Memoir of Mary L. Ware, Wife of Henry Ware, Jr. Part 10

From the same:--

_November, 1825._ "Since I last wrote you, my dear Emma, I have had various accounts from our incomparable Mary. I feel much anxiety on her account, for which I have been frequently reproved by her, whose higher feelings and better regulated judgment give her such wonderful advantage over me, and so constantly produce in her the tranquil security of inward peace. She is so excellent, and so truly set in the midst of difficulties, that it sometimes appears to me as if she had been graciously lent to us for our guide to that heaven which we _all_ pretend to seek. When she wrote, she was perfectly well; but though our friends went for her, she would not leave for several days, lest she should take the disease with her to Penrith. I dare not say I wish she were removed, for all is a.s.suredly for the best, however it may appear to our imperfect minds. I feel confident she is the peculiar care of the G.o.d she loves and serves; but when she gets to Penrith, I know I shall be almost too happy. Her mind has taken such complete possession of my affections, that I appear to myself a new creature; I have totally changed since I became actually acquainted with her.... Our correspondence will not drop here, I hope; and I may at some future period give you a faint idea of the interest she has excited for every thing that lives and breathes her atmosphere."

From the letters written in America at this time, to Mary or her friends in England, many touching pa.s.sages might be borrowed. How much is conveyed in a single fact communicated to her, at the moment of the greatest anxiety! "With all their desire for your return, n.o.body murmurs; every body says it is much better for you to stay. And Mrs.

Barnard says, when she expressed her sorrow about it to Dr. Channing, he gave her for the only time in his life almost an angry look!" The writer of this pa.s.sage, when at last a.s.sured of Mary's perfect safety after all her labors and perils, sent her such a full, hearty outpouring of joy and love, that we must be pardoned for citing a part of it, as showing the depth of the interest she awakened and the affection she secured.

"MY DEAREST _LIVE_ MARY!--

"The pleasure and grat.i.tude I feel in the confidence I now have that I am writing to an inhabitant of this world, you can scarcely imagine. The dread I felt about your fate weighed upon me so heavily, in spite of all the reasoning and hope about which I sedulously employed myself, that it was a great effort to write; and I fear our letters of late have not served to animate you. I shall not enter upon the long history of my anxiety, which was inwardly greater than any body's, I believe, because I knew more about it. I will only tell you, that a question about you was sure to damp the best spirits I could be in; and if people I visited undertook to talk about you, it was a signal for my call to terminate. At one time, I determined not to go to town till I heard from you, but was induced to alter my plans, and did go and pa.s.s a month, doing all I could to be at ease, and acting just as if I knew you were _safe_;--how you want to scold me for using that word! as if you could be any thing but safe in the hands of your G.o.d, and when you were serving him to the utmost of your power.... On Monday night, the 13th of this month, M----, E---- B----, and I found our way to Milton Hill in the 'evening coach.' The next day, that most valued of couriers, the milkman, brought us a bundle from Pearl Street; two letters fell out on opening it,--one from Exeter, the other from the Sandwich Isles,--a long one from B----, which I employed all the daylight in reading. Would you believe me so insatiable, when one such blessing as hearing from that distant spot of earth had been allowed? I was not yet satisfied, although we had left town but the day before; presentiment drove me to the pile of clean clothes on the floor, when my hand made its way through the chaos to a letter! Mother says it was the sense of feeling that discovered it to be yours, for the room was quite dark. I needed but half a glimmer of fire-light to show me the characters I had so longed and prayed to see once more. I screeched, 'Mary Pickard!' and flew to the kitchen fire to a.s.sure myself still farther; and never, dearest Mary, did I feel a warmer flood of joy and grat.i.tude than when 'Penrith, 8th December,' convinced me you were alive and well, and in just the hands you ought to be! And when I came to know, too, that my fears had not been unfounded, that you had so narrowly escaped, had pa.s.sed through such trying scenes, and done more, much more, than almost any body ever did before, I was too happy! Though you don't tell me so, I know under such circ.u.mstances what efforts you made. But you have earned the privilege of being an instrument, in the hands of the All-powerful, of good to every human being you come in contact with. And when I knew this, why did I feel so forlornly whenever I thought of you in that remote place, alone, and exposed to fatigue and illness? If it had been you, how much higher views would you have taken!

