Memoir of Mary L. Ware, Wife of Henry Ware, Jr. Part 1

Memoir of Mary L. Ware, Wife of Henry Ware, Jr.

by Edward B. Hall.

I.

INTRODUCTION.

The life of an unpretending Christian woman is never lost. Written or unwritten, it is and ever will be an active power among the elements that form and advance society. Yet the written life will speak to the larger number, will be wholly new to many, and to all may carry a healthy impulse. There are none who are not strengthened and blessed by the knowledge of a meek, firm, consistent character, formed by religious influences, and devoted to the highest ends. And where this character has belonged to a daughter, wife, and mother, who has been seen only in the retired domestic sphere, there may be the more reason that it be transferred to the printed page and an enduring form, because of the very modesty which adorned it, and which would never proclaim itself.

Such are our feelings in regard to the subject of the following Memoir, and such our reasons for offering it to the public. It has not been without scruple, and after an interval of years, that the family and nearest friends of Mrs. Ware have consented to the publication of facts and thoughts so private and sacred as many which must appear in a faithful transcript of her life. Perhaps this reluctance always exists, particularly in regard to a woman and a mother. In this instance it has been very strong, and it is but just that it be made known. Never was there a woman, we may believe, more retiring or peculiarly domestic than she of whom we are to speak. Never, we are sure, were the materials of a life more entirely private, and in one sense confidential, than those which we are to use; for letters are all the materials we have, and letters written in the unrestrained freedom of personal friendship, in the midst of pressing cares, and with a rapidity and unstudied naturalness, which will appear in all the extracts, but are still more manifest in the entire originals. Her correspondence was voluminous, to an extent unsurpa.s.sed perhaps in a life so quiet, with no pretence to literary character, and nothing ever written except for the eye of the receiver. How would the writer have felt, had she supposed these letters were ever to be opened to the public eye? It is a question which many ask,--some with pain, some with decided disapproval. It is a question which we have asked ourselves, and we prefer to answer it before we enter upon the work.

To answer it unfavorably, to yield to this natural reluctance to publish any thing designed to be private, and in its nature personal, would deprive us of the best biographies that are written. It would restrict to single families, and to a brief period, the knowledge of facts and features, of all most reliable, most valuable. Indeed, it is this very fact of humility and reserve, of freedom and naturalness, indulged in confidential communion and the quiet of home, that reveals most the reality of virtue, force of character, disinterested n.o.bleness, and the power of religion. Who is willing that the knowledge of such examples should be withheld from the many who crave it, and whom it would stimulate and bless? Shall we make no sacrifice of our own feelings, supposing it to require one, shall we h.o.a.rd exclusively for our own use the richest of G.o.d's gifts, when those by whom the gifts have come to us spent their lives in service and sacrifice for us? To these obvious considerations, we will add our firm faith in the knowledge which departed friends have of the motives from which we are acting, and of the influence which their own modest virtues and lowly efforts on earth may exert upon those remaining here; thus continuing, in a higher and surer way, the very work for which the loved and the pure always live, and are willing to die.

It is in point, not only for our immediate purpose, but for the exhibition in part of the character we would delineate, to say that these were the feelings of Mrs. Ware herself, in regard to a memoir of her husband. Public as a large portion of his life was, she shrunk from the exposure of that which was private, and which seemed to be sacredly committed to her own keeping. She remembered, too, his peculiar sensitiveness in this connection, and the injunctions he gave when under the influence of disease and depression. But another voice came to her from his present higher abode and larger vision; and thus she wrote to a friend, of the conflict and the decision, in language applicable now to her own case:--"I cannot tell you the agony it has given me at times, to realize that that sacred inner life, which I had felt was my own peculiar trust, was no longer mine, but was to be shared by the whole world. But this was sinful, selfish, earthly; and I have gradually left it all far behind, and can now only be glad that such a life is shown for the aid and encouragement of others."

It is our desire to give to this Memoir as much as possible of the character of an autobiography. We have few facts except those found in the letters, with the advantage of an intimate intercourse for more than twenty years. In the several hundred letters and notes that have been put into our hands, there is nothing that might not appear, so far as any one else is concerned. This fact is well worthy of note, as belonging to the character, and revealing a remarkable elevation and purity of thought,--that in such a ma.s.s of free epistolary writing, from different countries and to persons of every age, not a single severe stricture, not one unkind allusion or offensive personality, much less any approach to petty gossip, can be found. We feel the greater freedom in making copious extracts; and shall attempt little more than so to arrange and connect them as to give a fair view of the whole life, or rather of the mind and character that appear in every part of the life.

