Memoir of Mary L. Ware, Wife of Henry Ware, Jr. Part 24

On a lovely April day, the windows of her room all open that she might breathe freely, she looked up at one who entered, and said with a smile, "What a beautiful day to go _home_!" Near the end, one at her side said to another, in tears, "How much stronger she is than we are!" "I am so much nearer the Source of strength," she whispered. Her suffering was acute, but her thought and care were more for others than herself, to the last. Much of the time she held in her hand that sacred note which her husband had written to her when he thought himself dying, at a distance. And precious, very precious, must have been to her those last, parting words from one to whom she was now going. "Dear, dear Mary, if I could, I would express all I owe to you. You have been an unspeakable, an indescribable blessing. G.o.d reward you a thousand fold! Farewell, _till we meet again_."

In the evening twilight of another balmy day,--GOOD FRIDAY,--that spent frame was laid by the side of _his_, in the hallowed rest of Mount Auburn. And as we turned away, we felt that another tie to earth was broken, and heard another voice calling us to heaven.

With regret, rather than gladness, we lay down the pen which has attempted to record the life of a humble Christian. Delightful has it been to renew our communion, and extend our intimacy, with one whose presence was always felt as a blessing. If we have transgressed the bounds we set for ourselves in the beginning, and given expression to feelings as well as facts, we can only say that we have repressed more than we have disclosed of the recollections and emotions awakened by this intercourse. A true portrait may seem to be praise, but less than that would be injustice.

We draw no character, in the end, but only refer to the two facts which seem most worthy of note. First, the amount of happiness enjoyed by one whose life was pa.s.sed in the midst of sickness and trial, and who for six years felt that a fatal and distressing disease was consuming her life,--yet could say of the whole, "It has been a beautiful experience."

"I have been so happy,--no one can tell how happy." And, next, the ill.u.s.tration here seen of the large sphere, the vast power, and imperishable work, of a woman who never left the domestic relations, nor aspired to any thing that is not possible to every daughter, wife, and mother. If this appear, it is enough,--that religion, with or without rank, wealth, beauty, rare endowment, varied accomplishment, or any singularity, can lift WOMAN to the highest distinction and confer the most enduring glory,--that of filling well, not the narrow, but the wide and divine realm of HOME.