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 classical 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 Constitution 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,
associating 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, passed
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 fortitude, 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 passionately 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, associated 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 passenger 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 passed,
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 Dickey 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?"