Inserting one leg of the heavy tongs in the crack, the Squire pried this cavernous gate wide open.
"Why, Squire Woodcock, what is the matter with your chimney ?" said Israel.
"Quick, go in." "Am I to sweep the chimney ?" demanded Israel; "I didn't engage for that." "Pooh, pooh, this is your hiding-place.

Come, move in." "But where does it go to, Squire Woodcock?
I don't like the looks of it." "Follow me.

I'll show you." Pushing his florid corpulence into the mysterious aperture, the elderly Squire led the way up steep stairs of stone, hardly two feet in width, till they reached a little closet, or rather cell, built into the massive main wall of the mansion, and ventilated and dimly lit by two little sloping slits, ingeniously concealed without, by their forming the sculptured mouths of two griffins cut in a great stone tablet decorating that external part of the dwelling.

A mattress lay rolled up in one corner, with a jug of water, a flask of wine, and a wooden trencher containing cold roast beef and bread.
"And I am to be buried alive here ?" said Israel, ruefully looking round.
"But your resurrection will soon be at hand," smiled the Squire; "two days at the furthest." "Though to be sure I was a sort of prisoner in Paris, just as I seem about to be made here," said Israel, "yet Doctor Franklin put me in a better jug than this, Squire Woodcock.

It was set out with boquets and a mirror, and other fine things.