The moment Mr. Pembroke had uttered the Shibboleth,
with the appropriate gesture, the bibliopolist greeted him,
notwithstanding every disclamation, by the title of Doctor, and conveying
him into his back shop, after inspecting every possible and impossible
place of concealment, he commenced: 'Eh, Doctor!--Well--all under the
rose--snug--I keep no holes here even for a Hanoverian rat to hide in.
And, what--eh! any good news from our friends over the water?--and how
does the worthy King of France?--Or perhaps you are more lately from
Rome? it must be Rome will do it at last--the church must light its
candle at the old lamp.--Eh--what, cautious? I like you the better; but
no fear.' Here Mr. Pembroke with some difficulty stopt a torrent of
interrogations, eked out with signs, nods, and winks; and, having at
length convinced the bookseller that he did him too much honour in
supposing him an emissary of exiled royalty, he explained his actual
business.
The man of books with a much more composed air proceeded to examine the
manuscripts. The title of the first was 'A Dissent from Dissenters, or
the Comprehension confuted; showing the Impossibility of any Composition
between the Church and Puritans, Presbyterians, or Sectaries of any
Description; illustrated from the Scriptures, the Fathers of the Church,
and the soundest Controversial Divines.
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