“D’Orsay wrap; blue coatee; pink under, green and coral over-vests; blue and crimson choker; MacFerntosh sit-upons; and japanned trotter-cases,” returned Hugh, gabbling over the-different items with the velocity at which tradition has decreed it proper to inform society that “Peter Piper picked a peck of pepper.” “Bravo, young’un, you improve apace; but you took to slang uncommon kindly from the first, I will say that for you. Well, when you’ve looked out the toggery, and--ahem! brought me my shaving water;--I’ve felt, for some time past, a tickling sensation at the sides of my face, which, I am sure, indicates the approach of whiskers. Ar--I should be rather a good-looking fellow if I had but got whiskers, I flatter myself; wouldn’t I wear ’em bushy, that’s all. As soon as you’ve done all I’ve told you, jump into your own juvenile habiliments, and be ready to go with me at a moment’s notice.” “But--but you know, Wilfred, I’m not to go,” faltered poor Hugh. “Not to go, why not? Who says so? What! has Percy cut up rough, with his sanctified, Puritanical, Puseyitical, Pontifical, Hieroglyphical notions; oh! leave him to me, I’ll soon talk him round;--I’ve the highest possible veneration for morality and piety, and all that sort of thing, particularly on Sundays; but to fancy they’ve got anything to do with going to the play, is an association of ideas little short of downright sacrilege, to my notion.” “No, it is not that,” returned Hugh; “Percy would have let let me go, only----” “Only what?” inquired Wilfred, “come, make haste, I’ve got thirty lines of Terence to knock off before I go up to Carrington.” “Only we’ve both spent our allowance, and I’ve not got money to pay,” replied poor Hugh, fairly driven into confessing his poverty.