Mary Pickard was now alone. Every member of her own family had gone, and
she had witnessed and smoothed the passage of every one. She had only
entered mature life, but her twenty-five years of experience and change
had been equal to double that period of common life. Already had she
learned the great truth, which to many comes late, if at all,--
"We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths;
In feelings, not in figures on a dial."
Heretofore she had always had an object to live for,--some one dependent
upon her affection and exertions, to whom it was happiness enough to
minister. Now there was no one; and we wonder not that she said, "I seem
to hang so loosely on the world, that it is of little importance where I
am." It was indeed a singular providence which at this moment opened to
her an entirely new field, yet one wholly congenial with her tastes and
wishes.
Her only relatives on the father's side were in England, connections
whom she had seen only as a child twenty years before, but had always
hoped to see again. And not for her own gratification only, but that she
might be of service, if possible, to those who were in depressed and
obscure condition, as some of them were. This consideration, which would
have offered least inducement to most young minds, perhaps have kept
them away, was an incentive to Mary, and gave her a right to find in the
opportunity a duty as well as a pleasure; especially as the occasion
given her was itself an opportunity to serve an invalid friend. The
circumstances will appear in the following letters to Miss Cushing and
Mrs. Paine.
"_Boston, March 8, 1824._
"MY DEAR MISS CUSHING:--
"If sorrow for sin is any ground for forgiveness, I trust you
will grant it to me, for my shameful neglect of you. Do not
think that forgetfulness or want of interest has led to this;
you know me, I trust, better than to believe that, and you know
my faults too well not to be able to account for it, from my
too deeply rooted habit of procrastinating. Often during the
past winter have I thought, if I could only see you, I should
be sure to find the guidance and sympathy which I have longed
for; but when I thought of writing to you, I felt the
selfishness of troubling you with my own perplexities, knowing
that, as my mind was so much occupied by them, I could not
compensate you for it by any other communications I could make.
The last six months have indeed brought to me a constant
struggle of feeling. Left as I was to choose my own path on the
wide ocean of life, with health, strength, and some means of
influence, the responsibility which it imposed to use to the
best possible advantage the powers that God had given me, to
promote the end for which I knew they were given, was almost
overpowering,--and at times I would have given myself up
willingly to the control of any one who would relieve me from
the burden. I have experienced in so many striking ways the
great goodness of God in giving me light to guide, and strength
to sustain me in hours of trial, that it is, I know, but
practical infidelity to doubt for one moment that his
protecting influence will still be extended towards me, if I
try my utmost to attain a knowledge of duty, and persevere to
my best ability in the path which conscience dictates. But the
difficulty is, that, though in great events where we see at
once that no human power can aid us we cannot but acknowledge
that He is sufficient for all things, we are too apt to lose
sight of this truth in cases in which human agency must be
exerted, forgetting that God is as surely the operating cause
in one case as the other. When it appears that our fate may be
determined by a single word which we feel the power of
uttering, we can scarcely help thinking that upon our own heads
must be all the consequences which may follow; and thinking
thus, we must realize our weakness and insufficiency.
"All this has been preying upon my mind, and its effects have
been deplorably contracting to my thoughts. I have, indeed,
been outwardly much occupied by various pursuits, trying to do
something for others, but my thinking has been nearly all for
myself. This is my only excuse for not writing you more, and I
think with this specimen you will be satisfied that I have not
before attempted it. I believe that all the events that befall
us are exactly such as are best adapted to improve us; and I
find, in a perfect confidence in the wisdom and love which I
know directs them, a source of peace which no other thing can
give; and in the difficulty I find in acting upon this belief I
see a weakness of nature, which those very trials are designed
to assist us in overcoming, and which trial alone can conquer.
Whatever is in store for me, I trust that I shall not forget
that the first and only important object of existence is to
promote, as far as my powers may extend, the cause of holiness.
That every one, however humble their station and limited their
capacity, has some power to do this, I doubt not, as I find in
every line of God's word a command to do so; and I pray that my
feeble efforts may be fully devoted to this end.
* * * * *
"_March 15._ What changes a few days may produce in one's
prospects! Little could I think, a week ago, that the
conclusion of this letter was to tell you, that in less than
another week I should be floating on the vast ocean, on my way
to England. But so it is, and I hope that the suddenness of the
determination to go has not shut from my eyes any very
important consideration against it. It seems to me like a
dream, for it is only in my dreams that I have ever thought of
it as a possibility. I have wished to see my relations there,
having always kept up a constant correspondence with them, and
felt very much interested in them; but since my father's death,
I have viewed the accomplishment of this wish as an
impossibility. But now that so good an opportunity has offered,
I cannot hesitate to accept it. I seem to hang so loosely on
the world, that it is of little importance where I am, as it
regards duties, and it is an advantage to enlarge one's ideas,
which I feel ought to be improved. To tell you all that I feel
at leaving home would be impossible; it is a most solemn
undertaking, and when I glance at the possibilities connected
with such a step, it almost overwhelms me.
"I wish I could see every one of you once more. My heart is
indeed too full to tell you half that I wish.
"Yours most affectionately,
"M. L. P"
* * * * *
"_Boston, March 13, 1824._
"MY DEAR N----:
"I have been sitting many minutes with my pen in my hand and
paper before me, trying to bring to myself sufficient
resolution to tell you the new and surprising turn which has
taken place in my wayward destiny. I have been so long the
creature of circumstances that you must be prepared for changes
of all kinds in my lot; but I know not how it will strike you
when you learn for truth, that in one week from to-morrow I
sail for England. I thought that I was entirely willing to go,
but as I find myself telling you of it, and think that it is
utterly impossible for me to see you again, my heart sinks
within me, and I almost shrink from it. In fact, this is the
first moment I have realized it. I knew nothing of it until the
day before yesterday, when Edward Robbins sent to me, to say
that his physicians and friends advised his taking a voyage,
and that, if I could go with him, it would decide him to take
their advice. I had thought of the subject so much, that I was
prepared at once to answer. It is a very desirable thing for me
to visit the few relations which I have there, and I could
never give up the expectation and endeavor to accomplish it. My
dependent state was the only barrier, as I could never go
unless under the protection of one of the few male friends from
whom I should be willing to receive such an obligation, and it
was so unlikely that either of those few would ever think of
going, that I had but little hope I should ever realize my
wishes. But this proposition at once removed all difficulties.
Our families have been so long connected, and Edward himself
has been so particularly kind to me through life, and more than
ever since I have been without a parent's protection, and is in
every respect so exactly calculated to make one feel willing
and happy to be under obligation, that I could not but feel
that now was the time (if ever) for me to accomplish this
great object. Doubts about the sufficiency of my means, and
some scruples about my right to employ them in this way, made
me hesitate a few hours; but in less than four I decided, with
the advice of all whom it was necessary to consult, that it was
right to improve the present, as all future opportunities were
uncertain. That it cost me a deep inward struggle to make my
feelings acquiesce, you will not doubt. The first day I felt
like a child. I could not glance even at the reasons which
favored my going without sad and overpowering retrospection,
and the thought of the uncertainty of the result, the thousand
possibilities involved in such a change, almost turned my
brain; and yet every one was wondering how I could look so
composed and keep so still. It is singular how much little
things sometimes concur to aid us. It was Thursday, and I was
just going to lecture, as Mr. Robbins came in with his
proposal. I went still, and Mr. Walker gave us one of the most
delightful, strengthening sermons upon the influence of the
Spirit, and the all-sufficiency of trust in its guidance, that
I ever heard in my life. I believe no other subject could have
fixed my attention, and it did fix it most effectually.
