On this auspicious day he hove in sight, coming best pace along the road, about twenty minutes before twelve, with a more numerous retinue than usual.

In dress, Mr.Waffles was the light, butterfly order of sportsman--once-round tie, French polish, paper boots, and so on.

On this occasion he sported a shirt-collar with three or four blue lines, and then a white space followed by three or more blue lines, the whole terminating in blue spots about the size of fourpenny pieces at the points; a once-round blue silk tie, with white spots and flying ends.

His coat was a light, jackety sort of thing, with little pockets behind, something in the style of Mr.Sponge's (a docked dressing-gown), but wanting the outside seaming, back strapping, and general strength that characterized Mr.
Sponge's.

His waistcoat, of course, was a worked one--heart's-ease mingled with foxes' heads, on a true blue ground, the gift of--we'll not say who--his leathers were of the finest doe-skin, and his long-topped, pointed-toed boots so thin as to put all idea of wet or mud out of the question.
Such was the youth who now cantered up and took off his cap to the rank, beauty, and fashion, assembled at Whirleypool Windmill.