ing them over a larger surface, to give the
appearance of a greater quantity. It is, heaven knows, a melancholy
cheat, but one with which the periodical famines of our unhappy
country have made our people too well acquainted. Previous, however, to
breakfast, the prophet had a private interview with Mave, or the _Gra
Gal_, as she was generally termed to denote her beauty and extraordinary
power of conciliating affection; _Gra Gal_ signifying the fair love, or
to give the more comprehensive meaning which it implied, the fair-haired
beauty whom all love, or who wins all love. This interview lasted, at
least, a quarter of an hour, or it might be twenty minutes, but as the
object of it did not then transpire, we can only explain the appearances
which followed it, so far at least, as the parties themselves were
concerned. The _Gra Gal_, as we shall occasionally call her, seemed
pleased, if not absolutely gratified, by the conversation that passed
between them. Her eye was elated, and she moved about like one who
appeared to have been relieved from some reflection that had embarrassed
and depressed her; still it might have been observed that this sense of
relief had nothing in it directly affecting the person of the prophet
himself, on whom her eyes fell from time to time with a glance that
changed its whole expression of satisfaction to one of pain and dislike.
On his part there also appeared a calm sedate feeling of satisfaction,
under which, however, an eye better acquainted with human nature
might easily detect a triumph. He looked, to those who could properly
understand him, precisely as an able diplomatist would who had succeeded
in gaining a point.

When breakfast was over, and previous to his departure, he brought Jerry
Sullivan and his wife out to the barn, and in a tone and manner of much
mystery, assuming at the same time that figurative and inflated style so
peculiar to him, and also to his rival the Senachie, he thus addressed
them--

"Listen," said he, "listen, Jerry Sullivan, and Bridget, his wife; a
child was born, and a page was written--the moon saw it, and the stars
saw it; but the sun did not, for he is dark to fate an' sees nothing
but the face of nature. Do you understand that, Jerry Sullivan, an' you
Bridget, his wife?"

"Well, troth we can't say we do yet, at all events," they replied; "but
how could we, ye know, if it's regardin' prophecy you're spakin'."

"Undherstand it!" he replied, contemptuous