Chapter VIII

DOMESTIC HABITS.--ILLNESS AND DEATH OF WIFE.

In searching for records of the business at this period, the first copied letters are found in a volume commencing with the date of March 10, 1815; since which period the correspondence, contained in many volumes, is complete. On the first page of this volume is a letter from the senior partner somewhat characteristic. It relates to a bill of exchange for two thousand rupees, which he knew was a doubtful one, but which he had taken to relieve the pressing necessities of a young Englishwoman from Calcutta, with a worthless husband. He writes to his friends in that city:

"We have been so particular as to send a clerk to her with the
money, that we might be sure of her receiving it. Previous to her
receiving the money from us, we were told her children were
ragged, barefooted, and hungry; afterwards we knew they were kept
comfortably clad."

In tracing the course of business as revealed by the perusal of the correspondence, it is evident that Mr. Lawrence's time and attention must have been engrossed by the increasing importance and magnitude of the mercantile operations of his firm. The cares and perplexities of the day did not, however, unfit him for the quiet enjoyments of domestic life; and, however great and urgent were the calls upon his time and his thoughts from abroad, home, with its endearments, occupied the first place in his affections. So much did its interests transcend all others in his feelings, that he speaks in after life of having "watched night and day without leaving, for a fortnight," a sick child; and then being rewarded for his care by having it restored to him after the diligent application of remedies, when the physician and friends had given up all hope of recovery.

With such affections and sources of happiness, connected with prosperity in his affairs, it may well be supposed that the current of life flowed smoothly on. His evenings were passed at home; and urgent must have been the call which could draw him from his fireside, where the social chat or friendly book banished the cares of the day.

A gentleman, now a prominent merchant in New York, who was a clerk with Mr. Lawrence at this time, says of him:

"When the business season was over, he would sit down with me,
and converse freely and familiarly, and would have something
interesting and useful to say. I used to enjoy these sittings;
and, while I always feared to do anything, or leave anything
undone, which would displease him, I at the same time had a very
high regard, and I may say love, for him, such as I never felt
for any other man beside my own father. He had a remarkable
faculty of bringing the sterling money into our currency, with
any advance, by a calculation in his mind, and would give the
result with great accuracy in one quarter of the time which it
took me to do it by figures. I used to try hard to acquire this
faculty, but could not, and never saw any other person who
possessed it to the degree he did. His mind was remarkably
vigorous and accurate; and consequently his business was
transacted in a prompt and correct manner. Nothing was left
undone until to-morrow which could be done to-day. He was master
of and controlled his business, instead of allowing his business
to master and control him. When I took charge of the books, they
were kept by single entry; and Mr. Lawrence daily examined every
entry to detect errors. He was dissatisfied with this loose way
of keeping the books; and, at his request, I studied book-keeping
by double entry with Mr. Gershom Cobb, who had just introduced
the new and shorter method of double entry. I then transferred
the accounts into a new set of books on this plan, and well
remember his anxiety during the process, and his expression of
delight when the work was completed, and I had succeeded in
making the first trial-balance come out right. This was the first
set of books opened in Boston on the new system. While Mr.
Lawrence required all to fulfil their engagements fully and
promptly, so long as they were able to do so, he was lenient to
those who were unfortunate, and always ready to compromise
demands against such. No case occurred, while I was with him,
which I thought he dealt harshly with a debtor who had failed in
business."

The year 1818 opened with cheering prospects; but a cloud was gathering which was destined to cast a shadow over all these pleasant hopes. During the spring, Mrs. Lawrence was troubled with a cough, which became so obstinate at the beginning of the summer, that she was persuaded to remain at Groton for a short period, in order to try the benefit of country air. Mr. Lawrence writes to her, July 16:

"I am forcibly reminded of the blessings of wife, children, and
friends, by the privation of wife and children; and, when at
home, I really feel homesick and lonesome. Here I am, in two
great rooms, almost alone; so you must prepare at a minute's
notice to follow your husband."

She remained in the country for several weeks, and was summoned suddenly home by the alarming illness of her husband; the result of which, for a time, seemed very doubtful. After a season of intense anxiety and unremitted watchings at his bedside, Mrs. Lawrence was seized during the night with a hemorrhage from the lungs. This symptom, which so much alarmed her friends, was hailed by herself with joy, as she now had no wish to outlive her husband, whose life she had despaired of. Mr. Lawrence's recovery was slow; and, as soon as it was deemed prudent, he was sent to Groton to recruit his strength. He writes, under date of November 5, 1818:

"DEAREST SARAH: We have heard of the fire on Tuesday evening, and
hope the alarm has not impaired your health. I enjoy myself here
as much as it is possible for any one to do under like
circumstances: The idea of leaving the objects most dear to me, a
wife and child sick, is too great a drawback upon my happiness to
allow me as much quiet as is desirable. Yet I have great reason
for thankfulness that I am at this time able to enjoy the society
of friends, and that you are so comfortable as to give good
reason to hope that the next season will restore to you a
tolerable share of health."

