hunt!"--"turn him again!"--until, fearing for the respectability of his
house, the landlord persuaded Mr. Jorrocks to retire into the bar to
state his grievances. It then appeared that having travelled along the
coast, as far as the first preventive stationhouse on the Ramsgate side
of Margate, the grocer had thought it a convenient place for performing
his intended ablutions, and, accordingly, proceeded to do what all
people of either sex agree upon in such cases--namely to divest himself
of his garments; but before he completed the ceremony, observing some
females on the cliffs above, and not being (as he said) a man "to raise
a blush on the cheek of modesty," he advanced to the water's edge in his
aforesaid unmentionables, and forgetting that it was not yet high tide,
he left them there, when they were speedily covered, and the pockets
being full of silver and copper, of course they were "swamped." After
dabbling about in the water and amusing himself with picking up sea-weed
for about ten minutes, Mr. Jorrocks was horrified, on returning to the
spot where he thought he had left his stocking-net pantaloons, to find
that they had disappeared; and after a long fruitless search, the
unfortunate gentleman was compelled to abandon the pursuit, and render
himself an object of chase to all the little boys and girls who chose to
follow him into Margate on his return without them.

Jorrocks, as might be expected, was very bad about his loss, and could
not get over it--it stuck in his gizzard, he said--and there it seemed
likely to remain. In vain Mr. Creed offered him a pair of trousers--he
never had worn a pair. In vain he asked for the loan of a pair of white
cords and top-boots, or even drab shorts and continuations. Mr. Creed
was no sportsman, and did not keep any. The bellman could not cry the
lost unmentionables because it was Sunday, and even if they should be
found on the ebbing of the tide, they would take no end of time to dry.
Mr. Jorrocks declared his pleasure at an end, and forthwith began making