of repose, 'sleep seemed to hang round his bed in festoons.' He declared uniformly that he preferred to endure with a clear mind the worst penalties of suffering rather than be plunged in a turbid dream by narcotics. His patience was unfailing; assuredly he knew not aught save resignation; he did mightily cheer and console those whose strength was less. His every instant now, his least thought and work, sacredly belonged to them, dearer than his rapidly perishing life, whom he should so quickly leave behind."
Once or twice he shed tears. Upon hearing a wandering musician in the street playing some tune of his childhood he might never hear again, he wept, and said to his mother, "Give him some money for me!"
"Northward he turneth through a little door,
And scarce three steps, ere Music's golden tongue,
Flattered to tears this aged man and poor;
But no—already had his death-bell rung,
The joys of all his life were said and sung."
He died on the 6th of May, 1862, and had a public funeral from the parish church a few days later. On his coffin his friend
