ng his tears beginning to
flow, took leave of us, promising to visit my father in passing
Babaguey. Some days after, our young sister became dangerously ill; the
fever attacked me also; and in less than forty-eight hours all our
family were seized with the same disease. Caroline, however, had still
sufficient strength to take care of us; and, but for her assistance, we
would all perhaps have become a prey to the malady which oppressed us.
That good sister durst not acquaint my father with the deplorable
condition in which we all were; but alas! she was soon obliged to tell
him the melancholy news. I know not what passed during two days after my
sister had written my father, having been seized with delirium. When the
fit had somewhat abated, and I had recovered my senses a little, I began
to recognise the people who were about me, and I saw my father weeping
near my bed. His presence revived the little strength I had still left.
I wished to speak, but my ideas were so confused that I could only
articulate a few unconnected words. I then learned, that after my father
was acquainted with our dangerous condition, he had hastened to Senegal
with my oldest brother, who also had been attacked. My father seemed to
be no better than we were; but to quiet our fears, he told us that he
attributed his indisposition to a cold he had caught from sleeping on a
bank of sand at Safal. We soon perceived that his disease was more of
the mind than of the body. I often observed him thoughtful, with a wild
and disquieted look. This good man, who had resisted with such courage
all his indignities and misfortunes, wept like a child at the sight of
his dying family.

Meanwhile the sickness increased every day in our family; my young
sister was worst. Dr Quincey saw her, and prescribed every remedy he
thought necessary to soothe her sufferings. During the middle of the
night she complained of a great pain in her abdomen, but, after taking
the medicine ordered her, she fell quiet, and we believed she was
asleep. Caroline, who watched us during the night in spite of her
weakness, took advantage of this supposed slumber to take a little
repose. A short while after, wishing to see if little Laura still slept,
she raised the quilt which covered her, and uttered a piercing shriek. I
awoke, and heard her say in a tremulous voice, Alas! Laura is dead. Our
weeping soon awoke our unhappy father. He rose, and, seeing the face of
the dead child, cried in wi