EXTRACTS FROM A DIARY, &c.

1832, July 13. Mellonia Thorn (who came from Plymouth, where the cholera was prevailing, on Wednesday, the 11th, in perfect health, to Underwood, on a visit to her daughter, Mary Pepperall), after a few hours’ illness, died this evening of that disease. I called to see her, but she was too near her end to derive benefit or consolation from any one.

So sudden was the attack which seized this poor woman, that the greatest dismay and confusion prevailed among the inmates of the house. She rose in the morning, apparently quite well, and was occupied during the day, until three o’clock, p.m., in ironing her son’s linen. About this time, she complained of sickness, and in less than half-an-hour, other symptoms of cholera followed with fearful rapidity.

While she was in this state, a neighbour called to see her, and advised her to try the effect of brandy. Her friends followed this advice, and gave her half a glass of brandy every ten minutes or quarter of an hour, until she had taken half a pint.

Between six and seven o’clock, Mr. Langworthy [14] arrived. But the second or cold stage had come on. The poor woman was more tranquil than she had been, but much exhausted, and harassed by continual thirst. The disease progressed so rapidly, that it baffled every effort to afford relief. Various remedies were tried, without the least effect. A vein was opened,—no blood flowed,—it was congealed,—and, gradually, between nine and ten o’clock, the poor sufferer ceased to breathe.

The news of this fearfully sudden death soon spread through the parish. Many a heart, with anxious throb, sickened under gloomy forebodings; and many lips, hitherto unaccustomed to prayer, began to seek, through that neglected resource, the mercy of God.

July 14. The funeral of Mellonia Thorn took place to-day. The advice, that as few persons as possible should be present, was strictly attended to. Two only, besides the bearers, were there! and, in the stillness of a lovely summer eve,—no sound interrupting the sublime burial service of our Church, and with an increased solemnity, consequent upon such an awakening occasion,—the mortal remains of this first victim of the cholera in our parish were consigned to the grave!

July 27. John Gulley, of Underwood, aged fifty-three, died this afternoon. He was unwell a few days; but thought that, as his indisposition was unaccompanied by pain, it was of no importance. Medical aid was not called in, until he had fallen into the second stage of cholera; and he was rapidly carried off.

July 28. Having been informed that precautionary measures were much required at the house where John Gulley died, I went there, enquired for the family, and gave directions for fumigating the rooms, the use of chloride of lime, &c.

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.”

I called the parents aside, before they were conscious of what had happened, and remained conversing with them, until their minds were sufficiently tranquillized to offer up an evening prayer, in which all the family devoutly joined; and at one in the morning, I concluded my pastoral visit, sincerely sympathizing with that poor family.

July 29. Ann Tretheway, aged ten years, was buried.

July 30. Edward, the father of Ann Tretheway, taken ill. Mr. Langworthy having been sent for to attend another patient, in compliance with his wish, and under his directions, I watched the case, as it was of a serious nature, attended with incessant sickness, diarrhea, considerable cramp, weakness, and slight discoloration of the fingers and nails.

Five fresh cases reported.

July 31. All the patients going on favourably.

August 1. Edward Tretheway slightly salivated, but much better. Very sensible of the mercy he has experienced, and devoutly thankful. May the impression, arising from the death of their child, and the man’s own recovery from the threatened danger, never be obliterated from the minds of this family.

August 2. No new cases.

August 3. Several people came in the morning for castor oil, rhubarb, &c. Went to Venton and Lee-Mill-Bridge, to see some people who were ill.

August 4. At ten, a.m., sent for to William Williams, aged thirty-nine, at Underwood. His wife, in great distress, said he had been very ill on the preceding day, and all the night. He had tried to stop the pain in his bowels with hot brandy and water, and peppermint; but he had derived no relief. After eighteen hours’ sickness, the medical gentleman who always attended the family had been sent for. When he arrived, he did not consider the symptoms serious; but, being summoned to a very bad case, he went away, merely ordering the patient to be kept warm until his return. He had been gone two hours; and during that interval the poor man had fallen into the second stage of cholera.

Much valuable time having already elapsed, it was suggested that active measures should be immediately commenced, to restore warmth, if possible. Mustard poultices and friction, as in other cases, were then adopted. He was quite sensible; and, appearing somewhat easier, on being asked how he felt, he shook his head, saying, “It is a bad business: I shall never get over it.” He had become much weaker, and was perfectly aware of his danger. It was proposed that we should again address ourselves, in prayer, to the Throne of Grace. This, he most earnestly desired; his wife and aged mother, at the same time, kneeling by the bed, seeking refuge where alone it could be found. It was a sad and solemn scene,—no ray of hope that he would recover. These poor afflicted people, however, derived much comfort from having thus lifted up their sorrowing hearts in prayer to their God and Saviour; and they became more composed and resigned.

As medical advice had been procured, we did not feel justified in having recourse to other remedies than those of the simplest kind, our object being merely to allay, or prevent, suffering. When the medical attendant returned, he was much surprised to find the disease had made such a rapid and fatal progress. He ordered the patient to be immersed in cold water. This could be borne only one minute. The poor creature was sinking; and shortly afterwards he died.

The death of this man created great sympathy among the people of the village; many with tears lamenting the sudden loss of a quiet and respected neighbour. At the same time, increased alarm became very apparent throughout the little community around.

The neighbourhood was now considered to be infected with the awful disease. After the sad scene at this house, every precaution, to prevent it from spreading, was promptly attended to. Chloride of lime was abundantly used, and the rooms were whitewashed.

On the opposite side of the road, a woman, named Honey, was labouring under a serious attack of the disease. Several persons, from different houses, came to me and entreated me to step in, if only for one minute, to see a husband, a wife, or a child, who were unwell. This arose, not only from an anxiety for spiritual comfort; but, in many instances, from an apprehension of danger, on the least indication of indisposition, and a wish to know how to proceed, if medical advice could not be immediately obtained.

Sunday, August 5. As I passed through Underwood before the morning service, I visited Michael Mc. Kenny, who had been taken suddenly ill yesterday, whilst at work. The disease was gaining ground—Mr. Langworthy away from home, and his return uncertain; therefore, I adopted the same course which he had previously recommended me to pursue under similar circumstances.

A larger congregation than usual assembled at the Church, both parts of the day; and, although our services are generally observed with strict propriety, upon this occasion, a death-like stillness, and a marked solemnity of deportment prevailed. About double the usual number also availed themselves of the opportunity of receiving the Holy Communion. If the serious contemplation, that the fearful visitation, with which it has pleased God in his infinite wisdom to afflict our land, has now entered within the borders of our parish, and approached the threshold of our own homes—if the awful and sudden death of our near neighbours has awakened us to a sense of our mortality, and the uncertainty of our own lives—if this has added to the number of sincere worshippers in the sanctuary, and touched the hearts of the careless with a sense, not only of the danger of the perishable body, but especially of their immortal souls, thereby leading them to sincere repentance,—then this very dispensation at the hand of God, though an affliction heavy to be borne by poor, weak, sinful mortals, will be acknowledged to have been a blessing in disguise; and, although a severe chastisement to hundreds, a dispensation of mercy to tens of thousands.

May God, in mercy, hear the devout prayers of his people, which have been offered up this day.

