Original subtitles

Mary, I must speak to your brother.

I know he's always delighted to see you but...

- What's wrong? - He travels to London on the next train

and he still has to catch up with his work.

I must speak to him. I have a favour to ask him.

I'm sure he'll have time for a small favour.

After all, he does love you better than anyone in the world.

Please don't talk like that, Mary.

Why ever not?

You mustn't joke about me and Mr Bold.

Once I have spoken to him...

And asked your favour.

Once that is done, there can never be anything further between us.

I see.

I'll fetch him.

Mary!

- You mustn't leave us alone together. - I shall certainly stay.

John!

- Good morning, Miss Harding. - Good morning, Mr Bold.

Miss Harding, Mr Bold. What sort of talk is that?

I'm sorry I'm so rushed. It's such a bore having to go to London

and so many things to do once I'm there.

Especially in this weather, it's so warm.

Discussing the weather?

- Extremely warm, yes. - And how is Mr Harding?

Eleanor has a favour to ask. Please be quiet so she may ask it.

I'm sorry.

You ask how my father is,

I will tell you.

He's very unhappy. You would hardly know him if you saw him.

You said you wanted to ask a favour.

My father is unhappy because of the campaign against him

concerning his position as warden of the hospital,

and because of the unspeakable things written about him in the newspapers.

Only in The Jupiter, I think.

- I hope you did not write those things. - Of course not.

He's been called avaricious, dishonest,

they say he's robbing the old men.

They say he is taking large sums of money and doing nothing in return.

- I never said such things. - You are for the campaign.

My campaign is against the power of the established church

and its misuse of vast sums of money.

Why should my father bear the punishment?

He is totally blameless, I know that now.

And so do all my friends.

My father is persecuted.

He has been singled out for scorn and disgrace.

And you began all this.

You, John Bold, whom we all so...

valued.

I am asking you this one favour...

To abandon your campaign against the hospital.

I'm asking you to spare his reason and his life.

I'm ask...

Pray, do not drive to distraction a man who has loved you so well.

Surely, John, you cannot refuse her.

I would give her my soul if it would serve her.

No, I ask nothing for myself. What I ask is for my father.

For my soul, my house, my heart, my all,

every hope in my breast is centred in her.

When I see her as she is now, in sorrow,

every nerve in my body suffers.

No, no, no, there can be no talk of love between us.

Will you protect my father from the evil you have created?

- Eleanor, I would do anything for you. - Will you?

Will you leave my father to die in peace in his quiet home?

Will you? I shall not leave you till you promise.

I will cling to you in the street.

I will kneel to you before all the people.

You shall promise me this. You shall!

Promise her.

Promise me.

Say my father is safe.

Promise me and I will let you go.

Promise her.

All I can do,

I will do.

Bless you.

Mary.

I shall travel to London this evening instead of this afternoon.

You always tell me the evening train is dreary and cold.

So it is.

But this afternoon, I shall ride out to Plumstead.

I shall inform Dr Grantly

that I am abandoning my proceedings against the hospital.

Thank you.

I should warn you that other people more influential than I am

are still concerned about the situation.

But I shall persuade them to the best of my ability

to refrain from any further personal allusion to your father.

Good.

I'm deeply grateful.

- I must go. - So soon?

You have a busy day ahead of you.

I must tell my father the news.

But may I not say one word for myself?

I will fetch your bonnet, Eleanor, while John says his one word.

I'll fetch my bonnet myself.

Honoured guests are never allowed to fetch their own bonnets.

Don't be absurd, Eleanor.

I have a favour to ask of you.

I shall try to be reasonable.

Will you marry me?

Yes.

Good afternoon, Mr Bold.

- Good afternoon. - Good afternoon.

- Have you come to see my father? - I have, yes.

I'm sure Papa will be glad to see you.

Shall I hold your horse for you? I shall be delighted to do so.

Ah, thank you very much.

Well, Mr Bold, what can I do for you?

Very happy to do anything for such a friend of my father-in-law.

