Chapter XVI

DAILY EXERCISE.--REGIMEN.--IMPROVING HEALTH.--LETTERS.

During the summer and autumn of 1832, Mr. Lawrence's health and strength were so much improved, that he was enabled to take exercise on horseback; and almost daily he took long rides, sometimes alone, sometimes with a friend, about the environs of the city. This habit he was enabled to continue, with some intermissions, for two or three years, through summer and winter. The effect of the exercise amidst the beautiful scenery of the environs of Boston, of which he was an enthusiastic admirer, was most beneficial to his health, and, it is believed, was a great means of prolonging his life. Whenever he could do so, he secured the company of a friend, and kept a horse expressly for the purpose. As the ride was taken in the morning, when his business acquaintances were occupied, his most usual companion was some one of the city clergy, whom he secured for the occasion, or one of his sons. No denominational distinctions seemed to regulate his choice on these occasions. His own beloved pastor and friend, the Rev. Dr. Lothrop, Rev. Drs. Stone and Greenwood, and Father Taylor, the seamen's chaplain, were often his companions. Occasionally a stray merchant or lawyer was engaged; and, as was sometimes the case where they had not been much accustomed to the exercise, a long trot of many miles in the sun, or in the face of a keen winter north-wester, would severely tax their own strength, while they wondered how so frail a figure as that of Mr. Lawrence could possess so much endurance. With all this apparent energy and strength, he was extremely liable to illness, which would come when least expected, and confine him for days to his house. An item of bad news, some annoying incident, a little anxiety, or a slight cold, would, as it were, paralyze his digestive functions, and reduce his strength to the lowest point. It was this extreme sensitiveness which unfitted him to engage in the general current of business, and which compelled him to keep aloof from participation in commercial affairs, and to adopt that peculiar system in diet and living which he adhered to for the remainder of his life. This system limited him to the use of certain kinds of food, which, from time to time, was slightly modified, as was thought expedient. This food was of the most simple kind, and was taken in small quantities, after being weighed in a balance, which always stood before him upon his writing-table. To secure perfect quiet during his meals, and also that he might not be tempted to overstep the bounds of prudence, a certain amount was sent to him in his chamber, from which he took what was allowed. The amount of liquid was also weighed; and so rigid was he in this system of diet, that, for the last sixteen years of his life, he sat down at no meal with his family. The amount of food taken varied, of course, with his strength and condition. In a letter to his friend, President Hopkins, of Williams College, he says:

"If your young folks want to know the meaning of epicureanism,
tell them to take some, bits of coarse bread (one ounce and a
little more), soak them in three gills of coarse-meal gruel, and
make their dinner of them and nothing else; beginning very
hungry, and leaving off more hungry. The food is delicious, and
such as no modern epicureanism can equal."

For a considerable period, he kept a regular diet-table, in which he noted down the quantity of solid and liquid food taken during the twenty-four hours. One of his memorandum-books, labelled "Record of Diet and Discipline for 1839 and 1840," contains accurate records of this sort.

In October, 1832, in writing to his son in the country, he alludes to this improvement in his health and strength:

"We are all doing as well as usual here, myself among them doing
better than usual. My little 'Doctor'[4] does wonders for me. I
ride so much, and so advantageously, that I do not know but I
shall be bold enough, by and by, to ride to B---- and back in a
day, but shall hardly dare do so until I have practised a little
more in this neighborhood.

"I want you to analyze more closely the tendency of principles,
associations, and conduct, and strive to adopt such as will make
it easier for you to go right than go wrong. The moral taste,
like the natural, is vitiated by abuse. Gluttony, tobacco, and
intoxicating drink, are not less dangerous to the latter, than
loose principles, bad associations, and profligate conduct, are
to the former. Look well to all these things."

[4] The name of his horse.

The year 1833 opened with bright and cheering prospects; for, with Mr. Lawrence's increasing strength and improved health, there seemed a strong ground of hope that he might yet recover all his powers, and once more take his place among his former business associates.

He writes at this time to his son at Andover:

"I am as light as a feather this morning, and feel as if I could
mount upon a zephyr, and ride upon its back to A----; but I am
admonished to be careful when my spirits are thus buoyant, lest I
come down to the torpor of the insect, which is shut up by the
frost. Extremes are apt to follow, unless I take great care. Last
Sabbath, I kept my bed, most of the day, with a poor turn.
Brother A. said, on Saturday, he knew I was going to have one,
for I talked _right on_."

In March, he writes:

"The season is coming forward now so as to allow me the use of
the roads around Roxbury and Dorchester. My 'Doctor' looks so
altered by a two hours' canter, that his own mother would hardly
know him at first sight. We continue excellent friends; and I
think he has never used me better than during the last few days.
We both 'feel our oats' and our youth. I feel like sweet
twenty-five; and he, I judge, like vigorous seven."

