On the evening before he died the door-bell rang. He saw his friend Mr. Cowper go to the door, and on his return he asked who it was, and being told that it was Governor Graham, said: "I have a high regard for him, and I regret very much that he was not asked in. I want you to go down to his room and tell him I am very sorry he was not brought in to see me, and that I should be pleased to see him." Governor Graham was much impressed and deeply moved when the message was delivered to him. On Saturday evening he called his family to his bedside, and in beautiful language of wisdom gave them counsel and advice. In the midst of sorrow which such a solemn occasion would naturally bring, his eye was not moistened, his voice did not falter, and as calmly as if he were going on a short journey, he imparted to them words of advice "like apples of gold in pictures of silver." "My children," said he, "I wish to impress one thing upon you: always stand together, comfort and assist each other, consider that no necessity can arise by which you could feel justified in raising a hand or uttering a word one against the other." Shortly before his death he uttered these words: "I have no doubt that I have my sins and transgressions to account for. All men must so account. I have endeavored to lead an exemplary life. I have never seen the time that I felt I could be induced, through fear, favor, affection, reward, or the hope of reward, to do otherwise than my conscience would dictate to me as right and proper. The future has always been to me, and is now, a deep, dark mystery." A little while before day on Sunday morning, while resting quietly, but not sleeping, he heard the sound of wood being put on the fire in the adjoining room, and remarked: "It must be near day; I hear them making a fire in the next room." A few minutes after this he straightened himself in bed, placed his head on a line with his body, folded his arms across his breast, and in a little while was dead. It was on Sunday morning, January 21, 1872, about the hour of five o'clock, that he thus peacefully passed away in the sixty-second year of his age. He left a wife and seven children--three sons and four daughters. The wife and two sons have since "passed over the river" and entered the vale of the future and into the "deep, dark mystery." He was buried the next day in Oakwood Cemetery, near the city of Raleigh. Both Houses of the Legislature and the Superior Court of Wake, then in session, adjourned for the day, and all the business houses of the city closed their doors to show their respect for his character and worth. On the following day a large meeting was held in the Supreme Court-room to do further honor to the life and services of the distinguished dead.