"I know it is utterly impossible that I should see you,
therefore I will not dwell for a moment on the thought. I have,
of course, a great deal to think about, although little
personal preparation; but I must leave every thing in which I
have the least concern just as I should wish if I was certain I
should never return. God only knows what the future will bring
to me, but I hope to find myself wholly willing to yield myself
to the disposal of his providence. We think of these changes
for others, and feel little doubt about their safety, but when
the case becomes our own, it is another thing. To embark on the
wide ocean in a little, frail vessel with perfect calmness,
requires a firmness of faith of which no one can boast until
they have stood the test. I have no fear of it now, and I trust
I shall find that the ground of confidence in the all-powerful
God, which the experience of my life has given me, will be
sufficient to support me in all events. I am willing to be put
to the test, for if all that I think I feel is but delusion, I
had better discover the delusion before it is too late.
"We have taken passage in the Emerald. If I feel alone here, I
don't know what I shall do in a land of strangers. We go to
Liverpool, and probably immediately to London from there. I go
with very moderate hopes about seeing the wonders and beauties.
I must be satisfied with seeing people, not things. I shall
have no right to travel much, and shall have no advantages not
common to the most insignificant; nevertheless, if I can attain
my principal object, all the rest will be unexpected gain. It
is most probable we shall be gone a year, but it is possible we
may return in the fall.
"What a variety for one poor soul in the last four months! It
absolutely makes me giddy to think of it all. But what a source
of comfort is it, that in all things I have sought guidance
where I believe it is ever freely given; and I do believe,
whatever is the event of all this, it must be the direction of
Him who knows and governs all things I must not write more.
"Yours most affectionately,
"M. L. P."
A particular friend in Milton, one of the truest and noblest friends
that Mary or any one ever had, describes her as at this time "worn to
the bone" with care and trial; and then breaks forth in praise of her,
in unmeasured terms; adding, "Yet, with all this superiority, where is
the other being on whom any poor fool can repose with such trust and
confidence, as on her? My meanest thought is not checked in the
utterance, because her mind is so flexible it stoops to the lowest. I am
only afraid of adoring her, so I may as well hold my peace." This was
said in earnest, and is one of many expressions of admiration and
affection called out by her departure.
Of her progress and occupations abroad, our knowledge is drawn
exclusively from her own letters. These, therefore, we shall use freely,
leaving them to show their connection as far as they can, and make their
own impression; begging the reader to remember, however, that they were
all written in the haste of travelling or the fatigues of watching, and
that their literary merit or public appearance was the last thought to
occur to the mind of the writer. She wrote a great deal, and we confine
our selection chiefly to passages relating to personal experience,
rather than descriptions of places or works of art. For these last she
allowed herself little time, though keenly alive to the enjoyment of all
grandeur and beauty, and giving passing indications of her power of
appreciating and delineating.
Arriving in Liverpool in April, she was made to feel at home
immediately, by the kindness and sympathy of a kindred mind, in one to
whom Dr. Channing had given her a letter, and whose name and sad fate
are familiar to many,--Mrs. Freme, daughter of the Rev. Dr. Wells, who
settled in Brattleboro', Vermont, where she afterward perished by fire.
Mary's account of her interview with that excellent woman is
characteristic, as her first interest in a new country.
"_London, April 19, 1824._
"In Liverpool, I went with Mrs. Freme to visit the Female
Penitentiary, and took a long walk with her. She had
relinquished an engagement out of town to go with me, and I
know not that I ever felt more grateful to a stranger in my
life. She is an uncommonly sensible, kind woman, extremely
interested in the encouragement of all good works, a warm
Unitarian, and a truly liberal, benevolent Christian. I never
enjoyed any thing in my life more than the conversation I had
with her. I had begun to feel the want of that free intercourse
upon those subjects upon which we can speak only to those who
we are sure are equally interested in them; and in a strange
land, to meet with one who not only entered fully into every
thing I wished to say, but carried me on to higher, more
improving and elevated thoughts, was indeed a privilege."
* * * * *
"_London, May 6, 1824._
"MY DEAR ANN:--
"It was a great deprivation to me to be unable to write at sea.
I hoped to have had a large packet for the many kind friends
who aided and blessed my departure, expressing something of the
gratitude which overpowered me. I have sometimes feared that
you thought me insensible to it all, for I dared not try to
utter even a word of what I felt lest I should lose my
self-possession entirely, and trouble them more than my thanks
would please them. God alone knows how fully I appreciated it
all, and when I look back upon the period which elapsed after
my father's death until I left you, I know not how to speak my
astonishment that such a one as myself should have been so
signally favored. For your Aunt Nancy I can only say her reward
must be beyond this world; nothing that I or any one here can
do, is adequate to it. Never was a human being so blessed with
kind friends, and could I feel that I had been as grateful as I
ought to have been, I should be happy. But the entire
absorption of every thought in self, during the past winter, is
now a subject of much reproach.
"I had time to think of all this during the long days and
wakeful nights on the voyage, and I do assure you I took a new
view of every thing connected with it. Whether it was the
absence of every thing else to interest my mind, or the natural
increase of our attachment to all objects when we are going
from them, I know not, but there were moments of acute agony,
when I thought of the return I had made for the kindness
manifested towards me. How often I longed to be for a little
time on the little stool in the drawing-room, giving utterance
to my spirit! There was so little in the monotony of sea-life
to interrupt the train of one's thoughts, that I could not
sometimes get rid of an idea which possessed me, and I often
woke up, wearied with the continuation of one and the same
dream, night after night. But I did enjoy a great deal at sea,
there was so much to elevate the mind in the very situation;
and the want of confidence which I felt from the first evening
in the head of the concern tended most powerfully to raise my
thoughts above all second causes, to the One Great Cause and
Supporter of all things. Never did I so deeply feel our entire
dependence upon the power of God, never did I so fully realize
the impotence of human skill, as when I saw it contending with
the winds; and yet there was something ennobling in the idea,
that human skill had contrived and taught to guide such a
vehicle as a ship upon the trackless waste of waters; and while
we trace all this power to the original source of it, we cannot
but feel that He has given to us a noble nature. Often when the
sea was rising in immense waves on every side, and the ship
tossed about as though it were but a little shell which the
waters would soon overwhelm, have I felt as I never before did
the immense value of that religion which was able to calm all
fears, and raise the mind to a state even of enjoyment, under
such terrific circumstances. What but a firm confidence that,
whether we live or die, or whatever event befall us, it is in
Infinite Wisdom that it is so, can give this composure? Shall
we not then hold fast and cherish such a faith? shall we not
seek to understand its nature, and endeavor with our whole
hearts to ingraft its principles upon our characters?
"Tell me as much about Mr. Channing and his sermons as you can.
I went to chapel on Sunday with Mrs. Kinder, but heard very
poor preaching, to very poor houses. But Mr. Channing told me
just what to expect, therefore I was prepared for it. Poor as
it was, however, the delight of finding myself once more in a
place of public worship overbalanced all, and when I heard the
same tunes sung to the same words which I had heard in Federal
Street, it was a little more than I could bear firmly. I am
charmed with the whole Kinder family; they are too literary to
make me feel able to communicate the least pleasure, on account
of my ignorance upon all literary subjects, but they are every
thing that is kind, and very agreeable, and I find a good
lesson for my humility when I am there.