That a life so private contained such a variety of incident, and a measure of unavoidable publicity, was the ordering of Providence; and may serve to show that the sphere of woman, even the most domestic and silent, is broad enough for the most active intellect and the largest benevolence.

II.

CHILDHOOD.

Mary Lovell Pickard was an only child, her parents having but one other, who died an infant before the birth of Mary. She was born in Atkinson Street, Boston, on the 2d of October, 1798. Mark Pickard, her father, was an English merchant, who came to this country on business, and remained here. Her mother was Mary Lovell, daughter of James Lovell, and granddaughter of "Master Lovell," so long known as a cla.s.sical teacher in Boston. James Lovell, the grandfather of the subject of this Memoir, was a man of mind and influence. He had been active in the Revolutionary war, and was once made prisoner at Halifax, sharing there, it is said, the prison of Ethan Allen. Subsequently he was a prominent member of the Continental Congress, and at the adoption of the Const.i.tution received the appointment of Naval Officer in the Boston custom-house, a place which he retained until his death. A man of free and bold thought, a.s.sociating much at one time with French officers, Mr. Lovell adopted some infidel principles, became familiar and fond of Paine's arguments, and, as we are led to infer, treated religion with little respect in his family; the family in which Mary Pickard, as well as her mother, pa.s.sed her childhood and youth. James Lovell had nine children, but only one daughter, Mary, who grew up the idol of the family. At the age of twenty-five she married Mark Pickard, who was seventeen years her senior, but not her equal in intellect or energy, we infer, yet always kind and most tenderly attached to her. She was a woman of rare excellence, in whose character, as drawn by those still living who knew her well, we can see, as usual, much that accounts for the character of the daughter.

Mrs. Pickard had been educated in Boston, and well educated, having a naturally vigorous mind and strong common sense. She was a woman of self-culture, loving books and choosing the best, conversing with marked propriety as well as ease, and exhibiting decided energy and generosity of character. In person, she is described as remarkable; of so commanding figure, benignant countenance, and dignified demeanor, as to draw general observation in public, and suggest the thought once expressed by a gentleman of intelligence,--"She seems to me as if she were born for an empress." Yet her empire was only the home, and her life peculiarly domestic; with enough of discipline and change to prove her fort.i.tude, but never to damp her cheerfulness. She was a Christian.

In early life, perhaps from causes already referred to, her mind had been disturbed, and apparently doubts raised, though never fixed, by sceptical writers and so-called philosophical reasoners,--more common in good society then than now, and more bold and insidious, notwithstanding our complaints of present degeneracy. A gentleman to whom Mrs. Pickard had once communicated her difficulties, and who was less a believer than she, spoke of her the day after her death, in reference to that conflict, as "one of strong mind, who took nothing upon trust" even at that early age when she approached him with "obstinate questionings."

Whatever the effect upon his faith, her own was strengthened by all inquiry and experience. She was a member of the Episcopal Church, though apparently less a devotee to its ritual than Mr. Pickard. Not sect, but piety, was the source of her power and peace. "In religion," says one most intimate, "she was unostentatious and charitable, but decided and sincere; and her whole life was an exhibition of the ascendancy of principle over mere taste and feeling."

Such was the mother, who was the constant companion and instructor of an only daughter, through the whole of childhood; for Mary never attended school, that we can find, until she was nearly thirteen years old. But in that best of schools for the very young, an intelligent and quiet home, she was well instructed in the common branches, in habits of order, refinement, and frugality, in principles of undeviating truth and integrity, and in that most essential of all accomplishments for a girl, whether in ordinary or exalted station, the use of the needle. Her mother also taught her to sing, being herself pa.s.sionately fond of music, with one of the sweetest voices, and, though not a great performer, enough so to impart a love of it to her child which always continued, a.s.sociated with holy recollections. "Often," says one, "at early evening, just before going to rest, have I seen the little girl upon her mother's lap, and have heard her singing her evening hymn:--

'Teach me to live, that I may dread The grave as little as my bed'; &c."

In January, 1802, Mr. Pickard was called to England on business, and took with him his wife and the little Mary, then but three years old.

They remained there a year and a half, visiting both his and her relatives, in different parts of the kingdom; Mrs. Pickard being connected, on her mother's side, with Alexander Middleton, a Scotch farmer, in whose family Ferguson, the astronomer, lived as a shepherd boy, and of whom, with his wife and three children, there are still existing likenesses drawn in pencil by that lad, so celebrated as a man.

Among such friends, and in such new scenes, we can believe a deep impression would be taken by an observing, thoughtful child, though at an age when it is considered of little consequence what a child sees or hears. Mary never forgot the enjoyment or the instruction of that visit.