I hope you'll excuse me calling, Dr Grantly.

No apology is ever necessary from Mr Bold.

Only let me know what I may do for him.

To be brief,

I'm abandoning my legal proceedings in connection with the hospital.

And your attack on Mr Harding?

Dr Grantly, there has been no personal attack.

We won't quarrel about words.

I should call it an attack,

an attempt to take away from a man every penny of his income.

Yes, most men would call that an attack, but whatever it is called,

you wish to "abandon" it.

I intend to put an end to the legal proceedings that I instigated.

- Good afternoon, Dr Grantly. - Good afternoon, Mr Bold.

I can't say I'm surprised.

You're carrying on a losing lawsuit.

When there is nothing to gain but everything to pay, that is not pleasant.

You misinterpret my motives, Dr Grantly.

But I suppose that is of little consequence.

I came here to tell you a matter of fact and I have done so.

- Good afternoon. - One moment, Mr Bold.

You have done me the honour of forcing me into a certain amount of conversation

on a subject which, strictly speaking,

should have been left to our lawyers.

Please, do me the courtesy of allowing me to reply to your matter of fact.

I am in no immediate hurry, Dr Grantly.

But I am, Mr Bold.

My time is not exactly leisure time!

So you're going to abandon the lawsuit?

Yes, Dr Grantly, I am.

Having exposed the gentlest of men

to all the abuse and insolence

which the press was capable of...

...having declared that it was your duty as a man of high public virtue

to protect those fools at the hospital, having made them sign a petition,

you now decide the game costs more than it is worth,

- and you must have done with it. - You misunderstand.

Perhaps it is a little late to have done with it.

Has it occurred to you...

that we may not now choose to give over?

That we may find it necessary to...

to punish the injury that you've done us?

After all, we've gone to enormous expense to resist this...

iniquitous attack of yours!

I understand that you took counsel's opinion.

And the opinion of Sir Abraham Haphazard, the attorney general.

I have it here. Now, your lawyer friend,

Mr Finney of High Street, Barchester,

may deal in six and eightpences, and 13 and fourpences,

but with Sir Abraham we are talking about large sums of money,

crushing costs which may have to come out of your own pocket.

Any such demands will doubtless be made to my lawyers. Good afternoon.

Hear me out, sir!

I have not finished.

I would like you to hear Sir Abraham Haphazard's latest opinion.

Oh, but perhaps you already know about it.

Perhaps that is why you're here.

I know nothing whatever of Sir Abraham Haphazard or his opinion.

Well, he declares,

most explicitly

that you have not a leg to stand on.

That Mr Harding is as safe in his hospital as I am here in my rectory.

That a more futile attempt to destroy a man

was never made.

I have this opinion from the very first lawyer in the land.

And under these circumstances,

you expect me to make you a low bow for your kind offer

to release Mr Harding from your net?

Sir, your net is not strong enough to hold him!

Sir, your net has...

fallen to pieces.

Now, I bid you a very good afternoon.

I have work to do.

- Dr Grantly. - I have nothing further to say.

I came here with the warmest, kindest feelings.

Yes, I'm sure you did. Nobody doubts that.

And those feelings have been outraged by your treatment.

Yes, I'm sure they must have.

I have chosen not to see my father-in-law ruined.

What an outrage that must have been to your feelings.

The time will come when you will understand why I called today.

- Good day, Mr Bold. - Perhaps...

Perhaps when Mr Harding becomes my father-in-law too.

Good afternoon, sir.

Good heavens.

And he will persuade his associates that their future efforts

must be concerned with matters of public principle.

And there will be no more personal attacks on you.

I see.

I thought you would be pleased.

It's... all too late.

It's much too late.

I though it would be all right now.

Come with me.

You off to London again, Mr Bold?

Afraid so.

Well, it isn't easy reforming the world

but I sincerely hopes you're wanting a return ticket.

Indeed, yes.

Sit down.

Read that, my dear.

