Digital primer

He was a
puffy, wheezy, sententious little fellow, who accompanied his parables with
a snort into a large finely plaited shirt-frill, reaching nearly up to his
nose. His hunting-costume consisted of a black coat and waistcoat, with
white moleskin breeches, much cracked and darned about the knees and other
parts, as nether garments made of that treacherous stuff often are. His
shapeless tops, made regardless of the refinements of 'right and left,'
dangled at his horse's sides like a couple of stable-buckets; and he
carried his heavy iron hammer-headed whip over his shoulder like a flail.
But we are drawing his portrait instead of saying why he hunted. Well,
then, having married Mrs. Springwheat's sister, who was always boasting to
Mrs. Crowdey what a loving, doting husband Springey was after hunting, Mrs.
Crowdey had induced Crowdey to try his hand, and though soon satisfied that
he hadn't the slightest taste for the sport, but being a great man for what
he called gibbey-sticks, he hunted for the purpose of finding them.


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