"MARY."
* * * * *
"_London, May 26, 1824._
"MY DEAR FRIENDS:--
"For the first four weeks I resisted all the entreaties of my
cousins to go to them, because Dr. R---- was so depressed and
ill, and it was so bad for Mrs. R---- to be left alone. But the
third week Dr. R---- improved very much in health, and somewhat
in spirits. And though he offered me many great inducements to
accompany them to Leamington, I could not think it quite right
to do so, as my society would not be as necessary to them as
it had been, and they were going to a fashionable
watering-place. I had seen nothing of my own friends, and as
Mrs. Bates and Mrs. Morton had asked me to stay with them when
I first arrived, I took the liberty of accepting their
invitation for a few days.
"I believe I told you I had a kind letter from Uncle Ben, and
have since had a visit from his son, who heard of our arrival,
and came up the next day, in true Lovell style, to take me home
with him to Waltham Abbey, near Enfield.
"Through the kindness of Mr. Kinder's family I have had many
privileges. By their intercession I have been admitted to
Newgate, and though Mrs. Fry was not there, I was very much
gratified. I met with a young Quakeress, who was rather
handsome, was very intelligent and kind, and has been very
attentive to me. Mrs. Fry is too much out of health to go
often, but I am to be informed by my little friend when she
next goes.
"Walking to Newington with the Kinders, to return a call, they
asked me if I would go with them to see Mrs. Barbauld. To be
sure, it made my heart beat, but I could not say no. It was
indeed a privilege, and I wish I could tell you all about it.
She spoke with great feeling of those of our ministers whom she
had seen,--Buckminster, Thacher, and Channing. Having never
seen Mr. Thacher's sermons, I had the honor of sending them to
her, and of writing her a note. A note to Mrs. Barbauld! What
presumption! Yet I was asked afterward to dine with her. She is
remarkably bright for her age, speaks of death with the firmest
hope, and I really felt as if I were communing with a spiritual
body. Though now eighty-two, she possesses all her faculties in
full perfection. Her manner is peculiarly gentle, her voice
low, and very sweet.
"I went with the Kinders to see some rich Quakers, who are very
active in the school concern, and also to a meeting of the
British and Foreign School Society, where I saw the Duke of
Sussex, and heard some fine speaking. They go upon the
Lancaster and Bell system, and truly wonderful is their success
and usefulness. I have heard Madame Catalani, and some of the
finest singers, at a concert at the Opera House, and was as
much amazed as it was possible to be, notwithstanding all I had
heard. But some of those with less power pleased me more. No
one can equal _her_, or be compared with her. Braham sung with
her, with a full band, and her voice was heard above all; it is
tremendous, for the house is immense, and she entirely filled
it. At a meeting of the Sons of the Clergy at St. Paul's, I
heard some very fine sacred music. About thirty little boys
sang the high parts, and chanted the responses. The church was
very full. The Duke of Clarence, Lord Mayor, and a goodly
company of the dignitaries of the Church, filled the seats of
honor. Nothing could be more solemn than the whole scene, and
when at parts of the service the whole congregation joined in
the chant, the dome rung with the sound, and one almost looked
to see if the statues around were not roused.
"Do you fear that my head is growing giddy, with all this
variety? At present there is no danger. My thoughts turn too
often homeward, to be very much engrossed by any thing here,
and my heart will feel sad when I think of the time which must
elapse ere I see it again."
* * * * *
"_Broadwater, Worthing, June 11, 1824._
"MY DEAR COUSIN:--
"On Saturday, the 29th, I received a letter from Dr. R----
saying that Leamington did not agree with him, that Mrs. R----
was quite unwell, and they begged, if possible, that I would
come to them the next day, with some plan of proceeding for
them, for he felt wholly unable to decide what to do. After
some debate with Mrs. S---- I concluded that it was a duty to
give up all my own views, and do what I could for him, as there
was no one else who could assist them in this land of
strangers. Accordingly I wrote him that I would join them on
Tuesday, as it was not in my power to make such an entire
change in my arrangements before. I had just prepared on Monday
to start, when another letter arrived, saying they should be in
London at night.
"We propose going from here to the Isle of Wight, and round to
the western part of England, Bristol, Bath, and Wales. I hope
on the way to have a peep at Mrs. McAdam, who is now at
Plymouth, for it is rather tantalizing for us to be kept so
long separated. I would not have believed that any thing would
have kept me so long from my friends after I had found myself
in England. But it is well to be obliged to control our
selfishness in England, as elsewhere. The little I have seen of
my relations has only increased my desire to know them and be
loved by them. My reception at Uncle Ben's was more like that
which I hope to have at home, than any thing I could have
expected in this strange land. He is a warm-hearted old man,
with all the best of the Lovell feelings in full vigor. He was
very much attached to my mother, and retains a stronger
interest in his Transatlantic relations than I could have
thought possible after an absence of fifty years. He was very
much overcome at seeing me, and wept over me like a child. They
demand three months, at least, from me, but I am afraid I shall
not have half that time for them. You don't know how delightful
it was to be among people who seemed so like my own home
friends."
* * * * *
"_Broadwater, June 11, 1824._
"MY DEAR ANN:--
"You have been sorely afflicted indeed, doubtless for some good
purpose. I am rejoiced to find by your letter that you are
disposed to view it so, and improve by the chastisement. I hope
it will lead the way to a more free communication with our good
minister. It is a great privilege, and one which ought to be
improved. I have learned since I have been here to estimate our
advantages in this and all other religious affairs, as I could
never have done at home. In London, it seems to me that there
is no more connection between minister and people, in the
Established Church, than if they had no influence whatever to
exercise; and among the Dissenters I have met with, the case is
not much better. They are so scattered, and wander about so
much, that it is difficult to have much intercourse, or keep up
much interest among them....
"I have heard but one sermon since I have been in this country
which made the least impression upon my mind, and that was from
one from whom I expected nothing that would satisfy me. This
was Mr. Irving, whom Mr. Channing mentioned as the popular
favorite in London. He is a most singular-looking Scotchman, a
pupil of Dr. Chalmers, and now so much the fashion, that
tickets of admission are sold, to enable those who wish to hear
him to go in before the hour when the doors are thrown open.
Even in this way it is like the theatre of a Kean night, and
for two hours before the service commences the crowd is
immense. His manner is very like Kean's, most impassioned, and
when he commenced I turned from him in disgust. But there was
that in the subject and substance of the sermon which made me
forget the manner in which it was delivered. It was, I
understood, one of the least flowery of his productions. I
shall never forget it, I think; but I would not be obliged to
go to such a place for the best sermons that ever were written.
It was just like the theatre or some great exhibition.
"You cannot think how I long, when the Sabbath comes round, to
have an ear in Federal Street. I find, as Mr. Channing warned
me, that travelling is a sad enemy to the cultivation of
religious knowledge and improvement; it does so derange the
regularity of one's habits of thinking and acting. The day is
too confused, and the nights too wearied. But there is much in
the experience of every day to excite a strong sense of
gratitude to that Providence whose care is extended over us in
all places; in the consciousness which we must have, even when
the idea of separation from those we love presses most heavily
upon us, that there is One, ever present, whose love for us is
infinite. Yet it is not of feelings that I ought to speak; I
could fill volumes with the variety of thoughts which every day
suggests, but I am learning to do without the communication of
them."
