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Page 42
"Ah! what a true patriot gets for serving his country!" murmured
Israel. But soon thinking a little better of his case, and seeing yet
another house which had once furnished him with an asylum, he made bold
to advance to the door. Luckily he this time met the man himself, just
emerging from bed. At first the farmer did not recognize the fugitive,
but upon another look, seconded by Israel's plaintive appeal, beckoned
him into the barn, where directly our adventurer told him all he thought
prudent to disclose of his story, ending by once more offering to
negotiate for breeches and coat. Having ere this emptied and thrown away
the purse which had played him so scurvy a trick with the first farmer,
he now produced three crown-pieces.
"Three crown-pieces in your pocket, and no crown to your hat!" said the
farmer.
"But I assure you, my friend," rejoined Israel, "that a finer hat was
never worn, until that confounded bull-dog ruined it."
"True," said the farmer, "I forgot that part of your story. Well, I have
a tolerable coat and breeches which I will sell you for your money."
In ten minutes more Israel was equipped in a gray coat of coarse cloth,
not much improved by wear, and breeches to match. For half-a-crown more
he procured a highly respectable looking hat.
"Now, my kind friend," said Israel, "can you tell me where Horne Tooke
and John Bridges live?"
Our adventurer thought it his best plan to seek out one or other of
those gentlemen, both to report proceedings and learn confirmatory
tidings concerning Squire Woodcock, touching whose fate he did not like
to inquire of others.
"Horne Tooke? What do you want with Horne Tooke," said the farmer. "He
was Squire Woodcock's friend, wasn't he? The poor Squire! Who would have
thought he'd have gone off so suddenly. But apoplexy comes like a
bullet."
"I was right," thought Israel to himself. "But where does Horne Tooke
live?" he demanded again.
"He once lived in Brentford, and wore a cassock there. But I hear he's
sold out his living, and gone in his surplice to study law in Lunnon."
This was all news to Israel, who, from various amiable remarks he had
heard from Horne Tooke at the Squire's, little dreamed he was an
ordained clergyman. Yet a good-natured English clergyman translated
Lucian; another, equally good-natured, wrote Tristam Shandy; and a
third, an ill-natured appreciator of good-natured Rabelais, died a dean;
not to speak of others. Thus ingenious and ingenuous are some of the
English clergy.
"You can't tell me, then, where to find Horne Tooke?" said Israel, in
perplexity.
"You'll find him, I suppose, in Lunnon."
"What street and number?"
"Don't know. Needle in a haystack."
"Where does Mr. Bridges live?"
"Never heard of any Bridges, except Lunnon bridges, and one Molly
Bridges in Bridewell."
So Israel departed; better clothed, but no wiser than before.
What to do next? He reckoned up his money, and concluded he had plenty
to carry him back to Doctor Franklin in Paris. Accordingly, taking a
turn to avoid the two nearest villages, he directed his steps towards
London, where, again taking the post-coach for Dover, he arrived on the
channel shore just in time to learn that the very coach in which he rode
brought the news to the authorities there that all intercourse between
the two nations was indefinitely suspended. The characteristic
taciturnity and formal stolidity of his fellow-travellers--all
Englishmen, mutually unacquainted with each other, and occupying
different positions in life--having prevented his sooner hearing the
tidings.
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