His nose was high, sharp, and crooked, like the back of a reapin' hook, and gave a plaguy sight of character to his face, while his thinnish lips, that closed on a straight line, curlin' up at one eend, and down at the other, shewed, if his dander was raised, he could be a jumpin', tarin', rampagenous devil if he chose.

The pint of his chin projected and turned up gently, as if it expected, when Goodish lost his teeth, to rise in the world in rank next to the nose.

When good natur' sat on the box, and drove, it warn't a bad face; when Old Nick was coachman, I guess it would be as well to give Master Frenchman the road.
"He had a red cap on his head, his beard hadn't been cut since last sheep shearin', and he looked as hairy as a tarrier; his shirt collar, 'which was of yaller flannel, fell on his shoulders loose, and a black hankercher was tied round his neck, slack like a sailor's.

He wore a round jacket and loose trowsers of homespun with no waistcoat, and his trowsers was held up by a gallus of leather on one side, and of old cord on the other.

Either Goodish had growed since his clothes was made, or his jacket and trowsers warn't on speakin' tarms, for they didn't meet by three or four inches, and the shirt shewed atween them like a yaller militia sash round him.