Memoir of Mary L. Ware, Wife of Henry Ware, Jr. Part 11

Dear Harriet, I must have somebody to pour out myself to; so bear the infliction charitably. Good by. Yours ever lovingly.

"HENRY."

The character of Mary Pickard would not be drawn, but one of her n.o.blest traits be left out of view, if we failed to speak frankly of the former affection to which Mr. Ware refers, and the memory of which she herself cherished, at first and always. She had no sympathy, and little respect, for that narrow view which insists that one affection must crowd out another; that the departed and the living cannot share the same pure love of the same true heart. The happiness of husband and wife and household has sometimes been impaired by a mistaken apprehension on this subject, and a suspicion of feelings in each other which had no real existence, or existed only from the want of mutual and free expression.

We have even known cruel attempts made by others to prejudice the minds of those most concerned, and especially the children of a former mother.

For such attempts, and all thoughts of the kind, we cannot repress our indignant reproof. No false delicacy should prevent the utterance of truth, where the best affections and dearest interests are involved.

Instead of avoiding the subject, we are grateful for the opportunity which such characters as Henry and Mary Ware give us, of presenting the just, generous, and Christian view. One of her own children has said of her: "Perhaps no one thing in her character and conduct has oftener struck common minds with surprise, and superior ones with admiration, than this entire freedom and frankness in regard to the first wife? 'She was the nearest and dearest to _him_,' she would say, 'how, then, can I do otherwise than love her and cherish her memory?' And her children she received as a precious legacy; they were to her from the first moment like her own; neither she nor they knew any distinction."

We are permitted to add one other letter of Henry Ware, beautifully ill.u.s.trating the character of Mary, and showing his own large and holy view of this particular relation. It was addressed to Mrs. William Ware, sister of that first wife the memory of whose excellence and love he so blended with the new affection.

"_May 15, 1827._

"MY DEAR MARY:--

"I believe that I have said to you, two or three times, how much I had calculated on your long visit, as a means of making you and Miss Pickard well acquainted.... And I am not sure that I should have said even as much as this, were it not for one circ.u.mstance, which has given me a satisfaction that I never had hoped to enjoy, and which will be increased by imparting it to you. I have known so much of the selfishness of human love, and heard so much of the sensitiveness with which women are apt to regard a former affection, that I had not dared to hope that I ever should be able to speak as I feel of former days, and the memory of my earliest love. Yet, as I longed to cherish it, and as all my present plans and feelings are interwoven with the thoughts and images of the past, it would have been an exceeding pain to me to feel that there was any reserve, or any of that--I don't know what to call it--which would compel me to hide such feelings, and seem not to have them. I cannot tell you, then, how happy I have been in finding Miss Pickard entirely above all mean and selfish feelings, which I have supposed to be so common. She enters into my views, and we have talked freely of other days; and she helps to keep me right by speaking of the pleasant impressions she used to receive from Elizabeth's character, and what she has heard of her. I wish I could go into particulars. So unexpected a communication between us has been a source of gratification to me unspeakably great; and I do not know when I have felt more truly exalted and spiritualized, than when, after such a conversation which has freed us from every selfish and earthly feeling, we have knelt down together and prayed for blessing from that world, where, I feel sure, if the departed regard those whom they left behind, there is no sorrow or displeasure at the course I am pursuing. I take pleasure in telling you this, because nothing can or shall divide me from you, or lessen that feeling in which I have so long regarded you as one of the nearest, the very nearest, to me; and I long that all who are near to me should be so to you. Best love to you, and all happiness with you and yours. Till I see you, adieu.

"Yours, "HENRY."

Immediately after her engagement, Mary visited her friend in Worcester; and from that place we find a very long letter, relating more to others than to herself, written in a cheerful mood, but showing how deep and sober had been her meditations on the change that was before her, of which she writes more fully in the first letter after her return to Boston.