When she was again in England, twenty years later, she wrote her friends here that she was surprised to find herself recognizing her old home in Guildford Street, London, and other objects with which she was then familiar. And years afterwards, when her own children came round her with the never-satisfied request, "Mother, do tell us about when you were a little girl," the standing favorites were incidents which occurred either in England or on the voyage home, and particularly the following. During the voyage, her fifth birthday came round, and the captain promised her baked potatoes for her dinner, but, as the cook burnt them, threatened to give him the "cat-o'nine-tails"; when poor little Mary, not taking the joke, burst into tears, and begged him "not to hurt the kind, good sailor, who didn't mean to burn the potatoes."

A lady who came as pa.s.senger in the same vessel, has told us of the peculiar sweetness of little Mary, and the universal interest and love inspired by her in the ship's company. And this from no outward attractions, or efforts to commend herself, but by the simple power of goodness, and her ever-prompt obedience. If inclined to go anywhere, or do any thing, not approved by her mother, it was always enough to say,--"It will make me unhappy, my child, if you do that."

A few extracts which we are permitted to make from letters that pa.s.sed, during this absence abroad, between Mrs. Pickard and her parents, will help to show the respect and affection which the daughter inspired, as well as the interest felt in the little granddaughter.

Under date of January 10, 1802, James Lovell writes from Boston to his daughter in England:--

"I constantly recur to the joyful consideration, that you, though absent, are still left to me, an amiable object, within the reach of hope, and a source of expected comfort for my last days. I think of you, at this moment, as safely arrived with your most worthy husband, and my _None-such_, in health, and happy among your friends. My engagements in office, especially since General Lincoln has been confined by sickness at Hingham, have occupied me very much. Though it is evening, little d.i.c.key is bristling up and attempting to sing, that I may not forget to tell my dear little _Molly Pitty_ how constantly he looks for her in the morning, at the rattling of the tongs and fender. Kiss the dear child for me.

"JAMES LOVELL,--need I add, your affectionate father?"

In February, 1803, Mrs. Pickard writes home to her mother:--

"Your pickles and berries came in good order, and were very acceptable, particularly to my darling Mary. She often thanks you for them, and is now writing to you, and interrupts me every minute to hear her read her letter. My father must not laugh, and say I call my goose a swan; every one allows she is a charming child. You will not be able to deny her a large portion of your love, though you have so many lovely ones with you. She has been an inexhaustible source of comfort to me since I left you; and, as if she knew it would please us all, most of her conversation is of home and the friends she left there. She has a sad cold, but she says she is always happy.

Farewell, dear mother. G.o.d bless you all."

March, 1803. From the same:--

"We are still in Guildford Street, but think of going into the country, where Mary may have more field for exercise. She is pretty well, but wants a little country air. I wish you knew all her little chat about you, so pleasing to hear, but so foolish to write. She is very tall and lively.... Mr. P. is even more anxious than I to go home. Mary is the only contented one. She is happy all the time. She has a very sweet disposition, and I hope will one day be as great a comfort to you as she is to me. She is telling me a thousand little affectionate things to say to you."

In the fall of this year the family returned to Boston, and lived with Mrs. Lovell in Pearl Street; and there, with parents and grandparents, Mary found a home, whose blessing filled her heart, and never left her to the day of her death. The home of her childhood,--how reverently and tenderly did she revert to it, through all the scenes of a changing and eventful life! Often has she said, that she was continually carried back, not only in her waking, but her sleeping hours, "to the old Pearl Street house and garden; a.s.sembling the various friends of all the different periods of her life, in dream-like incongruity, in the little parlor, with its black-oak wainscoting." There also were formed some of those first friendships, which do not cease with childhood, but affect the happiness of a lifetime. The other half of the block in which they lived was occupied by Colonel T. H. Perkins, and with his children, of whom some were near her own age, she grew up in terms of daily intimacy.

In the part.i.tion between the two houses there were doors which were entirely closed, except their keyholes; and through these, Mary and her favorite companion used to sing to each other "all the songs we could muster," and exchange notes and experiences, the pleasure enhanced, no doubt, by the excitement of the little mystery occasioned by so peculiar a mode of communication.

