As we were quitting this house, a messenger came, in great haste, for advice as to what should be done, in a case which had occurred at Ridgeway. A poor woman had been taken suddenly ill in a waggon, which was at the George Inn, and she was in the cold stage of the cholera. Mr. Langworthy could not at that moment quit a patient who was in a truly distressing state. I hastened immediately to the George Inn, and found the report to be too true. The poor creature was lifted out of the waggon by the ostler, William Webb, and carried to a building which had been fitted up as a Hospital, near the Inn. This forlorn and pitiable object was the widow of a sergeant in the 22nd regiment, who had died of cholera a few days before in the citadel at Plymouth. Her name was Ellen Higgins, {42} thirty-five years of age. She had a pass for herself and four children; and they were on their way to Cork. Soon after leaving Plymouth, she was seized with pain in the bowels and sickness. One of her fellow-travellers gave her some brandy, which was repeated on arriving at Ridgeway. Mr. L. soon arrived, and every possible attention was paid to her. Owing to continued cramp, it was difficult to obtain from her any satisfactory information as to her wishes. The fatal symptoms rapidly increased, and her darkened features became wild; her eyes stared with an expression of frenzy; her pulse had ceased to beat; and her flesh had assumed that peculiar livid hue, so characteristic of the disease. As calmness, attended by a perfect clearness of intellect, often preceded the last moments in these afflicting cases, I felt it to be my duty to remain with this suffering and friendless stranger, as there might be a chance of affording her spiritual assistance. That moment did arrive, and she faintly expressed her desire to offer up a prayer to God. She cared about nothing, during that short interval, but the salvation of her soul. And to her Great Redeemer she appealed in accents so tremulous, so pitiously imploring for mercy, and yet so full of a blessed assurance of His willingness to save a repentant sinner, that I firmly believe “His atoning blood has cleansed her from all sin;” and that her soul now rests in peace! Her children came into the room, but she heeded them not—her care about every thing earthly had passed away—the poor little orphans were removed, to be taken care of—Ellen Higgins was no more! On quitting the Hospital, and this heartrending scene, a note was delivered to me from a medical gentleman, stating he had “just been at Parsons’s house, at Underwood, to see more particularly old Mary Parsons. What a melancholy scene to witness! A place more likely to propagate the disease will scarcely be found, and on the ground floor too! The sight quite sickened me. Charles Taylor, brought home at two o’clock, is already in a state of collapse. I have sent to Mr. Langworthy to inform him of this, as I think he ought to be very actively treated.”