"_Worcester, February 18, 1827._

"DEAR EMMA:--

"I have been hunting round the room to find a small sheet of paper upon which to do the pretty thing, and pay a troublesome debt. But my search has been in vain, so I have e'en changed the object of my pen, and determined to let it follow the dictates of my inclination, in covering a sheet of Grandpa McAdam's 'Bristol-best' with such lines and scratches as it may be impelled to make; nothing doubting but its impulses will give you some satisfaction, if they go no further than the expression of the sincere sympathy felt with you by your friends here, in your present state of joyful excitement. I do indeed rejoice with you in your happiness at the return of your brother; and you may be a.s.sured I am joined in this by the whole household. Although I have never known from experience what are the precise feelings you may have, I think I can enter into them at all times. And now, whether it is that my mind is more than usually attuned to joy, or whether it is more interested for you than it ever has been in similar cases with respect to others, I know not; but sure I am, that I never felt so much before, or seemed to myself so wholly awake to the feelings and interests of my friends, as at this moment. You must enjoy a great deal in the next few months, and I know you will not let so much cause for grat.i.tude pa.s.s without its full effect. It has always seemed to me a most humiliating fact, that so much _suffering_ should be necessary to teach us our dependence. Why should we not be equally taught by the blessings which are bestowed upon us, that we are and have nothing but as He wills it to be; and does it not seem a natural effect of such testimonies of love, to draw our hearts towards a Being who is so good to us? Let us at least, dear Emma, prove that it may have this influence.

"Nancy is very well, and bright and happy; and could I drive away from her a foolish feeling of a parting visit which hangs upon her mind, and fills her eyes whenever she speaks to me, we should be in a very merry key. As it is, however, we enjoy much, for I have much to tell her of the adventures of the last three years, which takes her away from the present; and she is at heart so truly satisfied and happy, that we cannot get up any thing like real melancholy.

"I wish indeed, with you, that I could attain something of your animation, and for a longer period than that you prescribe; for I do not hold it in such contempt as you do. It might not, perhaps, add to my individual happiness, for it seems to me I am as happy as mortal can be; but I do feel sure it would give me the means of communicating more pleasure to others, and this could not fail to increase my own. I have always considered that buoyancy of spirit of which you speak as a great and valuable gift; perhaps I have exaggerated its power, as we are apt to do every thing in which we are deficient. But its effects in chasing away the vapors which will sometimes gather, almost without cause, around the feelings of even the best and happiest, are not to be questioned, and are in my view of great worth. My happiest moments have always been my quietest, and this does little for others' comfort. I have in a great measure overcome the solemnity which oppressed me when I saw you; and were you only here, I think I could join with you in one of your merry laughs, as gayly as you could desire. I do indeed wish you were here.

"You were right in thinking that one of my letters was from cousin Jane; the other was from Aunty, quite a happy one, not one complaint, and directed by the 'little Doctor,'--so I conclude he is in the land of the living. Jane writes in good spirits; all things there in a better state than usual.

"Yours truly,

"M. L. P."

"_Boston, March 20, 1827._

"MY DEAR N----:

"Were I near you, it would be an unspeakable relief to pour forth to you, for every moment is so filled with constantly increasing interest, that at times I am oppressed and overpowered as I do not like to be; and there are moments when doubt and distrust of myself so entirely possess me, that I feel almost tempted to doubt my _right_ to undertake what I have. My mind is slow in all its processes, you know, and in this matter it seems to me more slow than is common, it may be from the magnitude of the change; but certain it is, I have suffered more, and labored more to bring myself into the right state, than I ever did in my life in the same time. My cause for happiness is increasing every day, and this tempts me to dwell too exclusively upon concerns connected with self. I am seeing daily more and more of the immense responsibility under which I am placing myself, and feeling more and more my own incapacity, and this tempts me to be anxious and doubtful. I am understanding more of what _might_ be done in the station I am to fill, and this makes me ambitious to satisfy all who will look to me with hope. O, if I could feel as I should, that if I do my utmost with my whole heart, from the right motive, I shall gain that approbation which should be the first object of my desire, be my efforts successful or not! But I am getting to depend too much upon the approbation of those I love.

