His was not the coat of a man who can afford to wear
an old coat, nor was it one of "Tempest and Moore's," that distinguish
country lawyers from country boobies. His clothes were well made,
and of good materials, but looked as if their owner had shrunk a
little since they were made for him; they hung somewhat loose on
him. A large brooch, and some superfluous seals and gold keys, which
ornamented his outward man, looked "New England" like. A visit to
the States, had perhaps, I thought, turned this Colchester beau
into a Yankee fop. Of what consequence was it to me who he was? In
either case I had nothing to do with him, and I desired neither his
acquaintance nor his company. Still I could not but ask myself, Who
can this man be?
"I am not aware," said I, "that there is a court sitting at this time
at Cumberland."
"Nor am I," said my friend. What, then, could he have to do with the
circuit? It occurred to me he must be a Methodist preacher. I looked
again, but his appearance again puzzled me. His attire might do--the
colour might be suitable--the broad brim not out of place; but there
was a want of that staidness of look, that seriousness of
countenance, that expression, in short, so characteristic of the
clergy.
I could not account for my idle curiosity--a curiosity which, in him,
I had the moment before viewed both with suspicion and disgust; but
so it was--I felt a desire to know who he could be who was neither
lawyer nor preacher, and yet talked of his circuit with the gravity
of both.
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