But the bravest and strongest pilgrim, when he is travelling toward the sunset, cannot but perceive that the shadows are lengthening around him. He did not, like most old people, watch the gathering gloom; but during the last two or three years of his life, he seemed to have an increasing feeling of spiritual loneliness.
He had survived all his cotemporaries; he had outlived the Society of Friends, as it was when it took possession of his youthful soul; and though he sympathized with the present generation remarkably for so old a man, still he was among
them, and not of
He quieted this feeling by the best of all methods.
He worked continually, and he worked for others.
In this way, he brought upon himself his last illness.
A shop had been built very far up in the city, for a discharged convict, and the Association had incurred considerable expense on his account.
He was remarkably skilful at his trade, but after awhile he manifested slight symptoms of derangement.
became extremely anxious about him, and frequently travelled back and forth to examine into the state of his affairs.
This was in the severe winter of 1852, and he was past eighty years old. He took heavy colds, which produced inflammation of the lungs, and the inflammation subsequently extended to his stomach.
In February of that year, declining health made it necessary to resign his