After the services were ended, two fresh cases were reported, at Underwood. At Hurrell’s cottage, which joins that where Williams died, John Hurrell and his wife Jane, both aged twenty-seven, were in bed, very ill, with undoubted symptoms of cholera. At first, they expressed the greatest terror; but, having raised their thoughts to Him who is “mighty to save,” and being no strangers to religious habits, or the happiness which ever accompanies the true Christian in the exercise of religious duties, they soon became more tranquil, and could feel the truth of the words, “Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on thee, because he trusted in thee.”

Medical assistance had been obtained. I was obliged to leave them for a time to attend the funeral of Wm. Williams.

August 6. Called between five and six in the morning, to go to Hurl’s, at Underwood. The man and his wife were in great distress; their eldest child, a fine boy, six years of age, being in a decided state of collapse. Before Mr. L.’s arrival, every thing requisite for such a case of emergency was prepared; but the sickness, &c., was so incessant, and the prostration of strength increased so rapidly, little hope could be entertained of his recovery. I endeavoured, as far as I could, to comfort the afflicted parents.

At ten o’clock, went to John Andrews’s to see his daughter, whose symptoms could not be mistaken. As she had medical aid, I returned to Hurl’s. Mr. L. was there, and we both went to see West, who had been unwell a few hours, but was becoming seriously ill. Mr. L. took a very small quantity of blood from him. West then expressed a desire to avail himself of the present opportunity to offer up a prayer to God.

We returned to Hurl’s. The little boy was much worse; but quite sensible, and very patient, though suffering much from cramp. At twelve o’clock, I went again to Andrews’s. The little girl relieved as to sickness, and other symptoms much mitigated. Went home for medicines, and was afterwards occupied at the houses of Hurl, Andrews, and West, all near neighbours, until late in the afternoon. At five o’clock, Hurl’s child died.

A messenger came in haste, begging me instantly to go to the western end of the village to see William Parsons, as he was in a fearful state of suffering, and no one could be induced to go near the house to help the family. On entering this cottage, the scene was truly appalling. The room inhabited by the family, consisting of the man, his wife, and five children, is sixteen feet by fourteen—two beds in it, and on the ground floor—every thing indicating poverty and confusion. The man, aged thirty-nine, lay on his bed, an object horrifying to the beholder,—writhing in torture from the cramp, and groaning dreadfully—his countenance much distorted—his flesh ashy blue—his fingers puckered and twisted, and his nails purple—his knees drawn up to his chin!

Medicine had been left, with directions, by Mr. L., who had been called away to other patients. Only one nurse could be found. A child, three years old, in a cradle in a corner of the room, discoloured and cold, put aside, by the mother and nurse as in a hopeless state, as “just dead.” I applied a mustard poultice to the pit of the stomach of the poor man, who was shrieking in agony; but he would not permit it to remain on five minutes. We rubbed his arms with a stimulating liniment. I gave him the medicine which was ordered. This frightful scene before me, and the offensive effluvia in this wretched place, overcame me. I thought I must have retreated from it; but if I had done so, the whole family must have perished, the case having been reported so malignant, that no one, excepting the two medical attendants, together with Susan Taylor, and one neighbour, who called occasionally, would venture near them.

An effort was made to revive the child, as by holding a piece of a broken looking glass to its mouth, it appeared that she still breathed.

A faggot having been obtained from a neighbour, a large fire was made up. The child was put between hot blankets, and brought near to the fire, and well rubbed. After a short time, some saline mixture trickled down her throat. In the course of three hours, she turned in her cradle, and the discoloured appearance of her body began to wear away. At intervals I attended to the father, and whenever he became tranquil, we had resource to prayer. He gave himself up; and it was extremely difficult to persuade him to take any medicine.

I went away to see the Hurrells,—both better,—then returned to Parsons. Susan Taylor remained, by my request, to assist as a nurse. The house was in a state of utter destitution. Not a morsel of food,—no fire, before the faggot was procured. Those necessaries which were immediately required, were provided from a neighbouring shop. The poor man was evidently sinking, and his end fast approaching; but his sufferings had been considerably diminished during the last three or four hours. The child was better. Upon observing a sudden change for the worse in her husband, his wife fainted; and the scene altogether of distress and terror was appalling. After awhile, the poor woman revived.

At twelve o’clock, I went to a neighbouring cottage, wrote a letter to the overseers, and sent it off. I entreated them to do something to save the lives of others, by adopting requisite measures for the speedy removal of the dead, as well as of every other cause which might increase the violence of the disease. I stated the circumstances at Parsons’s house, and that the man would most probably be a corpse before my letter was concluded. I returned home at one, a.m., very unwell, and so fatigued and excited, I could not sleep.

August 7. At six o’clock in the morning a messenger requested me to go to Underwood, several new cases having occurred. I was informed, that as soon as I left Parsons’s, the two Messrs. Langworthy arrived, and that the poor man lived about half-an-hour afterwards. Mary Pepperall (the daughter of M. Thorn, deceased) sent for me; she was in a state of extreme agitation, and was labouring under severe symptoms of cholera. She had taken calomel and ginger, in small doses. In accordance with the suggestions of Mr. L., I gave her powdered rhubarb and ginger, and at intervals, to allay sickness, carbonate of soda, salvolatile, &c. She appeared to be much relieved from pain, and expressed herself grateful in the highest degree.

Saw Richard Gullett, aged seventy-two. This was an aggravated case: he was much distressed with cramp, and had no interval of rest. I merely assisted the medical attendant, Mr. Osmond, in administering such things as he ordered. From thence I went to Hurrell’s: his wife was worse, suffering much from continual sickness and the cramp, and in a profuse perspiration, approaching to the cold damp of the second stage of cholera,—the husband, also, harassed by sickness, &c. complained of violent pain at the pit of the stomach, and was becoming very restless.

When I contemplated this couple,—both ill in bed, and, in the prime of life, dreading a rapid dissolution, afflicted with the agonizing thought that no friend dared to approach their dwelling to afford them consolation, and appalled at the hasty manner in which the poor victims of the disease are necessarily consigned to the grave,—a feeling of the deepest commiseration for the wretched sufferers weighed heavily on my spirits. And when I observed the wistful glance directed towards me, as if my countenance could be the index of their fate, the responsibility of my situation pressed with redoubled force upon my mind; and though “in the midst of life I was in death,” having cast myself upon the mercy of God for “help in the time of need,” I became strengthened in my resolution, that, in dependence upon Divine aid, I would devote myself, to the utmost of my power, to the service of my poor dying parishioners.

I remained at Hurrell’s, as they required constant attendance, and they had no nurse at that time. Towards the evening, both were better. They had applied for medical advice in the earliest period of their attack. In their habits they are remarkably cleanly. Besides this, the satisfactory state of their minds upon religious subjects dispelled much of their alarm, particularly after they had received the Holy Communion.

Andrews’s little girl, much better. Richard Gullett, in a dying state.

August 8. Hurrell and his wife both convalescent, though slightly salivated. Six new cases, with alarming symptoms. Many people applied for “something to stop the sickness,” &c. The disease appeared to have spread all over the village.

Richard Gullett, buried. I visited Peggy Andrews’s daughter, and several cholera patients, all anxious for spiritual as well as medical assistance. Ann Parsons and her child very ill. Mary Pepperall, much better. Jane Hurrell, convalescent.

Here, it may not be out of place to mention, that, during the last month, I had been preparing candidates for confirmation.

