Remaining in Boston, with little change, until she was thirteen years of
age, Mary Pickard was then taken by her parents to Hingham,
Massachusetts, to be under the care of the Misses Cushing, whose school
for girls enjoyed at that time, and as long as it continued, a very high
reputation. Her instructors there, who still live, seem to have regarded
her as a friend and companion, rather than a child and pupil; and the
fresh recollections and tender love with which they always speak of her,
and delight to dwell upon her early and mature character, give us an
impression of more than common excellence. This will best be shown by an
extract from a letter written since her death to one of her children.
"Your dear mother came to us first in June, 1811; a sweet,
interesting girl, thirteen years old, tall for that age, and
with the same sweet expression of countenance she ever
retained; remarkable even then for her disinterestedness and
forgetfulness of self, and her power of gaining the love of all
around her. She went home in November of the same year, and
returned to us again in 1814.... She was with us but little
more than one year in the whole, and in that short period
endeared herself to us in a remarkable manner. For with the
love which we could not but feel for her was mingled a respect
and admiration for her high principles, and the piety which
shone through all her conduct, in a degree very uncommon for a
girl of her age. As a scholar she was exceedingly bright, and
quick to comprehend, and would, I always thought, have made an
excellent mathematical scholar, had she pursued the study of
that branch. Her capacity for accomplishing a great deal in a
short time was always remarkable, and I believe she never
undertook any thing that she thought worth her attention, that
she did not go through to the satisfaction of others, if not of
herself. Her chief object, even when a young girl, seemed to be
to do good, in some way or other, to her fellow-beings, and she
considered nothing too difficult for her to undertake, if it
could benefit another person either in a temporal or moral
view. You have had sufficient evidence of this, since you have
been old enough to judge for yourself, and I can only tell you
that it seemed to be, at an early period of her life, a living
principle with her. Yet, with all this devotedness to the
highest objects and purposes of our existence, she was one of
the most lively and playful girls among her companions, and a
very great favorite with them all."
Mary had been but five or six months in the school at Hingham, when she
was called back to Boston by the threatening illness of her mother, who
continued feeble through the winter, and died in the month of May
following. That winter must have been one of peculiar experience to
Mary. It was her first great trial. She loved her mother, not only as
every true child must, but with a reverence and affection heightened by
the unusual circumstance of having been always the pupil of that mother
alone, regarded as a companion also, and called now to the tender
offices of a nurse, at an age when most children can ill bear
confinement and devotion to the sick. Mary was never happier than when
thus occupied, as her whole life has shown. To her it was no task, but a
grateful privilege, to spend all her time at the side of a revered and
departing mother. For six months was she allowed to give herself to this
blessed ministry; and when it closed, she was left, a girl of thirteen,
the sole comfort and chief companion of her father, now past the prime
of life, broken in spirits and in fortune, clinging to this only child
with doating and dependent affection. She now became an important member
of the family in Pearl Street, with her desolate father, and her
venerable grandparents, who were still living, depending themselves more
upon her for their comfort than upon the only son that remained with
them, a young man whose fine talents and affectionate disposition were
perverted and ruined by sad habits. These were circumstances to call out
all her energy, and make full proof of her judgment and gentleness. Mr.
Pickard had for some time been embarrassed in business, and, from a
state of easy competence, was then and afterwards reduced to the
necessity of the strictest economy. Of his daughter's essential service
to him in this respect, we have frequent intimations in his own letters;
and not only by her prudent management, but also by her generous and
active aid, as will be seen still more a few years later. For her father
survived her mother eleven years, and during the whole of that period,
though not always together, Mary was his efficient helper, and his
devoted nurse in sickness, of which he had a large share.
For two years after her mother's death, she remained wholly in Boston,
enjoying part of the time a new privilege, which she greatly
prized,--admission to the best school for young ladies then in New
England, or the country,--Dr. Park's. That she would improve such an
opportunity to the best of her ability, we need not say. Of her
proficiency as a scholar, there are no particular proofs. She was never
a prodigy, but she never slighted opportunity or duty. She appeared
always well, distinguished at least for faithful preparation and uniform
accuracy. And especially was she distinguished for moral excellence. She
was the friend and favorite of all. If petty difficulties occurred, Mary
Pickard was the peacemaker. Her impartiality, amiableness, kindness to
all, and perfect truthfulness, endeared her to the teacher and all the
pupils; from several of whom we have had the testimony, that no one ever
exerted a better influence upon any school.
