“But, Purcel, my dear friend, what am I and my domestic establishment to do?  Good God! there is nothing but ruin before us!  You know I always lived up to my income—­indeed, at best, it was too limited for the demands of my family, and our habits of life.  And now, to have the very prop—­the only one on which I leant—­suddenly snapt from under me—­it is frightful.  But you are to blame, Purcel; you are much to blame.  Why did you not apprise me of this ruinous state of things before it came thus on me unawares?  It was unfeeling and heartless in you not to have prepared me for it.”

The proctor actually imagined, and not without reason, that the worthy doctor was beginning to get beside himself, as it is termed, on hearing such a charge as this brought against him; and he was about to express his astonishment at it, when Mr. Temple, his curate, who resided in the parsonage, made his appearance, and joined them at Dr. Turbot’s request.  “Temple,” said he, as the latter portion of his body began to pursue the other through the room, “are you aware of the frightful condition to which the country has come?”

“Who can be ignorant of it?” replied Temple; “how can any man live in the country, and not know it?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Turbot, tartly, “I have lived in the country, and, until a few minutes ago, I was ignorant of the extent to which it has come.”

“Well, sir,” said Temple, “that is odd enough; for, to my own knowledge, your information has been both regular and authentic upon this subject at all events.  Our friend Purcel, here, has not left you in ignorance of it.”

“Yes,” said Turbot, “but he had the country as bad three years ago as it is now.  Was this fair?  Why, I took it for granted that all his alarms and terrors were the mere play and subterfuge of the proctor upon the parson, and, consequently, thought little of it; but here I am stranded at once, wrecked, and left on my bottom.  How will I meet my tradesmen? how will I continue my establishment? and, what is worse, how can I break it up?  You know, Temple, I cannot, unfortunately, live without luxuries.  They are essential to my health, and if suddenly deprived of them, as I am likely to be, I cannot answer to society for the consequences.”

“Sir,” said Temple, “it is quite obvious that a period of severe trial and chastening is at hand, or I should rather say, has already arrived.  Many of our calling, I am grieved I to know, are even now severely suffering, and suffering, I must add, with unexampled patience and fortitude under great and trying privations.  Yet I trust that the health of the general body will be improved by it, and purged of the grossness and worldly feeling which have hitherto, I fear, too much characterized it.  Many, I know, may think we are merely in the hands of man, but for my part, I think, and earnestly hope, that we are in those of God himself, and that He chasteneth no only because He loveth.”