Part 12 (2/2)

Raising the sash, and seeing so shocking a pauper before her, the woman upbraided him with shameless impropriety in asking charity at dead of night, in a dress so improper too. Looking down at his deplorable velveteens, Israel discovered that his extensive travels had produced a great rent in one loin of the rotten old breeches, through which a whitish fragment protruded.

Remedying this oversight as well as he might, he again implored the woman to wake her husband.

”That I shan't!” said the woman, morosely. ”Quit the premises, or I'll throw something on ye.”

With that she brought some earthenware to the window, and would have fulfilled her threat, had not Israel prudently retreated some paces.

Here he entreated the woman to take mercy on his plight, and since she would not waken her husband, at least throw to him (Israel) her husband's breeches, and he would leave the price of them, with his own breeches to boot, on the sill of the door.

”You behold how sadly I need them,” said he; ”for heaven's sake befriend me.”

”Quit the premises!” reiterated the woman.

”The breeches, the breeches! here is the money,” cried Israel, half furious with anxiety.

”Saucy cur,” cried the woman, somehow misunderstanding him; ”do you cunningly taunt me with _wearing_ the breeches'? begone!”

Once more poor Israel decamped, and made for another friend. But here a monstrous bull-dog, indignant that the peace of a quiet family should be disturbed by so outrageous a tatterdemalion, flew at Israel's unfortunate coat, whose rotten skirts the brute tore completely off, leaving the coat razeed to a spencer, which barely came down to the wearer's waist. In attempting to drive the monster away, Israel's hat fell off, upon which the dog pounced with the utmost fierceness, and thrusting both paws into it, rammed out the crown and went snuffling the wreck before him. Recovering the wretched hat, Israel again beat a retreat, his wardrobe sorely the worse for his visits. Not only was his coat a mere rag, but his breeches, clawed by the dog, were slashed into yawning gaps, while his yellow hair waved over the top of the crownless beaver, like a lonely tuft of heather on the highlands.

In this plight the morning discovered him dubiously skirmis.h.i.+ng on the outskirts of a village.

”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 a.s.sure 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 coa.r.s.e 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 Woodc.o.c.k, 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 Woodc.o.c.k'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 ca.s.sock 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.”

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