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friends, who left her to his bente wringing their hands and followvolent care.
ing their families. Though a The expense and the danger.of great deal of their grief here by burying the dead has become so custom is expressed by action, great, and the boards to make the yet it is dreadful when it procoffins so very scarce, th the ceeds so truly from the heart as body is brought out of the house it does now, while all those we by friends to the door, and the see are friends of the departeil. first man they can prevail on, car. No strangers are called in to add ries it over his shoulder, or in his force to the funeral cries : the arms to the grave, endeavouring father who bears his son to-day, to keep pace with the long range carried his daughter yesterday, of coffins that go to the burying- and his wife the day before : the ground at noon, to take the ad- rest of his family are at home vantage of the great mass. To-, languishing with the plague, day the dead amounted to two while his own mother, spared hundred and ninety.
for the cruel satisfaction of folJuly 1, 1783.
lowing her offspring, still conti
nues with her son her wretched The cries of the people for the daily walk. loss of their friends are still as
July 20, 1785. frequent as ever; not a quarter
In the beginning of this month, of an hour passing without the
owing to the increased ravages of lamentations of some new afllicted
the plague, the events connected mourner. No more masses are
with it assumed a more horrid said in town at present for the
character, and instead of shining dead; but the coffins are collected
coffins, Juans and friends, to together and pass through the
the sad procession, five town-uate exactly at noon, when
or six corpses were bound tothe great mass is performed over all at once, at a mosque out of gether, all of them fistened on
one animal, and hurried away to the towni, in the way to the bury- the grave! Collogees (soldiers) ing ground. The horrors of the
were appointed to go throngh the melancholy procession: increase daily. A Moor of consequence
town, and clear it of objects who
had died in the streets and were passed to-day, who has not mis-ed
lying about. A female in the this melancholy walk for the last
agonics of death they would have fifteen days, in accompanying re
seized upon, while the spark of gularly some relic of his family:
life was still lingering, had not he is himself considered in the
the frighted victim with great last stage of the plague, yet sup- exertion extended a feeble arm, ported by his blacks he limped and resisted the disturbers of her before his wife and eldest son,
last moments, imploring the pahimself the last of his race.
tience of the collogees till they Women, whose persons have
came their next round. hitherto been veiled, are wandering about complete images of de
Sept. 10, 1786. spair, with their hair louse and Since our long quarantine, their baracans open, cryiny and (having been close prisoners for thirteen months, from the begin- children were wandering about ning of June 1785 to the end of deserted, without a friend be. July 1786), we have availed our- longing to them. The town was selves of every opportunity to en- aluost entirely depopulated, and joy our liberty; though it was at rarely two people walked togefirst, with great caution, that we ther. One solitary being paced ventured to alight at any of the slowly through the streets, his Moorish gardens, or to enter-a mind unoccupied by business, and Moorish house, particularly out lost in painful reflections: if he of town.
lifted his eyes, it was with mournIn the country, the villages are ful surprize to gaze on the empty empty, and those houses shut that habitations around him: whole have not been opened since the streets he passed without a living plague, and where whole families creature in them ; for beside the lay interred. The Moors carried desolation of the plague, before it a great number of their deal to broke out in this city, many of the sea-shore and laid them in ono the inhabitant:, with the greatest heap, which seriously affected the inconvenience, left their houses town, till the Christians suggests and fled to Tunis (where the ed the idea of covering them with plague then raged), to avoid lime, which fortunately the Moors starving in the dreadfal fainine have adopted, but only from find that preceded it here. ing themselves dangerously an- Amongst those left in this town noyed, as they consider this ex- some have been sprred to acknowpedient a sort of impiety, for ledge the compassion and attenwhich they express great sorrow. tion shewn them by the English
The habitations in the moun- consul. In the distresses of the tains of Guerriana, inaccessible famine, and in the horrors of the except to the inhabitants, remain plague, many a suffering wretch, entirely deserted. The entrances whose days have been spun out to the dwellings are so completely by his timely assistance, has left covered up with sand as noi to be his name on record at this place. discovered by strangers ; but they Persons sived from perishing in are now repeopling, and the rem- the famine who have remained nant of those who tied thence are sole possessors of property before hastening back from Tunis, and divided among their friends (all the deserts around, 'to recover now swept off by the plague), possession of these strange re- come forward to thank him with treats.
wild expressions of joy, calling The city of Tripoli, after the him boni (father), and praying to plague, exhibited an appearance Mahomet to bless him. They say awfully striking. In some of the that besides giving them life he houses were found the last vic- has preserved them to become tims that had perished in them, little kinys, and swear a faithful who having died alone, unpitied attachment to him, which there and unassisted, lay in a state too is no doubt they will shew, in bad to be removed from the spot, their way, as long as he is in their and were obliged to be buried country. where they were; while in others,
YERE was a sound of revelry by night,
And Belgiuin's capital had gathered then
Did ye not hear it ?-No; 'twas but the wind,
Within a windowed niche of that high hall
Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro,
And there were sudrien partings, such as press
And there was mounting in hot haste : the steed,
they come !"
And wild and high the “ Cameron's gathering rose !"
And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves,
Last noon beheld them full of lusty life,
ast eve in beauty's circle proudly gay,
Written in a Choultry, situate in a very desert Tract, by Captain
T. A. Anderson, H. M. 19th Foot.
Within this Choultry's ample space,
The veriest wretch, while shelter'd here,