"DEAR S.: The admonition of the last week comes home to me in a way not to be neglected, and I hope to keep in mind that, in my best days, I am as likely to be called off, as in these days of anxious care, when pressed down with pain and weakness, and surrounded by those dear ones who look upon every emotion with deep solicitude. On comparing myself now with myself a year ago, I have much to animate and cheer in the increased strength of body and renewed powers, by which I can enjoy life; but I have also much to speak to the heart, and to tell me to be constantly ready to be called off without previous note of preparation. May I never lose sight, for a single hour, of the tenure by which I hold the privilege of seeing the dear ones settled so happily! It is more than I had reason to anticipate.
"May you, dear child, never lose sight of the end for which your privileges are made so ample, nor forego the happiness of doing the best in your power at every stage of your journey, so that whenever you may be called hence, you may feel that you are ready, and that your work is done. It will not do for me to rely upon my every-day firmness to secure me against attacks of the kind last experienced. I do most fervently desire to be kept in mind of my exposure, and never for an hour forget that it may be my last."
Several passages in Mr. Lawrence's letters will show the attachment which he felt towards the place of his birth, connected as it was with so many associations and memories of the past. The old house, with the great elm in front and its welcome shade; the green meadow, stretching for a mile along a gentle declivity to the river; the range of mountains in the west, just distant enough to afford that tinge of blue which adds an indescribable charm to every landscape; the graceful undulations of the hills on the east, with the quiet village sleeping at their base, all seemed in his mind so associated with the loved inmates of his early home, that he ever contemplated the picture with delight.
On June 4, in a letter to his sisters, he writes:
"R. leaves us this morning, on his way to the old homestead, which, to my mind's eye, has all the charms of the most lovely associations of early days, with all the real beauty of those splendid descriptions given by the prophets of the holy city. I would earnestly impress all my children with a deep sense of the beauty and benefit of cherishing and cultivating a respect and affection for this dear spot, and for those more dear objects that have served to make it what it really is to all us children."