PARSON.--"That was not knowledge, Squire; that was ignorance."

SQUIRE.--"Ignorance! The deuce it was. I'll just appeal to you, Mr.
Fairfield. We have been having sad riots in the shire, and the
ringleader was just such another lad as you were!"

LEONARD.--"I am very much obliged to you, Mr. Hazeldean. In what
respect?"

SQUIRE.--"Why, he was a village genius, and always reading some cursed
little tract or other; and got mighty discontented with King, Lords, and
Commons, I suppose, and went about talking of the wrongs of the poor, and
the crimes of the rich, till, by Jove, sir, the whole mob rose one day
with pitchforks and sickles, and smash went Farmer Smart's thrashing-
machines; and on the same night my ricks were on fire. We caught the
rogues, and they were all tried; but the poor deluded labourers were let
off with a short imprisonment. The village genius, thank Heaven, is sent
packing to Botany Bay."

LEONARD.--"But did his books teach him to burn ricks and smash machines?"

PARSON.--"No; he said quite the contrary, and declared that he had no
hand in those misdoings."

SQUIRE.--"But he was proved to have excited, with his wild talk, the
boobies who had! 'Gad, sir, there was a hypocritical Quaker once, who
said to his enemy, 'I can't shed thy blood, friend, but I will hold thy
head under water till thou art drowned.' And so there is a set of
demagogical fellows, who keep calling out, 'Farmer, this is an oppressor,