So far as our scanty materials of this period enable us to judge, we infer that in the training of this favorite child there was a singularly wise union of control and indulgence. Mrs. Pickard seems not to have been one of the parents who think control and indulgence incompatible; nor does it appear that Mary was inclined to refuse the one, or abuse the other. The true training, we suppose,--if there be any rule for all,--is that which allows to children all the freedom and enjoyment consistent with deference to authority, refined manners, and fixed principles of truth, gentleness, and unselfishness. That these principles may be inculcated without sternness or perpetual restraint, indeed with a large allowance for the necessary activity and often irrepressible exuberance of childhood's spirit, few can doubt, though so many deny or forget it in practice. From the views which Mrs. Ware herself always expressed on this subject, and the reverence and grat.i.tude with which she adverted to her own childhood, we are confirmed in the impression, that such was her uniform experience at home, and with the happiest effect. "It has been said," writes a friend of her mother, "that she was much indulged; and I believe it may be said so with truth. But she was not indulged in idleness, selfishness, and rudeness; she was indulged in healthful sports, in abundance of playthings, in pleasant excursions, and in companionship with other children, as much as might be convenient. I never knew her to be teasing and importunate, obstinate or contradictory." Nor is this to be ascribed, as many will be ready to ascribe it, to natural temperament and a peculiar exemption from ordinary temptations and trials. Of few persons, perhaps, would this be more generally inferred or confidently a.s.serted, from a knowledge merely of her subsequent character. It is on this account that we refer to it particularly, and for this not least that we value the example. For we know it was _not_ a case of peculiar exemption and easy control, but rather a remarkable instance of early conflict, the power of principle, and perpetual self-discipline. This we gather from occasional hints in conversation, and from letters to her own children, some of which will appear in their proper place. At present, we only adduce, for the right understanding both of this and later periods of her life, one or two short pa.s.sages, like the following, from a letter to a daughter. "The tendency to self-indulgence was also one of my trials, in early life, when I grew rapidly and had poor health." "My trials of temper were different from yours, but they were very great." "What a comfort it is, that, although those who see only the outside can never compute _what is resisted_, all our struggles are known and appreciated by Him who looketh on the heart as it is; and that He who alone can give us strength is thus enabled to know when and how it is needed."

To this brief sketch of her childhood we venture to add an extract from a letter just written us, by a gentleman than whom no one living, probably, was more intimate with Mary and her home, at that early period. After a warm tribute to the character of the mother, confirming all we have said of her, he speaks thus of the daughter:--

"When I first remember her, it is as a gentle, loving, active child, always doing some little useful thing, and the darling of her parents' hearts. When her character first shone on me in its higher attributes, I do not know. But I seem to myself to remember, that there never was a time when I could have supposed it possible that she would do any thing that was not exactly right; when I had not perfect confidence in her tact and judgment to discern duty, and the prompt and unhesitating determination to do it, as _the only thing to be done_."

III.

MENTAL AND MORAL CULTURE.

Remaining in Boston, with little change, until she was thirteen years of age, Mary Pickard was then taken by her parents to Hingham, Ma.s.sachusetts, to be under the care of the Misses Cushing, whose school for girls enjoyed at that time, and as long as it continued, a very high reputation. Her instructors there, who still live, seem to have regarded her as a friend and companion, rather than a child and pupil; and the fresh recollections and tender love with which they always speak of her, and delight to dwell upon her early and mature character, give us an impression of more than common excellence. This will best be shown by an extract from a letter written since her death to one of her children.

"Your dear mother came to us first in June, 1811; a sweet, interesting girl, thirteen years old, tall for that age, and with the same sweet expression of countenance she ever retained; remarkable even then for her disinterestedness and forgetfulness of self, and her power of gaining the love of all around her. She went home in November of the same year, and returned to us again in 1814.... She was with us but little more than one year in the whole, and in that short period endeared herself to us in a remarkable manner. For with the love which we could not but feel for her was mingled a respect and admiration for her high principles, and the piety which shone through all her conduct, in a degree very uncommon for a girl of her age. As a scholar she was exceedingly bright, and quick to comprehend, and would, I always thought, have made an excellent mathematical scholar, had she pursued the study of that branch. Her capacity for accomplishing a great deal in a short time was always remarkable, and I believe she never undertook any thing that she thought worth her attention, that she did not go through to the satisfaction of others, if not of herself. Her chief object, even when a young girl, seemed to be to do good, in some way or other, to her fellow-beings, and she considered nothing too difficult for her to undertake, if it could benefit another person either in a temporal or moral view. You have had sufficient evidence of this, since you have been old enough to judge for yourself, and I can only tell you that it seemed to be, at an early period of her life, a living principle with her. Yet, with all this devotedness to the highest objects and purposes of our existence, she was one of the most lively and playful girls among her companions, and a very great favorite with them all."