From Broadwater the party of four went to the Isle of Wight, and made
the usual circuit, in their little open carriage, through that charming
region, "with nothing wanting but health, and with that deficiency all
was a blank." Dr. R---- was too unwell to enjoy any thing, and Mary
herself, for a wonder, speaks of suffering from a cough which she had
had a month. But it did not prevent her from making what she calls "a
break-neck excursion" up a precipice of about four hundred feet, at the
southern part of the island. Of the country she gives a glowing
description, for which we have not room. On leaving the island, Dr.
R---- found it necessary to return to Broadwater for medical advice,
and Mary, who had arranged to meet some of her relations at Plymouth at
this time, readily, though not without regret, gave up her own plans,
and went back with the family to Broadwater. The place had little
interest for her, and she writes of "useless idleness" as a new thing to
her, and uncomfortable. But others did not think her presence useless,
nor did she fail to find employment. From the wife of the clergyman, who
had lately established schools in the parish on a new plan, she learned
a good deal of the national system of education. After a short time, Dr.
R---- determined to go to Paris, and she accompanied him. But of Paris
itself she saw very little, being chiefly devoted to the care of her
friend. And except for him, she had no wish to be there. "It may seem
strange," she writes, "that I should not wish to see Paris, but the
pleasure of every thing depends upon the circumstances which immediately
surround us. Yet I am very glad I came, for, though I cannot be of much
use, any one is better than none."
Their stay in Paris was short. In view of all considerations, Dr. R----
found it best to return at once to America, and sailed that same month
from Havre, Mary remaining to make her visit to her friends in England.
Her next letters are from Chatham.
"_Chatham, September 7, 1824._
"MY DEAR ANN:--
"You may easily suppose that my sensations at leaving Havre
were not the most cheering. I knew that I could have been of
but little comfort to our friends on the voyage, but I could
not help wishing that it had been so ordered that I might have
returned with them. There was something, too, so very lonely in
the idea of being left in a strange land, with no chance of
escape for a certain length of time, even if my friends should
take it into their heads to dislike me; and worse than all,
under my own sole direction, to govern myself and my actions
only by my own judgment. Indeed, I did feel as though I should
almost shrink from the effort it required; but this did not
trouble me long. I thought of the mercies of my past life, the
great goodness and preserving care which had hitherto upheld me
in many times of danger and difficulty. The night was a most
beautiful one, and the very motion of the little vessel
recalled so much which had once given me support under similar
circumstances, that my mind seemed to acquire a degree of
calmness and firmness which was almost sublime. For this I have
great cause of gratitude; it was the gift of a Power mightier
than I, and prepared me for the coming danger. We were two
nights and a day crossing to Southampton, about twice the usual
length of the passage, the greater part of the time in a
violent storm and most dangerous situation. I suffered more
from sickness than in crossing the Atlantic, but met with very
great attention from the ladies who were in the same
state-room, and much entertainment beside; but I never was more
rejoiced than when I found myself in a clean bed on _terra
firma_, upon the second morning.
"My first attempt at journeying alone was a very encouraging
one. A good old clergyman was my companion, and after three
weeks in France, I assure you, I enjoyed any thing like serious
conversation; though he happened to be a Methodist, he was a
rational and learned one, and I believe I learned much that was
useful from him. I had apprised my good cousin of my intended
descent upon her family, and was received with open arms and
much kind greeting by all her flock. Here I am, then, at last,
and I know you are impatient to know all about them, and the
place in which they live. Mrs. S---- is in appearance but the
shadow of what she was when her picture was taken. Trouble and
age have made her thin and pale. But the perfect symmetry of
her pretty little figure, and the brightness of her still
beautiful eyes, enable one to see in her the remains of one of
nature's fairest works. Her naturally good spirits are almost
wholly subdued by the trials and perplexities which have
followed her in constant succession for many years, and ill
health and an anxious mind have created a disposition to
despondency which even her piety cannot at all times overcome.
This has unfitted her for great exertion, and, not possessing
much natural force of character, it is impossible for her to
make much effort even for herself. She is all gentleness, and
full of affectionate feeling, and I often think, in looking at
her in her happiest moments, that she would be a good
personification of Shakspeare's Patience smiling at Grief. Her
situation here is that of matron to the hospital, but it is
almost a nominal office, a perfect sinecure, for she has
scarcely any duty, and a comfortable income. She is now
peculiarly tried, and seems to consider it an especial mercy
that she has one to whom she can turn in her loneliness with
something like a claim for sympathy.
"... There is a small Unitarian chapel here, and cousin N----
will say, 'Why do you not go to that?' Merely because I found
out but yesterday that there was such an one; hearing a lady
say, 'We ought to tolerate all denominations but those
dangerous enemies to religion, the Unitarians,--I cannot pass
their chapel without shuddering,'--next Sunday I shall endeavor
to ascertain the grounds of this pious hatred. But in truth,
if I had not learned liberality before, I have had experience
enough to teach it to me since I have been in this country, I
have met with so many good Christians, of such a variety of
sects; and found that the bond of union created by a mutual
desire to aid in the cause of benevolence was sufficient to
excite interest, without any regard to different creeds or
doctrinal points.
"I am constantly hearing now from all my little circle of
relations, who seem determined to prevent my feeling alone, if
their attentions can prevent it. Do not suspect me of vanity in
mentioning all these attentions; this is not the case, for the
effect is rather humbling, and I fear when they know me better
they will find a poor return for it all; but I do feel such
gratitude for so many unlooked for, undeserved blessings, that
I want you all to know it, that you too may unite with me in
thanksgiving to God for his watchful care of me, a solitary
orphan in a foreign land.
* * * * *
"_September 14._ The day after I wrote the above, I received a
letter from Mr. and Mrs. C----, then at Ramsgate, a town upon
the eastern shore of Kent, saying that they were making a short
tour, and had intended coming to Chatham to see me on their way
home, but thinking I might like to see Dover and its castle,
proposed that I should join them there, and pass a few days
with them. So, without hesitation, I got into one of the many
coaches which daily pass through Chatham, and in six hours was
with them. The ride was delightful, through a richly wooded and
highly cultivated country, the fine old city of Canterbury, and
a number of pretty towns. My companions in the coach were very
genteel, intelligent people, and I was quite pleased with
finding that it was a very customary thing for a lady to travel
inside a coach without escort; I wished it were equally so to
travel outside, I do so much prefer to see all I can. This was
on Thursday last, the 9th, and I remained with them until
to-day, receiving every attention and kindness from them, and
much satisfaction from seeing the place....
"I returned here to-day. My cousin was to have met me at
Canterbury, but was prevented by the weather. I rode the
greater part of the way alone, inside, though the outside was
full; and you may tell Mary that my thoughts were often turned
to her; for a guideboard with the name of 'Milton' upon it
reminded me of my shameful neglect of our sweet _tune_ of that
name. I had not once sung it since I left her, and found full
employment for some miles in trying to bring it to mind; and it
was not until after recalling her looks and voice, and beating
three strokes in a bar, over and over again, to try the power
of association, that I could bring it to my recollection. But I
sung it enough, when I did get it, to make up for all past
deficiencies. It carried me back to last winter, and all your
happy family, so fully, that my empty coach was soon peopled,
and I had as pleasant a ride as need be.
