Yorkshireman; "I have nothing to do to-morrow, and am your man for
a stag-hunt." "That's right, my good fellow," said Jorrocks, "then I'll
tell you what do--come and breakfast with me in Great Coram Street, at
half-past seven to a minute. I've got one of the first 'ams (hams) you
ever clapt eyes on in the whole course of your memorable existence.--Saw
the hog alive myself--sixteen score within a pound; must come--know you
like a fork breakfast--dejeune a la fauchette, as we say in France, eh?
Like my Lord Mayor's fool I guess, love what's good; well, all right
too--so come without any ceremony--us fox-hunters hates ceremony--where
there's ceremony there's no friendship.--Stay--I had almost forgotten,"
added he, checking himself as he was on the point of departure. "When
you come, ring the area bell, and then Mrs. J---- won't hear; know you
don't like Mrs. J---- no more than myself."

At the appointed hour the Yorkshireman reached Great Coram Street, just
as Old Jorrocks had opened the door to look down the street for him.
He was dressed in a fine flowing, olive-green frock (made like a
dressing-gown), with a black velvet collar, having a gold embroidered
stag on each side, gilt stag-buttons, with rich embossed edges; an acre
of buff waistcoat, and a most antediluvian pair of bright yellow-ochre
buckskins, made by White, of Tarporley, in the twenty-first year of
the reign of George the Third; they were double-lashed, back-stiched,
front-stiched, middle-stiched, and patched at both knees, with a slit up
behind. The coat he had won in a bet, and the breeches in a raffle, the
latter being then second or third hand. His boots were airing before the
fire, consequently he displayed an amplitude of calf in grey worsted
stockings, while his feet were thrust into green slippers. "So glad to
see you"! said he; "here's a charming morning, indeed--regular southerly
wind and a cloudy sky--rare scenting it will be--think I could almost
run a stag myself. Come in--never mind your hat, hang it anywhere, but
don't make a noise. I stole away and left Mrs. J---- snoring, so won't
do to wake her, you know. By the way, you should see my hat;--Batsey,
fatch my hat out of the back parlour. I've set up a new green silk cord,
with a gold frog to fasten it to my button-hole--werry illigant, I
think, and werry suitable to the dress--quite my own idea--have a notion
all the Surrey chaps will get them; for, between you and me, I set the
fashions, an