“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.