"In one respect, this new and strong and satisfying interest is not having the influence I feared; instead of engrossing, absorbing, and making me selfish, excluding all other interests, it seems to enlarge the capacity of affection. I feel warmed more than ever towards every living being whom I ever loved. And it has done much towards exalting and enlightening my mind upon the point which has been a greater trial to me than any thing I ever met with. I mean, it has made me more willing to leave the world, and enjoy the happiness of heaven, than I ever thought I should be. Strange that the thing from which, of all others, I should have expected the very opposite effect, should have done this!

"I have been through all the forms and ceremonies of 'introduction,' very quietly. I have been to Cambridge, and the family have been here; and, better than that, I have laid siege to the venerable Doctor in his study, and had a most delightful conversation of nearly two hours in length; which made me feel that I was not a little privileged, to have any claim, however small, upon his interest.... I wish you could have heard Mr.

Channing this morning on the 'Glory of Jesus Christ'; it was one of his highest flights. We have great preaching now-a-days from many quarters.

"Yours ever the same,

"MARY."

The marriage of the Rev. HENRY WARE, Jr. and MARY L. PICKARD took place at the house of Miss Bent in Boston, on the 11th of June, 1827, Dr.

Gannett uniting and blessing them. They were absent a fortnight, journeying to New York and Northampton; and then returned to Boston with the two children, and entered upon their new home in Sheafe Street, at the North End. And there began a new life,--to Mary wholly new, and intensely busy. She gave herself up to all its duties, at once and unreservedly. Of her standard of duty we know something already; and they who also know the demands of a large parish upon a minister's wife, who resolves not only to make her house free and pleasant to all who will enter it, but also to share all of her husband's labors for which she is competent, can form an idea of what Mary found to do. "Mrs. Ware, at home and abroad, was the _busiest_ woman of my acquaintance," is the reason given by one of her female friends for not seeking her society as much as she desired. It will be remembered that she began with a family, as well as parish, and that the duty of a "mother" was one which she held very sacred, and would never slight for any other. But we will let her tell the story of her first labors, as she does in a letter to Mrs. Hall, at Northampton, who had had the care of the children, and another to Mrs. Paine. We ought to say of these, and all the letters to be offered, that they are not given as recording great events or rare qualities, but simply for what they are,--expressions of the daily thought and domestic life of a conscientious woman, in common relations and quiet duty.

"_Boston, July 20, 1827._

"DEAR HARRIET:--

"You will be glad, I know, to hear from my own pen how we all prosper, and I sincerely wish I had time enough to tell you all I wish you to know of my various arrangements and avocations, hopes and fears, wishes and successes. Of the latter I cannot boast much; I am, however, much delighted to find that many things which I expected would perplex me, and take more time and thought than I should be willing to give them, do not trouble me in the least degree,--such as household affairs, eating, drinking, and keeping matters moving methodically. I did not, to be sure, indulge anxiety about it, as from my utter ignorance I had some reason to do; but I did not suppose it possible that such a _young novice_ could be inducted into the important station of housekeeper without suffering for a time a degree of martyrdom. But thus far I get on easily, and hope to learn by experience sufficient to meet future wants. My parish matters have gone on so far just as I wished. I gave up all last week to receiving visitors, and they came in just the manner I wished, morning, noon, or evening, as might be most convenient to themselves. It was the best way for me, for it gave me a better opportunity of getting acquainted with their looks, and they seemed to like it very much themselves. I am at liberty now, but prefer staying at home, and still have enough to do to say 'Welcome' to my friends.