The earliest letters we have from Mary were written in 1813, the year
after her mother's death, and about the time of her first going to
school in Boston. They are the letters of a school-girl, but not of a
child. While there is in them no indication of remarkable powers, to
which she did not pretend, nor her friends for her, they show a habit of
reflection and power of discrimination, with a choice of topics not
usual at that age. A few passages may be given, very simple and
juvenile, but indicative of character.
"_Boston, February 27, 1813._
"MY DEAR N----:
"I am determined another day shall not pass before I answer
your letter. I think it is the best way, when we receive a
letter, to sit down immediately and answer it; at least I find
it so, though I do not always practise it.... We talk so much
when we meet, that there is little left to write, and I am now
at a loss what to say. The folly of the fashionable world is an
old story, and if not, is too _vast_ a subject for our limited
views of it. Of our school plan we have said much, but we can
say more. I had no idea that such insignificant beings as we
are, in comparison, could ever afford matter for so much
conversation as there has been on this subject. Although
opinions could not alter the case, yet it is certainly very
satisfactory to know that our doings are approved by those
whose good opinion we value. I look forward with much pleasure
to the day on which we shall commence our studies. We shall
feel very awkward at first, but it will soon be over, and then
we must endeavor to keep ourselves exempt from the condemnation
that falls on the whole school for the faults of two or
three....
"I am reading 'Temper,' and like it much better than I expected
to, having heard nothing in its favor, and, besides that, being
_prejudiced_ against it. I have condemned prejudice in others,
but never felt the effects of it before; I dislike it now more
than ever,--it is certainly a most unreasonable thing. I like
some of the characters very much, and it is not as yet very
tedious, but contains many good lessons. I find many that I can
apply to myself, and (as usual) some to other people. It
cannot, however, be compared to 'The Absentee' or 'Vivian.'
Novels are generally said to be improper books for young
people, as they take up the time which ought to be employed in
more useful pursuits; which is certainly very true; but as a
recreation to the mind, such books as these cannot possibly do
any hurt, as they are good moral lessons. Indeed, I think there
is scarcely any book from which some good may not be derived;
though it cannot be expected that any young person has judgment
enough to leave all the bad and take only the good, when there
is a great proportion of the former. I know we are too young to
hold up an opinion of our own, independent of the superior
judgment of those older, and this I would not do. I have
collected mine from observation, and, if it is not right, would
thank any one to correct it; nor would I offer it at all to any
one but you, or those of my own age."
That last sentiment will seem _very_ juvenile to many young people of
the present day, but it is none the worse for that. Nor by this writer
was the expression of such sentiments restricted to that age; for
modesty and deference, combined with self-respect and decision, were
marked features and peculiar graces of the character we are presenting.
They are features and graces of a strong mind. Superciliousness, in
youth or maturity, is a sign of weakness. And it says little for the
improvement or the promise of the present, if it be true that respect
for experience, reverence for age, and meekness of expression, are rare
qualities in the young. Mary was still young, when she wrote to her
father,--"I am no advocate for destroying that delicacy which forms, or
ought to form, so great a part of the female character. But such a
degree of it as is not compatible with sufficient firmness to command
one's self in danger, appears to me to be false modesty, or 'sickly
sensibility of soul,'--beneath the dignity of beings endowed with power
for higher feelings." Here is that union of humility and courage which
marked her whole course.
In all her early letters there is an entire absence of that trivial talk
about dress, parties, and the gossip of the day, so common at her age.
Instead of it, we find remarks either upon moral and religious themes,
or upon her reading and studies. In the very earliest letter we have,
written in a child's hand, she speaks of her interest in the "Life of
Washington, in five large octavo volumes," and expresses the opinion,
that "the history of one's country ought to be the first historical
lesson of a child." About the same time, we find her deeply engaged in
an argument upon the moral influence of the study of astronomy; and her
mind rises to the highest and the largest views.
"The hand of Almighty God certainly should raise in our souls
such unbounded adoration and love, that our only object would
be, to be worthy to appear before the presence of such
excellent goodness, and partake of the joys of heaven. It seems
unaccountable, that any one could for a moment raise his eyes
to the sky and not be convinced of the being of some superior
power, who rules and directs the paths of the planets and the
ways of the children of men. If we for a moment transport
ourselves to another part of the universe, and behold our
little insignificant Earth in comparison with the rest, or with
any other planet, and consider how highly favored it has been
with the presence of the Son of its Creator, are we to think
that we alone are thus honored, and that superior worlds are
not endowed in the same manner with a knowledge of heavenly
things? But I find myself getting into an argument, on which,
though the subject may be interesting, the style of the writer
must be tedious."
