After the usual family devotions, he retired at about ten o'clock, and, before his attendant left the room, asked a few questions relating to the situation of a poor family which he had relieved a day or two before. Mrs. Lawrence had been in an adjoining room, and, on returning, found him lying quietly, and apparently engaged in silent prayer. She did not, therefore, disturb him, but retired for the night without speaking. In less than two hours, she was awakened by one of his usual attacks. Remedies were applied; but, no rallying symptoms appearing, the physician and family were summoned. All that medical skill could do was in vain; and, at a quarter past twelve, on the last day of the year, he quietly breathed his last, without having awakened to consciousness after his first sleep.
All his temporal affairs seemed to have been arranged in view of this event. The partnership with his brother, which had existed for nearly forty years, was dissolved in that way which he had resolved in former years should alone terminate it. From various prudential reasons, however, he had changed his opinion, and had decided to withdraw from all business relations, and accordingly furnished the advertisement, which was to appear on the next day in the public prints, announcing his withdrawal. Four days previous, he had executed a codicil to his will; and thus seemed to have settled his concerns with the closing year. The summons did not find him unprepared; for it was such as he had long expected, and had alluded to many times in his conversation, as well as in his letters to friends. The plans of each day were made with reference to such a call. Nor can we doubt that he was, in the highest sense, prepared to exchange what he sometimes was permitted to call "the heaven on earth" for that higher heaven where so many of his most cherished objects of earthly affection had preceded him. On the morning of his death, the editor found upon his table the following lines, which had been copied by him a few days previous, and which are the more interesting from being a part of the same hymn containing the lines repeated by his wife upon her death-bed, thirty-three years before:
"Vital spark of heavenly flame,
Quit, O, quit this mortal frame!
Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying,—
O, the pain, the bliss, of dying!
Cease, fond nature,—cease the strife,
And let me languish into life.
Hark!——————"
It would almost seem that a vision of the angel-messenger had been afforded, and that the sound of his distant footsteps had fallen upon his ear; for, with the unfinished line, the pen thus abruptly stops.