"But this is all play-work in comparison with the other duties that belong to my lot. They are just what I knew they would be,--most delicate, most difficult, for one so utterly ignorant; but I see the difficulties, and do not find them greater than I have always known they would be; am neither discouraged nor faint-hearted, but hope and trust that power will yet be granted for all exigencies. I do not find myself as much discomposed by the task as I expected, considering I have had so little to do with children. But I do feel the importance of the relation in which I stand to them more deeply, more oppressively, than I could have conceived, and I am more than ever certain that I have a great deal to learn, and a long work before me. Do let me hear from you sometimes; we may not have much communication at present, but, as the Quaker said, 'we can meditate on each other.' I beg you to understand that I consider myself one whose lot has more than a common share of blessing, and daily and hourly do I thank G.o.d for guiding me to this pleasant path. I find I shall realize all you promised me of comfort, and much more too.

"Yours in sincerity.

"M. L. W."

"_Boston, July 22, 1827._

"DEAR NANCY:--

"Your letter was given me this morning in meeting, and has just been read in one of the few quiet moments which fall to my lot, and one of the most peaceful and refreshing; and I am rejoiced to add to its pleasure, by turning to my little table and writing to you. I have indeed longed to give you a peep into my almost too delightful _home_; but it has been entirely beyond possibility to find an opportunity to write. How much I wish you could look in upon us, and see the whole detail of affairs from Monday morning to Sat.u.r.day night, and that still more delightful season, the holy Sabbath, I need not tell you.

But I fear you will never fully understand it, unless you can make yourself invisible and come among us....

"We came on in the same stage, next day, and found all in readiness, perfect readiness, for us; and made so, too, by the efforts of our friends, which added not a little to the comfort. The ladies of the parish would not let Miss B---- hire workwomen, but came and did things with their own hands. All looked more comfortable and neat and appropriate than I expected, as I had picked matters up with no small degree of carelessness. Miss B---- and Mrs. B---- were on the spot to receive us; and oh! Nancy, to enter _one's own home_, in which was to be known all of experience which might be hid in the future,--to come to it, too, as I did, after so long floating on a changeful sea,--and to come to it under all the interesting circ.u.mstances of grateful joy and fearful responsibilities,--it was a moment not to be described or forgotten.

"H---- told you of our Sunday. The transfer to a new place of worship was trying and affecting; but I forgot the people, and did not suffer because every eye in the house might be directed towards me. I need not add, that the excitement in church is much more than it ever was to me, though not what it will be when I am more at home there. Sunday gave me truly the rest of the soul. I arranged that it should be a quiet day. We prepared dinner on Sat.u.r.day, and locked up the house; Mr. Ware in his study after breakfast, and the children with me, reading and studying. They were easily interested, and, the excitement of common days being removed, they were more as I wished, and gave me much pleasure. So it was at noon; and at night they go to their father, and I have my own hour of peaceful thought. And then in the evening we are all together, talking or reading or singing. It is realizing so exactly what I have always wished to have the day, and what I never before knew, that I enjoy it doubly. A friend, perhaps, drops in and joins our singing.

"... All cla.s.ses have come to see me, even the poorest, and seem quite disposed to be pleased. I have said distinctly that I wish ours to be entirely a social intercourse, and they take me at my word. I have not told you of my own private joys, nor can I in this little s.p.a.ce. That they are great, immensely great, you can believe; and even with the ----. _August 16._ Here I was interrupted more than a fortnight ago, and do not now remember what was to have been the close of the sentence. I might add, that I feel it happy for me, that, with all these blessings and pleasant circ.u.mstances, I have so much of responsibility and anxiety as will effectually prevent my head being turned by it. But I have not room for further detail.

Yours ever.

"MARY."

The sense of "responsibility" just referred to might be called one of Mary's characteristics. And it had this peculiarity, if no other, that she felt it to be a blessing rather than a burden. Indeed, in cases where others would speak, as almost all do speak, of "the _burden_ of responsibility," she used the other and brighter word. As, at this time, she said, in a note to a friend,--"My fate is a singular one in this respect,--that, whatever may be the variety of the scene, it is always filled with the extremes of blessing and responsibility; and I know not that I ever felt more fully the _blessing_ of responsibility than now.