On April 28, he writes to a young friend:

"When you get married, do not expect a higher degree of
perfection than is consistent with mortality in your wife. If you
do, you will be disappointed. Be careful, and do not choose upon
a theory either. I dislike much of the nonsense and quackery that
is dignified with the name of intellectual among people.
Old-fashioned common sense is a deal better. * * * *

"There was a part of Boston which used to be visited by young men
out of curiosity when I first came here, into which I never set
foot for the whole time I remained a single man. I avoided it,
because I not only wished to keep clear of the temptations common
in that part, but to avoid the appearance of evil. I never
regretted it; and I would advise all young men to strengthen
their good resolutions by reflection, and to plant deep and
strong the principles of right, and to avoid temptation, as time
gives them strength to stand against it."

On December 23, he writes to his wife, who had been summoned to the bedside of a dying relative:

"Your absence makes a great blank in the family; and I feel that
I must be very careful lest any little accident should make me
feel of a _deep blue_ while you are away. Confidence is a great
matter, not only in curing, but in preventing disease, whether of
the body or the mind; and I have somehow got the notion that I am
more safe when you[5] are looking after me than when you are not,
and that any trouble is sooner cured when you are present than
when you are not. This is, I suppose, the true charm which some
people have faith in to keep off their ills. I have been forcibly
reminded of the passage of time, by reviewing the scenes of the
last three years, and am deeply sensible of the mercies that have
been extended to me. What little I do is a poor return: may a
better spirit prompt and guide my future services! What few I
have rendered are estimated by my brethren beyond their value,
and of course tend to flatter my self-love. This should not be;
and I ought to see myself as I am seen by that eye that never
sleeps. The situation I occupy is one that I would not exchange,
if I had the power, with any man living: it is full of agreeable
incidents, and free from the toils and anxieties frequently
attendant on a high state of prosperity; and is, beside, free
from that jealousy, or from any other cause of uneasiness, so
common among the ardent and successful in this world's race."

[5] The editor, in justice to his own feelings, will here remark, that he believes the continuation of Mr. Lawrence's life, after he became a confirmed invalid, was, under Providence, in a great measure due to the care and faithful attentions of his wife. For more than twenty years, and during his frequent seasons of languor and sickness, she submitted to many sacrifices, and bestowed a degree of care and watchfulness such as affection alone could have enabled her to render.

To his daughter, who was on a visit at Washington, he writes:

"BOSTON, May 18th, 1834. Sunday evening.

"MY DEAR CHILD: The contrast in the weather to-day with what it
has been most of the time since you left home, is as great as is
usual between a bleak November day and the soft air of June.
To-day it is beautiful, but on Wednesday it snowed, hailed, and
rained, and I am told, indeed, that a few miles beyond Amherst
the snow fell four inches in depth. You have reason to be
thankful that you have been in a milder climate, and, at the same
time, are seeing all the wonders that open upon you in the new
world on which you have entered.

"I shall be expecting a letter from you within a day or two;
there can be no want of materials where so many new objects are
constantly presenting themselves, and there is a pleasure in
receiving them just as they appear to you; so you need not be
afraid to place before me the first sketches, precisely as you
catch them.

"To-day I suppose you are in Philadelphia, and, if so, I hope you
have attended a Friends' meeting. The manner of worship and the
appearance of the people are different from anything you have
seen; and the influence of this sect upon the taste and manners
of the people is very striking, particularly in the matter of
their dress. It is said that you can judge something of the
character of a lady from her dress. Without deeming it an
essential, I think it of some consequence. This strikes the eye
only, and may deceive; how much more important that the dress of
the heart and mind and affections be right, and that no deception
be found there! I do most earnestly pray God that every
opportunity may be improved by you, my dear S., to adorn yourself
with all those graces that shall not only charm the eye, but also
with those that shall win the affections of those whose affection
you would prize, and more especially that you will secure the
approval of our best Friend.

* * * * *

"_Monday afternoon, May 19._--I have received your charming
letter, dated on Thursday last. It is just the thing, a simple
narrative of facts; and you will find plenty of materials of this
sort, as I stated to you before. I have been in the saddle to-day
nearly five hours with your Uncle W. and Father Taylor, and am
very tired, but shall get refreshed by a night's rest.