Mrs. Lawrence writes, in reply to his letter:

"I have just received yours, and feel better to hear that you are
so well. I hope that you will leave no means unimproved to regain
health. Do not allow unreasonable fears on my account. I am as
well as I was the week past; but we are uneasy mortals, and I do
not improve as I could wish. You know me: therefore make all
allowances. It is a cloudy day."

It soon became evident to all that the disease under which Mrs. Lawrence labored was a settled consumption, and that there could be little hope of recovery. To her mother Mr. Lawrence writes, Dec. 7:

"Since I last wrote to you, there has been no material change in
Sarah's situation. She suffers less pain, and has more cheerful
spirits than when you were here. She is very well apprised of her
situation, and complains that those who are admitted to see her
look so sorrowful, that it has a painful effect upon her
feelings. She is desirous of being kept cheerful and happy; and,
as far as I am capable of making her so, I do it. Yet I am a poor
hand to attempt doing, with my feeble health, what is so foreign
to my feelings. Although she is much more comfortable than she
was, I cannot flatter myself that she is any better. She still
retains a faint hope that she may be so; yet it is but a faint
one. It takes much from my distress to see her so calm, and so
resigned to the will of the Almighty. Although her attachments to
life are as strong and as numerous as are the attachments of
most, I believe the principle of resignation is stronger. She is
a genuine disciple of Christ; and, if my children walk in her
steps, they will all be gathered among the blest, and sing the
song of the redeemed. Should it be the will of God that we be
separated for a season, there is an animation in the hope that we
shall meet again, purified from the grossness of the flesh, and
never to be parted. 'God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb.' I
shall have, therefore, no more put upon me than I am able to
bear; yet I know not how to bring my mind to part with so
excellent a friend, and so good a counsellor."

On Jan. 13, 1819, he writes:

"Sarah has continued to sink since you left, and is now
apparently very easy, and very near the termination of her
earthly career. She may continue two or three days; but the
prospect is, that she will not open her eyes upon another
morning. She suffers nothing, and it is, therefore, no trial to
our feelings, compared with what it would be did she suffer. Her
mind is a little clouded at times, but, in the main, quite clear.
We shall give you early information of the event which blasts our
dearest earthly hopes. _But God reigns: let us rejoice._"

A few hours before her death, she called for a paper (now in possession of the writer), and, with a pencil, traced, in a trembling hand, some directions respecting small memorials to friends, and then added:

"Feeling that I must soon depart from this, I trust, to a better
world, I resign very dear friends to God, who has done so much
for me. I am in ecstacies of love. How can I praise him enough!
To my friends I give these tokens of remembrance."

On the 14th of January, 1819, Mr. Lawrence closed the eyes of this most beloved of all his earthly objects, and immediately relapsed into a state of melancholy and gloom, which was, no doubt, greatly promoted by the peculiar state of health and physical debility under which he had labored since his last illness.

A valued friend writes, a few days after the death of Mrs. L.:

"It was my privilege to witness the closing scene; to behold
faith triumphing over sense, and raising the soul above this
world of shadows. It was a spectacle to convince the sceptic, and
to animate and confirm the Christian. About a week before her
death, her increasing weakness taught her the fallacy of all hope
of recovery. From this time, it was the business of every moment
to prepare herself and her friends for the change which awaited
her. Serene, and even cheerful, she could look forward without
apprehension into the dark valley, and beyond it she beheld those
bright regions where she should meet her Saviour, through whose
mediation she had the blessed assurance that her sins were
pardoned, and her inheritance secure. God permitted a cloud to
obscure the bright prospect; it was but for a moment, and the sun
broke forth with redoubled splendor. On the last night of her
life, she appeared to suffer extremely, though, when asked, she
constantly replied in the negative. She repeated, in a feeble
voice, detached portions of hymns of which she had been fond.
Towards morning, as she appeared nearly insensible, Mrs. R. was
persuaded to lie down and rest. Shortly after, Sarah roused
herself, and said to L., 'I am going; call my mother.' Mrs. R.
was at her bedside immediately, and asked her if she was sensible
that she was leaving the world. She answered 'Yes,' and expressed
her resignation.

"Mrs. R. then repeated a few lines of Pope's Dying Christian, and
the expiring saint, in broken accents, followed her. On her
mother's saying 'the world recedes,' she added, 'It
disappears,--heaven opens.' These were the last words I heard her
utter. She then became insensible, and in about ten minutes
expired. Not a sound interrupted the sacred silence; the tear of
affection was shed, but no lamentation was heard. The eye of
affection dwelt on the faded form, but faith pointed to those
regions where the blessed spirit was admitted to those joys which
eye has not seen, nor ear heard, neither hath it entered into the
heart of man to conceive. Mr. L. is wonderfully supported. He
feels as a man and a Christian."

Upon this letter Mr. Lawrence has endorsed the following memorandum:

"I saw this letter to-day for the first time. My son-in-law
handed to me yesterday a number of memorials of my beloved
daughter, who was called home on the second day of December
last, when only a few months younger than her mother, whose death
is so beautifully described within. The description brought the
scene back to my mind with a force that unmanned me for a time,
and leads me to pray most earnestly and humbly that I may be
found worthy to join them through the beloved, when my summons
comes.

A. L.
"February 5th, 1845."