When John Purcel was seen in the office, the tithe defaulters, for such they were, went to the outside of the window, where they all stood until it became the turn of each to go in.  Although they went there to plead their inability to pay, yet, in fact, there were a great proportion of them who exhibited, neither by their manner nor appearance, any symptom whatever of poverty.  On the countenances of most of them might be read, not only a stern, gloomy, and resolute expression, but one of dissatisfaction and bitter resentment.  As they turned their eyes upon young Purcel, and looked around at the unequivocal marks of great wealth, if not luxury itself, that were conspicuous in every direction, there was a significance in the smiles and glances which passed between them, that gave very appropriate foretaste of the convulsions which ere long took place in the country.  John Purcel himself had remarked these appearances on almost every recent occasion, and it was the striking, or rather startling, aspect of these men, that caused him to allude to it just before sending Moylan to them.

It is not our intention to detail, at full length, the angry altercations which took place between them, as each went in, from time to time, to apologize for not paying up his tithes.  Every possible excuse was offered; but so well and thoroughly were Purcel and his sons acquainted with the circumstances, of, we may say, almost every family, not merely in the parish, but in the barony itself, that it proved a matter of the greatest difficulty to mislead or impose on any of them.  Nay, so anxious did the shrewd tithe-proctor feel upon this subject, that he actually got himself proposed and elected a governor of the Savings’ Bank, which had been for some time past established in C------m.  By this means, he was enabled to know that many of those who came to him with poverty on their lips, were actually lodging money in these economical institutions.

“Well, Carey,” said he, to a comfortable-looking man that entered, “I hope you have no further apology to offer for your dishonesty?”

“Sorra thing, Mr. John, but that I’m not able to pay.  I expect the landlord to come down upon me some o’ these days—­and what to do, or on what hand to turn, I’m sure I don’t know on airth.”

“You don’t say so now, Carey?”

“Troth I do, Misther John; and I hope you’ll spare me for a little—­I mane till the hard times that’s in it mends somehow.”

“Well, Carey, all I can say is, that, if you don’t know on what hand to turn, I can tell you.”

“Thank you, Misther John; troth an’ I do want to know that.”