"I had the gratification of seeing the famous actress, Mrs.
Siddons, at Dover,--a rare sight indeed; she is a wonderfully
handsome woman for her age, living in elegant retirement, in
handsome style.
"MARY."
* * * * *
"_Chatham, October 4, 1824._
"MY DEAR COUSIN:--
"I am delighted that Mr. Gannett pleases you all, and to hear
such good accounts of Mr. Channing. The very idea of a letter
from him was almost too much for my poor brain; the reality
would overpower me, I believe. I greatly fear, unless the
spring should bring me some kind American friend with whom I
can travel, that I shall see little more of England. But I will
be satisfied, at any rate, if I can but find the means of
seeing my poor aunt S----.
"The return of this season brings so forcibly to my mind the
recollection of the trying events of which it is the
anniversary, that I find it difficult to prevent myself from
dwelling too much upon it. I would not lose the remembrance of
it, for every hour of that time was filled with valuable
experience of the goodness and loving-kindness of my Heavenly
Father. I love to dwell upon it, and recall every act of the
many friends who then surrounded me with renewed feelings of
gratitude towards them. May I yet be enabled to prove in my
actions what I cannot express in words.
"MARY."
Mary Pickard is now among her kindred, those relatives of her father
whom she had so long desired to know, and whom she hoped in some way to
benefit. For her idea of conferring benefits was never defined by the
thought of wealth, or excluded by the want of it. That she gave most
liberally, according to her means, at this very time, we learn from
others; her letters would never suggest it. In other and better ways, by
most unexpected opportunities, did she render service to many before she
left England, where her stay was greatly prolonged beyond the first
intention, for this very purpose. For ten weeks she remained in Chatham;
and though she does not say it, we infer from other intimations that
much of that time was occupied with the care of the sick, or in
relieving some kind of trouble. It is in reference to Chatham that she
says, "I am fated to find trouble wherever I go,"--which is true of all
who are willing to _take_ trouble, that they may relieve others.
From Chatham Mary went to Waltham Abbey, and passed three weeks with the
son of the only surviving brother of James Lovell. And in December,
unwilling to be detained longer from the cousin to whom she designed to
make one of her chief visits in England, and finding that sickness in
the family prevented any one from coming for her, she took the coach
alone, leaving London before daylight and riding to Salisbury, where
some of her friends met her, and conducted her to their home at
"Burcombe House," in that vicinity. And there she spent the next three
or four months, in a way that her letters will best tell. These letters
we give as we find them, without excluding the personal allusions and
occasional descriptions of character; since it is in just such
descriptions, natural and easy, that we best read the mind of the writer
and of those whom she portrays, as well as the features and ways of a
common English household. And should these letters chance to fall under
the eye of any to whom they allude, if any still survive, we trust they
will pardon a liberty which exposes nothing that is not to their honor.
"_Burcombe House, December 8, 1824._
"Congratulate me, my good friends, that I am at last under this
roof, and have seen cousin Jane and all her dear family. I left
London at five o'clock on Saturday, the 4th, and I found myself
at Salisbury at three o'clock, not at all fatigued. Cousin Jane
and her son came to meet me; but as their carriage was from
home, they were in an open gig, and we thought it expedient to
take a postchaise, as Burcombe is five miles from the town. But
before I proceed to the events of my ride, I must tell you
something of my cousin, as I know you are wishing to hear how
she received me. Our meeting was just what you could easily
imagine it would be, knowing her to be a person of ardent
feelings, strongly attached to her dear uncle, and consequently
determined to love his daughter, let her be what she might; and
after the frequent disappointments we have had, with regard to
meeting, we both had an almost superstitious fear that
something might yet happen to separate us. But we were at last
together, and, if it took us both some time to realize it, we
were not the less rejoiced to find it true. She has suffered
much, and it has subdued her mind and spirits, and softened her
manners. She is certainly one of the most entertaining women I
ever saw, and one of the most interesting. She has strong
powers of mind, and of course strong passions, warm-hearted,
enthusiastic, prone to extremes, almost without restraint in
youth, and the sport of adverse circumstances through life,
ignorant of the only sure Guide to direct and guard the soul
under the temptations to which such trials subject it. Imagine,
then, what such a mind must be when brought by suffering to a
deep sense of religious obligation, turning all its energies to
the accomplishment of good to others and the subjection of
self, not content with feeling until every feeling leads to
active exertion,--and you have my dear cousin before you. You
will not be surprised that I should already dearly love her,
and feel that it was worth coming so far to know and give her
pleasure. Her mind is just in that state which requires free
discussion upon subjects of faith and practice, and shut out as
she is here from society, and almost wholly without ministerial
instruction, she suffers from the want of a companion who feels
a like interest in the matter. How often do I wish for her the
same privileges which I have had in Mr. Channing, or that you,
my dear cousin, could step in and pour forth a little from
your fund of knowledge.
"But I have digressed vastly from my tale. To return to the inn
at Salisbury. We soon seated ourselves in a chaise, trunks,
boxes, and all, and were driving on at a furious rate towards
Burcombe House, when, lo! in a quiet lane, a mile at least from
any houses, the axle of the front wheels gave way; off went one
wheel, and down went we, just at dark, and the rain falling in
torrents. We soon found it was only a subject for laughter; we
had but one resource, which was to send the postboy back to
Salisbury for another coach, and to sit quietly in the broken
one until he returned. We had not, however, sat long, before
Lord Pembroke's carriage came to our relief; it had passed us
full at the commencement of our disaster, and was sent back to
take us home, or to Wilton House. As we did not like to take
all the baggage with us, we left it in the care of a servant,
and, glad to get out of the cold, we proceeded to my Lord's
house. I could not but be amused, that my first introduction to
this region should be to Wilton House, in an Earl's carriage. I
was not sorry to have an opportunity of seeing a place of which
I have heard so much, and should have been quite pleased to
have seen the great folks themselves; but they chanced to be
dressing for dinner, and as our chaise soon came up for us, I
had but little time to survey the place. The house is filled
with pictures, statues, and ancient armor. I hope to have an
opportunity of seeing it more leisurely.
"This whole family gave me a most hearty welcome, and I found
that it would be my own fault if I was not loved by them, and
happy with them. Jane has, indeed, a remarkably fine family, of
steady principles and habits, and sufficiently accomplished to
be agreeable and well fitted for society. This is a very
retired spot, and except a call from Lord and Lady Pembroke
when they are in the neighborhood, or a visit from some
travelling acquaintance, scarcely any one enters the house
except the family.
"... The state of the poor in this country is so very different
from any thing we see at home, that I can scarcely give you any
idea of the striking difference everywhere observable in their
manners and habits. The immense sum which is collected for
their support, under the form of poor rates, must lessen their
exertion for themselves, and the very dependence which is thus
created makes them servile. Some great man owns the village and
lands about it, his steward lets them to farmers, and of course
it depends upon sundry contingencies whether they retain
possession even during life; and how can they feel as much
interest as if it were their own freehold, and they knew their
children would reap the benefit of their improvements upon it?"
