_August_ 20. Amongst others, I visited Betty Heard, at Underwood, a poor industrious woman, aged seventy-two. She was quite alone—no one had been near her—creeping about the cottage in great pain: she could hardly stand, but refused to go to bed. She had taken some precautions to check the premonitory attack. She stood near her spinning-wheel, and when she perceived I was looking at it, she shook her head, and said, “Ah! sir, that is of no use to me now. When I can use it, I get but a very small matter to live upon! and now”—She could not finish the sentence; but sat down and cried like a child. How gladly did I avail myself of the subscription fund to relieve this helpless creature. In a short time, a proper nurse was with her. Page’s children better; the cramp had subsided. A messenger came to me, requesting my immediate attendance at old Mrs. Cocker’s. She was in a room below, harassed with incessant sickness, &c., and in great pain. Her agitation of mind at the time of her daughter’s death on Saturday, caused a shock from which she had by no means recovered. Mr. Richard Langworthy {72} had seen her, and administered a dose of calomel; but the progress of the disorder was astonishingly rapid. She fainted: her son Elias was with her, and we supported her as well as we could. When she revived, her countenance assumed the common character of the collapsed stage of the disease. With much difficulty, we carried the poor sufferer up stairs; two women were sent for, and they assisted in putting her in bed. Having become a little easier, she requested me to pray with her. From that moment, when not in extreme pain, she was incessantly occupied in that sacred duty. On the first indication of sickness, she said she had the cholera, and she knew “she should not get over it.”