time. His social creed, as stated in a letter dated 1859, would have equally fitted the succeeding years:—
Every year makes me, at least, more democratic, with less reverence for the elect and more faith in the many.
During the winter of 1911, strength gradually failed, though interest in the affairs of life never flagged.
In February, he read a paper on Dickens, with all his old spirit, before the Round Table, and in April, he attended a meeting of the Authors' Club in Milton.
His lmanding a view of the city of his birth, he had written:— Shadows come and shadows go O'er the meadows wide; Twice each day, to and fro, Steals the river-tide; Each morn with sunrise-glow Gilds the green hillside.
On the bright May morning of 1911, when we stood there sorrowing, Dr. Crothers recalled a thought which had come to him in the church when he heard the bugle sounding Taps and the distant response.
I thought, he said, of the passing of Mr. Valiant-for-truth in Pilgrim's Progress