The next morning the Sullivan family rose to witness another weary and
dismal day of incessant rain, and to partake of a breakfast of
thin stirabout, made and served up with that woful ingenuity, which
necessity, the mother of invention in periods of scarcity, as well as
in matters of a different character, had made known to the benevolent
hearted wife of Jerry Sullivan. That is to say, the victuals were made
so unsubstantially thin, that in order to impose, if possible, on the
appetite, it was deemed necessary to deceive the eye by turning the
plates and dishes round and round several times, while the viands
were hot, so as by spreading 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.