Had I not great and almost overpowering duties and cares, my head would almost of necessity be dizzy with the bright prospect before me. As it is, I rejoice with a serious, but most grateful spirit,--a _sober_ bliss certainly, but not the less valuable." There was one utterance of her "sober bliss" of which we have not spoken as we might, for it was habitual with her through life. We refer to her love of singing, and her use of sacred hymns in the family, which began, as we have seen, with the first Sabbath in her new home, and, as we are to see, ended only with life. One who lived with her just before her marriage tells us how much she indulged and enjoyed in this devotional, but cheerful melody, for "it seemed in her to be truly singing hymns of _praise_." She would sing after withdrawing for the night, at the close of the busiest and most distracting days; and sometimes, "after having actually retired, she would think of a charming tune, always selecting the most beautiful words, and joined by Miss K----, they would enjoy an hour in this way."

Distinct are the echoes which linger in many hearts still, from her soft and expressive voice,--the voice of the soul!

The biographer of Henry Ware says that the year of which we are speaking, that which followed this second marriage, "was one of the most active, and also, to all human appearance, one of the most successful, of his ministry." It was marked by the efficiency of his labors, increased attention to his preaching, a growing congregation, and many proofs of favor with the community in general. He repeated, that winter, and enlarged, his Lectures on the Geography of Palestine; and, beside his Bible cla.s.s and vestry service, his house was open to his parish every Tuesday evening for social intercourse and religious conversation.

In this last, as in other parochial ways, Mrs. Ware was an efficient helper. Nothing could be more to her taste, or in unison with her best powers, nothing certainly could contribute more to her deepest joys, than this whole manner of life. If we may not believe that she was reserved for this very position, we may confidently say that she could have filled no other with more ease, more energy, or happier results. We attempt no enumeration of the relations and offices in which she endeavored to serve her husband's society, or the larger community.

Boston is not more remarkable for its n.o.ble charities, than for the n.o.ble women who find sphere and activity enough in devising or directing so many of those charities. Mrs. Ware sought no publicity or distinction in these movements, and was less prominent, perhaps less efficient, than many others. Comparisons she seldom attempted, and never made them a rule of conduct. Her rule seems to have been, to refuse no service asked of her for which she was competent, if it interfered not with any duty to her family or parish. From the opportunities she had enjoyed and improved, when abroad, of visiting various charitable inst.i.tutions, she was frequently consulted in regard to them, and she sent to England for plans and hints. She was a directress of a Charity Sewing School; and always regretted that sewing was not taught in the public schools, and made essential to a complete education with every cla.s.s. In all her views and efforts there was that practical good sense, which is better than the best theories or brightest abstractions. Yet she did not despise theory and abstraction, nor suppose that either she or her own generation had learned all there was to be learned. Indeed, we use no great boldness in saying, that, without the slightest tendency to reckless innovation or foolish experiment, there never was man or woman more interested in reform, or anxious for progress, or fearless for truth, than Henry and Mary Ware.

Of Mary's ideas of the _reward_ which the benevolent and the good should desire, an amusing ill.u.s.tration has been given us by one who heard the remark at the time. A motion being made in a charitable Society for a "vote of thanks for the minister's prayer," Mrs. Ware said to a lady near her, "While I was secretary of the Society for the Employment of Female Poor, I never recorded votes of thanks. I thought members should do _all they could_, and when that was done, they might make their courtesy to each other!"

In March, 1828, Mrs. Ware, after the labors and anxieties of the first winter, made a visit to Mrs. Hall in Northampton, where she wrote her first letter to her husband, containing expressions whose full import we cannot know, but whose intimations of self-distrust and increasing sense of responsibility many will understand.

"_Northampton, March 19, 1828._