The Last Year of the Journal

1790. Friday, January 1.--I am now an old man, decayed from head to foot. My eyes are dim; my right hand shakes much; my mouth is hot and dry every morning; I have a lingering fever almost every day; my motion is weak and slow. However, blessed (be God, I do not slack my labor: I can preach and write still.

Sunday, 17.--In the afternoon I preached in Great St. Helen's, to a large congregation. It is, I believe, fifty years since I preached there before. What has God wrought since that time!

Tuesday, February 23.--l submitted to importunity and once more sat for my picture. I could scarcely believe myself--the picture of one in his eighty-seventh year!

Monday, June 28.--This day I enter into my eighty-eighth year. For above eighty-six years, I found none of the infirmities of old age; my eyes did not wax dim, neither was my natural strength abated. But last August I found almost a sudden change. My eyes were so dim that no glasses would help me. My strength likewise quite forsook me and probably will not return in this world. But I feel no pain from head, to foot; only it seems nature is exhausted and, humanly speaking, will sink more and more, till

Thursday, July 1.--I went to Lincoln. After dinner we took a walk in and around the Minster which I really think is more elegant than that at York, in various parts of the structure as well as in its admirable situation. The new house was thoroughly filled in the evening, and with hearers uncommonly serious. There seems to be a remarkable difference between the people of Lincoln and those of York. They have not so much fire and vigor of spirit but far more mildness and gentleness, by means of which, if they had the same outward helps, they would probably excel their neighbors.