There was hardly a family within two miles of us but was bereft of one or two loved ones by this epidemic. Five widows (myself included) at one time were standing around the death-bed of a near neighbor. Our female principal at that time, Emily Galpin, was taken with this epidemic, and died after three days' illness. A few hours previous to her death she requested a season of prayer, in which her husband, Rev. Charles Galpin, led. Her prospect was bright, and, clearly foreseeing the ransomed throng she was soon to join, said she, "Oh! how vain, how transitory, does all earthly treasure appear at this hour--a mere bubble upon the water." About a half an hour before she left us, she said, "Hark! don't you hear that beautiful music? Oh! what music; I never heard anything like it! Don't you hear it?" "No, we do not hear it." Being in an ecstasy, she exclaimed, "Look at that heavenly choir. Don't you see them? Don't you hear that sweetest of all music?" "We do not see them nor hear them." "There--they have left." A few minutes before her happy spirit took its flight, she again looked up very earnestly. "There they are again. Oh, how sweet! how beautiful!" And taking leave of her husband and two children, sister and brother-in-law, and of all present, committing her dear ones to the keeping of the Lord Jesus, with the request that the two lines, "Rock of Ages, cleft for me, Let me hide myself in thee," be placed upon the marble slab to mark her resting place, she fell asleep in Jesus. Such fatality never before, nor since, visited Raisin as is 1845. In those days of sorrow commingled with the rest of faith, that brought peace and joy even in affliction, my only reliance was the widow's God, for wisdom I so much needed in the double responsibilities now resting upon me.