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Updated: May 9, 2025
The beaded wine danced on many a beard; the cataract lifted higher its voice; the grotto sent back a shout; the ghosts of the Coral Monarchs seemed starting from their insulted bones. But ha, ha, ha, roared forth the five-and-twenty kings alive, not dead holding both hands to their girdles, and baying out their laughter from abysses; like Nimrod's hounds over some fallen elk.
Sir Thomas was angry; the poet is said to have written a vulgar, bitter lampoon, still preserved, and affixed a copy to the gates of Charlecote. The response was a persecution that made Stratford too hot to hold a greater man than all the big sportsmen from Nimrod's day to ours, and William Shakespeare left wife and children and vanished from the old town's ken.
'That do make a bit of difference, don't it? said Crass. 'But you'll be all right 'ere, till this job's done. Just watch yerself a bit, and don't get comin' late in the mornin's. Old Nimrod's dead nuts on that. 'I'll see to that all right, replied Easton. 'I don't believe in losing time when there IS work to do. It's bad enough when you can't get it. 'You know, Crass went on, confidentially.
On the side opposite the fire-place, on a hanging range of mahogany shelves, were ten volumes of Bell's Life in London, the New Sporting Magazine, bound gilt and lettered, the Memoirs of Harriette Wilson, Boxiana, Taplin's Farriery, Nimrod's Life of Mytton, and a backgammon board that Mr. Jorrocks had bought by mistake for a history of England. Mrs.
The crimson mounted to Linda's brow, under the conjoint influence of Nimrod's stare and also of the entrance of another person, Sam Holt, who had come with the party yesterday from Mapleton. But in two minutes he had quietly turned the conversation, and repressed, as much as it was in man's power to do, Mrs. Bunting's interrogative propensities.
One would have thought that, with their hearts mellow, and their bodies comfortable, their minds would have turned to that sport in whose honour they sported the scarlet; but no, hunting was never mentioned. They were quite as genteel as Nimrod's swell friends at Melton, who cut it altogether.
On and on he went, over hedge after hedge, through field after field, until Clare began to wonder where all the people in the world had got to. Then a strange feeling gradually came over him. Surely at some time or other he had seen the meadow he was crossing! Was he asleep, and dreaming the jolly ride he was having on Nimrod's back? What a strong creature Nimrod was! Would he never be tired?
The escape would leave the Tigris to the S. of Sâmarra, the proposed Beled Barrage being built below it and up-stream of "Nimrod's Dam". The Tharthâr escape would drain into the Euphrates, and the latter's Habbânîyah escape would receive any surplus water from the Tigris, a second barrage being thrown across the Euphrates up-stream of Fallûjah, where there is an outcrop of limestone near the head of the Sakhlawîyah Canal.
"Yes, sir," returned Clare, and laid hold of Nimrod's horn. The animal yielded, and turned away with him. The farmer came nearer, and put his arm round the boy's neck. The boy rubbed his cheek against the arm. "I'm sorry I struck you, Clare!" faltered the big man. "Oh, never mind, sir! That was long ago!" answered the boy. "Tell me how you've been getting on." "Pretty well, sir!
Jorrocks's left, so Stubbs, with a dexterous manoeuvre, placed himself in the centre of the table, with Belinda between himself and her uncle. Crane and Spiers then filled the vacant places on Nimrod's side, Mr. Spiers facing Mr. Stubbs. The dining-room was the breadth of the passage narrower than the front drawing-room, and, as Mr.
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