his departure. It was the only thing personal to himself for which he had now to care, and he wished, for the benefit of those who were to come after him, to leave the work that he loved in a condition as perfect as possible.
He had suffered a good deal occasionally from pains and nervous disturbances which he attributed to atonic gout, having had while yet a young man one, and one only, open attack of that complaint. His health began more seriously to fail a few years before his death; probably from some renal affection. His power of locomotion gradually became so seriously impaired that he walked abroad no more; and, owing to the difficulty of getting into his carriage, rode out also less frequently, until at last he ceased to do so altogether. He had at this time no particular suffering, and attributed his disability to undue exertion in waiting upon Mrs. Wood during her protracted illness. A change gradually came over his physical condition. From being spare and lithe, he grew large and unwieldy, and, except in features and expression, quite unlike his former self. As disease progressed and symptoms grew worse, his countenance assumed a bloated and heavy appearance; and in conversation he would often fall into a momentary drowsiness. Still, though clouded and oppressed, his mental faculties were not very greatly impaired; and—with some defect of memory, of which there had long been occasional manifestations—they continued to be pretty good until within the last few months of his life.
In August, 1878, he visited once more, with some effort and inconvenience, his ancestral farm in New Jersey; and, the autumn of that year being unusually mild, prolonged his sojourn—lingering over the scenes of his youth and his beloved nurseries of tree and plant, the dulcia arva which he was never to see again—until late in December; when the