These extracts are from letters written to a friend near her own age,
with whom there began at this time the longest and most confiding
intimacy of her life, out of the circle of immediate connections, if
indeed any exception need be made. To this friend are addressed some of
the first and last letters that Mary ever wrote, and by far the larger
number of all which we use for this sketch. It is an evidence of the
faithfulness of her friendships, that from the date of the earliest
letter we have, through nearly forty years, she wrote to that same
friend, beside other occasional letters, "a New Year's epistle," every
year, to the last in her life. And to her were confided her first and
deepest trials, disclosed to no one else, and beginning while at school.
There is something both ingenuous and magnanimous in such sentiments as
the following, from a girl of fifteen, whom the death of a mother had
placed in circumstances of peculiar responsibility, and often painful
perplexity.
"I expose to you my weaknesses, my faults, my passions. There
is but one thing of which I have the slightest apprehension.
You may sometimes hear me blamed for deeds which you know are
right. You will hear my lot in life envied, as apparently all
that the reasonable wishes of any being could desire. And
sometimes, too, busy Scandal, which honors even the most
insignificant with her notice, will glance at me. Your
generous, affectionate heart will prompt, I well know, on
those occasions, some defence of your friend. But never give
way to it; never whisper to the winds that she has any trials.
It will necessarily involve the question, What are they? You
are the only person to whom I ever communicated them, and my
conscience almost reproaches me for it. I try to think my
peculiar loneliness sanctions it, but my very uneasiness proves
it was not strictly right, and I would not for worlds sin
farther. You will bear with me. All this is foolish, but I must
say it. I defy any one to tell from my appearance that I have
not every thing to make me happy. I have much, and I am happy.
My little trials are essential to my happiness. They teach me
to value the only true sources of enjoyment this life can
afford,--the affection of the good, the cultivation of the
better feelings of the soul in the service of their Creator,
and the joyful hope of a better, purer state of existence.
Blessings and peace go with you, and pure, unalloyed felicity
be your portion for ever.
"MARY."
In the latter part of the year 1814, Mary left Boston for Hingham, to be
again in the family and under the tuition of the Misses Cushing. Of her
character then, and the renewed impression made upon her instructors, a
letter which we have recently received from one of them will give the
best idea; though, from regard to the writer's wishes, we quote but a
small part.
"I can hardly give you an idea of my feelings towards her,
during the whole of her residence with us, without seeming to
speak extravagantly. Every day's experience confirmed our first
impressions of her, and showed in some form the sweetness of
her disposition, her self-sacrificing spirit, and untiring
devotion to the claims of those about her. She possessed such
purity of heart, and elevation of principle, as were certainly
uncommon at such an early period of life, and which, it seemed
to me then, could only arise from a constant sense of the
Divine presence, and an habitual communion with the Source of
all good. Love was always, with her, the predominant feeling in
her thought of God, and I have heard her say she never
remembered the time when she did not feel that she loved God.
This was said, you may be sure, not boastingly, but from
surprise at hearing some one speak of the difficulty of giving
the heart to God."
And now came a crisis in that inner life, which was always greater to
Mary Pickard than the outward. Always thoughtful as well as cheerful,
her interest in religion, and her wish to be wholly a follower of
Christ, led her to an act, too rare with the young, and requiring, in
school and college particularly, courage as well as principle. She
desired to connect herself publicly with the Church. And the convictions
by which she was brought to this purpose, with the views she entertained
of the nature and importance of the act, we make no apology for giving,
as fully as we find them expressed in her own letters; for there are
older minds that might be instructed, and doubters who might be
admonished and aided, even by so youthful a believer. Mary had received
baptism in Trinity Church, Boston, but it is evident that in her moral
training more heed had been given to the cultivation of piety than to
adherence to forms and special doctrines. The preaching that she usually
heard, in the church of her parents, did not edify or satisfy her; a
fact which we give, without comment, as part of a faithful record, and
as we find it in her own account to a son, in one of the last years of
her life. The language in which she there describes her early religious
wants is unusually strong for her, and might seem extravagant. We give
only the result of her dissatisfaction with what she heard from the
pulpit. "The final effect upon me was, by throwing me more upon myself,
to open a new source of religious instruction to my mind; and I can now
remember with great pleasure, and a longing desire for the same vivid
enjoyment, the hours I passed in 'my little room,' in striving, by
reading, meditation, and prayer, to find that knowledge and stimulus to
virtue which I failed to find in the ministrations of the Sabbath." And
then most earnestly does she exhort her son not to let these things, or
any thing, tempt him "to treat sacred things with levity and
disrespect."
