For a year or two previous to this visit, there is no doubt but the aspect of ecclesiastical affairs was gradually getting worse.  Turbot began to feel that there was something wrong, although he could not exactly say what it was.  Purcel, however, was by no means reluctant to disclose to him the exceedingly desperate state to which not only had matters been driving, but at which they had actually arrived.  This, in truth, was our worthy proctor’s version of ecclesiastical affairs, for at least two years before the present period of our narrative.  But, like every man who tampers with, simple truth, he began to perceive, almost when it was too late, that his policy in antedating the tithe difficulties was likely very soon to embarrass himself; and to deprive the outrages resulting from the frightful opposition that was organized against tithes of all claim to novelty.  He had, in fact, so strongly exaggerated the state of the country, and surcharged his pictures of anti-tithe violence so much beyond all truth and reality, that when the very worst and most daring organization did occur, he could do nothing more than go over the same ground again.  The consequence was, that worthy Turbot, so long habituated to these overdrawn narratives, began to look upon them as the friends of the boy who shouted out “wolf!” did upon the veracity of his alarms.  He set down his intrepid and courageous proctor as nothing else than a cowardly poltroon, whose terrors exaggerated everything, and whose exaggerated accounts of fraud, threats, and violence had existed principally in his own imagination.  Such were the circumstances under which Purcel and Dr. Turbot now met.

The worthy rector of Ballysoho was a middle-sized man, with coal-black hair, brilliant, twinkling eyes of the same color, and as pretty a double chin as ever graced the successor of an apostle.  Turbot was by no means an offensive person; on the contrary, he must of necessity have been very free from evil or iniquity of any kind, inasmuch as he never had time to commit sin.  He was most enthusiastically addicted to hunting and shooting, and felt such a keen and indomitable relish for the good things of this world, especially for the luxuries of the table, that what between looking after his cuisine, attending his dogs, and enjoying his field sports, he scarcely ever might be said to have a single day that he could call his own.  And yet, unreasonable people expected that a man, whose daily occupations were of such importance to—­himself, should very coolly forego his own beloved enjoyments in order to attend to the comforts of the poor, with whom he had scarcely anything in common.  Many other matters of a similar stamp were expected from him, but only by those who had no opportunity of knowing the multiplicity of his engagements.  Such persons were unreasonable enough to think that he ought to have occasionally appropriated some portion of his income to the relief of poverty and destitution, but as he said himself, he could not afford it.  How could any man afford it who in general lived up to, and sometimes beyond, his income, and who was driven to such pinches as not unfrequently to incur the imputation of severity and oppression itself, by the steps he was forced to take or sanction for the recovery of his tithes.