"EMMA."

So ended the visit to England. How unlike most visits there! It is not often that two years are spent abroad chiefly in confinement with the sick and devotion to the dying. We wonder not that Mary Pickard thought that such employment was her "destiny." More appropriate does the word seem than the common term, "mission"; for that expresses too much of design and consciousness to be a.s.sociated with her. She projected no large plans, or distant enterprises. She simply held herself ready for the work to which she might be summoned, abroad as well as at home, and with an ambition as easily satisfied at home as abroad. All her ministrations might seem to have been accidental, if any thing were accidental;--the occasions sought her, more than they were sought by her. Yet in some way or other the occasions were sure to appear, and equally sure to be used. Nor were her charities merely those of the hand, or of time and toil alone. There was benevolence, as well as diligence. No one knew, no one will ever know, the amount of her direct gifts at Osmotherly. But we know, from various sources, that they were free and large. And by no means were they restricted to her kindred.

There is reason to believe that the whole village shared her bounty; in moderate measure, of necessity, but in decided liberality. From the nature and power of the disorder, a general panic prevailed, aggravated by ignorance and superst.i.tion, and followed by improvidence and want. We have seen the statement, that a large proportion of the inhabitants either perished or became helpless and a burden. And when the sufferings of her own connections ceased, by death or recovery, Mary went out to do what she could among the diseased and dest.i.tute generally. She toiled till the alarm abated, and aimed particularly to remove from the minds and dwellings of the people those fruitful feeders, if not sources, of the calamity,--superst.i.tion and uncleanness. Is it too much to believe, that Osmotherly will always feel the blessing of that Providence which sent there the "good lady"?

It was a beautiful termination of her whole experience among that people,--whose very dialect differed so much from hers, that they could scarcely understand her words, but easily read her actions,--that, when she recovered her own strength sufficiently to take a final leave of them, the whole village came out in a body, young and old, and escorted her on her way.

VIII.

NEW RELATIONS.

Mary Pickard returned from England in the summer of 1826, and was warmly welcomed by her many friends in Boston. Her last home before going abroad had been at Miss Bent's in Washington Street, where she now went, and stayed through the fall and winter with the exception of short visits to friends in the vicinity. Thronged with visitors, and occupied with business of her own which she never left to others if she could do it herself, she had no time for large correspondence, and we find few letters for some months. But there are brief notes which show the fulness of her enjoyment and grat.i.tude, enhanced by the recollection of the trying scenes through which she had pa.s.sed, but which she rarely named and never magnified, as we are a.s.sured by some who were constantly with her. The mercies of the past, more than the trials, filled her thoughts. "My whole absence has been but a succession of mercies, for which I could not in a long life show the grat.i.tude I feel; and this the greatest of all, the safe restoration to my beloved home and blessed friends,--it is indeed overwhelming. I have been borne through afflictive trials by that Power which alone can enable us to bear them; may I also find the same strength sufficient to keep me firm and uninjured, amid the greater trial of prosperity and joy." This was said to one of her former instructors in Hingham, with whom she spent a week in November, reviving the memory of the "first awaking of the mind to high and holy thoughts and resolves."

To the trial of prosperity of which she speaks, she may have been exposed at this time, if at any. She had returned after a long absence, in which she had accomplished all that she proposed, and more than to most minds would have seemed possible. She was again in the midst of endeared and delighted friends, more free from care and solicitude for others than she had ever been before; her society sought by a larger circle of devoted and admiring acquaintance, paying her marked attention. There was every thing to gratify, and much to flatter. And she was happy, very happy,--"more lively and joyous, I think, than at any time of her life," writes an intimate friend. But she did not remain long unemployed, or live for herself. She sought other objects of interest, places and ways of laboring for those in need. She took cla.s.ses of poor children in more than one Sunday school, and visited the houses of the poor during the week; of several families in Sea Street she is said to have taken particular care through that first season, though a season crowded with engagements of friendship and society, and occupied before its close with an unexpected and absorbing interest.