Few minds have kept themselves, through life, more free both from levity
and bigotry. At the time of which we speak, she seems to have thought
only of her own unworthiness, her need of religion, and the greatness of
the privilege offered her. A long note which she wrote to one of the
teachers with whom she was living, and to whom she confided all her
feelings, will explain the whole. It bears no date, but must have been
written in the autumn of 1814, when she was about sixteen.
"_Saturday Morning._
"Will you, my dear Miss C., pardon my addressing you in this
way, when under the same roof; but as I could not speak on the
subject I have now most at heart, in the presence of any one, I
did not think it right to engross exclusively so much of your
valuable time as would be necessary to say all I wish to. I
could not feel satisfied with my own conclusions, until I had
appealed to you, and I hope this will excuse the liberty I
take. Though still young, I have tasted the bitter cup of
affliction and disappointment, and have found thus early that
all worldly enjoyments are incapable of promoting happiness, or
even of securing present gratifications; and in every
deprivation have felt the healing balm of religion to be the
only source of consolation to the wounded spirit and afflicted
mind. But I may, indeed, say with sincerity, 'It is good for me
that I have been afflicted,' for it led me to reflect on the
end for which I was created, to examine my own heart, and, by
comparing it with the Christian standard, to prove its weakness
and awake to a sense of my danger. A very little reflection
convinced me I had been leading a very different life from that
which was requisite to form the character of a true Christian,
and that I must exercise my utmost powers to redeem the time
which I had lost, and which could never be recalled. Though I
cannot think the observance of any religious ceremonies
sufficient to secure future happiness, unless the motive for
their performance is founded on faith in the word of God, as
revealed to us by his Son, yet they seem to me necessary, not
only in a moral, but religious point of view, to the attainment
of that degree of perfection which we are taught it is in the
power of every one to attain.
"Ever since I have thought at all on the subject, it has been
my earnest wish to be admitted a member of the Church of
Christ. It is a duty which I cannot but think is of the highest
importance, both as it is fulfilling the last request of one to
whom we owe all we enjoy here or hope for hereafter, and as it
continually reminds us of our obligations to obey his
precepts, tends to make us better, and more worthy our high
calling. If we assume the name of Christians, and obey not
those positive commands of our Saviour which are in the power
of every one who is sincere, how can we expect to receive a
continuance of his favors? Fearing I was too young fully to
comprehend the use and importance of so solemn a rite, I have
delayed saying or doing any thing about it. I have thought much
on it, and summed up all the reasons which appeared to me to
prove it absolutely necessary to our happiness and well-being,
and all the objections that arose in my mind against the
propriety of young persons joining in it. I then read every
book on the subject I could meet with, and found in none of
them half as many objections as I had raised, and very few
arguments in its favor which I had not thought of. Do not think
it has made me think better of myself than I deserve,--far from
it; it made me feel more sensibly my own unworthiness, when
compared with what I continually saw I ought to be. Still, as I
could not give up all thoughts of it, I determined to appeal to
you. Tell me, my dear Miss C., if you should consider it a
violation of the sacredness of the institution, to think I
might with impunity be a member? I am well aware of the
condemnation denounced on those who partake unworthily, and I
tremble to think how liable I shall be to fall into error and
sin, and how much greater will be my responsibility. These
reflections have hitherto prevented my proposing it to my
father or any one, and now almost make me fear I am doing wrong
in writing to you. I am afraid I am presumptuous, and, did I
not view it rather as a means of religion than the end, I
should hardly suppose there were many who could say they were
worthy of it. I cannot think there is any _mystery_ connected
with it, as some are so eager to prove, and its very simplicity
renders it the more interesting and useful, and increases the
obligation to perform it.
