Fresh honours were done to him in his own country. Birmingham, the town in which he had spent his youth and early manhood, had already set up his statue. A short time before he died he heard that Kidderminster, his birth-place, was going to pay him a like honour. And now, at the very close of his life, the City of London granted him its Freedom. He was far too weak to attend at the Guildhall, in accordance with ancient custom, to receive this high distinction. The Court of Common Council, with a kindness that gave a double grace to the honour that they rendered, appointed a deputation to wait on him at his residence.[255] He received it in his bed-chamber. It was the 6th day of June, 1879, less than three months before his death. "I offer you," said the City Chamberlain at the conclusion of an eloquent address, "the right hand of fellowship in the name of the Corporation whom we represent, and who deeply regret that they cannot receive you in person, as is their wont on such occasions as the present. We congratulate you that, notwithstanding the 'labour and sorrow' inevitable to the weight of eighty-three years, you have been spared to witness the complete triumph of your postal principles, to receive acknowledgments from the State, and honours from your Sovereign. Detractors and obstructors you have outlived, or they only survive to swell the ranks of those who applaud. May your remaining days be consoled by the thought that your name and services can never be forgotten, and may the sunset of your life be brightened by the reflection that you have been permitted to become one of the greatest benefactors of mankind." It was a touching sight how the old man was moved by this, the last honour, that he was to receive in his life-time from his fellow-countrymen. The tears streamed down his venerable face, and he was scarcely able to utter a word. I stood close by him, and I heard him say, "I cannot listen to it as I ought." When the address was finished he could only say, "I wish it were in my power to thank you." His son had to read his answer. More than once he was distressed to see the members standing while their Chamberlain was addressing him. "It would be a relief to me," he said, "if you would sit down. I cannot bear to see you standing." This is a trifling matter in itself, but it had its rise in that tender and anxious thoughtfulness for others which I had so often marked in him. Before leaving the house I went once more up to his room, and through the open door gazed at the man whom I had so honoured. I did not venture to break on his repose by going in. He had on his face a look of great peacefulness. That which should accompany old age was indeed on that day seen to accompany him. I never saw him again.