A youth who had been deservedly whipped a few months previously, and who spent his pocket-money on tarts and hardbake, now appeared before Pen in one of those costumes to which the public consent, that I take to be quite as influential in this respect as 'Johnson's Dictionary,' has awarded the title of "Swell.' He had a bull-dog between his legs, and in his scarlet shawl neckcloth was a pin representing another bull-dog in gold: he wore a fur waistcoat laced over with gold chains; a green cutaway coat with basket-buttons, and a white upper-coat ornamented with cheese-plate buttons, on each of which was engraved some stirring incident of the road or the chase; all which ornaments set off this young fellow's figure to such advantage, that you would hesitate to say which character in life he most resembled, and whether he was a boxer en goguette, or a coachman in his gala suit.
"Left that place for good, Pendennis ?" Mr.Foker said, descending from his landau and giving Pendennis a finger.
"Yes, this year--or more," Pen said.
"Beastly old hole," Mr.Foker remarked.

"Hate it.

Hate the Doctor: hate Towzer, the second master; hate everybody there.

Not a fit place for a gentleman." "Not at all," said Pen, with an air of the utmost consequence.
"By gad, sir, I sometimes dream, now, that the Doctor's walking into me," Foker continued (and Pen smiled as he thought that he himself had likewise fearful dreams of this nature).

"When I think of the diet there, by gad, sir, I wonder how I stood it.