The last night of the year, Mary made one of that great congregation who listened to that discourse of HENRY WARE on the "Duty of Improvement," which few who heard have forgotten, and of which one hearer has said, "No words from mortal lips ever affected me like those." We may conceive the emotions with which they were heard by her, in whose mind religious concerns were always paramount, and who already, as we have reason to believe, was compelled to feel a personal interest in the preacher. For we now approach that event which is considered the crisis of a woman's life, and which was certainly to change the whole aspect of a life that was felt to be peculiarly insulated. But we may be antic.i.p.ating. No engagement yet existed, and in the letter written after the services of the "last night" to one who was never forgotten on that occasion, there is no allusion to new events, unless in the close.

"_Boston, December 31, 1826._

"Were I by your side, dearest N----, I might be able to satisfy myself by talking; but when I think of committing to paper what I wish to say to you, I am almost discouraged, and have a great mind to give up the attempt. I do verily believe I should for once play truant, and shut up my desk, did I not fear, should I do so, that the ghost of the departing year would start up in visible form before me and p.r.o.nounce a fearful malediction upon me for my apostasy. Indeed, so wedded am I to old customs, and really superst.i.tious about the fulfilment of certain vows, that I should not dare to hope for peace or prosperity for the year to come, if I allowed myself to yield to the tempter.

"When I look back only upon the past month, I feel as if it were the work of an age to give you any idea of its interest; and when the year, nay, years, of which I wish to speak come in array before my mind's eye, it is not strange that I know not how to begin, or how to confine myself to the limits of a sheet of paper. You know, however, enough of the circ.u.mstances of the past year to understand something of the feelings which this period has brought with it. Perhaps I am inclined to exaggerate the peculiarity of the events of my life, which, after all, may have been no more exciting than every body meets with; but be that as it may, there can be no harm in magnifying the blessings. And as there is more hope of attaining a high degree of excellence, if our standard of comparison be high (even if it be beyond our reach), so I will hope that the more enlarged is our estimate of our subjects for grat.i.tude, the more deep and heartfelt will our grat.i.tude be. It does seem to me, that no being can have _more_ for which to give thanks, than I have in past and present blessings; and that no one can fall as far short as I do of the effect that should follow such a belief.

"I have been reading the letter I was writing you at this time last year, and it does make me tremble to the very soul, when I contrast my situation now with what it then was, to think how much is required of one, who has been saved from such peril, and brought back to so much good. But it is in vain to attempt to tell you what I think or feel at this hour. One idea above all the rest will rise, and this you will join me in,--that the proofs which the experience of the past year gives of the never-ceasing, all-sufficient care of G.o.d should make us look forward with perfect trust to whatever the future may bring, without a doubt that all will be well that He directs,--that our weakness will be strengthened, our fear removed, and our spirits sustained and soothed under all trials, if we will but rest in faith upon his almighty arm. I have felt this so much, that I had begun to be presumptuous, and almost thought that no possible temptation could make me doubt its sufficiency. But I dare not hope so much. I find there are temptations of which I have hitherto known nothing, and under the influence of which I may have to learn a new lesson. It is said of Bishop Sewell, who once most strangely departed from his faith, that his fall was necessary to teach him humility, and improve his character.

Perhaps it may be so with me. If I do fall, I hope it may have the same good effect.

"I have wished to-day, as I often do, that you could have an ear where mine was. Mr. Channing gave us a most useful sermon this morning upon the office of Christ, from the words, 'I am the way, the truth, and the life.' Mr. Gannett this afternoon upon the retrospect of the past,--good and solemn. And this eve, notwithstanding the violence of the snow-storm, Mr. Ware's house has been filled to overflowing, to hear his usual address. It was one of the most eloquent and impressive I ever heard from him; a powerful exhortation on the necessity of Progress, delivered with an energy which gave it great effect.

