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.