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."

Extracts from the Diary and Correspondence of the Late Amos Lawrence; with a brief account of some incidents of his life — Part 32

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.

Extracts from the Diary and Correspondence of the Late Amos Lawrence; with a brief account of some incidents of his life — Part 32

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

Extracts from the Diary and Correspondence of the Late Amos Lawrence; with a brief account of some incidents of his life — Part 32

"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.