e men, besides, were exercised with such singular
delight, that the constant repetition of their oracular exhibitions by
degrees created an involuntary impression on themselves, that ultimately
rose to a kind of wild and turbid enthusiasm, partaking at once of
imposture and fanaticism. Many of them were, therefore, nearly as
much the dupes of the delusions that proceeded from their own heated
imaginations as the ignorant people who looked upon them as oracles;
for we know that nothing at all events so much generates imposture as
credulity.

"Indeed, Donnel," replied Sullivan, "what you say is unfortunately too
thrue. Everything we can look upon appears to have the mark of God's
displeasure on it; but if we have death and sickness now, what'll become
of us this time twelve months, when we'll feel this failure most?"

"I have said it," replied the prophet; "an' if my tongue doesn't tell
truth, the tongue that never tells a lie will."

"And what tongue is that?" asked his companion.

"The tongue of the death-bell will tell it day afther day to every
parish in the land. However, we know that death's before us, an' the
grave, afther all, is our only consolation."

"God help us," exclaimed Sullivan, "if we hadn't betther and brighter
consolation than the grave. Only for the hopes in our Divine Redeemer
an' his mercy, it's little consolation the grave could give us. But
indeed, Donnel, as you say, everything about us is enough to sink
the heart within one--an' no hope at all of a change for the betther.
However, God is good, and, if it's His will that we should suffer, it's
our duty to submit to it."

The prophet looked around him with a gloomy aspect, and, truth to say,
the appearance of everything on which the eye could rest, was such as
gave unquestionable indications of wide-spread calamity to the country.

The evening, which was now far advanced, had impressed on it a character
of such dark and hopeless desolation as weighed down the heart with a
feeling of cold and chilling gloom that was communicated by the dreary
aspect of every thing around. The sky was obscured by a heavy canopy of
low, dull clouds that had about them none of the grandeur of storm, but
lay overhead charged with those wintry deluges which we feel to be so
unnatural and alarming in autumn, whose bounty and beauty they equally
disfigure and destroy. The whole summer had been sunless and wet--one,
in fact, of ceaseless rain which fell, day after d