rly after Jonathan had run
over again one of his best runs.

Now, dear Nimrod, adieu. Whenever you comes over to England, I shall be
werry 'appy to see you in Great Coram Street, where dinner is on the
table punctually at five on week days, and four on Sundays; and with
best regards to Mrs. Nimrod, and all the little Nimrods,

I remain, for Self and Co., yours to serve,

JOHN JORROCKS.

XII. MR. JORROCKS'S DINNER PARTY

The general postman had given the final flourish to his bell, and the
muffin-girl had just begun to tinkle hers, when a capacious yellow
hackney-coach, with a faded scarlet hammer-cloth, was seen jolting down
Great Coram Street, and pulling up at Mr. Jorrocks's door.

Before Jarvey had time to apply his hand to the area bell, after giving
the usual three knocks and a half to the brass lion's head on the door,
it was opened by the boy Benjamin in a new drab coat, with a blue
collar, and white sugar-loaf buttons, drab waistcoat, and black
velveteen breeches, with well-darned white cotton stockings.

The knock drew Mr. Jorrocks from his dining-room, where he had been
acting the part of butler, for which purpose he had put off his coat and
appeared in his shirtsleeves, dressed in nankeen shorts, white gauze
silk stockings, white neckcloth, and white waistcoat, with a frill as
large as a hand-saw. Handing the bottle and corkscrew to Betsey, he
shuffled himself into a smart new blue saxony coat with velvet collar
and metal buttons, and advanced into the passage to greet the arrivers.

"Oh! gentlemen, gentlemen," exclaimed he, "I'm so 'appy to see you--so
werry 'appy you carn't think," holding out both hands to the foremost,
who happened to be Nimrod; "this is werry kind of you, for I declare
it's six to a minute. 'Ow are you, Mr. Nimrod? Most proud to see you at
my humble crib. Well, Stubbs, my boy, 'ow do you do? Never knew you late
in my life," giving him a hearty slap on the back. "Mr. Spiers, I'm
werry 'appy to see you. You are just what a sporting publisher ought to
be--punctuality itself. Now, gentlemen, dispose of your tiles, and come
upstairs to Mrs. J----, and let's get you introduced." "I fear we are
late, Mr. Jorrocks," observed Nimrod, advancing past the staircase end
to hang up his hat on a line of pegs against the wall.

"Not a bit of it," replied Mr. Jorrocks--"not a bit of it--quite the
contrary--you are the first, in fact!"

"Indeed!" replied Nimrod, eyeing a table full of hats