* * * * *
"_Burcombe House, December 31, 1824, Half past Eleven._
"MY DEAR FRIEND:--
"This hour has for so many years found me at my desk pouring
forth to you, that, although in a new hemisphere and under new
influences, I instinctively turn to the pen and ink, with a
feeling that something remains to be done before the old year
can be allowed to take its departure. I am not, as I was wont
to be, seated quietly alone by my 'ain fireside,' cogitating
upon the past, and, for the only time in the twelve months,
daring to look forward and hope for the future. It is the
custom here for all the family to sit out the old year, and I
am in the parlor, surrounded by the whole tribe. On one side is
my cousin's eldest daughter, playing 'God save the King' as if
all possibility of ever doing it again was going with the year;
on the other, an animated Miss C----, acting the old-maid aunt,
giving her nephews and nieces sage advice upon the occasion,
who are all laughing most heartily. In fact, the whole house is
in a bustle; so you need not expect a very connected epistle,
as I am obliged to turn to one or the other, every other word,
to join in the merriment.
"The changes which the past year has made in my life are so
amazing, when I view them in a body, that I cannot but be
astonished that we should ever attempt to look forward with any
thing like calculation or plan. You can easily conceive that
the contrast between this night and its past anniversary is
enough to excite the few nerves I have; and you will not at all
wonder, that, whatever attractions there may be around me,
thought will wander back to home and its interests, and it
requires some effort to restrain my impatience to be again
restored to them, that I may make up, if possible, for my abuse
of some of them. Yet do not imagine me discontented or
homesick; I am not in the least, for every hour's experience
makes me rejoice that I am here; and, if kindness and attention
could make up for old acquaintance, I could be as contented to
pass my life here as anywhere. I would not return without
seeing and doing all that may be in my power; but that I do
look forward with a feeling of desire, such as I never knew
before, to the period when, all this being accomplished, I
shall find myself again at home, it would be folly to deny. But
this is just what I expected to feel, and of course was
prepared for with some degree of firmness; and when thus
prepared, it is astonishing how indifferently we go through
with what, under any other circumstances, would destroy one's
self-possession entirely. The greatest evil I find in this
state of constant preparation for enduring is, that I am
getting into a quiescent state of inaction; not being quite
enough at ease to exert my own powers freely, I am losing that
activity of mind which I rather hoped to increase. But I have
long since learned that youthful habits are not easily
displaced, and I am sure now that I never shall learn to be
loquacious. You know how much I felt the inconvenience of my
silent habits at home, and will readily believe that I must
suffer still more among strangers, with whom agreeability is a
necessary passport.
"It is so long since I have written you, that I scarcely know
where to take up the thread of my discourse. I was then, I
believe, at Dover, and you probably have learned from my
letters to Boston how much I found to please me in my cousin's
family at Chatham. It was my good fortune to have it in my
power to be of some service to them, and I assure you I was
most thankful for any opportunity of redeeming my time from
entire uselessness. I am fated to find trouble wherever I go,
and ought to be truly grateful when it is such as I can
relieve. I staid ten weeks at Chatham, and went then to Waltham
Abbey, about sixteen miles from London, and spent three weeks
with George Lovell and his most lovely wife. He is the son of
the only remaining brother of my grandfather, with all the
warmth and generosity which characterized the family in
America. He unites good judgment and firm principles, an
uncommon versatility of talent, and consequent power of
pleasing.
"I came here upon the 4th of December; and if I have ever told
you enough of cousin Jane and her concerns to give you any idea
of the strong interest I have always felt in her, you will
fully understand how intense was the excitement of my mind when
I found myself at last approaching her mansion. She had been
the greatest attraction to me on this side of the water, indeed
the principal object of my visit; the constant impediments
which had prevented our meeting during the past summer of
course increased our interest and impatience about it, and I
can scarcely tell whether pain or pleasure predominated when I
felt that the crisis was near which would decide how far it
was well that I had come.... She has had a life of trial, and
being without that only comforter under suffering which can
teach us to submit patiently to it, the effect has been
unhappy. And now that she is just awaking from her dream of
darkness, you can easily conceive that the effect of the bright
sunshine which is breaking upon her mind should be most
powerful, and apt to carry such a mind to the extreme of
enthusiasm. She has but few connections, and almost idolized my
father as the guardian of her youth, and therefore inclined to
extend to his child all the strong affection she felt for him,
so that her delight at seeing me was little short of mine to be
with her. Here, then, I am enjoying much with her and her
family.
"The house itself is one of those ancient stone edifices which
abound in all parts of the kingdom, in connection with the
houses of the great; probably built for some younger and less
affluent branches of the family. The grounds are laid out with
taste, and the lawn behind it has not probably been disturbed
since the house was built, and is covered with a turf which
might rival velvet in beauty. The fir-trees, elms, and walnuts
which surround it, and the yew hedge which divides the garden
from it, all speak its antiquity and add to its loveliness. We
have no neighbors; but the occasional visits of the different
branches of the family give us some variety."
* * * * *
"_Burcombe House, January 1, 1825._
"MY DEAR MARY:--
"A happy new year to you, and all the good people at
Marlborough House, South Street, Newton, and Canton! Although I
cannot have the pleasure, as I had at this time last year, of
waking you out of a sound sleep upon the occasion, I have taken
the liberty of thinking of you almost all the night, and
wishing you in my heart all possible blessings during the year
upon which we have entered. I do not dare to look forward, but
I cannot help hoping that it may witness my return to you, to
find you in the enjoyment of all that is worth possessing in
life. It is the custom here to sit out the old year, and as we
were expecting Mr. McAdam and William home last night, we
determined to sit up for them. They did not arrive until nearly
five this morning, so that I had time enough to reflect upon
the past and hope for the future; and every thought and action
of the last anniversary were lived over again in full reality.
I only wanted liberty to pour forth to some one, to be a most
eloquent egotist; but as it was, I just thought on quietly to
'my ain sel,' and enjoyed what was going on around me as well
as I could.
"Our only neighbor is the farmer's wife, a most excellent woman
of sixty, one of the old primitive people of the country, of
good sense and sound judgment, just such a body as cousin N----
would delight in. Her husband is the church-warden, overseer of
the poor, and indeed the principal man in all parish concerns;
and their goodness to the cottagers makes them beloved by all.
You may imagine Mrs. L---- as about dear aunty's size, of pale
complexion like her, white hair, just parted under a neat white
cap, always surmounted with a neat black-satin bonnet, stuff
gown, made as grandma used to wear hers, with a plain double
muslin neckerchief within and a black or calico shawl outside,
and a full linen apron, as white as the snow itself. Her face
is all benevolence, and her voice, even with the broad
provincial pronunciation of the country, sweet and musical.
They have a large family of sons and daughters; one of the
former, a very interesting young man, is now going in a
consumption. It is the best specimen of an English farmer's
family that I have yet seen.
"I went on Christmas day to the Cathedral at Salisbury. It is a
very fine building, and the part appropriated to the services
of the church is fitted up in a much better style than any
thing I have seen, being of black oak, and in unison with the
style of the building. The organ is a remarkably fine one, and
I think I never felt music more powerful than the first
symphony, played as the bishop and clergymen entered. It was at
first so soft, that in that immense building it seemed rather
as if it were the sound of the air itself than any earthly
creation; and as the tones swelled, the very building trembled,
and one involuntarily held the breath with awe."
