settled towns," he feels distress both in body and mind with that which is impure, and a longing "that people might come in to cleanness of spirit, cleanness of person, and cleanness about their houses and garments:" noting at the same time, with his accustomed sagacity, that "some who are great carry delicacy to a great height themselves, and yet real cleanliness is not generally promoted." So continues his travail of soul, recorded in these pathetic and illumined pages, and before long the fatal disorder, small-pox, seizes upon him. He dies among strangers after lying patiently through his illness in the spirit of prayer, still saying characteristically to the young apothecary Friend with whom he had "found a freedom to confer," "that if anything should be proposed as to medicine that did not come through defiled channels or oppressive hands, he should be willing to consider and take it so far as he found freedom." Almost his last words, when already he could hardly be understood, are charged with his steady social compunction. Dear John Woolman! Pure and high spirit, incapable of evasion, noteworthy no less for restraint and gentleness than for the resolute determination to translate the undimmed vision of the Perfect Right into terms of our daily existence! Whither would his "concerns" have carried him, had not the Angel of Small-Pox ended his wistful and unrelenting quest? He died in 1772, having lived his life before the industrial revolution, in days which we are wont to envy as simpler and less beset by social problems than our own. Certainly they were days in which the network of human relations was far less intricate than now. Yet the process in which he was engaged reached out to limits beyond our power to scan, and his experience is in one point of view an heroic _reductio ad absurdum_. No more instructive attempt was ever made to attain personal purity while neither withdrawing from the world nor transforming it. To-day the number is on the increase of persons who suffer under the sense of social guilt. All who know such suffering and are inclined to think the conversion of individuals adequate as an ultimate remedy, will do well to ponder these pages. For the conclusion is forced on us that Woolman was in an _impasse_: and while we love and reverence the heavenly sturdiness of soul possessed by this eighteenth-century saint, we must recognise with amusement touched by tenderness the hopelessness of his efforts to attain personal purity, the ridiculous extremes of isolation into which such a conscientious effort, if logically carried out, would lead us. The definite inference from Woolman's life and thought will be for most modern people the conviction of the hopelessness of the attempt to achieve, by individual means and private effort, a satisfying social righteousness in an unchanged world.