"'We alluded some weeks ago to an instance

"'in which the warden of an almshouse in Barchester

"'has become possessed of the income

"'of the greater part of the whole institution. "'

The case is certainly a paltry one

"compared with the tens of thousands of pounds

"the church habitually expends on its own comfort.

"For the warden's income is but a poor 800 a year. "

It is rather well-written, is it not?

Er, considered purely as a piece of English prose.

You don't agree?

Please, please continue.

"An action has been taken against Mr Warden Harding

"by a gentleman acting solely on public grounds.

"And it is apparently to be argued by the church authorities

"that Mr Harding takes nothing but what he receives as a servant of the hospital

"and is not responsible for the amount of stipend given to him for his work. "

This is the hand of the man Towers.

- Towers? - An associate of Bold.

A journalist from London!

A triple condemnation.

- Hmm? - Is there more?

Much, much more.

"Such a legal plea would doubtless be fair

"if anyone questioned the daily wages of a bricklayer employed on the building,

"or the fee of the charwoman who cleans it, but... "

"... if this plea be put forward, we trust Mr Harding will be forced as a witness

"to state the nature of his employment,

"the amount of work that he does, the income which he receives,

"and the source from which he obtained his appointment.

"We do not think he will receive much public sympathy

"to atone for the annoyance of such an examination. "

I truly believe

I have no right to be here.

No right to be warden of the hospital?

No right to be warden with L800 a year.

No right to be warden with such a house as this.

No right to spend in luxury, money that was intended for charity.

What will you do?

Mr Bold has withdrawn from the case.

And so shall I.

I shall go to London first thing in the morning

and inform the church's legal adviser of my intentions.

You cannot have a court case

without a principal witness.

Will the archdeacon go with you?

I think not, my dear, I wish to do all this before the archdeacon can...

Interfere?

Exactly.

He argues very well and I can't always answer him.

He'll say I lack moral courage

and strength of character.

All the warden needs

is power of endurance...

and strength of character...

and a little moral courage.

Yes.

Is he aware of that, my son?

Theophilus?

So...

we shall...

We shall have to leave this pretty place.

Whatever you wish.

What use to us is this house or all the money...

if we are to be publicly insulted and humiliated?

But we shall take the music with us.

Mr Bold...

has asked me to marry him.

I trust you said yes.

You don't mind?

Why on earth should I mind?

John Bold is honest,

good, kind-hearted,

and right-thinking in the main.

A good wife will smooth the little imperfections.

A man to whom I can trust my earthly riches.

London? It is very popular this week, Mr Harding.

Not with me, I'm afraid. This is necessity. Thank you.

What shall I say to the archdeacon if I see him?

Tell him... Tell him as much of the truth

as you consider necessary.

- Good morning, Mr Bunce. - Morning, my lord.

- Mr Harding at home, is he? - No, my lord.

No?!

He and Miss Harding went into Barchester first thing.

Hmm.

Did they say how long they would be?

I think Miss Harding will be back soon.

Mr Harding I don't know about.

I form the impression...

that you were sitting on that bench looking at the water.

That's right, sir. I do that most days.

I will join you.

Until the return of one or more Hardings.

Ah.

Oh, please.

Now we shall double the effort of contemplating the river.

- It's good to see you, John. - Are you busy?

Yes, but if I have a leisure hour, then this is it.

I'm hoping you can oblige me in a certain matter.

Anything.

You know this lawsuit that I have been engaged in?

The man who takes money and does nothing?

Well... I've abandoned it.

Why?

The warden, Mr Harding, his conduct is so excellent, so unselfish,

that I cannot proceed in the matter to his detriment.

I think nothing should be done until the wardenship becomes vacant.

On his death?

- Yes, I suppose so. - When it again will be filled

before anyone hears of the vacancy.

It's the vested rights of the incumbent.

But suppose the incumbent has a vested wrong,

and the people of your town have a vested right,

if only they could get to hear about it.

Isn't that the case?

