y chair!--fill my glass!"

XIII. THE DAY AFTER THE FEAST:
AN EPISODE BY THE YORKSHIREMAN

On the morning after Mr. Jorrocks's "dinner party" I had occasion to go
into the city, and took Great Coram Street in my way. My heart misgave
me when I recollected Mrs. J---- and her horrid paws, but still I
thought it my duty to see how the grocer was after his fall. Arrived at
the house I rang the area bell, and Benjamin, who was cleaning knives
below, popped his head up, and seeing who it was, ran upstairs and
opened the door. His master was up, he said, but "werry bad," and his
misses was out. Leaving him to resume his knife-cleaning occupation, I
slipped quietly upstairs, and hearing a noise in the bedroom, opened the
door, and found Jorrocks sitting in his dressing-gown in an easy chair,
with Betsey patting his bald head with a damp towel.

"Do that again, Batsay! Do that again!" was the first sound I heard,
being an invitation to Betsey to continue her occupation. "Here's the
Yorkshireman, sir," said Betsey, looking around.

"Ah, Mr. York, how are you this morning?" said he, turning a pair of
eyes upon me that looked like boiled gooseberries--his countenance
indicating severe indisposition. "Set down, sir; set down--I'm werry
bad--werry bad indeed--bad go last night. Doesn't do to go to the
lush-crib this weather. How are you, eh? tell me all about it. Is Mr.
Nimrod gone?"

"Don't know," said I; "I have just come from Lancaster Street, where I
have been seeing an aunt, and thought I would take Great Coram Street in
my way to the city, to ask how you do--but where's Mrs. Jorrocks?"

_Jorrocks_. Oh, cuss Mrs. J----; I knows nothing about her--been reading
the Riot Act, and giving her red rag a holiday all the morning--wish
to God I'd never see'd her--took her for better and worser, it's werry
true; but she's a d----d deal worser than I took her for. Hope your
hat may long cover your family. Mrs. J----'s gone to the Commons to
Jenner--swears she'll have a diworce, a _mensa et thorax_, I think
she calls it--wish she may get it--sick of hearing her talk about
it--Jenner's the only man wot puts up with her, and that's because he
gets his fees. Batsay, my dear! you may damp another towel, and then
get me something to cool my coppers--all in a glow, I declare--complete
fever. You whiles go to the lush-crib, Mr. Yorkshireman; what now do you
reckon best after a regular drench?

_Yorkshireman._ Oh, nothing like a glass of