_Mr. Appletwig_ (_parish clerk and schoolmaster_; _an old man_). I do remember, gentlemen, to have been informed, that there did stand, at the end of the village, a ruined cottage, which had once been an almshouse, which was endowed and maintained, by an annual revenue of a mark and a half, or one pound sterling, charged some centuries ago on the farm of Hautbois; but the means, by the progress of time, having become inadequate to the end, the almshouse tumbled to pieces. _First Commissioner_.—But this is a right which cannot be abrogated by desuetude, and the sum of one pound per annum is still chargeable for charitable purposes on the manorial farm of Hautbois. _The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Very well, sir. _Mr. Appletwig_.—But, sir, the one pound per annum is still received by the parish, but was long ago, by an unanimous vote in open vestry, given to the minister. _The Three Commissioners_ (_unâ voce_). The minister! _First Commissioner_.—This is an unjustifiable proceeding. _Second Commissioner_.—A misappropriation of a public fund. _Third Commissioner_.—A flagrant perversion of a charitable donation. _The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—God bless my soul, gentlemen! I know nothing of this matter. How is this, Mr. Bluenose? Do I receive this one pound per annum? _First Churchwarden_.—Really, sir, I know no more about it than you do. _Mr. Appletwig_.—You certainly receive it, sir. It was voted to one of your predecessors. Farmer Seedling lumps it in with his tithes. _First Commissioner_.—Lumps it in, sir! Lump in a charitable donation! _Second and Third Commissioner_.—Oh-oh-oh-h-h! _First Commissioner_.—Reverend sir, and gentlemen, officers of this parish, we are under the necessity of admonishing you that this is a most improper proceeding: and you are hereby duly admonished accordingly. Make a record, Mr. Milky. _Mr. Milky_ (_writing_). The clergyman and church-wardens of the village of Hm-ra-m-m- gravely admonished. Hm-m-m-m. _The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Is that all, gentlemen? _The Commissioners_.—That is all, sir; and we wish you a good morning. _The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—A very good morning to you, gentlemen. “What in the name of all that is wonderful, Mr. Bluenose,” said the Reverend Doctor Folliott, as he walked out of the inn, “what in the name of all that is wonderful, can those fellows mean? They have come here in a chaise and four, to make a fuss about a pound per annum, which, after all, they leave as it was: I wonder who pays them for their trouble, and how much.” _Mr. Appletwig_.—The public pay for it, sir. It is a job of the learned friend whom you admire so much. It makes away with public money in salaries, and private money in lawsuits, and does no particle of good to any living soul.