is approaching departure, it was with
composure. At one time, when his daughter expressed the wish that he
might yet live many years, he replied "I hope not."

A clerical friend visited him, just as one of his paroxysms of pain
came on. As his friend in consequence was about to retire, he said,

"Oh no; don't go away. These pains will soon be over. They are for my
good. And besides, what are the pains of a moment in comparison with
the pleasures of eternity."

There was, in one of the chambers of his house, a very beautiful
painting of Christ on the Cross. He requested his nurse, a very worthy
woman, of the Friends' persuasion, to bring it down, and place it
directly before him. The Rev. David Ritter, a great admirer of
Franklin, called to see him. He had, however, but a few moments
before, breathed his last. Sarah Humphries, the nurse, invited David
into the chamber, to view the remains. Mr. Ritter expressed surprise
in seeing the picture of the Saviour on the cross occupying so
conspicuous a position, saying, "You know, Sarah, that many people
think that Dr. Franklin was not after this sort."

"Yes," she replied, "but thee knows, David, that many make a great
fuss about religion, who have very little. And many, who say but
little, have a good deal. He was never satisfied, if a day passed away
unless he had done some one a service.[40] Benjamin Franklin was one
of that sort. I will tell thee how the picture came here. Many weeks
ago, as he lay, he beckoned me to him, and told me of this picture, up
stairs, and begged I would bring it to him. I brought it. His face
brightened up, as he looked at it, and he said,

"'Ay Sarah; there is a picture worth looking at. That is the picture
of him who came into the world to teach men to love one another.'"

"After looking at it wistfully for some time, he said, 'Sarah, set
this picture up over the mantel-piece, right before me as I lie. I
like to look at it.'

"When I fixed it up he looked at it very much; and indeed died with
his eyes fixed upon it."

[Footnote 40: This reminds us of the exclamation of the Emperor Titus,
who, at the close of a day in which he could not perceive that he had
done any good, exclaimed, sadly, "Perdidi Diem." _I have lost a day._
Beautifully has the sentiment been expressed in the words, which it
would be well for all to treasure up,

"Count that day lost, whose low descending sun,
Views at thy hand no worthy action done."]

Ho