Extracts from the Diary and Correspondence of the Late Amos Lawrence; with a brief account of some incidents of his life — Part 101

"MY DEAR SON: The joyous event I mentioned of S.'s twins has in it sad memorials of the uncertainty of all joys, excepting those arising from the happiness of friends whose journey is ended, and whose joys are commencing. Long life does not consist in many years, but in the use of the years allowed us; so that many a man who has seen his four-score has, for all the purposes of life, not lived at all. And, again, others, who have impressed distinct marks, and have been called away before twenty-eight years have passed over them, may have lived long lives, and have been objects of grateful interest to multitudes who hardly spoke to them while living. Such has been the case with our hearts' love and desire, Susan Mason. The giving birth to those two babes, either of whom would have been her pride and delight, was more than she could recruit from. The exhaustion and faintness at the time were great, but not alarming; and the joy of our hearts for a season seemed unmixed. After three days, the alarm for her safety had taken stronger hold of her other friends than of myself; and, at the time I wrote you last, I felt strong confidence in her recovery. On Sunday evening, at seven o'clock, a great change came over her, that precluded all hope, and she was told by C. how it was. She seemed prepared for it, was clear in her mind, and, with what little strength she had, sent messages of love. 'Give love to my father, and tell him I hope we shall meet in heaven,' was her graphic and characteristic message; and then she desired C. to lead and guide her thoughts in prayer, which he continued to do for as many as six times, until within the last half-hour of her life. At three o'clock on Monday morning, the 2d instant, her pure spirit passed out of its earthly tenement to its heavenly home, where our Father has called her to be secured from the trials and pains and exposures to which she was here liable. It is a merciful Father, who knows better than we do what is for our good. What is now mysterious will be made plain at the right time; for 'He doeth all things well.' Shall we, then, my dear children, doubt him in this? Surely not. S. was ripe for heaven, and, as a good scholar, has passed on in advance of her beloved ones; but beckons us on, to be reünited, and become joint heirs with her of those treasures provided for those who are found worthy. We are now to think of her as on the other side of Jordan, before the same altar that we worship at, without any of the alloy that mixes in ours; she praising, and we praying, and all hoping an interest in the Beloved that shall make all things seem less than nothing in comparison with this. We have had the sympathy of friends; and the circumstances have brought to light new friends, that make us feel our work here is not done. I feel called two ways at once: S. beckoning me to come up; the little ones appealing to the inmost recesses of my heart to stay, and lead them, with an old grandfather's fondest, strongest, tenderest emotions, as the embodiment of my child. Her remains are placed at the head of her mother's; and those two young mothers, thus placed, will speak to their kindred with an eloquence that words cannot. I try to say, in these renewed tokens of a Father's discipline, 'Thy will be done,' and to look more carefully after my tendency to have some idol growing upon me that is inconsistent with that first place _he_ requires; and I further try to keep in mind, that, if I loved S. much, _he_ loved her more, and has provided against the changes she was exposed to under the best care I could render. Let us praise God for her long life in a few years, and profit by the example she has left. The people of her own church are deeply afflicted, and not until her death were any of us aware of the strong hold she had upon them. Some touching incidents have occurred, which are a better monument to her memory than any marble that can be reared. * * * *