pany to her, "I'm delighted to see you looking
so well. I declare you are fifty per cent younger than you were.
Belinda, my love, 'ow are you? Jorrocks, my friend, 'ow do ye do?"

"Thank ye, James," said Jorrocks, shaking hands with him most cordially,
"I'm werry well, indeed, and delighted to see you. Now let me present
you to Nimrod."

"Ay, Nimrod!" said Green, in his usual flippant style, with a nod of his
head, "'ow are ye, Nimrod? I've heard of you, I think--Nimrod Brothers
and Co., bottle merchants, Crutched Friars, ain't it?"

"No," said Jorrocks, in an undertone with a frown--Happerley Nimrod, the
great sporting hauthor."

"True," replied Green, not at all disconcerted, "I've heard of
him--Nimrod--the mighty 'unter before the lord. Glad to see ye, Nimrod.
Stubbs, 'ow are ye?" nodding to the Yorkshireman, as he jerked himself
on to a chair on the other side of Belinda.

As usual, Green was as gay as a peacock. His curly flaxen wig projected
over his forehead like the roof of a Swiss cottage, and his pointed
gills were supported by a stiff black mohair stock, with a broad front
and black frill confined with jet studs down the centre. His coat was
light green, with archery buttons, made very wide at the hips, with
which he sported a white waistcoat, bright yellow ochre leather
trousers, pink silk stockings, and patent-leather pumps. In his hand he
carried a white silk handkerchief, which smelt most powerfully of musk;
and a pair of dirty wristbands drew the eye to sundry dashing rings upon
his fingers.

Jonathan Crane, a little long-nosed old city wine-merchant, a member of
the Surrey Hunt, being announced and presented, Mrs. Jorrocks declared
herself faint from the heat of the room, and begged to be excused for a
few minutes. Nimrod, all politeness, was about to offer her his arm, but
Mr. Jorrocks pulled him back, whispering, "Let her go, let her go." "The
fact is," said he in an undertone after she was out of hearing, "it's a
way Mrs. J---- has when she wants to see that dinner's all right.
You see she's a terrible high-bred woman, being a cross between a
gentleman-usher and a lady's-maid, and doesn't like to be supposed to
look after these things, so when she goes, she always pretend to faint.
You'll see her back presently," and, just as he spoke, in she came with
a half-pint smelling-bottle at her nose. Benjamin followed immediately
after, and throwing open the door proclaimed, in a half-fledged voice,
t