In the fall of this year, 1888, he made his last visit to his familiar haunts in Mendham, a place greatly endeared to him. On his last Sunday there, he went, as was his frequent custom, to the Methodist Sunday school, where he always received a hearty welcome. In addressing them, he said that he did not suppose he should ever stand before them again. As he concluded, the school started the hymn, “We shall meet beyond the river.”
That fall and winter he had a good deal of sickness, premonitory of his final illness, but in the intervals resumed his wonted activity. At the time of the Centennial Celebration, in 1889, Mr. Carter's children had rather taken it for granted that, with his failing health and debility, he would not care to see the procession, although his store would be furnished with scaffolding for the benefit of those who wanted to witness it; but they had greatly underestimated their father's vitality and public spirit. Some one had made a remark, taking for granted that he would not go, and he sat silent for a few moments, and then said, “I think I should like to go down to the procession. There will be a good many at the store who would like to see me.” And after a moment’s pause he added, “and a good many whom I should like to see.” Of course all were delighted to have him there, and he entered into all the doings of both days with the interest of a boy. His was a spirit that never grew old.
When the General Assembly met in New York, in 1889, Mr. Carter was confined to his room while recovering from a severe illness. He was well enough, however, to receive a large number of his old friends, and to take a lively interest in reports of the proceedings. He especially enjoyed at this time a visit from