"Forgive me, my dear Miss C., if I have said any thing wrong,
and correct me if you see any seeds of vice in me. Recollect I
have been the guardian of myself too long not to have erred
very much in my ideas of every thing; pity, and make me better,
if the task is not too discouraging; and be assured, the purest
love and gratitude of which I am capable will be the sincere
offering of your affectionate young friend,
"MARY."
The self-scrutiny and humility evinced in this note prevented any hasty
action. Mary seems still to have deliberated, and sought all the light
and direction she could obtain. A long letter, of which we give a
portion, to her true friend, N. C. S., in Boston, shows her state of
inquiry and progress.
"_Hingham, January 13th, 1815._
"You could not possibly have received more pleasure from
hearing Mr. Thacher's sermon, than I did from reading your
abstract of it. Nothing could be more satisfactory to me, who
still doubted whether it would not be a violation of the
sacredness of the institution, for any one so thoughtless and
liable to fall into sin and folly to join in such a holy
offering, with the good and faithful of the earth. But that was
enough to convince any one who believed the obligation in any
degree to be great, that it extended to young as well as old,
and would be an effectual means of turning them from error to a
knowledge of truth, would make them happy here, and be almost a
security of it hereafter. And though the punishment of those
who outwardly profess themselves disciples of Christ, and yet
devote their time and thoughts to the world, is inevitable, I
cannot but think it will be in a much greater degree inflicted
on those who wholly neglect it, particularly when once
convinced of its importance. We have both felt the power which
only the sight of others performing this duty has had on our
minds; what then will it be, when we join in it ourselves, and
feel the direct influence of those heavenly rays, which
enlighten the Christian at the altar of his God, and guide him
in his dreary progress through the world to heaven! Surely then
we should not hesitate; now, while it is in our power, it would
be absolute wickedness to neglect the performance of such a
reasonable and delightful act of duty.
"MARY."
But one doubt now remained in her mind; that caused by the many
differences among believers, and the numerous branches of the Christian
Church. But this she soon answered for herself, with her usual
simplicity and largeness of view. "I have considered the Church of
Christ to be one body diffused through the whole world, and that sects,
form, and opinion made in truth no essential difference;--that all the
various denominations of Christians on the earth were united in one
spirit and one mind, in all the important doctrines of religion." Not
long after, she received from her confiding friend an account of similar
feelings in herself, together with an excellent note from the Rev. John
E. Abbot, encouraging their serious purpose. Mary's reply follows.
"_Hingham, April 1st, 1815._
"I do, indeed, my dear friend, rejoice with you in the
unexpected and happy event your last letter informed me of. I
had felt all your doubts and fears as though they were my own,
and, I do assure you, participated in your joy with the same
sincerity. How much reason have we to be grateful for this
instance of the overruling Providence! Does it not sufficiently
prove, that, if with sincerity and pureness of heart we
undertake to perform any duty, we may rely on the assistance of
the Holy Spirit to guide our steps, and to cause all things to
concur to render it easy and delightful?
"I cannot tell you how much it increased my own happiness to
know that you, too, felt happy; for there is in the sympathy of
friends something that increases all our pleasures and
alleviates all our pains. It is to this I owe half that I enjoy
in this life, and without it wretched must be existence, even
in prosperity, and all other earthly blessings.
"I believe I have mentioned often to you the desire I had of
becoming one of the church here, if I could be sure of
remaining here this summer. When I found there was no doubt of
that, I had only to overcome the fears which a consciousness of
weakness and liability to relapse into former coldness still
kept alive in my mind. Now all have subsided, and I am
convinced that it is dangerous to delay so important a service.
From the moment I had decided what to do, not a feeling arose
which I could wish to suppress; conscious of pure motives, all
within was calm, and I wondered how I could for a moment
hesitate. They were feelings I never before experienced, and
for once I _realized_ that it is only when we are at peace with
ourselves that we can enjoy true happiness.
"... I think, all things considered, I was never more happy in
my life. It was a bright, clear night, and the moon which rose
just as I went to bed, shining full on me, seemed to reflect
the tranquillity of my soul, and appeared to me an emblem of
the mild light that was just dawning on my soul. I could not
sleep, and actually laid awake all night out of pure happiness.
"I will not trouble you with any more of my feelings at
present. On Sunday we were proposed, and the next Sabbath will
see the completion of all my hopes and wishes relating to
myself for two years past.
"I cannot at present write more, but will finish this next
week.
"MARY."
