144 JOURNAL. 
me. —If I cannot better their condition, why awaken them to a 
sense of its miseries ? 
Leaving the Rincona, instead of going directly to the Almendral, 
I skirted the hill by the hamlet called the Pocura, where I found 
huts of a better description, most of them having a little garden with 
cherry and plum trees, and a few cabbages and flowers. In the 
veranda of one of them a woman was weaving coarse blue cloth. The 
operation is tedious, for the fixed loom and the shuttle are unknown ; 
and next to the weaving. of the Arab hair-cloths, I should conceive 
that in no part of the world can this most useful operation be per- 
formed so clumsily or inconveniently. At the further part of the 
Pocura an English butcher has built a house that looks like a palace 
here, to the great admiration of the natives. Immediately above, 
on a plain which may be from 80 to 100 feet above the village, is 
the new burying ground or pantheon, the government having wisely 
taken measures to prevent the continuance of burying in or near the 
town. The prejudice, however, naturally attached to an ancient 
place of sepulture prevents this from being occupied according to 
the intention of the projectors. Separated from this only by a wall, 
is the place at length assigned by Roman Catholic superstition to 
the heretics as a burial ground; or rather, which the heretics have 
been permitted to purchase. Hitherto, such as had not permission 
to bury in the forts where they could be guarded, preferred being 
carried out to sea, and sunk ;— many instances having occurred of 
the exhumation of heretics, buried on shore, by the bigotted natives, 
and the exposure of their bodies to the birds and beasts of prey. 
The situation of this resting-place is beautiful ; surrounded by 
mountains, yet elevated above the plain, it looks out upon.the ocean 
over gardens and olive groves ; and if the spirit hovers over its mor- 
tal remains, here at least it is surrounded with “ shapes and sights 
“ delightful.” But I trust it is better employed than in watching the 
frail and perishable creature of clay ; a task, alas! but irksome, wien 
life itself is the reward, but how disgusting to a pure intelligence, 
which, once freed from its sublunary fetters, must delight in its liberty 
