The final changes proceeded slowly, and the death-struggle did not set in till half-past 10 o'clock on the evening of Friday. Up to that time Mr. Garrison, though1 disinclined to talk unless spoken to, or to indicate his wants, retained all his faculties, and recognized his children and grandchildren by voice and sight. His thoughtfulness for them and for others, his desire not to give trouble, and his affection, were repeatedly manifested. His illness had been in many respects a distressing one, even in comparison with the wretched months that preceded it; but the prevailing sense was of weariness— frequently expressed in a desire to ‘go home’—rather than in acute bodily pain, though that was not wanting. Once, in a wandering moment, he asked: ‘Am I in England?’ his mind evidently reverting to his last happy visit there. ‘What do you want, Mr. Garrison?’ said his physician to him on the morning of the 23d. ‘To finish it up!’ was the reply. The wish was not long denied. That evening his children sang for him the old hymns of which he was so fond,—‘Ward,’ ‘Hebron,’ ‘Amsterdam,’ ‘Christmas,’ ‘Lenox’ (the last three especial favorites), ‘Denmark,’ ‘Portuguese Hymn,’ ‘Coronation,’ ‘Confidence,’ and ‘Old Hundred.’ He could no longer speak, but he manifested his pleasure and consciousness by beating time both with his hands and feet, and was evidently happy in listening to the familiar words of spiritual cheer. An hour or two later the great change began; but so strong was his vitality that he lingered, unconscious, for twenty-four hours, and expired peacefully at a few minutes past eleven on Saturday evening, May 24, 1879.
A post-mortem examination having been made on Monday, Mr. Garrison's remains were taken on the same