August 9. The Bishop arrived, at the time appointed, for that purpose. Eight hundred young persons entered into that sacred rite,—a ceremony which, in too many instances, is lamentably abused, notwithstanding all the precautions of the most vigilant ministerial care. Upon the present occasion, a subdued tone in their deportment was manifest throughout the congregation. I was relieved from great anxiety when all was finished. Men were stationed at each approach to Underwood and Colebrook, to prevent the young people from going to the villages and loitering there; to avoid the possibility of any risk of spreading the prevalent disease. When all had left for their homes, I went to Parsons’s, where I had been summoned in haste, as there were three fresh cases of cholera.

On entering this ill-fated cottage, the scene was quite sickening. On the same bed where the husband had died, I now beheld his widow and her mother (Mary Pote, aged 77) in a state of collapse, and two children in cradles, apparently dying! No medical aid was then at hand, though Mr. L. had been there, and left directions to guide my proceedings until he could return. The widow at first resisted taking any medicine. After some persuasion, however, she consented, if I would give it to her; but she positively refused to take it from any one else. The old woman, poor creature! was in agony from cramp; and her appearance was quite appalling. A more striking picture of despair than that which was depicted in her discoloured, shrivelled, and distorted features, cannot be imagined. Recourse was immediately had to friction, with stimulating liniments; mustard and vinegar poultices, &c. were applied, which in some measure alleviated her sufferings; but after two hours’ incessant but ineffectual hard work by two nurses to restore warmth in the system, she rapidly sunk, and expired. The bedding was changed, and the daughter Jane, aged ten, who had suddenly become collapsed, occupied the vacant place beside her mother, who was still labouring under the disease. This poor girl clenched her teeth, and resolutely refused any medicine. I left this fearful scene for half-an-hour, to visit E. Honey and her child. The woman was better; but the child, aged nine, was dying. Through ignorance of the danger of neglect, the parents had allowed the child to fall into the second stage, without having previously applied for medical assistance. The poor little creature was lying quite cold, in its scanty night-dress, on the bed, uncovered. The woman herself was salivated. The room was in such a filthy state it could scarcely be tolerated.

On returning to Parsons’s, Ann Parsons had suddenly become much worse—cold—quite collapsed. Her daughter Jane, aged ten, in the same bed, sinking rapidly, the other two children, very bad, requiring constant attention,—all complaining of insatiable thirst. The room shockingly offensive. Chloride of lime—burnt vinegar—burnt tar were used. This scene lasted till eleven at night,—then Mr. Langworthy came.

The effluvia in this room was so especially offensive, that we thought there must be some particular cause for it. In the centre of the floor, which is paved with slate, I perceived an opening between the slates, and upon asking the reason of the chasm, being apparently deep, the mystery was solved. A drain, which was choked with every description of filth, passed across the room, under the floor! Here was a reply to the wonder, why the disease was of a species so much more aggravated, and attended with circumstances so much more awfully terrific in this house than in others. It is only wonderful how any family could have taken their meals, and slept in such a vitiated atmosphere, without having been swept off before by some malignant disease.

August 10. Scarcely slept during the night. Sent a mason early to take up the slates at Parsons’s house, to clean the gutter, and fill it with quick-lime. Gave orders to masons for cleansing and whitewashing other rooms where it was required. Some nuisances were removed at Colebrook.

Parsons’s daughter had died in the night. Her mother not worse;—so much remaining strength, we hoped she might weather the disease. This would be almost miraculous, as three individuals had already died in the same bed, where she herself lay in a state of collapse!

Another case of cholera in the room! Old Mary Parsons, suddenly seized with violent internal pain. She came, in health, from the town of Plympton, to assist her dying relations. In a very short time, her sufferings were excessive, the cramp was indomitable. Some cases appeared to be of a much more aggravated character than others; and the reason why it has been particularly so at this devoted cottage was solved, at least to us, last night. The change of colour, in these cases was appalling.

Jane Paddon, aged seventy-five, a near neighbour, had been seized with the fearful malady about two hours—quite sensible—far advanced in confirmed cholera—gave herself up, and at her particular desire partook of the Holy Communion.

Richard Woods very ill, much excited and alarmed—his mother and wife in a state of extreme agitation—Mr. Langworthy present—we all knelt around the bed—a solemn scene it was; but it brought consolation with it—the poor afflicted family became more tranquil. The symptoms were serious, and recourse was had to medicine as soon as possible.

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.”

I was requested to lose no time in going to Charles Taylor, [45] as “he was dying,” and the case was represented as being most urgent. The sultry heat of the weather increased the great exhaustion and fatigue by which I was almost overpowered; and I despaired of being able to get to Underwood in time. A gig happened, at that moment, to be standing at the George Inn. To the owner, I was a stranger; but I briefly told him the sad tale, and he unhesitatingly lent it to me. In a few minutes I was at the cottage. Mr. Langworthy arrived at the same time. What were our feelings upon entering the room! At that instant the poor sufferer breathed his last! Such a combination of fearful calamity was quite overwhelming! Poor Susan Taylor, now a widow, fell down on the window seat, in a paroxysm of grief. At such a moment, talking to her would have been in vain. Sarah Taylor, her husband’s sister, was there as an assistant. We sat some little time without uttering a word. The solemn silence was interrupted only by the sobs of her who had just been bereft of the object upon whom she depended for comfort and support, or by a sigh from those around.

May the lessons which must have reached the heart at such a time, never be erased. The uncertainty of life—the necessity of watchfulness—the duty of Christian sympathy,—our own utter helplessness, when it is the will of God to afflict us—our sole dependence upon His Almighty aid;—all these, and many more such reflections, pressed upon the mind; and well will it be for those who receive them into their hearts, as seed sown by the Holy Spirit, to bring forth fruit unto righteousness. The poor widow endeavoured to rush to the bed where her husband lay; and would have thrown herself upon his cold and discoloured corpse. She said she valued not her life. We talked to her—we endeavoured to reason with her. She was absorbed in grief; and, in the bitterness of bereavement, said she had no friend—no earthly friend—no where to lay her head—no one would take her into their house. She again made an effort to throw herself upon the bed. This could not be permitted. Every argument was used to direct her thoughts to a merciful God, who “will not suffer us to be tried above that we are able to bear,” and who “tempers the wind to the shorn lamb.” She was directed where to go, and where she might remain, at least for a time, until her relations could arrange some plan for her to earn a livelihood. We were next called to the miserable apartment below, where Mary Parsons, aged sixty-nine, had just died. We remained some time with that family; the other patients exhibiting no indication of improvement.

Called to visit Jane Paddon, suddenly worse—her end fast approaching—quite sensible—refused to take any medicine, and gave herself up. She was quite happy in her mind, and lifted up her heart with the greatest earnestness in prayer to God, not to prolong her life, but to take her to himself. After visiting Woods and other patients, Mr. Langworthy went home with me at eleven at night.

Susan Taylor had been to the adjoining town of Plympton, [48] to her sister, Mary Taylor, where she was persuaded by her friends to remain the night. Mr. L. left me at twelve. Both of us unwell. My own indisposition, during the day, I had attributed to the effect of fatigue; but sickness, cramp, &c. ensued so violently, that, at one in the morning, I was obliged to send for him to return. He was astonished at the serious character of the attack and the progress it had made. The usual remedies were at hand. He immediately gave me twenty grains of calomel; and, in an hour afterwards, an ounce of castor oil, with two drachms of tincture of rhubarb.

