'I have them here, gentlemen, in a little bag. I sent to the bank for them yesterday. They are newly coined, you see. It may not,' said Mr. Flint, in a musing tone, holding out a handful of new threepenny-bits, ' make them more valuable in a commercial point of view-it would scarcely be possible to sell them for fourpence a-piece; but the fact of their being newly coined has its value.' so done,' said Mr. Flint, with a dry to do with it at present. Are the cough, not deeming it worth while threepenny-bits ready?' to mention that, had it not been for Frank Goldfinch, the legal advisers of the Trust would have probably known nothing of the matter, 'had not the attention of a literary gentleman been directed to the old church, upon which and its neighbourhood he is writing a series of articles. In the course of his inquiries this gentleman became interested in Richard Penraven's Trust; and we gave him access to the papers referring to it, as a matter of courtesy, and also because we understood that he was a friend of Sir Judah Silversides. The gentleman's name is Goldfinch.' 'Yes,' said Sir Judah, 'Mr. Frank Goldfinch is a-a friend of my family's. There was no objection to his examining the papers for literary purposes; I trust he will make proper use of his information. It is time, gentlemen, to adjourn to the Church. This chest, Mr. Flint, will remain in your office, I presume. On what day is it to be opened?' 'On this day fortnight, Sir Judah.' 'We have, then, nothing farther The Guardians, with looks of deep interest, examined the shining pieces of silver, and, letting them run through their fingers, expressed a hope that the poor women would be grateful. Carriages were waiting at the door to convey them to the Church. It was necessary, for, although there was now some light in the sky, a drizzling rain was falling, which would have rendered a walk to the Church decidedly uncomfortable. As their proceedings formed the subject of an article which appeared the following week in one of the principal London newspapers, it is not necessary to do more than refer to CHAPTER XVI. WHICH CONTAINS A SHORT ARTICLE WRITTEN BY FRANK GOLDFINCH FOR A LONDON NEWSPAPER. WEDNESDAY of last week was a great day in the parish of Great Mercy. For the two hundredth time a comedy was there enacted which, for sad suggestiveness, may have more than one parallel in this City of Good Intentions. Thirty-three old women, aged seventy-four; thirty-three little boys, aged thirteen; thirty-three little girls, aged twelve; a beadle, a minister of the Church of England, a lawyer, four scribes, seven comfortable looking gentlemen, playing the part of Guardians, the time being made an addition and two hundred and eighty-eight charity-school children, were employed in its representation. The author was Richard Penraven, and he died two hundred years ago, leaving a will which provided for the enacting of his comedy once a year, on the first Wednesday in every December. At Richard Penraven's death his property consisted-in addition to a chest made of Spanish oakof a rood of land in the parish of Great Mercy. It may be safely asserted that he intended the revenue derivable from his freehold to be devoted to the purposes of charity, for his will provides that ninety-nine two-pound loaves of wheaten bread of good quality be yearly distributed to an equal number of old women and boys and girls, whose respective ages we have already given. A careful estimate of the value of the rood of land and of the value of wheaten bread at the time of Penraven's death shows that the revenue and expenditure were fairly balanced, and the curious division of the charity is thereby in some measure deprived of eccentricity. The let ter of Penraven's Trust has been faithfully carried out. For two hundred years the ninety-nine loaves of bread have been distributed to the qualified poor-we use the term with an exact knowledge of its value and application, for no person was entitled to receive the loaf of bread unless it were proved to the satisfaction of the Guardians that that person was in Want. Yesterday, the Guardians for to the charitable bequest. They supplemented the ninety-nine loaves of bread with sixty-six yards of flannel-two yards for each old woman, of which she is to make a flannel petticoat; each old woman also received a bright, shining, new threepenny-bit, and two hundred and eighty-eight children from the charity schools each received a penny bun. Between the distribution of these various gifts the Rev. Mr. Dewhurst delivered a sermon upon Charity, in which the proceedings of the day were recommended as an example to the wealthy. The rev. gentleman was so exceedingly eloquent as to draw tears from his own eyes, and he elicited marks of emphatic approval from the seven comfortable-looking Guardians of the Penraven Trust, when he referred to the faithful and benevolent manner in which they continued to carry out the provisions of the bequest. In the course of his remarks, the rev. gentleman said that if Richard Penraven could rise from his grave to view the proceedings of the day, he would experience a feeling of devout gratitude that, by his last words upon earth, he had been able to alleviate the hard condition of the poor of the parish of Great Mercy. This may be doubted. We expect a proper estimate to be placed upon our opinion when we say that the sermon was worth the money—the thirty-three threepenny-bits given to the thirty-three old women. An artist searching for picturesque subjects of human life should bear this picture in mind, and on the first Wednesday of next De cember should pay a visit to the old church where Richard Penraven's bounty is distributed. There he would see the benevolent self-satisfied Guardians,-the poor decrepit old