"The day is beautiful, finer than any we have had since you left
home. We went to Mount Auburn, and it appears very lovely; how
much better than the dreary resting-places for the dead so common
in New England, overgrown with thistles, and the graves hardly
designated by a rude stone! Our Puritan forefathers mistook very
much, I think, in making the place of deposit for our mortal
remains so forbidding in appearance to the living. A better taste
is growing among us. It may become a matter of ostentation (we
are so apt to go to extremes), to build sepulchres and monuments
to hold our bodies, that will speak to our shame when we are no
longer subjects of trial; when, in short, we shall have gone to
our account. If these monuments could speak to their living
owners, and induce them to labor to merit, while they may, a good
word from the future lookers on, then they would be valuable
indeed. As it is, I have no fault to find; it is decidedly better
than the old fashion of making these tenements look as dreary as
anything in this world can look."

To the same he writes, a few days later:

"Tell ---- that I saw little ---- this morning. She is the
sweetest little creature that ever lived, and I find myself
smiling whenever I think of the dear child in health. Sympathy is
a powerful agent in illustrating through the countenance the
feelings within. I believe my face is as arrant a tell-tale as
ever was worn; and whenever I think of those I love, under happy
circumstances, I am happy, too. So you may judge how much I
enjoy in the belief that you are enjoying so much, and doing so
well, in this journey."

On February 8, 1835, he writes to a young friend:

"Take care that fancy does not beguile you of your understanding
in making your choice: a mere picture is not all that is needful
in the up and down hills of life. The arrangements of the
household and the sick room have more in them to fasten upon the
heart than all the beauties and honors of the mere gala days,
however successfully shown off. Be careful, when you pick, to get
a heart, a soul, and a body; not a show of a body that has mere
vitality. All this comes in _by the ears_; but it is in,--I will
not blot it out."

March 16, he writes to his sister.

"I have had so much call for my sympathy, assistance, and advice,
among my brethren in trade, that I have little inclination or
spirit to write social or family letters since my last; but, in
all this turmoil and trouble (and it really is as disastrous as a
siege or a famine to the country), I have kept up a good heart,
and have been able to view the work of destruction with as much
composure as the nature of the case will allow. Whatever effects
it shall produce on my property, I shall submit to, as the
inevitable destruction that comes without any fault of my own, of
course without any self-reproaches; but for the authors I feel a
just indignation. As regards the pecuniary distress among us, it
is subsiding: there have been fewer failures than were
anticipated; but there have been numbers on the brink, who have
been saved by the help of friends. A few persons have done great
service in helping those who could not help themselves; and the
consequences will be felt here for years to come in the credit
and standing of many worthy people, who must otherwise have been
broken down. Brother A. has had a load of care and responsibility
much too severe for him, and has now agreed to throw off a part
of the business as soon as the present pressure is past."

April 29, he writes:

"I am busy these days, but have no very important duties, except
riding with the ministers and the young ladies."

Again, a few days later:

"I am completely on one side, while I appear to be quite busy in
putting in an oar now and then."

To his daughter, on her eighteenth birth-day, he writes:

"BOSTON, May 23, 1835.

"MY DEAR S.: You have been much in my mind to-day, and now that I
am sitting alone this evening, I place myself at your
writing-desk to communicate with you, and thus impart some
portion of those feelings of interest and affection which a
return of this day brings more strongly into play. Eighteen years
of your life are now passed, and the events of this period have
been deeply interesting to me, and have made such impressions on
you, and have left such marks of progress, I hope, in the divine
life, as will insure your onward and upward course, until you
shall join that dear one whose home has been in heaven for nearly
the whole period of your life. When I look upon you, or think of
your appearance, the image of your mother is before me, and then
I feel that deep solicitude that your mind and heart may be
imbued with those heavenly influences that gave a grace and charm
to all she did.

"There is no substitute for those traits, and you may feel entire
confidence that a practical use of them in prosperity will prove
the best security against the changes which adversity brings
about. If I were to select for you the richest portion which a
fond father could choose, it would be that you might have a mind
and a heart to perform all those duties which your station and
condition in life require, upon the true Christian principle of
using your one or more talents, and thus, at the day of account,
receive the cheering sound of the Master's voice.

"What treasure will compare with this? The charms of life are
captivating to the imagination, but there are none more
calculated to add to our joys here than elevated Christian
principles, however they may be branded by the mere worldling as
'cold, unsocial,' and the like. You see how important it is to
form a just estimate of the value of these different objects.
When a mistake is made here, the consequences may be
never-ending. Our danger is in cheating ourselves, by leaving
undone those things our conscience tells us we ought to do, and
doing others that it tells us we ought not to do.

"I have thought, for some time past, my dear child, that your
mind was laboring under the influence of religious truth, and I
have been made most comfortable in this belief. "Cultivate those
feelings, and study to make your example good to others, as well
as safe for yourself. Our time here is short, but it is long
enough to accomplish the work we are sent to perform, and the
consequences will be on our own heads if we omit or neglect to do
it."