August 11. [50] By the mercy of God and the timely recourse to medicine, the disease was repelled. At noon I attended the funeral of Ellen Higgins. It was a sickening office. Owing to the heat of the weather, the lid of the coffin had started. Went to the poor afflicted people at Underwood. Parsons’s boy, aged eight, who had held Mr. Richard Langworthy’s horse at six a.m., was dying, at noon! Visited the hospital, and returned home through Underwood. Charles Taylor and Mary Parsons, buried. After a few hours’ rest, at half-past eight in the evening, I was summoned in haste to visit William Gully—much worse than yesterday—great consternation among the inmates of the house.

So great had been the mortality, in defiance of the treatment which he had hitherto pursued, that Mr. Langworthy at length determined in this case to try a remedy which had been adopted by many eminent practitioners; viz.,—the injecting some principal vein with saline fluid. He accordingly arranged his instruments on a little table near the window. The poor wife was crying near the fire-place. The occupation assigned to me, of preparing hot water, adjusting pans, basins, &c. to be in readiness for injecting the vein, was immediately commenced. Susan Gully, the patient’s sister, and his wife’s two sisters were standing by, watching Mr. L.’s proceedings with peculiar interest, but they preserved a strict silence. A low and lengthened moan arrested our attention; and then a frightfully convulsive shriek issued from above. I had nearly prepared the saline fluid [52] for injection; and was requested to be ready as quickly as possible. Mr. L. was afraid to trust any one else, lest a mistake should occur.

Hurried footsteps were now heard on the winding stairs, which were between the fire-place and the window. “He’s gone! sir,—he’s gone!” was exclaimed, with a trembling, hysterical voice. Both the Messrs. Langworthy and myself were obliged to summon all our resolution. The wife and children around us,—one ill in its weeping mother’s arms, frightened, not knowing why—the others staring at us, aware that something was being done which appeared to them to be fearful. The sister, the friend—all with their eyes intently rivetted upon us, as if life and death depended upon our exertions! This was natural. How many have watched the countenance of the physician when a much-loved life was pending! A piece of bread was given to one of the children, to pacify it,—a part, perhaps, of the last loaf earned by its poor father’s labour! Rapidly as some such thoughts rushed upon the mind, we did not remit our work, and every thing was ready. We were quickly by the side of the sufferer. From all appearances, the accounts were too well founded. No pulse,—Is he quite gone? The eye moved,—he tried to raise himself—looked at us—and, recognizing me, gave me his hand, but could not speak. He knew what was said, and held out his arm. The vein was opened—no blood flowed—it was empty. He uttered a low moan, looked at his arm, and shook his head. His wife, with breathless anxiety, appeared at the door: we persuaded her to retire. The warm fluid was placed on the window-seat near the bed. It was again tried by the thermometer. Eight quarts were ready, and the process of injecting the vein was commenced. The greater portion entered. The breathing of the patient became laborious, and the pulse returned. Violent sickness ensued. Some weak gruel, with a teaspoonful of brandy mixed in it, quieted the sickness. The poor man began to speak. In a low whisper, thanked God—thanked us—and said he felt as if he should recover. At eleven o’clock, Mr. Langworthy returned home with me, as both of us required rest.

August 12. [54] Gully relapsed, and was as nearly in a dying state as before. Saline fluid was again resorted to. I prepared above a gallon; but, upon this occasion, about three quarts only were injected. Mr. Langworthy having expressed a wish that he could obtain a pint of blood for the purpose of injecting it, Sarah Gully, the sister, offered to be blooded; but Mr. L. did not consider her sufficiently healthy. Elizabeth Veale, a sister of Gully’s wife, then came forward, and, having made a similar offer, some of her blood (about half-a-pint) was transferred into the patient’s vein, by a well-executed process, conducted by both the Messrs. Langworthy. The patient recovered his recollection. Sickness did not come on as it had done after saline fluid only was injected. A short interval elapsed, during which he appeared to labour considerably under the action of recovering his breath. He then spoke; and, in the course of a short time, took gruel. Weak wine and water, warm jelly, &c. were also given to him in very small quantities. His appearance bore a more favourable aspect; though his weakness was excessive. Gradually, he regained a little strength towards the evening.

Jane Paddon and Edward Parsons were buried.

My friend, the Rev. Joseph Rosdew, who was on a visit to his brother at Beechwood, kindly preached for me in the morning and afternoon; and the Rev. E. B. St. John read the prayers. This friendly assistance enabled me to visit the sick during the greater part of the day. The congregations were very small; owing to the absence of some of the principal families, the sickness of many, or the fear of assembling which prevailed among others.

August 13. [56] Visited Mrs. Toope, at Underwood, and her son Stephen, both very weak. Mary Brown, aged fifty-six, an assistant at the Hospital, died. Jane Moon, of Colebrook, aged twenty-eight, recovered. She was taken ill on the 8th. William Gully, better.

August 14. Several people applied for medicines. After they had been attended to, I rode to the villages at the eastern end of the parish. Some poor people, who were invalids, particularly requested to see me. They were fearful that their sickness was a prelude to the cholera; but they had no symptoms of that disease. Debility was the chief subject of their complaint. Where this was the case, strengthening things were supplied to the poor, out of the subscription fund.

Susan Taylor’s little girl, aged one year, died of cholera. She was taken ill on the 11th. Her mother, also, very unwell, with symptoms of the same disease. Richard Parsons, aged one year and a half, died at the Hospital. Mary Brown, buried.

August 15. Richard Parsons, buried. Elizabeth Hill, aged ten, died at Underwood. Mr. H. attended her in the morning as soon as he was sent for. The progress of this case was fearfully rapid. The poor child did not suffer much from pain; she appeared to sink entirely from exhaustion. No remedy for restoring warmth and circulation had the least effect.

After visiting sick people at Underwood and at the Hospital, I went in the evening to see Susan Taylor. She was in the collapsed stage of cholera. The Messrs. Langworthy were present. It was proposed that the saline injection should be resorted to, as her pulse had ceased to beat, and she appeared to be rapidly sinking. I assisted in preparing the warm fluid. Eight quarts were ready, and seven were injected into the vein. She revived—the pulse returned—and she seemed to be relieved. We were occupied a great part of the night with this case.

August 16. Between nine and ten, a.m., more poor people than usual applied for medicines, and strengthening things; such as arrow-root, tapioca, carageen moss, &c.

The Board of Health met at my house. One principal object of the meeting was to consider the state of the poor as to diet, both of those who were slightly indisposed, as well as of those recovering from cholera. It was resolved to call the especial attention of the parish officers to this important subject, and to remind them of the fact, that, from the commencement of the disease in the parish to the present time, all extra expenses caused by its ravages had been met by the subscription fund, which was now nearly exhausted. The necessity of increasing the relief of the poor, especially by some allowance for extra diet under the present distressing emergency, was strongly urged upon them, in a written address; under the conviction that, even where the disease did not exist, an addition to their ordinary support was highly essential.

