friend Mr. Stubbs
(who since his arrival had been living very comfortably at the Hotel
d'Hollande, in expectation of Mr. Jorrocks paying his bill) indulged in
six sous' worth of chairs--one to sit upon and one for each leg--and,
John Bull-like, stretched himself out in the shade beneath the lofty
trees, to view the gay groups who promenaded the alleys before him.
First, there came a helmeted cuirassier, with his wife in blue satin,
and a little boy in his hand in uniform, with a wooden sword, a perfect
miniature of the father; then a group of short-petticoated, shuffling
French women, each with an Italian greyhound in slips, followed by an
awkward Englishman with a sister on each arm, all stepping out like
grenadiers; then came a ribbon'd chevalier of the Legion of Honour,
whose hat was oftener in his hand than on his head, followed by a
nondescript looking militaire with fierce mustachios, in shining
jack-boots, white leathers, and a sort of Italian military cloak, with
one side thrown over the shoulder, to exhibit the wearer's leg, and the
bright scabbard of a large sword, while on the hero's left arm hung a
splendidly dressed woman. "What a figure!" said the Yorkshireman to
himself, as they came before him, and he took another good stare.--"Yet
stay--no, impossible!--Gracious Heaven! it can't be--and yet it is--by
Jove, it's Jorrocks!"

"Why now, you old imbecile," cried he, jumping off his chairs and
running up to him, "What are you after?" bursting into a loud laugh as
he looked at Mr. Jorrocks's mustachios (a pair of great false ones). "Is
there no piece of tomfoolery too great for you? What's come across you
now? Where the deuce did you get these things?" taking hold of the curls
at one side of his mustachios.

"How now?" roared Mr. Jorrocks with rage and astonishment. "How now! ye
young scaramouch, vot do you mean by insulting a gentleman sportsman in
broad daylight, in the presence of a lady of quality? By Jingo," added
he, his eyes sparkling with rage, "if you are not off before I can say
'dumpling' I'll run you through the gizzard and give your miserable
carcass to the dogs," suiting the action to the word, and groping
under his cloak for the hilt of his sword.--A crowd collected, and the
Yorkshireman perceiving symptoms of a scene, slunk out of the melee, and
Mr. Jorrocks, after an indignant shake or two of his feathers and curl
of his mustachios, pursued his course up the gardens.

This was the first ti