The church with which Mary connected herself was the Third Church in
Hingham, under the pastoral care of the Rev. Henry Coleman, with whom
she speaks of delightful interviews, receiving from him the best
instruction and counsel at that important period. She shows at the same
time her habit of thinking for herself, as well as her liberal and
humble spirit, in the casual remark, "Though I could not agree exactly
with him in every thing he said, as they were not essential points I
thought nothing of it, and received his advice with as much pleasure and
satisfaction as could possibly be." The same month she records the
completion of her wishes and her happiness.
"Last Sunday witnessed the accomplishment of my highest
desires; for I joined for the first time with those who compose
the church here, in commemorating the death of our blessed
Saviour. The feelings it excited are not easily described, and
as you will so soon experience them, you will thus be able more
fully to conceive of them than by any thing I could say. I know
you will derive much, very much satisfaction and happiness from
it; and I sincerely pray that it may be to us both a means of
becoming more like its heavenly Founder, and finding acceptance
with God through his intercession. I wish you could have heard
our dear Mr. C----. He was particularly interesting and
affecting; his prayers, too, are better than any I ever heard
(always excepting Mr. Channing); they breathe more of the true
spirit of Christian humility than is commonly to be found in
these days of pride.
"MARY."
About this time we find mention of an incident which appeared then of
little importance, but to which subsequent events, though quite remote,
have given so peculiar an interest, that it seems not right to omit it.
Mary Pickard, still a school-girl, saw for the first time the individual
with whom, twelve years after, her fortunes were to be connected for
life, but with whom, during that interval, she had no intercourse. HENRY
WARE, then a theological student at Cambridge, was on a visit to
Hingham, his native town, and passed an evening at Miss Cushing's. Mary
does not appear to have had any conversation with him, but simply saw
and heard him, and wrote to her friend in Boston a frank account of the
opinion she formed of him.
"_Hingham, April 9th, 1815._
"Again, my dear N----, I resume the delightful task of writing
to you, which, I assure you, gives me a degree of pleasure next
to that of talking with you, however you may judge from my
writing so seldom. Since Saturday I have experienced a pleasure
I never expected, the desire of which I have often expressed to
you. I have seen, heard, and consequently admired, your Exeter
friend, _H. Ware_;[1] and though his errand took something from
the delight his presence would otherwise have completed, it was
sufficiently great for the safety of so large an assembly of
young ladies. He was as agreeable as he could possibly be, and
fully satisfied all the expectations you had raised in my mind.
He spent Sunday evening here, and as he is very fond of music,
and it is usual for us to spend a part of this evening in
singing, we sung psalms from dusk until eight, when he was
obliged to leave us. He joined in all, and added very much to
the harmony and melody of our little choir. On Monday evening,
too, he was here, and much increased the good opinion that had
been formed of him. I thought his face indicated the greatest
purity and goodness; I never saw a more benign, delightful
expression on any face before, and much less any thing like it
in a gentleman. I will not, however, judge any one by their
face, particularly as I have not proved myself a good
physiognomist. Yet I cannot help being in some measure
influenced by it. How can I look at such a countenance as his,
and not be confident that there is a mind within correspondent
to it? There is, though, a want of energy in it, which I hope
is not in his character; but it is sometimes the case, that a
love of poetry, and habit of writing it, effeminate the mind of
man, while they only render more attractive and interesting
that of woman.
"He came for his sister Harriet, who has left us, very much to
my sorrow as well as that of all the family. She has an
uncommon mind, and possesses much original genius: it is very
seldom you see such proofs of it in one so young, as to put it
beyond doubt, that, under any circumstances, love of literature
would have been predominant. She is a great loss to us, and to
myself particularly so, as I can never hope to have it in my
power to cultivate her acquaintance as I should wish. But I
must be content, and if I can only have the power of
appreciating as they deserve those friends I now have, I think
it will be my own fault if I am not happy.
"With love to all friends, I must conclude by assuring you of
the firm affection of your friend,
"M. PICKARD."
[Footnote 1: He spent two years at Exeter, as teacher in the Academy.]
This was written the same month, and within a few days of the date of
that remarkable religious paper, which Henry Ware wrote for his own
sacred use,--"To be opened and read for improvement, once a
month,"[2]--seen by no other eye, probably, until Mary herself opened
it, as his widow! From this time they did not meet, as personal
acquaintance, until the year of their marriage.
[Footnote 2: Memoir of Henry Ware, p. 83.]