Here the conversation was interrupted by the advance of Biddy Mulligan, "and Mikee Noonan afther her," bearing some grotesque imitation of clerical vestments made of coarse sacking, and two enormous head-dresses made of straw, in the fashion of mitres; these were decorated with black rags hung fantastically about them, while the vestments were smeared over with black stripes in no very regular order. "Come here," said Larry to the tithe proctors; "come here, antil we put you into your regimentals." "What are you goin' to do with us, Mr. Lanigan?" said the frightened poor wretch, while his knees knocked together with terror. "We are just goin' to make a pair o' bishops of you," said Lanigan; "and sure that's promotion for you." "Oh, Mr. O'Hara," said the proctor, "sure you won't let them tie us up in them sacks." "Do you hear what he calls the iligant vestments we made a' purpose for him? They are sackcloth, to be sure, and why not--seeing as how that you are to be the chief murners? and sackcloth and ashes is what you must be dhressed in, accordin' to rayson. Here, my buck," said the rollicking Larry, "I'll be your vally de sham myself," and he proceeded to put the dress on the terrified tithe proctor. "Oh, Mr. Lanigan dear!" said he, "don't murther me, if you plaze." "Murther you!--arrah, who's going to murther you? Do you think I'd dirty my hands wid killin' a snakin' tithe procthor?" "Indeed, that's thrue, Mr. Lanigan; it would not be worth your while." "Here now," said Larry, "howld your head till I put the mithre an you, and make you a bishop complate. But wait a bit; throth, I was nigh forgettin' the ashes, and that would have been a great loss to both o' you, bekase you wouldn't be right murners at all without them, and the people would think you wor only purtendin'." This last bit of Larry's waggery produced great merriment amongst the by-standers, for the unfortunate tithe proctors were looking at that moment most doleful examples of wretchedness. A large shovelful of turf ashes was now shaken over their heads, and then they were decorated with their mitres. "Tut, man," said Larry to one of them, "don't thrimble like a dog in a wet sack. Oh, thin, look at him how pale he's turned, the dirty coward that he is. I tell you, we're not goin' to do you any hurt, so you needn't be lookin' in sitch mortial dhread. By gor, you're as white as pen'orth o' curds in a sweep's fist." With many such jokes at the expense of the tithe proctors, they were attired in their caricature robes and mitres, and presented with a pair of pitchforks, by way of crosiers, and were recommended at the same time to make hay while the sun shone, "bekase the fine weather would be lavin' them soon;" with many other bitter sarcasms, conveyed in the language of ridicule.