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mothers, clasp them in your arms, one death embraces you!"
Shuddering, he stretched out his hands, his eyes cast up, seemed bursting
from their sockets, while he appeared to follow shapes, to us invisible, in
the yielding air--"There they are," he cried, "the dead! They rise in
their shrouds, and pass in silent procession towards the far land of their
doom--their bloodless lips move not--their shadowy limbs are void of
motion, while still they glide onwards. We come," he exclaimed, springing
forwards, "for what should we wait? Haste, my friends, apparel yourselves
in the court-dress of death. Pestilence will usher you to his presence. Why
thus long? they, the good, the wise, and the beloved, are gone before.
Mothers, kiss you last--husbands, protectors no more, lead on the
partners of your death! Come, O come! while the dear ones are yet in sight,
for soon they will pass away, and we never never shall join them more."
From such ravings as these, he would suddenly become collected, and with
unexaggerated but terrific words, paint the horrors of the time; describe
with minute detail, the effects of the plague on the human frame, and tell
heart-breaking tales of the snapping of dear affinities--the gasping
horror of despair over the death-bed of the last beloved--so that groans
and even shrieks burst from the crowd. One man in particular stood in
front, his eyes fixt on the prophet, his mouth open, his limbs rigid, while
his face changed to various colours, yellow, blue, and green, through
intense fear. The maniac caught his glance, and turned his eye on him--
one has heard of the gaze of the rattle-snake, which allures the trembling
victim till he falls within his jaws. The maniac became composed; his
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