On the 28th day of July, 1867, a violent attack of this terrible disease carried him off, and, in the midst of peril and cares, I was left a mourning, desolate widow. Being in delicate health, I was forced to flee to the East, and stopped at St. George, where one week after my little one was ushered into this world of sorrow. The people were panic-stricken in relation to the cholera, and when I went there, they were afraid to receive me into their homes, consequently I repaired to a small cabin in the outskirts of the town, and my adopted son and myself remained there alone for several days. A young lady, Miss Baker, called on me in great sympathy, saying she was not afraid of cholera, and would stay with me until after my confinement. I was very thankful for her kindness, and after the fear was over with the people, every attention that humanity could suggest was given me; but, alas! my heart was at home, and so deep were my yearnings, the physician declared it impossible for me to recover until I did go home. The events that had transpired seemed like a fearful dream. The physician who attended me went to Ellsworth to see if it was prudent for me to go, sending a letter immediately after, bidding me come, as the cholera had disappeared. Oh! how changed was that home! The voice that had ever been as low, sweet music to my ear was hushed forever; the eye that had always met mine with smiling fondness was closed to light and me, and the hand so often grasped in tender love was palsied in death! Mr. Kelly, the noble, true, and devoted husband, my loved companion, the father of my innocent child, was gone. Oh! how sad that word! My heart was overwhelmed with grief, and that did its work, for it prostrated me on a bed of illness nigh unto death. Dr. McKennon very faithfully attended me during my illness, and as I was recovering, he was seized by severe sickness himself, which proved fatal. He was anxious to see me before he died, and desired assistance that he might be taken down stairs for the purpose. His attendants allowed him to do so, but he fainted in the attempt, and was laid on the floor until he recovered, then raised and placed on the sofa. I was then led into the room, and, seating myself beside him, he grasped my hand, exclaiming: “My friend, do not leave me. I have a brother in New York”—but his lips soon stiffened in death, and he was unable to utter more. It was a severe shock to my nervous system, already prostrated by trouble and illness, and I greatly missed his attention and care. No relative, or friend, was near to lay his weary head upon the pillow; but we laid him to rest in the burial ground of Ellsworth with sad hearts and great emotion.