Well,

in principle, perhaps.

It will cost you a great deal to abandon this case.

A few hundred pounds. I can't help that.

It's refreshing to hear a man talk in so casual a manner about his hundreds.

Does the man Harding know what you're proposing?

I think by now he will know of my intention.

I am sorry. It injures a man to commence this kind of thing and not see it through.

It injures you and it injures your Mr Harding.

Better to pursue it to the bitter end.

And the bitter end is where we are travelling, John,

whatever your feelings on the subject.

Pamphlets are written and circulated.

Questions may well be asked in the House.

Famous men take up the cause.

Fire has gone too far to be quenched.

The building must go now.

And as the timbers are all rotten,

why, the sooner the better.

Everyone in Barchester has read The Jupiter.

Mr Harding has felt those remarks very deeply and painfully.

If I assure you that he personally is in no way to blame,

will you discontinue the articles?

My dear fellow, I cannot answer for The Jupiter.

I do not ask you to abandon any principle or precept.

I simply ask you to abstain from personal allusion to Mr Harding.

- I value your friendship, John. - And I yours.

- But I cannot have interference. - I don't want to interfere!

But you do. What else is it?

You imagine I can keep certain remarks out of a newspaper. That is interference.

Only if you call it so.

Suppose I had this power and used it as you wish,

isn't it clear that that would be a great abuse?

Look at our newspapers. Look at their recognised worth.

Does this not depend upon the assurance that the public feels

that these newspapers are or are not totally independent?

And mention The Jupiter.

The weight of The Jupiter is much too great

to be moved by any mere private request,

even if it were made to a more influential person than myself.

You have only to think about that and you'll see that I am right.

You were willing enough to listen to me

when I gave you the information to write the articles.

- The information was true. - Yes.

And because of your admiration for Mr Harding

does the information cease to be the truth?

No.

I'm sure that it would cease to be the truth

if your newspaper required it to be so.

Miss Harding.

Eleanor!

Good morning. This is a pleasant surprise.

My dear, you're looking radiant.

Thank you.

Where is your father?

London.

London?!

You wish to see Sir Abraham Haphazard?

Yes, please.

These are his chambers?

Oh, yes, these are his chambers.

But he's very rarely here, especially at the moment.

At the moment?

He's very busy in the House with the Convent Custody Bill.

Of course.

I understand.

With what is it in connection with, sir?

The exact description of the case

is the Queen on behalf of the wool-carders of Barchester

versus the trustees,

under the will of the late John Hiram.

I see.

And your name is?

Mr Septimus Harding.

Mr Septimus...

Hiram.

No, Harding, I am Septimus Harding.

The case concerns the late John Hiram.

Good.

And you would like to speak to Sir Abraham...

about the woolgatherers at Barchester.

No, er, wool-carders.

Not woolgatherers.

Of course.

Carders.

- May I have your address? - I live in Barchester.

Do you have a London address?

I'm staying at the Chapter Hotel, near St Paul's.

Messages of extreme urgency

are taken to Sir Abraham at the House

several times a day on the hour.

You will receive a reply

at the Barchester Hotel.

No, the Chapter Hotel.

The Chapter Hotel near St Paul's.

Forgive me, Mr Harding.

Barchester is where the wool-carders are found.

Is that correct?

Reasonably correct.

There will be a message for you from Sir Abraham as soon as possible.

How soon might that be?

I'm sure no later than the end of the week.

The end of the week?! B- But today is-is Tuesday.

Sir Abraham is quite remarkably swift in these matters.

Yes, that is quite clear to me.

I wonder, erm...

Can I be of further assistance?

No, I believe not.

I shall await my message at the Chapter Hotel...

Near St Paul's.

Yes, thank you.

Good morning.

Thank you, Mr Barchester.

Bradshaw!

Bradshaw, Bradshaw, Bradshaw...

- Bradshaw, my dear. - Bradshaw.

We are going to London and I need to look up the times of the trains.

We are going?

