The old folk noted his boorishness and lack of the little refinements which mark the gentleman.
His very voice was rude and hoarse, and seemed either to grumble or to roar forth his meaning.

They had frequently heard him speak in public--he was generally on the platform when any local movement was in progress--and could not understand why he was put up there to address the audience, unless it was for his infinite brass.

The language he employed was rude, his sentences disjointed, his meaning incoherent; but he had a knack of an _apropos_ jest, not always altogether savoury, but which made a mixed assembly laugh.

As his public speeches did not seem very brilliant, they supposed he must have the gift of persuasion, in private.

He did not even ride well to hounds--an accomplishment that has proved a passport to a great landlord's favour before now--for he had an awkward, and, to the eye, not too secure a seat in the saddle.
Nor was it his personal appearance.