise, which we could not
otherwise procure. The poor fellow has been employed, seemingly, in the
same office of fetcher and carrier ever since; and occupied that post
for Mrs. Berry. It was, "Mr. Butts, have you finished that drawing for
Lady Pash's album?" and Butts produced it; and, "Did you match the silk
for me at Delille's?" and there was the silk, bought, no doubt, with the
poor fellow's last five francs; and, "Did you go to the furniture-man in
the Rue St. Jacques; and bring the canary-seed, and call about my
shawl at that odious dawdling Madame Fichet's; and have you brought the
guitar-strings?"

Butts hadn't brought the guitar-strings; and thereupon Mrs. Berry's
countenance assumed the