He ground the
poor, and wrung, by the most oppressive extortion, out of their sweat
and labor, all and much more than they could afford to give him. With
destitution and poverty in their most touching and pitiable shapes,
he never had one moment's sympathy, nor did the widow or orphan ever
experience a single act of benevolence or mercy at his hands.

There was now a short pause in the work of destruction, but it was
evident to him and his family that some new element of action was at
work among the multitude, though of its character and object they could
form no possible conjecture. The Purcels had now a short space for
reflection, and but a short one, for they all felt, by the increasing
heat that proceeded from the burning roof, that they could not long
abide under it. Alick and the females had joined John and his father
in the top room, and the latter now saw clearly that fate, in its most
dreadful and appalling shape, was on him and his whole family, for
it was clear, as matters stood, that neither he nor his sons, at all
events, could escape the vengeance of the infuriated multitude. In this
condition, his veins swollen, and the perspiration standing in large
beads upon his forehead, he took one fearful and agonizing glance upon
his past life, and felt, now that he stood on the verge of eternity,
that the retrospect was like a glimpse of hell. The change that came
over his features was frightful beyond all belief; his face became
nearly black, and his eyes, which grew bloodshot almost in a few
minutes, had, notwithstanding, a sharp delirious expression of terror
that no language could depict.

"Great God! father," exclaimed his son John, who first noticed, this
change in his appearance, "what is the matter with you?"

"We are lost!" he exclaimed; "oh, my past life! Great Heaven! if I had
but one act of kindness to look back upon, I could dare death. Children,
the tortures of hell are upon me! Here is death at my throat, but how
will I die? Hallo--look!" he exclaimed, "do you see it?--it is
all black--black and bloody--black and bloody--that life of mine!
Crimes--crimes--crimes against the poor--against the widow and the
orphan! Why did I do it? Eh, why did I oppress, and grind, and murder!
Ay, murder!--where's Widow Flanagan's son?--where's all the blood I
was the means of shedding?--where are the rotten corpses that are now
festering in the grave, because I was rapacious and an oppressor?
Hallo! I say, don't