As soon as the Board of Health adjourned, I set off for the Hospital, and on my way there I called to enquire for Susan Taylor. Just as I arrived, Mary Taylor, the sister, met me at the door, and was sobbing so bitterly, she could scarcely tell me the cause of her distress. At last she said, Susan was worse than ever—she could not live ten minutes. Oh! sir, where is Mr. Langworthy? Well knowing that it was a case in which every moment was of the utmost importance, I hastened to the Hospital, where we had appointed to meet. He had not arrived. Having heard that he was at Underwood, I rode there; and, fortunately, I came up to him as he was in the act of mounting his horse at Gully’s cottage. In as few words as possible, I told him my errand. Poor Susan’s life was an object of peculiar anxiety to us. She had lost her husband and her only child within a few days; and she had been particularly active and serviceable as a nurse, in some of the most appalling cases. A very few minutes elapsed before we were at the house at Plympton. Our horses were sent to Mr. L.’s, as we knew that, if the patient did not die, we might be detained some time. Mary Taylor was so unwell, with strong symptoms of the same disease, Mr. L. gave her medicine, and advised her to remain below. We ascended the stairs, and at the first moment of entering the room, we thought it was all over. We found Susan quite cold—as cold as death—insensible—discoloured,—having no indication of pulse. We had no person to help us—we had no time to procure assistance. I knew my office in preparing for a repetition of the expedient of injection. This Mr. L. at once decided to be the only chance. Whilst he adjusted his instruments, the syringe, &c., I went below to prepare the fluid. I had about six quarts ready, and rejoined Mr. L. He was sitting on the bed, and prepared to open the vein of the patient’s right arm. I held the wrist, to keep it steady; and having endeavoured to ascertain whether there was any pulse, the cold blue hand dropped when I let it go. Mr. L. shook his head, and thought any attempt to restore animation would be useless. Notwithstanding this, as we could not tell what might be the effect under the hand of God, even in this most desperate case, I was ready with the warm mixture. The syringe was applied to the flaccid vein, which resembled a slight sinew. No blood flowed. To all appearance it contained nothing but a dark, glutinous, substance, about the colour and consistency of treacle; not more than a drop of which could be extracted, after pressing the vein in the usual manner to produce a flow of blood. Every heave of her labouring chest, seemed to be the last—weaker—weaker—at less frequent intervals. Never surely was life nearer extinct. The eyes were set upwards with a fixed and inanimate expression. We were now ready. I had a thermometer in the basin, and two jugs, one with the fluid hot, and the other cooler, so as to keep up the temperature as exactly as possible 110 degrees. The greatest nicety is also indispensible in using the syringe, which should be an instrument of the best make, lest a single globule of air should be injected with the fluid. I have been informed that, if, owing to unforeseen circumstances this occurs, the consequences would be instantly fatal. Mr. L. commenced the operation, and the fluid did not return, but went upward through the vein. Mr. L. whispered, “that is well.” A breathless silence ensued—one quart was injected—a slight indication of movement followed;—another quart—and another—a trembling movement of the eyelid was visible—gradually the ashy hue of death began to recede from the forehead—then from the cheek—the dawn of returning life appeared; soon afterwards, the eye changed from its fixed character of unconsciousness to that of recognition. I ventured to ask, whether, if blood could be procured, there might not be a better chance of saving the patient’s life. Mr. L. replied that no one could be found who would enter the room, much more to spare a pint of blood. Without further loss of time, I went to a neighbour next door, who had been very attentive to Susan, and who did not shew indications of fear. She was in the prime of life, in strong health, and had no family. I told her in as few words as possible the precarious state of Susan, and that the only apparent chance of saving her life, was to obtain a pint of blood, to be transferred into her vein. “Will you consent to spare that quantity? If you have the least fear about it, do not hesitate to say so.” She instantly replied, “You may take a quart if it is required.” She went with me into Susan’s room. Two basins were instantly in readiness, one floating in the other, in hot water, to prevent the blood from congealing. Mary Chapman’s vein was opened. The purple stream gushed, and well performed its benevolent design. This had scarcely been transfused to the amount of half-a-pint, when the throbbing index of life returned; and what a thrill did it give us when I was able to pronounce that “the pulse beats distinctly.” But, at this instant, it was evident by the appearance of the eye, that the utmost caution was necessary,—to avoid another extreme—apoplexy—to watch the eye as well as the pulse,—scarcely a pint could be borne—the process was instantly stayed—and the noble spirited woman was advised to return as quickly as possible to her own apartment. Her conduct throughout was heroic and cool to admiration. [65] Now on each side of the bed, Mr. L. and I took our station. The poor sufferer seemed as one awaking from a deep sleep. She knew us both, and spoke.

Mary Taylor, in the room below, very sick and faint, and with other symptoms of incipient cholera, which appeared to be increased by her fear about her sister. Every thing was said and done which could be thought of, to calm her spirits, and to dispel the peculiarly restless anxiety under which she had laboured some hours. She said she knew she should have the disease, and it would be the death of her.

Susan had become very drowsy. Soon afterwards, a violent trembling came on, this was followed by a profuse perspiration. In about an hour, she became more tranquil; still requiring the greatest attention—life hanging by a mere thread. This lasted three hours. Mr. L. then considered it safe, at her request, to allow her to sleep. Her sleep was as tranquil as that of an infant, with the exception of a start at intervals. A nurse having been obtained, she was left under her care, with strict orders from Mr. L. how to proceed.

We went to the Hospital, and found the poor people much the same as yesterday, excepting Sarah Parsons, aged three years, whose case was hopeless. At seven, p.m., Elizabeth Hill and James Parsons were buried. Sarah Parsons died during my absence. This was the child already referred to, as having been “put aside” for dead; but after active treatment, she had revived, and appeared to be progressing towards perfect recovery. At the end of a fortnight, a fever attacked her, which harassed her to such a degree, that she required the constant attendance of one person. Her mother, slowly mending, exhibited a state of apathy, almost amounting to stupor, and no wonder; in addition to the effects of her own severe attack, her mind had received a paralyzing shock, from the death of her husband and, now, four children!

After prayers in the sick-ward, I again visited Susan Taylor. She was going on favourably, but too weak to bear any thing to be said to her.

August 17. A young person at Merafield, one mile from Underwood, labouring under a rather severe attack of cholera, somewhat better than yesterday. She spoke of her illness with great calmness; and the blessed effects of full trust in God’s mercy, through the merits and intercession of the Saviour, were beautifully displayed in her whole deportment. Into the hands of God she implicitly and prayerfully cast herself. She appears so free from that restless anxiety which frequently attends cases that prove fatal, great hopes are entertained of her recovery.

August 18. Mrs. Jenny Cocker, of Underwood, was seized this morning, at five o’clock. Dr. Cookworthy, of Plymouth, and Mr. Hook, the family surgeon, were present. The former had been sent for after the most alarming symptoms had come on; and when he arrived, she was cold, discoloured, and sinking under extreme prostration of strength. Her husband was absent, upon the farm, during the early part of the day, and was struck with horror and alarm when, on his return, he found her in such a state of danger. She was quite sensible, and prayed continually that she might be supported “in that hour when flesh and heart faileth.” Whilst the medical gentlemen were consulting together in the adjoining room, we all addressed ourselves to the Throne of Grace; and most devoutly and heartily did the poor sufferer bear her part in that solemn duty, as well as her relations who were assembled in the room. Fear and dismay were strongly depicted upon their countenances. Mrs. Cocker, sen. was in a state of extreme agitation, shewed symptoms of being ill, and fainted. After the medical gentlemen returned into the room, active stimulants and friction were resorted to, with the hope of restoring warmth in their patient. She became weaker, the pulse had ceased, and so had her power of speaking; and at two, p.m., her mortal career was closed. During the last three or four hours, she indicated no appearance of suffering; and perfect consciousness was maintained to the last. After this scene of affliction, I remained with the family some time, all of us having retired to an adjoining room. The relations gradually became more tranquil, and when we separated, one sorrowing individual, raising her eyes to heaven, though streaming with tears, exclaimed, “It is the Lord, let him do what seemeth him good.”