(TO THE SAME.)

"GROTON, August 9, 1835.

"DEAR S.: I have been talking with your grandmother, for the last
hour, upon the events of her early days, and I feel (as I always
do when I contrast our present condition with the past) that we,
as a whole people, and as individuals, have more reasons for
gratitude and obedience to our heavenly Father than have ever
before been placed before any people; and it seems to me we are
more likely to disregard them than any other people I have any
knowledge of. The fact is, we are so prosperous that we seem to
forget the source of our prosperity, and take it as a matter of
course that the character and conduct of a people cannot
influence their condition. We are ready to say of an individual
when he has been reckless and extravagant, that he has brought
destruction on himself. Why, then, may not a whole people be
judged by the same standard? Our great danger arises from false
principles. We never act above the standard we adopt; and if our
standard be so low as to authorize the gratification of the
basest passions, how natural that our tastes become conformed to
this standard!

"These reflections arose in my mind by hearing from my mother the
stories of the 'times that tried men's souls;' how she was
separated from her husband immediately after her marriage, when
he joined the army in Rhode Island; how, after a battle, his
mother said to her 'she did not know but Sam was killed;' how she
fell instantly upon the floor, and how, within a day or two,
after a separation of eight months, she was rejoiced to see her
husband safe and sound (although at the time alluded to he had
been in great peril, having been saved from captivity by the
desperate efforts of a company of blacks, and by the fleetness
and force of his fine charger); and how, by confidence in the
justness of the cause and the aid of the Almighty, they trusted
they should get through the contest, and be permitted to enjoy
the fruits of their own labor in their own way. And now, what
proportion of the people do you suppose refer to the aid of the
Almighty, or to his justice or judgment as a motive to their
actions, or how far does his fear or his love influence their
conduct? These questions are more easily asked than answered; but
they fill the mind with mournful forebodings of the necessary
consequences to any people of forgetting God and departing from
his love. You and I, and every individual, have it in our power
to keep off in some degree this fatal consummation. Let us,
therefore, examine well ourselves, and strive to be numbered
among those faithful stewards who, at their Master's coming,
shall be placed among the happy company who enter the joy of
their Lord.

"This morning is one of those delightful quiet Sabbaths that seem
to be like the rest of the saints above. We are all soon to be on
our way to public worship. * * * *

(TO HIS MOTHER.)

"Aug. 16, 1835.

"MY DEAR AND HONORED MOTHER: My mind turns back to you almost as
frequently as its powers are brought into separate action, and
always with an interest that animates and quickens my pulse; for,
under God, it is by your good influence and teachings that I am
prepared to enjoy those blessings which he has so richly
scattered in my path in all my onward progress in life. How could
it be otherwise than that your image should be with me, unless I
should prove wholly unworthy of you? Your journey is so much of
it performed, that those objects which interested you greatly in
its early stages have lost their charms; and well it is that they
have; for they now would prove _clogs_ in the way and it is to
your children, to your Saviour, and your God, that your mind and
heart now turn as the natural sources of pleasure. Each of these,
I trust, in their proper place and degree, supply all your wants.
The cheering promise that has encouraged you when your powers
were the highest, will not fail you when the weight of years and
infirmities have made it more necessary to your comfort to get
over the few remaining spans of the journey. To God I commend
you; and pray him to make the path light, and your way confiding
and joyful, until you shall reach that home prepared for the
faithful."

In a letter to his sister, dated Oct. 25, he further alludes to his mother, as follows

"My thoughts this morning have been much engaged with my early
home. I conclude it best to embody them in part, and send them
forward to add (if they may) a token of gratitude and
thankfulness to that dear one who is left to us, for her care of
our early days, and her Christian instruction and example to her
children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren; each generation
of whom, I trust, will be made better in some of its members by
her. It is more natural, when in our weakness and want, to turn
our thoughts to those whom they have been accustomed to look to
for assistance; and thus to me the impression of the blessing I
enjoy in having such a home as mine is, and the blessing I early
enjoyed of having such a home as mine was under my father's roof,
say to my heart: 'All these increase thy responsibilities, and
for their use thou must account.' I have had one of my slight ill
turns within the last two days, that has brought back all these
feelings with increased force; and I look upon these as gentle
monitors, calculated to make me estimate more fully my blessings
and my duties. Frequently as I am admonished of the frail tenure
by which I hold my life, I am negligent and careless in the
performance of those high and every-day duties which I should
never lose sight of for an hour. I have also such buoyancy of
spirits, that life seems to me a very, very great blessing, and I
do at times strive to make it useful to those around me."