A few weeks before his death lie came from his farm to the residence of his daughter in this city, and lie fully realized that the end was near. A friend in conversation with him a short time prior to his death, spoke of the loneliness of life to those who are old. In talking to his daughter shortly after, he referred to this conversation and smilingly said, "Why, I never was lonely." For almost eighty summers this mail had followed the toilsome path beaten and worn by the weary feet of those who for ages have been struggling in the maze of human hopes and fears. In the darkness of the darkest night and in the brightness of the brightest day he was " never lonely." A few days later, when the chill of death had touched him, calling the dear ones to his side and calmly taking each by the hand and bidding them a last farewell, at that moment his eyes were still clear, and through them his disparting spirit seemed to speak that which his voice could not utter: " 'I was never lonely' and am not now distressed.

During his illness he repeatedly expressed his willingness to die, and at all times gave evidence of his abiding faith in the goodness and mercy of God. Fondly trusting in the promise of immortality lie passed peacefully away. The funeral took place from the residence of his daughter, Mrs. Tucher, on North Oak street, on Friday at two o'clock p. m., Revs. Altman and Frame officiating. The remains were interred in Evergreen, Mound cemetery near his home. His last sleep is hallowed by the glow of that celestial light which by the grace of Christian faith drives the darkest shadows from the tomb.