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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,


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YERE was a sound of revelry by night,

And Belgiuin's capital had gathered then
Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men;
A thousand hearts beat happily; and when
Music arose with its voluptuous swell,
Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again,
And all went merry as a marriage bell ;
But hush ! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell!


Did ye not hear it ?-No; 'twas but the wind,
Or the car rattling o'er the stony street ;
On with the dance! let joy be unconfined ;
No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet
To chase the glowing hours with flying feet-
But hark !--that heavy sound breaks in once more,
As if the clouds its echo would repeat;
And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before !
Arm ! arm! it is—it is—the cannon's opening roar!

Within a windowed niche of that high hall
Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain; he did hear
That sound the first amidst the festival,
And caught its tone with death's prophetic ear ;
And when they smiled because he deem'd it near,
His heart inore truly knew that peal too well
Which stretch'd his father on a bloody bier,
And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell:
He rush'd into the field, and, foremost, fighting, fell.

Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro,
And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress,
And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago
Blush'd at the praise of their own loveliness;


And there were sudrien partings, such as press
The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs
Which ne'er might be repeateil; who couli guess
If ever more should meet those mutual eyes,
Since upon niglits so sweet such awful morn could rise ?

And there was mounting in hot haste : the steed,
The mustering squadron, and the clattering car,
Went pouring forward with impetuous speed,
And swiftly forming in the ranks of war;
And the deep thunder peal on peal afar ;
And near the beat of the alarming drum
Roused up the soldier ere the morning star ;
While thronged.the citizens with terror dumb,
Or whispering with white lips“ The foe! they come !

they come !"

And wild and high the “ Cameron's gathering rose !"
The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills
Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes :-
How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills,
Savage and shrill! but with the breath which fills
Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers
With the fierce native daring which instils
The stirring memory of a thousand years,
And Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each clans-man's ear!

And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves,
Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass,
Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves,
Over the unreturning brave,-alas !
Ere evening to be trodden like the grass
Which now beneath them, but above shall grow
In its next verdure, when this fiery mass
Of living valour, rolling on the foe
And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low,

Last noon beheld them full of lusty life,

ast eve in beauty's circle proudly gay,
The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife,
The morn the marshalling in arms,-the day
Battle's magnificently-stern array !
The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent
The earth is covered thick with other clay,
Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent,
Rider and horse, -friend, fee, -in one red burial blent !


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 way-worn traveller's resting-place,
Whose massy columns countless glow,
Reflected in the tank below,
Whose endless porticos and halls,
Whose pillar d domes, and echoing walls,
Its proud magnificence attest,
The child of poverty may rest ! -
Here wealth gives no exclusive claim,
No deference to a noble name;
To all the race of man as free
As heaven's cerulean canopy.
Long may the pious fabric stand
And this boundless waste of sand ;
Like some blest island's friendly cove,
To those who on the ocean reve !

The veriest wretch, while shelter'd here,
Shrinks from no fellow-mortal's sneer,
Whose broken spirit ill could brook
A purse-proud landlord's scorpful look ;
But, safe from noun's destructive force,
May pause upon his twilsome course,
With food and rest his frame renew,
His homeward journey to pursue ;
And, at the welcome close of light,
When fire-flies take their evening flight,
And hover round each fragrant How'r;
When burning skies have lost their pow'r,
When with fresh hopes, and thankful heart,
He girds his loins in act to part,
Warın from his soul haw many a pray'r
Will bless the generous founder's care !
Whom fancy pictures to the eye,
As passing faint and wearily
Along this drear and barren scene,
Where noontide rays smite fierce and keen,
And arid wins's incessant sweep
The billows of this sandy deep,
No stunted palm, nor date-tree seen,
To yield a momentary screen,
No hut his languid limbs to rest,
Tho' sorc by toil and thirst opprest!

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