* * * * *
"_Burcombe House, February 24, 1825._
"MY DEAR COUSIN:--
"The winter months have passed very quickly, and, as spring
approaches, I begin to look forward with much anxiety to the
period when, having completed all for which I came, I may
prepare to return to my beloved home, and join again the many
dear friends I may find there. I thank God that he has been
pleased to spare so many of them for such a length of time, for
it is remarkable that among so large a circle there should have
been so few changes in ten long months. You cannot conceive of
the gratitude which I feel whenever I hear from you, for you
know not the anxiety which the consciousness of being at such a
distance inevitably excites. I know not why it is, for were I
ever so near, I could do nothing to save even one of the least
of them all; but so it is, and it is a greater exercise of
reliance and trust than I could have ever known, had I not left
you. I try to look forward without fear, and I never doubt
that, whatever trials may be in store for me, it will be in
mercy that they will come, and I will be patient and
submissive.
"With regard to the probable time of my return, it is
impossible for me to speak with any certainty. The first four
months that I was in England were lost, so far as the
accomplishment of the immediate object for which I came was
concerned; and it retarded my progress more than that time, as
it is impossible to do as much in winter as might be done in
half the time in summer. I do not speak of this as regretting
it, for I have no doubt that it was for some good object that I
was so employed; and I saw much which I should not have
otherwise seen at all. But it makes it necessary that I should
prolong my stay here, in order to do even what I calculated
upon when I named a year for the probable limit of my absence.
In addition to this, many objects of interest have been
presented to me of which I knew nothing, and peculiar
circumstances have occurred since I have been here to make me
desirous of remaining longer than I had anticipated. For I
consider myself a sort of isolated, unconnected being, who,
having no immediate duties in life, is bound to improve all
opportunities of usefulness which may offer themselves."
In April Mary received the welcome intelligence that her very dear
friend, E. P. F., from America, had arrived in Liverpool. Being at this
time at Ash, Surrey, the residence of her father's uncle, she
immediately arranged to meet E---- in London, making, as she says, "a
desperate effort" to break away from her friends at Burcombe House, to
whom she had become so strongly attached as to make it no easy matter,
as we may believe there was some attachment on the other side also.
Again and again was she constrained to alter her plans and defer her
purpose of returning, by the entreaties of those whom she wished to
gratify, and who urged upon her, when other arguments failed, one that
was unanswerable; namely, that she had no _duty_ to call her home. With
sadness did she admit it, and nobly too. "I feel that I have many ties
which have to _me_ the force of duties, in drawing me back; but I cannot
forget that I am indeed without bond of any kind in life which can be
called peculiar duty."
The two friends met in London, and, after a few days of delightful
interview, Mary was called to Sydenham, where are dated two letters,
from which we take portions, referring to widely different subjects and
scenes.
"_Sydenham, June, 1825._
"DEAR EMMA:--
"It is so evident, from many circumstances of which you must be
fully sensible, that this is an appointment by that Providence
who guides even the sparrows in their course, that you have
only to seek to fulfil its duties to the best of your powers,
and humbly leave the event in His hands without whose blessing
the best endeavors of the mightiest must be ineffectual. Do not
be thinking how much more this or that one might have done; we
should do what we can for the sake of obeying God, not for our
pleasure; and acting from this motive, we may learn to be
'willing even to be useless,' if it be His will. This may seem
more than the Gospel requires, but I believe, if we knew
ourselves thoroughly, we should ever be suspicious of all
feelings which led to personal comparisons. We should, as you
say, be thankful for the one talent, not dissatisfied that we
have not the many, knowing that we may please God, and
accomplish the end of our being in the one case as well as in
the other. And as it regards the good we may do, do we not
often see Him using feeble means to effect great ends? At all
events, it is our duty to be satisfied with what He has thought
sufficient for us. But you need no urging to induce you to do
your utmost; the only difficulty is, to know in what manner it
is to be done."
* * * * *
"_Sydenham, June 9, 1825._
"MY DEAR MARY:--
"I made a call with some friends one day upon the clergyman's
lady, when our names were carried along by a row of livery
servants, each one sounding it louder and louder, until it was
announced by my lady's own servant at the door of the
drawing-room, in a voice that made me start at the fellow's
impudence in speaking so loud to his mistress; but I found that
the poor lady was very deaf, yet a good, easy, old-fashioned
body, as sociable and kind as need be. My risibles
unfortunately took alarm at the similarity of this train of
servants to a line at a fire handing buckets, and I had much
ado to look indifferent and dignified, as if I were used to it;
but I had my laugh out when I got into the room, for the
good-natured body soon gave me a pretence for it by her
whimsical stories.
"I went to St. Paul's last week to see the annual gathering of
the parochial schools and I could not have conceived any thing
so striking as the sight was. That part of the church which is
fitted up for service is not used, but temporary seats are
erected for the children under the great dome, and the
spectators sit in the body of the church, quite down to the
western door. The children, about eight thousand, all clothed
in the uniform of their several schools, are arranged one row
above another to the number of sixteen, and to the height of at
least fifty feet, within the pillars of the dome and on each
side of the aisles. The appearance of the children was most
deeply affecting; all between seven and fourteen, not half of
what belonged to the schools, for want of room; all clothed and
educated by charity; taken, for the most part, from the poorest
classes, and perhaps saved from destruction; it was a
delightful sight for a Christian, a striking testimony to the
power of religion. They were directed by the motions of one man
and it seemed as if one impulse moved the whole, so perfectly
did they keep time together. And when at last all were
assembled, and the solemn silence was suddenly broken by one
swell of their united voices in a hymn of thanksgiving, I think
the most insensible there must have been melted; the sound
filled the whole of that vast building, and reverberated again
and again along its aisles. The morning service was performed
by the clergyman, choristers, and children; the minister's
voice was almost powerless in that vast place, and the organ,
and voices of the singers, sixteen in number, could scarcely be
heard at the end of the aisle; the children only could fill the
space, and as they occasionally burst out in different parts,
the effect was wonderfully fine."
At this point, Mary received a cordial invitation from a party of
American friends, to go with them to Scotland. It was an opportunity
which she hardly expected, but most earnestly desired; not only for its
own sake, but as facilitating a cherished purpose of visiting her
father's only sister in the North of England,--a visit of which she
thought more than any other, and which was to prove more important than
any other, though in a way which she could little anticipate. The
journey thither, which was almost her only pure recreation, and was
shared with a friend of all others desirable, was a high enjoyment; and
her unstudied account of it, written from Chester and Gretna Green, we
give at length, as we have allowed but little room to this kind of
description. We claim for it no distinction, except that of naturalness
and ease.
"_Chester, July 22, 1825._
"MY DEAR COUSIN:--
"From sundry letters from Emma and myself, which will, I trust,
have reached you long before this does, you will be able to
guess how I have found my way to this place; but I am very glad
that I have time and opportunity to tell you, not only how, but
why, I am here. I wrote to Ann the last of June, mentioning Mr.
