Journal of the Plague Year

continued, by a Gentleman

Theſe quiet reſtfull Days of early Summer, while the Warmth of God's Solar Balm gamely calls forth the induſtrious Maggot from the ripe Orifices of the deceaſed Ineſsential, there have been few Occurrences of note. The daily Rate of Demiſe among the Idle continues to riſe and fall, but none of any Conſequence hath died ſince the ſecond-largeſt Daughter of the Earl of Bagſward fell on her Horſe upon the Afternoon of Wedneſday laſt, rolling over the defenceleſs Creature and expiring ſome ſeventeen Hours later in dreadful Agonies. I am told it will be long ere the Horſe recover its Wits, and the Earl is much concerned leſt the ſurviving Females of his Houſehold ſhould follow the young Lady in her importunate Action and bring about a generall Demoraliſing of the Stables. Fortunately the Drawing-room Windows at Bagſward are very ſtrongly barred.

Meanwhile a Servant of the Prime Miniſter, apparently one of thoſe few Dozen with the Aſpect of a ſmacked Arſe inſtead of a crumpled mucous Membrane, hath made a Journey to Durham town in order to teſt his Eye-ſight, which ſeemeth a moſt ſenſible Precaution. With Quacks and Pamphleteers proclaiming from every Street-corner the pernicious foreign Superſtition that the God-given Inadequacies and Failings of the human Optick may be magically corrected with diſtorting Lenſes, what more ſenſible during a deadly Peſtilence than to drive a Coach-and-four three hundred Miles, pauſing only at ſundry Roadhouſes, Inns and Toll-gates and a Caſtle, and taking along for the ſake of ſimple Compaſsion a backward infant Child and a Wife whoſe puſtulent Buboes had that very Day begun to ſpurt their fragrant Matter in great adheſive Gouts of purgative Releaſing. I am ſure that the Peſtilence muſt now have paſsed its Peak and that the Bulk of future Sufferings will be confined to the Inconſequential.