SOUTH AMERICA. 157 



Sad and mournful was the story we heard on THIRD 



* JOURNEY. 



entering the river Demerara. The yellow fever Ye n w 

 had swept off numbers of the old inhabitants, and DemeJlm 

 the mortal remains of many a new comer, were 

 daily passing down the streets, in slow and mute 

 procession to their last resting-place. 



After staying a few days in the town, I went up Residence 

 the Demerara to the former habitation of my creek, 

 worthy friend, Mr. Edmonstone, in Mibiri creek. 



The house had been abandoned for some years. 

 On arriving at the hill, the remembrance of scenes 

 long past and gone, naturally broke in upon the 

 mind. All was changed ; the house was in ruins, 

 and gradually sinking under the influence of the 

 sun and rain ; the roof had nearly fallen in ; and 

 the room, where once governors and generals had 

 caroused, was now dismantled, and tenanted by 

 the vampire. You would have said, 



" 'Tis now the vampire's bleak abode, 

 'Tis now the apartment of the toad : 

 'Tis here the painful Chegoe feeds, 

 'Tis here the dire Labarri breeds 

 Conceal'd in ruins, moss, and weeds." 



On the outside of the house, nature had nearly 

 re-assumed her ancient right : a few straggling 

 fruit-trees were still discernible amid the varied 

 hue of the near approaching forest ; they seemed 

 like strangers lost, and bewildered, and unpitied, 

 in a foreign land, destined to linger a little longer, 

 and then sink down for ever. 



