"
The library contained one hundred and sixteen volumes, chiefly
relating to Government, Science, and Religion, of which about ninety
volumes are still in a good state of preservation.
On the 17th of April, 1790, Franklin expired, mourned by a grateful
nation and honored by the world. For two years he had lived in
anticipation of this event. One day he rose from his bed, saying to
his daughter, "Make up my bed, that I may die in a decent manner."
"I hope, father, that you will yet recover, and live many years,"
replied his daughter.
"I hope not," was his answer.
When told to change his position in bed, that he might breathe more
easily, he replied:
"A dying man can do nothing easy."
His sufferings were so great as to extort a groan from him at one
time, whereupon he said:
"I fear that I do not bear pain as I ought. It is designed, no doubt,
to wean me from the world, in which I am no longer competent to act my
part."
To a clerical friend, who witnessed one of his paroxysms as he 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?"
He had a picture of Christ on the cross placed so that he could look
at it as he lay on his bed. "That is the picture of one who came into
the world to teach men to love one another," he remarked.
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