About this time a malignant disease broke out in the neighbourhood of the Dart, whose awful ravages it appeared as if no medical aid was adequate to stop.  In Herbert Hamilton’s parish the mortality was dreadful, and his duties were consequently increased, painfully to himself and alarmingly to his family.  A superhuman strength seemed, however, suddenly granted him.  Whole days, frequently whole nights, he spent in the cottages of the afflicted poor.  Soothing, encouraging, compelling even the hardened and impenitent to own the power of the religion he taught; bidding even them bow in unfeigned penitence at the footstool of their Redeemer, and robbing death, in very truth, of its sting.  The young, the old, men in their prime, were carried off.  The terrible destroyer knew no distinction of age or sex or rank.  Many a young child would cease its wailing cry of suffering when its beloved pastor entered the lowly cot, and with the fondness of a parent, with that smile of pitying love which few hearts can resist, would seek to soothe the bodily anguish, while at the same moment he taught the young soul that death was not terrible; that it was but a few moments of pain to end in everlasting bliss; that they were going to Him who had said “Suffer little children to come unto me, for of such is the kingdom of heaven.”  From the old, Herbert would learn many a lesson of piety and resignation, and feel that attendance on such beds of death was in truth a blessing to himself.

Fearlessly, for her trust was fixed on the Rock of Righteousness, did Ellen second the exertions of her cousin in this time of general affliction.  There were many who sought to deter her, for they whispered the disease was contagious, but Ellen heeded them not, nor did Mrs. Hamilton, herself so active in seasons of distress, seek to dissuade her.  “The arm of my God is around me, alike in the cottages of the dying as in the fancied security of Oakwood,” she said one day to Herbert, who trembled for her safety, though for himself no fears had ever entered his mind.  “If it is His will that I too should feel His chastening rod, it will find me though I should never leave my home; my trust is in Him.  I go in the humble hope to do His work, and He will not forsake me, Herbert.”

Herbert trembled for her no more, and an active and judicious assistant did he find her.  For six weeks the disease continued unabated; about that time it began to decline, and hopes were entertained that it was indeed departing.

There was moisture in the eyes of the young minister, as he looked around him one Sabbath evening on the diminished number of his congregation; so many of whom were either clad in mourning, or bore on their countenance the marks of recent suffering, over the last victim the whole family at Oakwood had sincerely mourned, for it was that kind old woman whom we have mentioned more than once as being connected with the affairs we have related.  Nurse Langford had gone