Mary had been but five or six months in the school at Hingham, when she was called back to Boston by the threatening illness of her mother, who continued feeble through the winter, and died in the month of May following. That winter must have been one of peculiar experience to Mary. It was her first great trial. She loved her mother, not only as every true child must, but with a reverence and affection heightened by the unusual circ.u.mstance of having been always the pupil of that mother alone, regarded as a companion also, and called now to the tender offices of a nurse, at an age when most children can ill bear confinement and devotion to the sick. Mary was never happier than when thus occupied, as her whole life has shown. To her it was no task, but a grateful privilege, to spend all her time at the side of a revered and departing mother. For six months was she allowed to give herself to this blessed ministry; and when it closed, she was left, a girl of thirteen, the sole comfort and chief companion of her father, now past the prime of life, broken in spirits and in fortune, clinging to this only child with doating and dependent affection. She now became an important member of the family in Pearl Street, with her desolate father, and her venerable grandparents, who were still living, depending themselves more upon her for their comfort than upon the only son that remained with them, a young man whose fine talents and affectionate disposition were perverted and ruined by sad habits. These were circ.u.mstances to call out all her energy, and make full proof of her judgment and gentleness. Mr.

Pickard had for some time been embarra.s.sed in business, and, from a state of easy competence, was then and afterwards reduced to the necessity of the strictest economy. Of his daughter's essential service to him in this respect, we have frequent intimations in his own letters; and not only by her prudent management, but also by her generous and active aid, as will be seen still more a few years later. For her father survived her mother eleven years, and during the whole of that period, though not always together, Mary was his efficient helper, and his devoted nurse in sickness, of which he had a large share.

For two years after her mother's death, she remained wholly in Boston, enjoying part of the time a new privilege, which she greatly prized,--admission to the best school for young ladies then in New England, or the country,--Dr. Park's. That she would improve such an opportunity to the best of her ability, we need not say. Of her proficiency as a scholar, there are no particular proofs. She was never a prodigy, but she never slighted opportunity or duty. She appeared always well, distinguished at least for faithful preparation and uniform accuracy. And especially was she distinguished for moral excellence. She was the friend and favorite of all. If petty difficulties occurred, Mary Pickard was the peacemaker. Her impartiality, amiableness, kindness to all, and perfect truthfulness, endeared her to the teacher and all the pupils; from several of whom we have had the testimony, that no one ever exerted a better influence upon any school.

The earliest letters we have from Mary were written in 1813, the year after her mother's death, and about the time of her first going to school in Boston. They are the letters of a school-girl, but not of a child. While there is in them no indication of remarkable powers, to which she did not pretend, nor her friends for her, they show a habit of reflection and power of discrimination, with a choice of topics not usual at that age. A few pa.s.sages may be given, very simple and juvenile, but indicative of character.

"_Boston, February 27, 1813._

"MY DEAR N----:

"I am determined another day shall not pa.s.s before I answer your letter. I think it is the best way, when we receive a letter, to sit down immediately and answer it; at least I find it so, though I do not always practise it.... We talk so much when we meet, that there is little left to write, and I am now at a loss what to say. The folly of the fashionable world is an old story, and if not, is too _vast_ a subject for our limited views of it. Of our school plan we have said much, but we can say more. I had no idea that such insignificant beings as we are, in comparison, could ever afford matter for so much conversation as there has been on this subject. Although opinions could not alter the case, yet it is certainly very satisfactory to know that our doings are approved by those whose good opinion we value. I look forward with much pleasure to the day on which we shall commence our studies. We shall feel very awkward at first, but it will soon be over, and then we must endeavor to keep ourselves exempt from the condemnation that falls on the whole school for the faults of two or three....

"I am reading 'Temper,' and like it much better than I expected to, having heard nothing in its favor, and, besides that, being _prejudiced_ against it. I have condemned prejudice in others, but never felt the effects of it before; I dislike it now more than ever,--it is certainly a most unreasonable thing. I like some of the characters very much, and it is not as yet very tedious, but contains many good lessons. I find many that I can apply to myself, and (as usual) some to other people. It cannot, however, be compared to 'The Absentee' or 'Vivian.'

Novels are generally said to be improper books for young people, as they take up the time which ought to be employed in more useful pursuits; which is certainly very true; but as a recreation to the mind, such books as these cannot possibly do any hurt, as they are good moral lessons. Indeed, I think there is scarcely any book from which some good may not be derived; though it cannot be expected that any young person has judgment enough to leave all the bad and take only the good, when there is a great proportion of the former. I know we are too young to hold up an opinion of our own, independent of the superior judgment of those older, and this I would not do. I have collected mine from observation, and, if it is not right, would thank any one to correct it; nor would I offer it at all to any one but you, or those of my own age."