Although it is evident from this deed that Gutenberg was at this time successfully established in printing again by means of a further division of his father’s estate, and by the aid of his friends, yet it also appears that his works were not remunerative. Comparatively few books were called for,--not only the books, but the market for them, had to be made; and this, when we consider the competition of such a firm as Faust and Schoeffer, was no light affair. The worthy Syndic stood nobly by him, and his friends were kind and appreciative, or he had accomplished much less after the breaking up of his favorite projects at the Zum Jungen. But a sad and deeply afflictive event overtook him, which again threw his affairs into confusion. This was the sudden death of his beloved Anna, who left his side with an angel’s smile and words of triumph for the endless life. The unexpected blow completely unnerved him for a long time; and even when the healing hand of time soothed the wound, he had no heart to go on with an art with which she was so intimately associated. Friele sympathized most deeply in his sorrow, and at length advised a change of scene and occupation as antidotes to his grief. Accordingly he sold out his printing materials to the Syndic, Conrad Humery, after some eight years’ practicing of his art in the new firm. But he was not allowed to be forsaken in his old age. From letters patent, dated January 17, 1465, we learn that he was invited to enter the service of the Elector Adolphus of Nassau, as one of his band of gentlemen pensioners, with a handsome salary. Thus did he honorably retire from the practice of his loved art, secure in the thought that although it had cost him much tribulation, yet it was firmly established in doing its beneficent mission to the world. This was three years after the city of Mentz was sacked and plundered by Count Adolphus; and while others were broken up in their avocations and forced to flee, he was spared from such a fate, and was promoted to his own appropriate honorable place in his native city. Thus peacefully and in useful duties did he go down the vale of life, until February 24, 1468, when he quitted this earthly scene, let us trust for the happier employments of the better world. His death seems like the calm, unclouded setting of the sun, after a tempestuous day. Some one has said that genius, in its general sense, is universal; a possession belonging to all men, in some degree. Its greatest achievement is not in a great poem or painting, or any other work of art, but in a great life; and the strong heart and stout hands are its most miraculous organs. He who, by the majestic dignity of his daily walk, gives the beauty of truth to common life, is a great genius,--because he illustrates and sets forth, in its noblest form, virtue and true worth.