"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; assembling 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 partition 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
gratitude 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
asserted, 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 passages, 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_."