When I quitted this house, some poor people implored me to go to Edward Tretheway’s cottage (situate very near John Gulley’s), to see his daughter, a little girl, ten years of age, who was “in a dying state.” She was much beloved by the neighbours; and several women were standing in groups about the house, anxiously enquiring about her. She was also an object of more than ordinary interest to myself, as she was one of the best-behaved children in our Sunday School. On entering the cottage, the alarm of the family was manifested in the neglected state of every thing around,—tea-things scattered about the table—the homely meal left half-finished—by the fire-side, a poor man was endeavouring to pacify two or three frightened children—some women who had called to assist their neighbour, stood aghast, incapable of doing any thing. The afflicted mother pointed to the stairs, and begged me hasten to see the child before it was too late. In the room above, the scene was very affecting. The poor little creature was on a bed, with her clothes on, supported on her weeping father’s arm—her countenance collapsed, and her hands characterized by all the signs of the second stage of cholera,—no indication of pulse—scarcely a sign of life—from all appearances, the disease had secured its prey. That no time might be lost before the arrival of Mr. Langworthy, who had been sent for, I recommended that she should be immediately undressed, and placed between hot blankets; and I went home for some medicines, {18} blankets, &c. Mr. Langworthy came, and the application of friction was adopted with apparent success, as indications of returning animation were shortly visible, but not of warmth about the body. On recovering her recollection, and being timid of strangers, she could not be prevailed upon to take any thing except from myself. I left her for a short time, to attend the funeral of John Gulley. When I returned, a hot-air bath had been procured, and a fair trial given to it; but the only effect produced was a profuse, but cold, perspiration. The harassing symptoms of the disease were not subdued. Every thing was tried which human aid could suggest to relieve her, but she was rapidly sinking. Mr. L. requested me to remain with her during his absence, which was unavoidably prolonged two hours. When he returned, she was sensible, and free from pain; but no warmth could be produced. About twelve o’clock, her countenance suddenly resumed its natural appearance—her eyes, their intelligence. I took her hand, which she held out to me. The icy chill seemed to have yielded in a slight degree. We thought the crisis was over, and that she was on the recovery; but, in an instant—without a sigh—without even a lengthened breath—her eyes were glazed! and her gentle spirit winged its flight, I trust, to that blessed Lord, who said, “Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not; for of such is the kingdom of heaven.”