In spite of increasing years and decreasing health—­“I have,” he said, “seven distinct diseases, but am otherwise pretty well”—­the indefatigable pamphleteer had not yet done with controversy.  In 1842 he published three Letters on the Mismanagement of Railways,[141] and in 1843 two on a tendency displayed by the “drab-coloured men of Pennsylvania” to repudiate the interest on their State’s bonds.  On the 18th of December 1843 he wrote:—­

    “My bomb has fallen very successfully in America, and the list of
    killed and wounded is extensive.  I have several quires of paper sent
    me every day, calling me monster, thief, atheist, deist, etc.”

    “I receive presents of cheese and apples from Americans who are
    advocates for paying debts, and very abusive letters in print and in
    manuscript from those who are not.”

All this time, in spite of continual discomfort from gout and asthma, he kept up his merry interest in his friends’ concerns, his enjoyment of good company, and his kindness to young people.  Here is a charming letter, written in September 1843 to his special favourite, Miss Georgiana Harcourt,[142] daughter of the Archbishop of York:—­

“I suppose you will soon be at Bishopthorpe, surrounded by the Sons of the Prophets.  What a charming existence, to live in the midst of holy people; to know that nothing profane can approach you; to be certain that a Dissenter can no more be found in the Palace than a snake in Ireland, or ripe fruit in Scotland; to have your society strong, and undiluted by the laity; to bid adieu to human learning, to feast on the Canons, and revel in the XXXIX.  Articles.  Happy Georgiana!”

At the beginning of 1844 he wrote, “I am tolerably well, but intolerably old.”  He complained of “nothing but weakness, and loss of nervous energy.”  “I look as strong as a cart-horse, but cannot get round the garden without resting once or twice,” Soon he was back again at St. Paul’s, preaching a sermon on Peace, and rebuking the “excessive proneness to War.”  “I shall try the same subject again—­a subject utterly untouched by the clergy."[143] The summer passed in its usual occupations, and on the 28th of July he preached for the last time in the pulpit of the Cathedral.  His subject was the right use of Sunday; and the sermon was a strong protest against the increasing secularization of the holy day.  The best ways of employing Sunday, he said, were Worship, Self-Examination, and Preparation for Death.  The sermon ended with some words which indicate the sense of impending change:—­

    “I never take leave of any one, for any length of time, without a deep
    impression upon my mind of the uncertainty of human life, and the
    probability that we may meet no more in this world."[144]

He now left London for Combe Florey.  “I dine with the rich in London, and physic the poor in the country; passing from the sauces of Dives to the sores of Lazarus.”  His bodily discomforts increased, but his love of fun never diminished.  He wrote as merrily as ever to Miss Harcourt:—­