Well, I couldn't possibly manage London on my own.

- Bradshaw. - Thank you, Susan.

Now, it's Barchester to London.

Um...

How do I find our train?

There is a standard procedure, as you well know.

- Is there? - You ask me to find it.

Thank you.

Why are we going to London?

To prevent your father from taking complete leave of his senses.

Oh.

I think you must be Mr Harding from Barchester.

- I am Mr Harding, yes. - There's a message for you, Mr Harding.

From Barchester?

No, from Sir Abraham Haphazard.

He will see you at his chambers at ten o'clock this evening.

Splendid. I am deeply indebted to you.

- My pleasure, sir. - Um...

- If there is anything else? - Yes, there is something.

I wonder if there is a copy of Bradshaw I might look at?

We have two copies of Bradshaw.

Two?

One in the office and one in there.

You mean you know all the times of the trains by heart?

The trains between London and the cathedral cities,

those being the trains our clients are generally interested in, sir.

- This would be a Barchester train? - Yes, it would.

Some friends of mine may be travelling down from Barchester...

- I understand, sir. ... today in the hopes of catching me.

Er, catching me before my appointment with Sir Abraham.

There are three first-class opportunities for them to do so, sir -

two express opportunities and one stopping opportunity.

If you take my meaning, sir.

Indeed, should they catch the morning express,

they could be here within the hour.

Really?

Good friends are they, sir?

Oh yes, very good, very, very good,

very old friends.

But alas, I have several appointments before that with Sir Abraham.

So if they do arrive today from Barchester,

and they may not,

but if they do, would you be kind enough to give them a message?

If they arrive, I will indeed give them your message.

And if they do not arrive, I will take the liberty of not giving them the message.

- What is the message, Mr Harding? - The message.

The message is...

"Mr Harding has gone out

"and will not be returning to the hotel until 11 o'clock this evening. "

Come along.

All right, all right. I'm coming.

- Dr Grantly. - Yes, that's right. Tickets, please.

Yes, sir, tickets.

I knows I had 'em.

I put 'em aside special, aye.

- There we are, sir. - Thank you, my good man.

Barchester will soon be empty, sir,

all our most eminent citizens going up to the capital.

Not for long, I assure you.

Not for long.

- But surely... - That was all Mr Harding said, sir,

that he will be back at 11.

I see. Thank you very much.

Thank you, sir, I'll see about your room.

Oh, yes, how very kind of you.

11 o'clock.

Good afternoon.

Good heavens, what on earth can the man be doing until 11 o'clock?

He is staying out until 11 o'clock. The message was perfectly clear.

Yes, I realise he's out but what is he doing?

Perhaps if we wait until he returns and then ask him,

he will tell us.

Coffee.

Hmm.

One shilling, thank you, sir.

- A shilling? - For your cigar and your coffee.

There's your ticket for your cigar and your coffee.

Thank you, sir.

But I don't smoke.

This is a cigar divan, sir.

A cigar divan, of course.

Thank you. Though I... I fear I have little use for this.

You could pass it on to a friend, sir.

None of my friends smoke either.

Well, the archdeacon.

But I doubt very much whether he would like...

Pardon the presumption, sir, but I smoke from time to time.

Take it, please, take it.

Thank you, sir, I'll fetch your coffee.

Unless you prefer sherbet?

Sherbet?

Some of our gentlemen prefer sherbet to the coffee, Sir.

No, thank you, coffee will be fine.

Archdeacon.

That was an absolutely splendid dinner.

Mm-hm.

But I see no possibility of you eating a supper as well.

Mm-hm.

We shall have to talk and read

rather more than I had anticipated.

Very sorry to keep you waiting, Mr Warden.

Not at all.

And to name so disagreeable an hour

but this was the earliest that was not disposed of.

It is I who should apologise.

And so all our trouble about this lawsuit is at an end.

At an end?

The attorneys for the other side have withdrawn their suit.

Of course, they must pay the costs.

You know about all this?

