elf out of the scrape?"

PARSON.--"It may be very true; but when I saw that poor fellow at the
bar, with his intelligent face, and heard his bold clear defence, and
thought of all his hard struggles for knowledge, and how they had ended,
because he forgot that knowledge is like fire, and must not be thrown
amongst flax,--why, I could have given my right hand to save him. And,
oh, Squire, do you remember his poor mother's shriek of despair when
he was sentenced to transportation for life--I hear it now! And what,
Leonard--what do you think had misled him? At the bottom of all the
mischief was a tinker's bag. You cannot forget Sprott?"

LEONARD.--"Tinker's bag! Sprott!"

SQUIRE.--"That rascal, sir, was the hardest follow to nab you could
possibly conceive; as full of quips and quirks as an Old Bailey lawyer.
But we managed to bring it home to him. Lord! his bag was choke-full of
tracts against every man who had a good coat on his back; and as if that
was not enough, cheek by jowl with the tracts were lucifers, contrived
on a new principle, for teaching my ricks the theory of spontaneous
combustion. The labourers bought the lucifers--"

PARSON.--"And the poor village genius bought the tracts."

SQUIRE.--"All headed with a motto, 'To teach the working classes that
knowledge is power.' So that I was right in saying that knowledge had
burnt my ricks; knowledge inflamed the village genius, the village
genius inflamed fellows more ignorant than himself, and they inflamed my
stackyard. However, lucifers, tracts, village genius, and Sprott are all
off to Botany Bay; and the shire has gone on much the better for it. So
no more of your knowledge for me, begging your pardon, Mr. Fairfield.
Such uncommonly fine ricks as mine were too! I declare, Parson, you
are looking as if you felt pity for Sprott; and I saw you, indeed,
whispering to him as he was taken out of court."

PARSON (looking sheepish).--"Indeed, Squire, I was only asking him what
had become of his donkey, an unoffending creature."

SQUIRE.--"Unoffending! Upset me amidst a thistle-bed in my own village
green! I remember it. Well, what did he say had become of the donkey?"

PARSON.--"He said but one word; but that showed all the vindictiveness
of his disposition. He said it with a horrid wink, that made my
blood run cold. 'What's become of your poor donkey?' said I, and he
answered--"

SQUIRE.--"Go on. He answered--"

PARSON.--"'Sausages.'"

SQUIRE.--"Sausages