He never read a book in his life, and, with his purple, old gouty fingers, still writes a schoolboy hand.

He has reached old age and grey hairs without being the least venerable.

He dresses like an outrageously young man to the present moment, and laces and pads his old carcass as if he were still handsome George Tufto of 1800.

He is selfish, brutal, passionate, and a glutton.

It is curious to mark him at table, and see him heaving in his waistband, his little bloodshot eyes gloating over his meal.