were then informed that Mr. Harding’s place would be at once filled by another. That the new warden could not be a kinder man they all knew; that he would be a less friendly one most suspected; and then came the bitter information that, from the moment of Mr. Harding’s departure, the twopence a day, his own peculiar gift, must of necessity be withdrawn.

And this was to be the end of all their mighty struggle—of their fight for their rights—of their petition, and their debates and their hopes! They were to change the best of masters for a possible bad one, and to lose twopence a day each man! No; unfortunate as this was, it was not the worst, or nearly the worst, as will just now be seen.

“Sit down, sit down, my friends,” said the warden; “I want to say a word to you, and to drink your healths, before I leave you. Come up here, Moody, here is a chair for you; come, Jonathan Crumple—” and by degrees he got the men to be seated. It was not surprising that they should hang back with faint hearts, having returned so much kindness with such deep ingratitude. Last of all of them came Bunce, and with sorrowful mien and slow step got into his accustomed seat near the fire-place.

When they were all in their places, Mr. Harding rose to address them; and then finding himself not quite at home on his legs, he sat down again. “My dear old friends,” said he, “you all know that I am going to leave you.”

There was a sort of murmur ran round the room, intended, perhaps, to express regret at his departure; but it was but a murmur, and might have meant that or anything else.

“There has been lately some misunderstanding between us. You have thought, I believe, that you did not get all that you were entitled to, and that the funds of the hospital have not been properly disposed of. As for me, I cannot say what should be the disposition of these moneys, or how they should be managed, and I have therefore thought it best to go.”

“We never wanted to drive your reverence out of it,” said Handy.

“No, indeed, your reverence,” said Skulpit. “We never thought it would come to this. When I signed the petition—that is, I didn’t sign it, because——”

“Let his reverence speak, can’t you?” said Moody.

“No,” continued Mr. Harding; “I am sure you did not wish to turn me out; but I thought it best to leave you. I am not a very good hand at a lawsuit, as you may all guess; and when it seemed necessary that our ordinary quiet mode of living should be disturbed, I thought it better to go. I am neither angry nor offended with any man in the hospital.”

Here Bunce uttered a kind of groan, very clearly expressive of disagreement.

“I am neither angry nor displeased with any man in the hospital,” repeated Mr. Harding, emphatically. “If any man has been wrong—and I don’t say any man has—he has erred through wrong advice. In this country all are entitled to look for their own rights, and you have done no more. As long as your interests and my interests were at variance, I could give you no counsel on this subject; but the connection between us has ceased; my income can no longer depend on your doings, and therefore, as I leave you, I venture to offer to you my advice.”

The men all declared that they would from henceforth be entirely guided by Mr. Harding’s opinion in their affairs.

“Some gentleman will probably take my place here very soon, and I strongly advise you to be prepared to receive him in a kindly spirit, and to raise no further question among yourselves as to the amount of his income. Were you to succeed in lessening what he has to receive, you would not increase your own