I have heard but one of those discourses before this, but I should think it a most profitable service. The occasion is certainly one by which all who are capable of feeling seriously must be solemnly impressed; and the great interest which is generally felt in Mr. Ware gives him the power of making a good use of such a predisposition. And now that it is _possible_ that he may accept the call to New York, his influence is greater than ever.

"I have pa.s.sed a quiet, delightful week at Hingham, made my long talked of visit to Mrs. P----, and returned on Christmas day to be quiet at home (if possible) until I go to you; and yet I ought to be stationary for a time for business' sake. I need not tell you how much you have been in my thoughts during the past week, so strongly are all the singular events which have taken place in it a.s.sociated with you. It has not been suffered to pa.s.s without its own special interest; to me it has indeed been _full_.

"Most heartily yours, with best wishes for the coming year.

"M. L. P."

The year 1827 opened upon Mary differently from any previous year of her life. Its first month was to witness the consummation of a purpose, which could not be lightly regarded by a mind like hers. Strange that it can be by any! Yet we have such reason to fear it, that we deem it a sufficient apology, if any be needed, for disclosing her own thoughts at this time more fully than might otherwise seem right. Sure we are of _her_ permission, whose conversations on the forming of a connection so often made the subject of trivial jesting were as free as they were serious. By nothing earthly is the social or moral community more deeply affected than by the prevalent views of Marriage, and the feelings with which its momentous obligations are a.s.sumed. And when there are revealed to us by death, under that seal of sacredness which deepens our conviction of their sincerity, such sentiments as those which Mary Pickard brought to this relation, our view of duty, and even of delicacy, moves us to impart rather than withhold them. Not that we suppose them peculiar to her, or that she has given them any remarkable expression. They may be common to every right and earnest mind. But various considerations prevent their being publicly presented with that personal reality which adds so much to their power. Thankful would all be, and none more than those perfected spirits of which we now speak, if the young and the mature would take exalted and sober views of the holiest and happiest relation in life.

Mary's views were expressed to her two most intimate female friends, the same night; to one in a short note, to the other more at length.

"_January 30, 1827._ Dearest Emma, I am not willing that any other than my own pen should communicate to you the events of this day. I would not that you should think it possible for me, under any circ.u.mstances, so far to lose my ident.i.ty as to be unmindful of the feelings of one whom I so love; and though it requires some effort, I will do the thing with my own hand.

Know, then, dear E., that a change has pa.s.sed over the spirit of my earthly dreams, and, instead of the self-dependent, self-governed being you have known me, I have learned to look to another for guidance and happiness; and, more than that, have bound myself, by an irrevocable vow, to live for the future in the exercise of the great and responsible duties which such a connection inevitably brings with it.... You need no explanation, nor have I time to give any; it would require one of our long nights to trace the rise and progress of the influences that have thus terminated. At present, the idea of the change I am making is so solemn, so appalling, that my faculties are almost paralyzed.

"_Boston, January 30, 1827._

"MY DEAR N----:

"I have been sitting with this sheet before me for the last half-hour, trying to find out in what way to begin the long and eventful story which I wish to convey to your mind as clearly as I see it in my own. I am in truth hardly able to write at all, from absolute exhaustion of body and mind, and therefore am driven to the necessity of beginning at the end of the chapter, lest I should not have time to tell the whole. Will it be an entire surprise to you to hear that this day has been to me the most important of my whole life, the turning-point of existence, the witness of my solemn and irrevocable promise to unite for the future my fate with that being, who, when we last met, I thought was doomed to be a stranger to me for ever? It seems, indeed, like a dream, and yet it is true, dreadfully true, that I have taken upon myself great and unknown duties for which I feel incompetent,--true that I have gained the best blessing life can give.

"You need no explanation to teach you the progress of this in my own mind, for you know me well enough to read it without book, and you may easily imagine how I feel at such a crisis.

O, it is solemn, it is awful, thus to bind one's self for life!

and yet I am conscious my whole heart is with the act, and my happiness intimately dependent upon it. This feeling of distrust and fearfulness will soon pa.s.s away. I have not been used to its interference in any case where I have known it was my _duty_ to act; it is only when we seem to have the direction of events in our own hands, that the feeling of doubt as to what _is_ duty weakens our confidence in our success. You will say, feeling must be the guide; and so it must so far as this, that we may be sure that that path is not the right one to which it does _not_ impel; but there is danger of its tempting to the wrong one notwithstanding, and it cannot be safe unhesitatingly to follow its impulses.

