In his latter days he largely experienced the joys of religion. He seemed at that period to attain a more ethereal purity of soul, a more sublime elevation of mind, and a more seraphic glow of devotion. The ancients believed that the nearer men approach the hour of death the more divine they become, and the more piercing is their insight into the mysteries of futurity. Howe, under the influence of a divine enthusiasm, certainly appeared during the last year of his life as if the veil of flesh had been parted, and his free spirit had found a pathway which “the vulture’s eye hath never seen.” It is related that on one occasion, at the Lord’s-table, his soul was suffused with such rapture that the communicants thought his physical strength would have sunk under the weight of his preternatural emotions. And another instance of overpowering delight about the same time, is recorded by himself in a Latin note found on the blank leaf of his study Bible. After notice of a peculiarly beautiful and refreshing dream which he had some years before, he adds: “But what of the same kind I sensibly felt through the admirable bounty of my God, and the most pleasant comforting influence of the Holy Spirit, on October 22nd, 1704, far surpassed the most expressive words my thoughts can suggest. I then experienced an inexpressibly pleasant melting of heart, tears gushing out of mine eyes for joy that God should shed abroad His love abundantly through the hearts of men, and that for this very purpose mine own should be so signally possessed of and by His blessed Spirit.” One trembles at criticizing such a phenomenon, and at attempting to resolve it all into a delirium of excitement. Who that has ever mused on the nature of the human mind, on the mystery of that unseen world which presses close around it, on the piety of such a man as Howe, and on the special love which God bears to those whom he makes so like Himself, would dare to speak lightly of such an incident? [Sidenote: 1688–1702.] Howe spent some of his closing days in the composition of a work _On Patience in Expectation of Future Blessedness_, expressive of his own religious experience; and it shows that such were his thoughts of heaven, such his desire to depart, that he had to practice an unwonted form of self-denial to reconcile himself to continuance in a world which so many are loth to leave. Friends conversed with him to the last, and the visit of one of them deserves special notice. Richard Cromwell called upon him in his last illness, but the words they interchanged have died away, save an indistinct echo lingering in a brief sentence by Calamy: “There was a great deal of serious discourse between them; tears were freely shed on both sides, and the parting was very solemn, as I have been informed by one that was present on the occasion.”[535]