Attended the funeral of Mr. Josias Cork, and went to the Hospital. Blake’s child, aged one year, died there to-day.

August 19. [70a] My kind friend, the Rev. Joseph Rosdew, preached for me twice, as I was too unwell to undertake two full services. In the evening, Mrs. Jenny Cocker and Elizabeth Blake were buried. Several fresh cases of cholera reported. Received a letter from the secretary of the Central Board. The Plympton St. Mary Board of Health regularly appointed. [70b]

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.”

Being confident that this was a desperate case, from its exhibiting those fatal symptoms which often terminate in death within twelve hours, I went for Mr. L., who had, unfortunately, been detained at Shaugh, five miles off, and did not return for two hours. On his arrival, he said he quite approved of all the measures which had been adopted; and he considered it an extreme case. The rooms were fumigated, and chloride of lime was sprinkled all about the house. The poor creature suffered much from cramp and spasms. It was, indeed, distressing to see her. Every limb seemed to be contracted—her teeth grinding, and her blue shrivelled fingers clenched so tight, it was very difficult to open her hand; and her long grey locks, matted with perspiration, adhered to her cold damp cheek. Mr. L. proposed, as a last resource to allay such misery, that a vein should be injected. I prepared about six quarts of the fluid. The vein was opened, one or two dark drops trickled out, like treacle; after this, the vein appeared to be empty. The process of injection was immediately commenced, and the suffering almost instantly subsided. We knew her age was against her; but feeling that though life might not be saved by it, yet that this experiment would be valuable, inasmuch as we had remarked that all suffering from cramp ceased when recourse was had to it; it was, therefore, adopted. The pulse returned; but it fluttered and intermitted. She said she knew her time was very short. Her younger son was hanging over her, the tears flowing down his cheeks. Throughout this sad scene, his anxious and tender care for a dying mother was incessant. She said, “Let us pray—it is my only comfort.” We all knelt round the bed. Clasping her hands, she prayed aloud. Nothing could be more devout; and there was something so indescribably affecting in the plaintive tone of her voice and the aspirations she uttered at intervals, that a common feeling of sympathy vibrated through the hearts of those who witnessed the touching scene. She expressed herself cheered and refreshed by such an employment; then with her cold hand she grasped mine, and begged me not to leave her. She became rapidly weaker, the pulse again intermitted and sunk, sickness returned, but not the cramp. Although she had for a long time refused to take any nourishment, in twenty minutes after the injection of the fluid, she vomited a great quantity of what appeared to be water, with a dark sediment, like decomposed blood, which sunk immediately. From this time, nothing would stop the incessant sickness. Every animal function seemed to be exhausted; yet her senses were perfectly unimpaired to the last. I did not quit her—it was her dying request. “Thank you—thank you for remaining,” she, faltering, said to me. I observed to her that although we must part, there was one above, who has promised to his faithful disciples, “I will never leave thee nor forsake thee.” “Oh! yes—yes,” she said, in a low whisper,—“it is true: I feel the comfort of it. ‘Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen thy salvation.’ I am so—so weary,—when will this be over.” She then sunk into silence: for some time it was difficult to say whether life was extinct or not; at last she sighed, and her spirit departed in peace.

This affecting scene lasted six hours after the violent symptoms of the disease commenced. Returned home and endeavoured to answer some kind notes from enquiring friends. I could not write, owing to the excited state of my feelings; but, thankful to a merciful Providence for preservation, I retired early, hoping to be refreshed by rest.

I was awakened from a sound sleep by a loud knocking at my door. It was half past twelve at night, when my servant informed me that a person had arrived from Plympton, entreating me to go instantly to Mary Taylor, a parishioner of Plympton St. Mary, who was in the last stage of cholera, and was particularly anxious to see me before she died. I was a little refreshed by sleep; but still so unwell, my servant intimated that it might be in time, if I went in the morning. The morning might be too late! The idea of her having expressed an earnest desire to see me—in her dying moments too—something, perhaps, required or to communicate, which might tend to relieve her mind, and soothe the pillow of death. I could not have rested, if I had delayed to go. Before one o’clock, I was at the house. Mary Taylor had given up her own comfortable room to Susan, from the kindest and most considerate feeling; and, that she might be kept as quiet as possible, had removed to the dwelling of her parents, which was, indeed, a miserable place for a sick person. Below sat her father, by a small remnant of a fire, his face between his hands, his elbows resting on his knees, not caring to speak. He told me Elizabeth Job was with Mary, and that Mr. L. had been there in the evening, but not since—that he was very unwell when he went away. I heard the poor creature moaning—went up to her. The chamber where she lay was on the landing-place, without a door or partition—no ceiling—open to the roof. A common bedstead, without hangings or curtains, an old-fashioned oak chest, and a broken chair, composed the whole of the furniture. In a corner of the same room, covered with various old clothes, lay her husband, who was also ill. A rushlight, flickering in a current of air from the roof, only added to the wretchedness of the scene. The moment I approached the bedside, poor Mary held out her hand to me, and burst into an agony of tears. “I am going, sir,—I know I shall die. I wished so much to see you once more. I feared it would be too much for you to come; but I do not expect to see the morning. I do not wish to live; but my poor dear little helpless infant—what will become of her when she has lost her mother!” After some conversation, she became more tranquil, and appeared greatly comforted by the presence of a Christian minister. Spoke much of the awfulness of being on the brink of eternity—prayed frequently that God would forgive her sins, and receive her to himself, through the merits of a crucified Saviour. “Yes,” she said, “he died for me.” Stayed by this anchor, she became resigned and calm.

Before I went upstairs, I ordered the fire to be made up, and plenty of hot water to be in readiness. The poor old people very slow, and nothing in the house which such a case of emergency required. The cramp was gaining ground, and spasms had returned. Mr. L.’s residence not being far off, I hastened there, thinking it possible that he might be up; but could make no one hear, therefore I went away without disturbing him. I knocked up the people at a shop, and got some mustard and vinegar. When I returned, the medicines which were left, with directions, by Mr. L. were given. I had brought the cholera lotion, or stimulating liniment, with me, which was tried; but the poor sufferer was icy cold. Hot water in a stone bottle was applied to the feet. The pain at the pit of the stomach was very acute. I tried to get hot salt or sand; but nothing of the sort could be obtained, it being past two, a.m. Having noticed that, in the fire-place below, there were some loose bricks, I heated one of them, and wrapped it in a piece of old drugget. This simple remedy afforded her much relief, as soon as it was applied. She had been extremely patient, and said she felt better; but from the cold perspiration, and her discoloured appearance, I feared she would not recover. At three, a.m., I became so unwell, I desired that Mr. L. should be called, at all events. As he had been up the whole of the two preceding nights, and was very unwell, I had hitherto deferred calling him as long as I could; but I was obliged to return home.

