A pair of
large leathern boots, slipped on for travelling purposes, with ample
flaps turning down from the knee, formed the lower costume of this
strange being. Round his neck he wore an iron collar: its import,
whether in the shape of punishment or decoration, is at this time
doubtful. A visage of more than ordinary size projected from between a
pair of shoulders that nearly overlooked the lower rim of his cap. A
sort of dubious leer was its predominant expression, heightened ever and
anon by a broad laugh, the eldritch shout of which first announced
itself to the ear of the pilgrim. Matted and shaggy, the twisted locks
hung wildly about his brow, whilst a short and frizzled beard served as
a scanty covering to his chin. A "Sheffield whittle" stuck in his
baldric; and in a pouch was deposited the remnant of a magnificent
pasty. From oft and over replenishment this receptacle gaped in a most
unseemly manner, showing the shattered remains, the crumbling fragments,
of many a huge mountain of crust.
With arms akimbo stood this prepossessing personage before the pilgrim,
in all his native rudeness and disorder.
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