In a roundabout sort of way, I... I thought it was likely to happen.

And the absolute expense to you and Dr Grantly will be trifling.

I, er...

I am currently concerned in the House with the Convent Custody Bill.

So far, we have dealt with 106 clauses, only nine have been passed.

56 have been withdrawn,

14 have been altered, so they now mean the reverse of the original proposition,

11 have been postponed

and several totally mislaid.

We're now having a prolonged dispute about clause 107,

which orders the bodily searching of nuns.

Searching of nuns?

For Jesuitical symbols by elderly clergymen.

And is, of course, the mainstay of the whole bill.

What a relief to deal with an issue as simple as Hiram's Hospital, Barchester.

Sir Abraham?

That is really why I came to see you.

I fear it is not as simple as some people imagine.

And why ever not? The opposition have withdrawn from the field,

- the status quo has been restored. - But not my status quo.

My dear sir, what are you talking about?

I need to know,

am I directly and legally entitled

to the proceeds of the property

after due maintenance of the 12 beadsmen.

Since we are not going into court to examine that question,

I cannot give you a precise answer, only a personal opinion.

And what is your personal opinion?

I think...

you would probably have won your case.

Probably.

And in your personal opinion,

am I morally entitled to the money from the hospital?

Morality? What has that to do with the law?

I am going to resign as warden of the hospital.

Resign?

A man should never resign from anything unless he means it.

I mean it.

Have you discussed this with Dr Grantly?

No.

- Have you any private means? - Not sixpence.

- Have you not an unmarried daughter? - Yes.

Well, God bless me, how do you intend to live?

I am precentor at the cathedral

and I have a small living in the parish of Crabtree.

Between the two, I should have...

L160 a year.

Give up this idea, Mr Harding.

A man is never the best judge of his own position.

A man is the best judge of his own feelings.

I would rather beg than see those words written about me in The Jupiter

and know that the man who wrote those words has truth on his side.

My God knows whether I love my daughter

but I would rather she and I begged in the streets

than that she should live in comfort

on money which is rightly the property of the poor.

I'm sorry.

And now you should know that from tomorrow...

I shall no longer be warden of Hiram's Hospital.

You should sleep on this, Mr Harding, make no hasty decisions.

I have slept upon it.

I've done more than sleep upon it, I have laid awake on it.

And that night after night...

I found I could not sleep upon it.

But now...

Now that I have made my decision...

I think I shall sleep again.

I shall sleep tonight.

- Good night. - Excuse me, sir.

Papa!

It's midnight.

I know, my dear.

Yes, but midnight!

I had an...

I had an appointment...

with the attorney general.

He was not available until ten o'clock.

What was that about the attorney general?

- I've just been to see him. - Good heavens.

How unfortunate.

The appointment had to be at this late hour

because of his involvement with the Convent Custody Bill.

So far they've dealt with 106 clauses

but they're having prolonged dispute over the 107th,

which deals with the bodily search of nuns

for Jesuitical symbols by elderly clergymen.

You... You've been with the attorney general?

I thought I had made that clear, Archdeacon.

Ten o'clock it had to be.

Great men will have their own way.

Well, I... I can't imagine what Sir Abraham will think.

It's not customary for clients to go direct to their counsel.

Isn't it? Oh well, I did it.

Sir Abraham didn't seem to think it strange.

And since the action has been withdrawn,

I suppose I'm no longer his client.

What did you say to him?

I told him...

that I'm resigning.

Resigning.

Yes.

But you... You can't...

You can't do such a...

I'm sure that Sir Abraham advised against it.

- Yes, he did. - And you should consult your friends.

Consult my friends and sleep upon it and...

And make no hasty decision.

What are you going to live on?

God that feedeth the young ravens...

will take care of me also.

Pish!

If the ravens persisted in refusing the food prepared for them,

they wouldn't be fed.

In point of fact, you can't resign.

The bishop wouldn't accept it. So, that's settled.

We mustn't let any of this talk of resignation get abroad.

