See how chirpy and cheery he is; how his right arm keeps rising and falling with his whip, beating responsive to the horse's action with the butt-end against his thigh.

His new scarlet coat imparts a healthy hue to his face, and good boots and breeches hide the imperfections of his bad legs.

His hounds seem to partake of the old man's gaiety, and gather round his horse or frolic forward on the grassy sidings of the road, till, getting almost out of earshot, a single 'yooi doit!--Arrogant!'-- or 'here again, Brusher!' brings them cheerfully back to whine and look in the old man's face for applause.

Nor is he chary of his praise.

'G--oood betch!--Arrogant!--g--oood betch!' says he, leaning over his horse's shoulder towards her, and jerking his hand to induce her to proceed forward again.