"Mr. Ware goes to New York on Thursday, for four weeks, to preach; he will, I suppose, return by the way of Northampton, and I hope you will not object to a visit from him on the way.

But I must put an end to this. I am in truth unable to write more.

"Yours most truly,

"M. L. P."

The relation thus viewed by a Christian woman has often one aspect, as in the present instance, which is thought more delicate and unapproachable than any other. Mary was to take the place, not only of a wife, but of a "step-mother,"--a name that should be redeemed from the inconsiderate and unjust odium to which it is commonly subjected. Why should that odium attach to this, more than to all _unfaithful_ use of the conjugal relation? Does not this, the more difficult office, exhibit proportionably as many n.o.ble wives and true mothers as the other?

According to the difficulty and the delicacy, is the greatness of the trust and the merit of fidelity. Let honor be rendered where honor is due; and let no vulgar prejudice or unkind prediction hide a beauty and excellence of woman that are less rare than may be supposed.

In aid of these thoughts, as well as in ill.u.s.tration of the character we are delineating, we are glad to be allowed to quote from two letters of Henry Ware himself; the first bearing the same date as Mary's just given, the other written after a more intimate acquaintance. They are both addressed to his sister at Northampton, to whom he had confided the care of his children while they were without a mother. The mother whom they had lost three years before had left a void not easily filled. A woman of more than common qualities and powers, doomed for several years to more than ordinary suffering from an insidious and fatal disease, she had still given much time to the parish, and discharged to the last the duties of a wife and mother, with a fidelity and affection whose loss was very grievous, and was felt more and more by Mr. Ware from the necessity of separation from his children, and their own growing years and needs. We can understand, therefore, the feelings with which he formed another connection, and made it known to one who was now to resign her charge to other hands.

"_Boston, January 30, 1827._

"DEAR SISTER:--

"There is no one who will have more sincere and hearty pleasure in the tidings I am going to communicate than you, or from whom I shall receive more sincere and affectionate congratulations.

I therefore lose not a moment in telling you that I am to build up again my family hearth, and bring my children to their father's side, and have a home once more. With whom, I need not tell you. Providence has thrown in my way one woman, whose character is all that man can ask, of a singular and exalted excellence. You know how admirable she is, and how well suited to fill the vacant place by my side. She consents to do it; and that I feel grateful and happy, a privileged man, you will not doubt.... Write me at New York. Love to you all.

Affectionately,

"HENRY WARE, JR."

"_Sat.u.r.day Evening, March 3, 1827._

"MY DEAR HARRIET:--

"You will not be troubled, I hope, if I pour out from my mind a little of the satisfaction which I feel, and in which I am rejoicing more and more every day. Since my return, the congratulations of my friends have been absolutely overpowering; and from seeing more and more of Miss Pickard, I am made to feel more and more grateful for the kind providence which has led me to this result. You know all my feelings and views, and the process of my mind, and I shall therefore be understood by you as by n.o.body else. It is not a common feeling which fills me; it is something peculiar, sacred, as if I had been under a supernatural guidance, and been made to act from pure and elevated and disinterested motives, for the purpose of accomplishing some great good. Every thing is connected with the memory of the past and with my former happiness, in such a way as not to sadden the present, but to give to it a singular spirituality, if I may so say; and I feel that, if the departed know what is transacting here, my own Elizabeth would congratulate me as sincerely as any of my friends. I have sought for the best mother to her children, and the best I have found. I have desired a pattern and blessing for my parish, and I have found one. I have wished some one to bear my load with me, and to help, confirm, and strengthen my principle by her own high and experienced piety, and such I have found. All these things, meeting in one person,--I might have looked for each alone, but where else are they to be all found in such excellent proportions united? I surveyed them with cool judgment, and I shall by and by love them ardently.