A character was Tim--and now I think of it, worthy of brief description.
Born, I believe--bred, certainly, in a hunting stable, far more of his
life passed in the saddle than elsewhere, it was not a little
characteristic of my friend Harry to have selected this piece of
Yorkshire oddity as his especial body servant; but if the choice were
queer, it was at least successful, for an honester, more faithful,
hard-working, and withal, better hearted, and more humorous varlet never
drew curry-comb over horse-hide, or clothes-brush over broad-cloth.
His visage was, as I have said already, bluff and good-natured, with a
pair of hazel eyes, of the smallest--but, at the same time, of the very
merriest--twinkling from under the thick black eyebrows, which were the
only hairs suffered to grace his clean-shaved countenance. An
indescribable pug nose, and a good clean cut mouth, with a continual
dimple at the left corner, made up his phiz. For the rest, four feet ten
inches did Tim stand in his stockings, about two-ten of which were
monopolized by his back, the shoulders of which would have done honor to
a six foot pugilist,--his legs, though short and bowed a little outward,
by continual horse exercise, were right tough serviceable members, and I
have seen them bearing their owner on through mud and mire, when
straighter, longer, and more fair proportioned limbs were at an awful
discount.
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