- Now, just think... - I am resigning.

Your father is like a child.

Eat on L100 a year?

And nothing to do but write his music?

All because some scoundrel writes a couple of articles in a newspaper?

Well... I've done my duty.

If you choose to ruin yourself...

I cannot help it.

I shall...

resign.

What is to be done?

How can a man live if he gives up all his income?

I'm not giving up all my income.

I don't like the idea of your reverting to the status of Vicar of Crabtree.

Crabtree is totally acceptable.

Consider this.

For some time, I have felt the need of a domestic chaplain here in the palace.

Not a young working chaplain

but somebody steady and middle-aged,

somebody I could talk to and take a glass of wine with.

A man I could trust to poke the fire properly.

What would be the duties of such a chaplain?

Duties? Oh...

I don't know. We could easily think of some duties.

I would rather not live on crumbs from the bishop's table.

Ah. And I suppose The Jupiter might not approve.

Crabtree is perfectly acceptable.

Better than St Cuthbert's?

St Cuthbert's?

Oh, I know it is a tiny parish.

But the church is beautiful and there's a fine organ.

And you would still be in the heart of Barchester.

- Is St Cuthbert's vacant? - Oh, yes.

Only 75 a year.

That would be ideal.

We shall drink a little wine on that.

We need you in the town.

Do you really think so?

To talk to,

to take wine with.

And to, er...

To poke the fire.

If you would be so kind.

You know, when anybody else does that, the room fills with smoke.

I think it is because you are a pure man adrift amongst sinners.

Hey-ho.

Sinners are so much easier to cope with.

Are all the glasses charged, Mr Bunce?

They're all full, Mr Harding.

My dear old friends...

You all know

that I am going to leave you.

There, um...

There have been disagreements between us of late

over the funds of the hospital.

But we never wanted to drive your reverence out of it.

I'm not being driven out,

I'm leaving of my own free will and for my own good reasons.

And I am not angry or offended by any man in this hospital.

I am. I'm angry with them as signed that petition.

No, no, no, let there be no anger.

If any man has done wrong, it has been through wrong advice.

In this country we're entitled to look to our own rights

and you have done no more than that.

Now, since I am leaving...

since my income no longer depends upon your doings,

I venture to offer you my advice.

Some gentleman will probably be taking my place very soon

and I ask you to receive him in a kindly spirit

and to make no further comment

on the amount of his income.

Were you to succeed in lessening it,

you would not increase your own allowance.

The... The surplus would not go to you.

Of that I am convinced.

And your wants are, I am sure, more than adequately provided for.

God bless you, Reverence, we knows that.

Too late you knows it.

You ruined yourselves and Mr Harding

and you've ruined me too.

Nonsense, nobody has been ruined.

You shall all be well looked after.

And I shall be usefully employed

in the parish of St Cuthbert's.

We are moving into lodgings

over the chemist's shop in the high street.

And I shall be delighted to see any of you at any time

either at my lodgings or in my church.

Whichever you prefer.

Now if you'll raise your glasses, God bless you all.

May you live contented

and die trusting in the Lord Jesus Christ...

and thankful to Almighty God

for the good things He has given you.

God bless you all, my friends.

- God bless you, Reverend. - Good luck, sir.

I have now to forgive those who have injured me and then to die.

That's all any of us can hope for.

Mr Harding, sir,

I think Johnny Bell is waking up.

Mr Bell?

Mr Bell is waking up.

Mr Bell, I'm leaving you. Here.

God bless you.

What... What...

What are we doing here?

Are they giving us our L100?

O, be joyful in the Lord

All ye lands

Serve the Lord with gladness

And come before His presence with a song

Be sure that the Lord, He is God

It is He that hath made us

And not we ourselves

We are His people

And the sheep of His pasture

O, go your way into His gates with thanksgiving

And into His courts with praise

Be thankful unto Him

And speak good of His name

For the Lord is gracious

His mercy is everlasting

And His truth endureth

From generation

To generation