“It is not possible, then, to form an exaggerated
picture of the sufferings of a million and a half of
people in these countries, in their convalescence from
fever, deprived of, not only the comforts, but even the
necessaries of life, with scanty food, and fuel, and
covering, only rising from fever to slowly fall victims
to those numerous chronic diseases that are sure to
seize upon enfeebled constitutions. Death would be to
many a more merciful dispensation than such a
recovery.”—Famine and Fever, as Clause and Effect in
Ireland, &a., &o. By D. J. Cohkigan, Esq., M.D.,
M.K.C.S.B. Dublin: J. Fannin & Co., Grafton Street.
It was to such a state of general tumult that the Prophet and his family arose on the morning of the following day. As usual, he was grim and sullen, but on this occasion his face had a pallid and sunken look in it, which apparently added at least ten years to his age. There was little spoken, and after breakfast he prepared to go out. Sarah, during the whole morning, watched his looks, and paid a marked attention to every thing he said. He appeared, however, to be utterly unconscious of the previous night's adventure, a fact which his daughter easily perceived, and which occasioned her to feel a kind of vague compassion for him, in consequence of the advantage it might give Nelly over him; for of late she began to participate in her father's fears and suspicions of that stubborn and superstitious personage.
“Father,” said she, as he was about to go out, “is it fair to ax where you are going?”
“It's neither fair nor foul,” he replied; “but if it's any satisfaction to you to know, I won't tell you.”
“Have you any objections then, that I should walk a piece of the way with you?”
“Not if you have come to your senses, as you ought, about what I mentioned to you.”
“I have something to say to you,” she replied, without noticing the allusion he had made; “something that you ought to know.”
“An' why not mention it where we are?”
“Bekaise I don't wish her there to know it.”