women, some almost blind, some quite deaf, most of them racked with rheumatism, and scarcely one with a decent gown to her back-the group of young male and female beggar - children sent by their parents for the two-pound loaf, some sad and wan, some sharp and shrewd the solemn minister the stately beadle-and the two hundred and eighty-eight vacuous, insipid, charity - school children, looking anxiously in their buns for stray currants that might by chance have wandered into the barely-sweetened dough. The question we have now to consider is, whether Richard Penraven's benevolent intentions have been faithfully carried out. And this question is an important one, and may have a direct bearing upon other charitable trusts whose Guardians eat and drink the capon, sauce, sack, and anchovies, to the tune of ten shillings and eightpence, and give to the poor a halfpenny worth of bread. We have already stated that at the time of Richard Penraven's death the yearly value of his property was in fair proportion to the money he devised for the benefit of the poor. But it is not given Yearly net rental, actual moneys received by the Guardians of the Yearly expenditure for charitable purposes: 99 two-pound loaves of wheaten bread, at 3d. per loaf £1 8 10 66 yards of flannel, at tod. per yard 2 15 O . £2300 os. od. 5 9 I £2294 10 10 occupies the sole attention of a secretary, an assistant-secretary, and two clerks, who all receive large salaries. In addition, there is a body of Guardians, composed of seven well-to do gentlemen, who meet so many times a-year to transact the business of the Trust, drawing ample fees for each attendance, and who dine together so many times a-year at the expense of the Trust. In addition, there is an eminent firm of lawyers at tached, like an octopus, to the Trust, who yearly presents a fat bill of costs-heaven and the legal profession alone know for whatwhich is duly paid out of the funds of the estate. Seven Guardians, an eminent firm of lawyers, and four scribes, all employed throughout the year in expending the sum of five pounds upon the poor! Can anything be conceived more ludicrous and sad? Appropriately is the day upon which the two-pound loaves of bread are distributed called Mortification Wednesday'! Mortification Wednesday, indeed, it is to the poor whose lives might really be made happier and of better service to the State by a wise administration of the funds, and by the carrying out, in the spirit, the desire of a benevolent man. But not Mortification to the lawyers, and the Guardians, and the scribes, who fatten upon a charity which was intended for the poor and not for the rich. To them, Mortification Wednesday is a day of feasting, of self-glorification. It is to be hoped, now that public attention has been directed to this matter, that measures will be taken to do honour in an earnest and honest way to the memory of the dead. Richard Penraven's name, upon the lips of the poor, should be mentioned with veneration and gratitude instead of, as it must be, with feelings of mockery and derision. There must be among the Guardians of this particular Trust at least one gentleman who, not having had the subject presented to him in its proper light until the present time, will at once step forward and insist upon a juster distribution of the funds of the Trust. That gentleman, whoever he may be, will earn by prompt action not only the gratitude of the poor people in the parish of Great Mercy, but the gratitude of the humbler classes in all parts of the City. He will earn more than this; he will earn the esteem and respect of all earnest men who are working for the general good, and by his example he will be instructing those who are engaged in the misappropriation of other charitable Trusts that the time has arrived for them to set their houses in order. The public will insist upon it; it is a matter in which Justice can no longer be played with. Already, it is said, dissatisfaction exists among the poor of the parish of Great Mercy, at the manner in which the funds of the Trust are administered. is natural. There is so much Mortification, and so little Bread! It CHAPTER XVII. IN WHICH SIR JUDAH SILVERSIDES SHOWS FRANK GOLDFINCH THE DOOR. On the morning before that on which Richard Penraven's old oak chest was to be opened, Frank Goldfinch, on the wings of yes, love; the simile cannot be bettered -hastened to Silversides Hall. No sooner had he entered the grounds than Flo ran to meet him. She had that morning arrived from the country, and had been waiting for Frank, on the tip-toe of expectation. The parting had been a long one -the lovers had not seen each other for a month-and they had much to talk about, small nothings which to lovers' minds are of immense importance. The country visit had done Flo good; her cheeks had a healthy glow in them, and her eyes were as bright as sunbeams. As Frank gazed at the girl who, flushed with eager delight, ran towards him, his heart beat for joy at the thought that the treasure of an honest girl's love was his. 'Heart for heart,' he whispered gladly to himself. 'What do you say, Frank ?' cried the girl. O, I am so glad to see you-and how pale you are look ing! You are overworking yourself, Frank. I will not allow you to do it-no, Frank, I will not! How do I look, Frank? I feel as if spring were growing within me. What was it you whispered to yourself?' He laughed at her eagerness and impetuosity. 'Heart for heart,' he said; 'yours for me, and mine for you.' 'Yes, dear. I am so happy to be with you again! I've thought of you every minute of the day, and night too, when I was awake. How I looked out for your letters every morning! They came in at nine o'clock, and I was always up to watch the postman coming along. Frank, I think he knew! for after |