_November, 1825._ "Since I last wrote you, my dear Emma, I have
had various accounts from our incomparable Mary. I feel much
anxiety on her account, for which I have been frequently
reproved by her, whose higher feelings and better regulated
judgment give her such wonderful advantage over me, and so
constantly produce in her the tranquil security of inward
peace. She is so excellent, and so truly set in the midst of
difficulties, that it sometimes appears to me as if she had
been graciously lent to us for our guide to that heaven which
we _all_ pretend to seek. When she wrote, she was perfectly
well; but though our friends went for her, she would not leave
for several days, lest she should take the disease with her to
Penrith. I dare not say I wish she were removed, for all is
assuredly for the best, however it may appear to our imperfect
minds. I feel confident she is the peculiar care of the God she
loves and serves; but when she gets to Penrith, I know I shall
be almost too happy. Her mind has taken such complete
possession of my affections, that I appear to myself a new
creature; I have totally changed since I became actually
acquainted with her.... Our correspondence will not drop here,
I hope; and I may at some future period give you a faint idea
of the interest she has excited for every thing that lives and
breathes her atmosphere."
From the letters written in America at this time, to Mary or her friends
in England, many touching passages might be borrowed. How much is
conveyed in a single fact communicated to her, at the moment of the
greatest anxiety! "With all their desire for your return, nobody
murmurs; every body says it is much better for you to stay. And Mrs.
Barnard says, when she expressed her sorrow about it to Dr. Channing, he
gave her for the only time in his life almost an angry look!" The writer
of this passage, when at last assured of Mary's perfect safety after all
her labors and perils, sent her such a full, hearty outpouring of joy
and love, that we must be pardoned for citing a part of it, as showing
the depth of the interest she awakened and the affection she secured.
"MY DEAREST _LIVE_ MARY!--
"The pleasure and gratitude I feel in the confidence I now have
that I am writing to an inhabitant of this world, you can
scarcely imagine. The dread I felt about your fate weighed upon
me so heavily, in spite of all the reasoning and hope about
which I sedulously employed myself, that it was a great effort
to write; and I fear our letters of late have not served to
animate you. I shall not enter upon the long history of my
anxiety, which was inwardly greater than any body's, I believe,
because I knew more about it. I will only tell you, that a
question about you was sure to damp the best spirits I could be
in; and if people I visited undertook to talk about you, it was
a signal for my call to terminate. At one time, I determined
not to go to town till I heard from you, but was induced to
alter my plans, and did go and pass a month, doing all I could
to be at ease, and acting just as if I knew you were
_safe_;--how you want to scold me for using that word! as if
you could be any thing but safe in the hands of your God, and
when you were serving him to the utmost of your power.... On
Monday night, the 13th of this month, M----, E---- B----, and I
found our way to Milton Hill in the 'evening coach.' The next
day, that most valued of couriers, the milkman, brought us a
bundle from Pearl Street; two letters fell out on opening
it,--one from Exeter, the other from the Sandwich Isles,--a
long one from B----, which I employed all the daylight in
reading. Would you believe me so insatiable, when one such
blessing as hearing from that distant spot of earth had been
allowed? I was not yet satisfied, although we had left town but
the day before; presentiment drove me to the pile of clean
clothes on the floor, when my hand made its way through the
chaos to a letter! Mother says it was the sense of feeling that
discovered it to be yours, for the room was quite dark. I
needed but half a glimmer of fire-light to show me the
characters I had so longed and prayed to see once more. I
screeched, 'Mary Pickard!' and flew to the kitchen fire to
assure myself still farther; and never, dearest Mary, did I
feel a warmer flood of joy and gratitude than when 'Penrith,
8th December,' convinced me you were alive and well, and in
just the hands you ought to be! And when I came to know, too,
that my fears had not been unfounded, that you had so narrowly
escaped, had passed through such trying scenes, and done more,
much more, than almost any body ever did before, I was too
happy! Though you don't tell me so, I know under such
circumstances what efforts you made. But you have earned the
privilege of being an instrument, in the hands of the
All-powerful, of good to every human being you come in contact
with. And when I knew this, why did I feel so forlornly
whenever I thought of you in that remote place, alone, and
exposed to fatigue and illness? If it had been you, how much
higher views would you have taken!
"EMMA."
So ended the visit to England. How unlike most visits there! It is not
often that two years are spent abroad chiefly in confinement with the
sick and devotion to the dying. We wonder not that Mary Pickard thought
that such employment was her "destiny." More appropriate does the word
seem than the common term, "mission"; for that expresses too much of
design and consciousness to be associated with her. She projected no
large plans, or distant enterprises. She simply held herself ready for
the work to which she might be summoned, abroad as well as at home, and
with an ambition as easily satisfied at home as abroad. All her
ministrations might seem to have been accidental, if any thing were
accidental;--the occasions sought her, more than they were sought by
her. Yet in some way or other the occasions were sure to appear, and
equally sure to be used. Nor were her charities merely those of the
hand, or of time and toil alone. There was benevolence, as well as
diligence. No one knew, no one will ever know, the amount of her direct
gifts at Osmotherly. But we know, from various sources, that they were
free and large. And by no means were they restricted to her kindred.
There is reason to believe that the whole village shared her bounty; in
moderate measure, of necessity, but in decided liberality. From the
nature and power of the disorder, a general panic prevailed, aggravated
by ignorance and superstition, and followed by improvidence and want. We
have seen the statement, that a large proportion of the inhabitants
either perished or became helpless and a burden. And when the sufferings
of her own connections ceased, by death or recovery, Mary went out to do
what she could among the diseased and destitute generally. She toiled
till the alarm abated, and aimed particularly to remove from the minds
and dwellings of the people those fruitful feeders, if not sources, of
the calamity,--superstition and uncleanness. Is it too much to believe,
that Osmotherly will always feel the blessing of that Providence which
sent there the "good lady"?
It was a beautiful termination of her whole experience among that
people,--whose very dialect differed so much from hers, that they could
scarcely understand her words, but easily read her actions,--that, when
she recovered her own strength sufficiently to take a final leave of
them, the whole village came out in a body, young and old, and escorted
her on her way.