“I think that tree will bear no more good fruit, and ought to be cast into the fire. But Sir, let me tell you, had that cane been a crab-stick, and had that crab-stick been knobbled all over, and had each of those knobs had a sharp spike on it, it would not have made me dishonourably betray my companions. I am quite ready to bear this, and as much more, for their sakes. Thirty were with me, and ten were not—you cannot thrash the real heroes, because you cannot tell which they are; but give me twenty times my share, and I shall be thankful—I am the ring leader of the affair, and ought to be punished. I instigated thirty Spartans to the noble work of keeping up Guy Faux Day—I am proud of it.—A bonfire on the Fifth of November is a chartered right of school-boys, and we only say, ‘_Pro aris et focis_.’ Do not be unmerciful to us, good Sir—you were once a boy—and how many ‘bonfires’ may you not have had—and how many ‘Guys’ may you not have dressed? Do look over this offence, if it be one, and we’ll all do double tasks for the next month, and say you are a good master, as you always have been.” This pertinent, but noble speech, found an echo in the breast of the good old Clergyman, for he was, notwithstanding this somewhat stringent prohibiting, a kind old man at heart. He could not conceal his emotion—and hid his face behind his desk, under the pretence of having dropped his key. Presently, after a short season of cool reflection, he descended from the rostrum, and coming among the boys, thus addressed them:—