August 21. Being anxious to know the fate of Mary Taylor, I went at eight o’clock to enquire for her. I learnt that Mr. L. came to her almost immediately after I left her, and injected saline fluid into a vein. She rallied for a time; but now, at nine, the alarming symptoms had returned. I went to Mr. L. and reported the apparently hopeless state of the patient. He returned to the house with me, and proposed a repetition of the experiment. She said it was all in vain. Her pulse had entirely ceased to beat. She enquired for Susan,—then spoke of her child with the tenderest feeling. She “hoped God would forgive her anxiety about the dear little soul. She would rather it had been taken before her, or with her, that both might be buried together; but God’s will be done. May we meet in a happier world.”

We had all joined with her in prayer, at her own request; she then consented to the operation. After a small quantity of the saline fluid had been injected, her husband’s sister offered to be blooded, as soon as the transfusion of blood was proposed. The transfusion was commenced, but no more than a teacupful could be borne, as a most startling effect was produced; the eyes having in an instant become red and staring to a frightful extent. Mr. L. saw this, and stopped the process instantaneously. Her breathing was quick and laborious. The pulse merely fluttered, and then stopped. It evidently was the will of God that human means should not avail. She was dying! I left the room with a sorrowing heart, sincerely lamenting her death. Before the attack of cholera, she had been in a delicate state of health; therefore Mr. L. feared that her constitution was not sufficiently strong to bear the shock. Every thing tended to depress our spirits. Such touching scenes, in such rapid succession—so great an accumulation of misery, nearly overwhelmed us. The appalling reality is almost incredible! But we have worked together, heart and hand; and we must trust that the same merciful Providence which has hitherto protected us, will, through the aid of the Spirit, grant us renewed strength for the conflict.

I called to see Susan Taylor; she was better, but requiring the greatest care. Attended the funeral of Mrs. Cocker. Richard Hurl, aged one year and half, died at Underwood. Elizabeth Hicks, of Underwood, seriously ill—collapse had rapidly come on,—Mr. Osmond in attendance. Very active treatment had been pursued. Towards the evening, she was much relieved, but extremely weak. Richard Smaldridge taken ill. Mr. Hook attending him.

August 22. [83] A vestry meeting was held, also a meeting of the Board of Health. On this day, the first order was made for assistance from the parish, to be paid to the chairman of the Board of Health. Hurl’s child buried. Elizabeth Hicks recovering.

August 23. George Tarr, aged forty-four, received at the Hospital: a bad case.

August 24. George Tarr died. Ann Higgins, aged one year, died.

August 25. I visited several people who laboured under great debility. Not so many fresh cases during these three days.

August 26. At eight o’clock, a message was brought to me from Mr. Crewes’s family, at Plympton, [85a] requesting me, if I possibly could, to go to them immediately, as their servant was alarmingly ill. Soon after I arrived, Mr. Deeble Boger [85b] and the Messrs. Langworthy came. It was one of those cases which exhibit great severity of character—discolouration of the skin—incessant sickness and restlessness—coldness of the flesh, tongue, and breath. There was very little hope of her recovery. Perhaps this attack had been brought on and aggravated by her own imprudence, in taking with her dinner, yesterday, a quantity of vinegar, which had been left in a plate with some cucumber. Debility and exhaustion rapidly increased. She became calm after awhile, and was perfectly sensible. I left her and went to Church. The Rev. J. Rosdew again kindly assisted me both parts of the day. But one feeling pervaded the whole congregation—the ministers and the people—the deepest solemnity! The plague is abroad. Who is to stand between the living and the dead? The fervent prayer of faith availeth much. “Lord, hear our prayer, and let our cry come unto thee!” How many appeared to pray in earnest on this day! doubtless not here only, but through the nation. May the supplication of a suffering people be received at the Throne of Grace.

Mr. Crewes’s servant died in the afternoon, and Maria E. Taylor, aged six months, of Underwood, died on this day.

August 27. Whilst at breakfast, I was entreated to go as soon as possible to Wm. Arthurs, at Underwood, as he was extremely ill, and he was thought to be dying. After attending to a number of applications for medicine, I went immediately to the sick man. His wife, in tears, was standing at the door, watching my arrival. Her mother, Mary Martin, and another woman, with dismay in their countenances, were near her. One of the children ill with cholera, in a cradle, two other little creatures, unconscious of what was passing, were playing about the room. I first endeavoured to quiet the minds of the women, impressing upon them, that there was not so much danger to be apprehended from the disease itself, as from giving way to such excessive alarm. That all excitement and agitation of the mind, tended to increase, if not to cause, an attack of the malady. I found the poor man very ill. Upon enquiry, it appeared that he had been “very bad all the night, and they thought he could not have held out till the morning.” But, “why did you neglect to send for medical advice at first?” “O, sir, we hoped it would pass.” I told them they must send immediately for Mr. L. or for some other medical gentleman; but they said it would be of no use, as Arthurs refused to take any medicines; indeed, he had said the same to me: but, after much persuasion, he consented to take what I gave him. At this time, he was in a state of partial collapse—writhing with pain—large drops standing on his icy cold forehead—his tongue cold—harassed with incessant and violent sickness. The wife standing by, concealing her face with her apron, not being able to look at him when the paroxysms came on. At a glance, the appearance of every thing indicated the cleanliness of the family. A white cloth was on a little table near the window—a second bed in the room—a little store of potatoes in a basket, in a corner near the stairs. The women were prompt and ready in preparing the stimulants—mustard and hot vinegar, and hot water, in stone bottles, for the feet. All linen was removed from the bed. The child below was, at this time, screaming so violently, that we were obliged to use for her similar remedies. Rhubarb and ginger had been given to the child. I gave a saline draught, which appeared to check the sickness. The poor man required constant attendance, sickness and cramp being most distressing. I had sent for medical assistance, but at that moment it could not be obtained. What was to be done? The poor man was in agony, and the sickness violent, without an intermission of ten minutes. In this extremity, I gave him the same medicine which I had taken myself. In half-an-hour, the man was again extremely harassed, and the sickness was not abated. He complained of insatiable thirst. I then prepared a saline mixture, composed of the same ingredients which had in some instances been adopted by Mr. L.; viz., carbonate of soda, one drachm, common salt, one drachm, oxymuriate (chlorate) of potash, six grains, and a teaspoonful of salvolatile, to a quart of cold water, of which he drank freely. After this, the vomiting subsided for a time, but pain and nausea remained; friction with stimulants were continued, and hot salt applied to the stomach. Being somewhat relieved, he was desirous that I would pray with him. The poor women knelt round the bed,—tears streaming down, though they held their hands before their faces, to conceal their grief and apprehension. At this time, the appearance of the man’s eyes began more decidedly to assume the character which we had remarked in the worst cases of cholera. Our prayer was shortened: but a sigh only, in faith, fails not to reach the Throne of Grace. I sent again, with the hope of obtaining medical aid, but without success. I began to tremble at the responsibility I had taken upon myself; but I could not leave the patient at such a crisis, and to have remained inactive might have been fatal. His pulse, when I first saw him, was scarcely perceptible, it now began to improve; sickness again came on, but not so violent as before. He drank freely of the saline mixture. At two o’clock, I left him for half-an-hour, to attend the funeral of Maria Taylor’s infant. Soon after my return (about three o’clock), Arthurs became easier and more tranquil; the pulse had improved, general warmth succeeded, and at four o’clock, profuse perspiration: more clothing was put on the bed, to keep that up. He wished for some tea and biscuit, and took a small quantity. In half-an-hour afterwards, the pulse became extremely full and quick. At five, p.m., I went to Mr. Langworthy’s, and found him just returned. I informed him of Arthurs’s case, and we went there together; but before we arrived, a medical gentleman had called, bled him sparingly, and had gone away. Mr. L. ordered him medicine, and gave directions how to proceed. The poor man then expressed himself as being weary, and soon sunk into a calm sleep. The child was much better towards the evening.