Perkins's kind proposition, that I should join his party and go
with them to Scotland. I received your delightful letter the
day after, and, I assure you, the encouragement you gave me to
see and do all I could, with the promise of the approbation of
those kind friends whose wishes it is my greatest desire to
fulfil, did not a little in deciding me to use the means placed
within my power of acquiring the information, which I probably
should never again have an opportunity of getting. I try to be
satisfied in having done what appeared best, by the thought
that it is my duty to improve all the means of doing good which
may fall in my way. But I do not like to think that any thing
is to keep me from you much longer. I had made up my mind when
I came, to go on bravely to the end, let it take what time it
might, but my hope was that a year would be sufficient, and I
still hope that it will; yet I know you would not think me
right to leave my work half finished, for any childish
weakness, or homesick feeling. Be assured that I am as
industrious as I can be, for my stimulant to exertion is a most
powerful one, that of being again united to the beloved
friends which that blessed spot, home, contains. We have had a
most delightful tour so far, and I daily feel that I am a
highly favored mortal, to have such an opportunity of
witnessing the wonders of this goodly world; and I cannot but
be grieved that I can make so little use of such a privilege.
"We left Bath upon the 9th, and have since passed through South
and North Wales, and to-day took leave of the interesting
scenery and people we found there, with much regret. At
Chepstow we passed a day, seeing the ruins of its old castle,
upon some sublime rocks on the banks of the river Wye, and
walking through the grounds of Piercefield, a gentleman's seat
in the neighborhood, finely situated upon the rocky, yet
thickly wooded heights, which border the river for a long
distance from its mouth. On our ride from Chepstow to Hereford,
we stopped to see the ruins of Tintern Abbey and Ragland
Castle, both very famous, and I should think as fine as it was
possible any thing of the kind could be. Of the former, the
walls and pillars of the church are nearly all that remain, but
they are so perfect as to give one an exact idea of the beauty
which it once possessed, built in the purest Gothic style, in
the bottom of a quiet, beautiful valley, watered by the Wye,
and protected on all sides by rocks and hills, which seem to
defy any power that should dare to approach. But the hand of
Time has worked silently and effectually, and what was once a
most noble temple is now but a tumbling ruin, sublime, indeed,
even in its decay, covered almost with ivy, and shaded from
within by trees which have grown upon the very spots
consecrated to the prayers and confessions of its former
possessors. Its situation, and the peculiar lightness and
beauty of its architecture, have made it very much talked of by
travellers; but all my expectations were fully answered,
although they were very great.
"After riding all day over hill and dale, with only the sheep
for our companions, we came at once upon one of the most
romantic scenes imaginable; the singular pass called the
Devil's Bridge, a stone structure thrown over a chasm in the
rocks of one hundred and fifty feet depth, through the bottom
of which runs a very rapid stream, dashing over rocks which at
some seasons must make quite a grand cataract; but at this time
the water is low. The banks are thickly wooded, even to the
edge of the water, and altogether it is very attractive. At
A---- we passed a night, and came through much glorious scenery
to Dalgelly, where we performed the mighty feat of mounting
Cader Idris, the highest mountain in Wales, except Snowdon, and
two thousand eight hundred feet from the point we left in the
plain below. Imagine me mounted on horse back, for the first
time in my life, for such a perilous undertaking, fortunately
without any fear, and much amused by the novelty of the
situation. The day happened to be very hot, but the atmosphere
was clear; and we should have been amply repaid for tenfold the
fatigue we endured, by the grand scene we beheld from the
summit. Never having before been on a great elevation, I knew
not what to expect; and if the sensations were not just what I
had supposed, they were sufficiently solemn to make me sensible
that it was 'good to be there.' A birdseye view of a circuit of
five hundred miles could not fail to fill one with an idea of
the power and majesty of Him who formed these wondrous glories,
such as no common scenes could ever have inspired. I think I
shall never look back upon that hour without recalling emotions
which should make one better for ever.
"MARY."
* * * * *
"_Gretna Green, July 30, 1825._
"MY DEAR MARY:--
"My last, I think, was from Lancaster, just as we were about
commencing our journey among the beautiful lakes of Cumberland
and Westmoreland. We crossed what are called the Ulverstone and
Lancaster Sands to Ulverstone. The shore is very hard at this
place, and when the tide is down the ride is perfectly safe and
free from water, except in the centre, where a river passes
through. At this place is always found a guide, who conducts
the carriage through the ford. I confess I did not much like
the sensation, for though there is no danger in a heavy
carriage, the current of the river is so strong that it seems
as if the carriage were swimming. It was an odd feeling, too,
after having been so recently three thousand feet in the air,
to find one's self walking on the very bed of the ocean. We had
about twelve miles of this kind of travelling. The coast is
very bold, and we were quite delighted with the variety.
"The next day's ride, from Ambleside to Keswick, was a very
interesting one; the scenery of the grandest, and at times most
beautiful, character. At Rydal we stopped to see what would
have been a beautiful cascade if there had been any water, but
we have had such a long period of dry weather that the stream
had almost disappeared. The scenery about it was fine, and the
thing itself could not but interest us under any circumstances,
for it borders upon Wordsworth's grounds, and has no doubt been
a favorite resort of his, and the suggestion of much of his
fine poetry. His house is just below, and we could not help
stopping at the gate, to look at the abode of one whose
writings we so much admired. He was not at home, but his sister
came out and invited us to see the place, and take a view from
the Mount which gives the name to his place. This we could not
do, but it was some consolation for our disappointment to have
spoken to her, although it was very tantalizing not to be able
to avail ourselves of her polite invitation. The lakes of
Rydal, Grasmere, Windermere, came in succession on our way, all
beautiful, but Grasmere with its little island in the centre
the most so, by far; the banks being much wooded and ornamented
by gentlemen's seats. And Emma and I fancied that, after
searching the greater part of England, we had at length found a
spot in which we should be willing to take up our abode for
life. The mighty Helvellyn tempted us mountain-climbers to
ascend its rough sides, but with Skiddaw before us we were
satisfied to pass it, in the hope of accomplishing the ascent
of that. At Keswick we staid one night, riding to Bassenthwaite
in the afternoon, and sailing upon the lake in the evening.
Nothing could exceed the beauty and sublimity of the latter
excursion. When we first went upon it, the sun was just setting
behind the immense mountains which bound this lake on the west,
throwing their shadows upon its smooth surface, and lighting
those beyond with that purple, misty hue, which is not to be
described but by the brush of an artist, this again giving way
to the sober hue of evening, until all view of them would have
been lost, had not the moon risen in full-orbed glory, to
enlighten the scene with her paler, but not less beautiful
light. We sailed about four hours upon the lake, landing upon
one of the islands upon which is a gentleman's seat, and going
to the other extremity to see the falls of dark Lodore, and to
hear the singular effect produced by firing a cannon on the
shore; it seemed like the rumbling of thunder, and was
distinctly echoed five times. I don't think I have enjoyed any
one thing so much as this sail, since we commenced our journey.
"We came on through Carlisle, and passed the boundary line
between Scotland and England, and reached this place before
dark,--the first town over the border. It is a very small
village, consisting of scarcely more than a dozen white
cottages, but it has, perhaps, been the scene of as many
critical events as many a larger one. We are at a very
comfortable inn, got up for the accommodation of the fugitives
who fly hither to seal their fate with the blacksmith's unholy
blessing. Do not be alarmed for me, although I am quietly
seated in the very room which has witnessed the consummation
'so devoutly wished' by most young dames. It is, indeed,
mortifying to find one's self so near the goal, with so many
requisites, obliged to miss the glorious opportunity for the
want of one trifling article,--a husband; but so it is, and
notwithstanding I am treading fairy land, I in vain look for
some kind godmother to conjure up the needful, and must even
submit to single blessedness a little longer. But I must stop;
and have not time to look this over.
"MARY."