Nor was old age itself without its representative in the person of Mr.Byam Byll, once a master of fox-hounds, now a pauperized gourmand, who, in consideration of his coarse wit and "gentlemen's stories," was permitted to have the run of his teeth at Crompton.

This Falstaff to the Squire's Prince Hal was a rotund and portly man, like his great prototype, but singularly handsome.

His smile was winning yet, and, in spite of his load of years and fat, he still considered himself agreeable to the fair sex.
For this information and much more, respecting the character of his fellow-guests, Yorke was indebted to a very singular personage, who had introduced himself to him as "Parson Whymper," and whom he now knew to be the Squire's chaplain.

The reverend divine was as proud of that office (and infinitely more comfortable in it) as though he had been chaplain to an archbishop.

He was the only man present who wore a black coat, and he had a grave voice and insinuating manner, which really did smack something of the pulpit.
"Mr.Yorke," said he, blandly, "I make no apology for introducing myself to you; Carew and I have been just having a talk about you, and he has no secrets from his ghostly adviser.