I went across the way to John Andrews’s; their daughter, Mary Ann, aged six, who was taken ill in the morning, having died at four p.m. The other child who was ill on the 6th, recovered. Peggy Andrews, the mother, though deeply afflicted, shewed much Christian resignation. At her urgent request, I went upstairs to see the child as she lay a corpse. She had been carried off so rapidly, they could scarcely believe she was dead. Chloride of lime was used abundantly, and the poor people promised that the rooms should be whitewashed on the following day. Their cottage is kept particularly neat. Having remained some time in conversation with them, I went to Richard Dunn’s. Their little girl, aged two years, sinking from exhaustion in a low fever, like typhus, which immediately followed an attack of cholera. Every possible attention was paid her, but nothing would make her rally. She lay perfectly quiet, her clear blue eye fixed on me, being a stranger; and just at that moment a parting ray of the evening sun beamed through the casement upon her face, her light silken locks shone upon her spotless brow, giving to her appearance an unearthly effect, which I shall never forget. Very soon she was cold and lifeless; but a smile rested on her countenance, so serene and lovely, that the transition from life to death was not perceptible. I could not be surprised at the distress of the parents. Difficult it was at such a moment to acknowledge the reality, that their loss was the child’s gain. Under what a variety of circumstances does this fatal malady strike its victims! Equally varying, therefore, the occasions for Christian consolation. May this be profitable to minister and people. Wrote to the Central Board of Health. Two new cases.

August 28. Mary Ann Andrews, buried. No death on this day: one new case only reported—Betty Wills, of Underwood. The patients generally extremely weak. Seven cases remaining.

August 29. Attended Board of Health. Received a letter from the Central Board, requesting a daily report to be transmitted as long as the disease exists at Plympton St. Mary, as well as a return of all cases and deaths from the commencement of the disease.

Upon referring to the several medical practitioners, it was found to be impossible to obtain any thing like a regular return; because our Board of Health had not been legally constituted until the 22nd instant; and no authority for such a requirement having previously existed, no regular notes of cases and deaths had been kept. Besides this, in consequence of the scarcity of medical practitioners, those who were employed in cholera cases, were engaged with their patients from morning till night, and had little or no time for making regular memoranda.

Visited Arthurs;—better as to the original disease, but very severely salivated. Elizabeth Hicks and Mary Martin, recovering. Buried Dunn’s child. Visited Susan Taylor;—gradually recovering, but labouring under great weakness. We had some serious conversation upon the afflicting circumstances which had occurred, and the mercy of God in her own particular case;—her preservation up to the present time, after all she had gone through herself, and after what she had witnessed in others, having herself, not only passed much time as a nurse in the midst of the worst cases of the disease, but having also assisted in the last fearful office for three of its victims. She entered fully into all this in a right frame of mind. Whilst alluding to the state in which she lay under the influence of the collapsed stage, she said she knew what was passing, though she appeared unconscious of every thing; that the sensation produced by injecting the saline fluid into the vein, was that of having taken an unusual quantity of liquid or broth, the stomach seemed to be very full; and when the blood was transfused, she felt it in the jugular vein, on both sides, causing an oppressive fulness, as if it would burst; but it subsided as soon as the process was stopped. As an instance of consciousness being retained in the last stage of cholera,—while the blood was being transfused, though she could neither move nor speak, she heard me suggest that a handkerchief might be lightly thrown across her eyes, lest she should be shocked if she revived and saw what was being done; and Mr. L.’s reply, that it was of no consequence, as she was too far gone.

August 30. One new case, Mary Martin, Underwood. Five cases remaining. Several people suffering from weakness and debility; all who required it, had nourishing things sent to them. By Mr. L.’s advice, I returned home sooner than usual, as I had been very unwell during the last few days.

August 31. Susan Taylor [96] was sufficiently recovered to return to Underwood. No new cases reported to-day. What a mercy! The fearful disease has nearly subsided in this parish, though as yet prevalent in the adjoining parish of Plympton Maurice.

From this time, no death by cholera occurred in the parish; but through the month of September, those who had been attacked by the disease, laboured under great debility. Some new cases were reported; but of a milder character, with the exception of two, which were taken to the Hospital. One was that of an aged woman, who, on the 10th of September, was discovered lying on the floor, at her house at Colebrook, in a state of collapse. A medical gentleman had seen her as he passed by, and called to inform me of the circumstance, at the same time recommending what medicine should be given to her. I found her, as described, lying on the stone floor, with all the symptoms of confirmed cholera, and in great agony. After much persuasion, she took the medicine, and consented to be removed to the Hospital, only upon the condition that I would take charge of her goods, and keep the key of her room. Unhappily, she was one of those whose thoughts are entirely engrossed by the objects of time; therefore her mental agitation and alarm were proportionately increased: and at such a moment, when life was ebbing on the brink of eternity, there was no desire for religious exercise, although at the eleventh hour; and all before her was worse than blank—not a shadow of comfort!

After she arrived at the Hospital, her suffering was very considerable. Mr. L. pursued the same treatment which had been previously adopted, with the addition of active friction, and hot salt in bags applied to the stomach. Warmth was restored in about four hours, and she became gradually better. In three days afterwards, she walked home, recovered.

About this time, a man was found, in a wretched state, cold and collapsed, in an open shed near Ridgeway. He was conveyed to the Hospital immediately. Drinking and dissipation had most probably tended to increase his sufferings, for they were excessive. His habits were well known, and there was every reason to suppose he was in a state of intoxication when seized with the disease. A strong emetic of mustard and salt was first given to him, and active remedies were afterwards resorted to. Some hours elapsed before warmth could be restored, and it was thought the attack would terminate fatally; but God was merciful to him, and he so far recovered as to be able to leave the Hospital in two days. How far he was impressed with the awfulness of his situation, or of thankfulness for his escape from impending danger, rested with his own conscience. He gave no satisfactory proof of any salutary impression having been made upon his mind. He was enveloped in utter darkness, and religious duties were evidently irksome to him.

With the exception of these two cases, nothing occurred beyond the usual routine of visiting convalescent patients, or those taken with slight attacks, from the end of August to the 3rd of October. During that period, the attendance at meetings of the Board of Health, and constant communication with the Central Board, as well as ordinary parish duties, were attended to. On the 3rd of October, it was reported, and with devout thankfulness acknowledged, that the disease was mercifully withdrawn from the parish—the plague was stayed—and the Board of Health was adjourned. Thus terminated the progress of the fearful visitation in this parish. Thirty deaths, chiefly from the village of Underwood, had occurred between the 13th of July and the 27th of August. In the adjacent town of Plympton, where the population by the census of 1831 was 804, there were twenty-two deaths between the 12th of August and the 21st of September.