The pad began to curvet as the post-horses rattled behind, and the parson had only an indistinct vision of a human face supplanting those human legs.
The traveller peered out at him as he whirled by,--saw Mr.Dale tossed up and down on the saddle, and cried out, "How's the leather ?" "Leather!" soliloquized the parson, as the pad recomposed herself, "what does he mean by that?
Leather! a very vulgar man.

But I got rid of him cleverly." Mr.Dale arrived without further adventure at Lansmere.

He put up at the principal inn, refreshed himself by a general ablution, and sat down with good appetite to his beefsteak and pint of port.
The parson was a better judge of the physiognomy of man than that of the horse; and after a satisfactory glance at the civil smirking landlord, who removed the cover and set on the wine, he ventured on an attempt at conversation.

"Is my Lord at the Park ?" LANDLORD (still more civilly than before).--"No, sir, his Lordship and my Lady have gone to town to meet Lord L'Estrange!" "Lord L'Estrange! He is in England, then ?" "Why, so I heard," replied the landlord, "but we never see him here now.
I remember him a very pretty young man.

Every one was fond of him and proud of him.