On the 1st of April, 1829, Mrs. Ware sailed from Boston, with her
husband, in the ship Dover, for Liverpool. One of the older children was
left at board and in school, the other in Mr. William Ware's family, in
New York; while the infant was confided to Mr. Ware's sister, Mrs.
Lincoln,--an arrangement that relieved the mother of anxiety, as far as
was possible with any separation. But no parent will need to be told
what she must have suffered, at best, in leaving behind her her first
babe, not a year old, to cross the ocean and go into distant lands for
an indefinite time, with a sick husband on whose restoration or return
no calculation could be made. Yet we see in her not a moment's
hesitation, we hear from her no expression of doubt or the least
despondence. Physicians and judicious friends advised the step, her
husband's health and power of usefulness, if not his life, might depend
upon it; and this was enough, even if her own judgment had differed, as
we have no reason to think it did. It was a feature of her mind very
prominent, as it must be of every well-balanced mind, that she never
suffered herself to be tortured with doubts or fears for the future when
the present duty was clear, and never lamented that she had done that
which seemed right and best, whatever the issue. As she writes, on one
occasion, of her own habits of mind and long experience:--"There is no
one thing that has been more important to my comfort, under any result
of my plans, than the consciousness that they were decided upon after a
full and careful deliberation of all other possible plans, and a calm
judgment concerning them all. Then I felt I had done all that poor human
nature could do; the rest was in God's hands,--it was all in God's
hands. I was satisfied that this decision was in the order of his
providence, and, come what might, I could never regret it, or spend one
vain, impious _wish_ that I had taken another course. But, in order to
make this decision satisfactory, I have always desired to know the whole
truth, and be convinced that I had a perfect view of the whole case in
hand; and have sought suggestions from others, not for my guidance, but
that I might be sure I had deliberated upon all the varieties of plan
which could be thought of."
This principle was now to be put to a severe test, the severest,
perhaps, of her whole life. We have seen what she did, and what she
suffered, in her former visit abroad. Totally different were the
circumstances now, but none of them such as to make the trial less. Then
she had been alone as a traveller, and also alone as to all exposure and
peril. Now she was to feel and fear for the one most dear to her in
life, one who was ill able to bear the fatigues and discomforts to which
he must be subjected, and whom neither his own faith nor her serenity
could keep from depression and discouragement. Through the whole period
of their absence, which proved to be a year and a half, Mr. Ware could
not be said to be well for a single day. Much of the time, he yielded to
dejection and apprehension, as she had never known him before. He
enjoyed much, but suffered more. Not bodily suffering wholly, or
chiefly; but that which is much harder to bear,--the hardest of all,--a
sense of helplessness and the increasing fear of uselessness; the
conviction, in the very prime of life, that life's work must be left
undone, a calling which he dearly loved be relinquished, and he either
remain abroad a wanderer in search of health, or return home with only
the capacity of projecting numerous plans and labors, not one of which
would be ever accomplished. All this his wife shared, at least in its
effect; against all this she had constantly to contend, bearing most of
the responsibility of measures and results, her own health not strong,
and soon subjected to peculiar and most anxious trials.
We have no desire to magnify these trials. We only wish to set them in
their true light, as making an unusual--not an unprecedented, but an
unusual--demand upon the trust, endurance, and energy of a wife and
mother. She herself has been heard to say, that this was the most trying
period of her life; that no other experience equalled it. Yet this would
hardly be inferred from her letters at the time. They were necessarily
few, but written with her usual cheerfulness and unfailing hopefulness.
Not all of them, however. One or two we have seen, such as cannot be
used, that intimate, rather than express, peculiar suffering and
solicitude. But this was in confidence, and for counsel; it being one of
the peculiarities of the case that it presented many points where it was
very difficult to decide whether wisdom and duty should carry them
farther on, or turn them instantly back,--and the decision was with her.
We will not attempt to follow them closely in their foreign tour. Those
who wish to trace its progress, and note the dates and incidents, will
find them in the Memoir of Henry Ware by his brother. They visited
England, Scotland, Ireland, Holland, Switzerland, Italy, and France,
spending the winter in Italy. The first summer they passed over much of
the ground and sought the spots, in England, so familiar and memorable
to Mary from her former experience. They visited Wordsworth, Southey,
Mrs. Hemans, Miss Edgeworth; and passed much time with Unitarian
ministers, whom Mr. Ware wished particularly to see, that he might learn
all he could of their position, cultivate a fraternal feeling, and open
the way for a more frequent and friendly correspondence between those of
the same household of faith in England and America. About the last of
August they went to the Continent, taking Holland first, and thence
through Switzerland into Italy, reaching Rome in December, and remaining
there until April.
The few letters that Mrs. Ware wrote home will be given in the order of
their dates, with little explanation or comment. Some are in the form of
a journal; and here and there we see the hand of Mr. Ware, taking up
the thread which his wife had dropped, and then leaving her to resume.
"_Greta Bridge, July 8, 1829._
"MY DEAR EMMA:--
"I slept last night in the very same room, at Barnard Castle,
which you and I occupied four years ago. And having been in
many places lately where we had been together, such as Studley,
Ripon, and the George Inn at York, where we parted, and
moreover, as you have visited me in my dreams, night after
night, for a long time past, I feel that I must yield to the
desire of writing to you, although it may be but a few lines of
uninteresting matter. This place will, however, insure to the
letter some value, for I remember well how you wished that the
rain would abate, that you might see something of its beauties.
I wished it also then, but I wish it much more now, that I have
had an opportunity of----
"Here the arrival of the coach which was to take us from this
paradise cut short Mary's opportunity, and I dare say she will
not remember what she was going to write; so that I, her
substitute and lieutenant, go on to tell you how much we have
mentioned your name while on these romantic grounds, and how
glad we should have been to trace with you the paths of Rokeby
and Greta in memory----
"My lieutenant seems to have been cut off in his march rather
abruptly also; so I must beg you to imagine what beautiful
associations of persons or things he was about to recall, and
proceed with my own plain story,--just to tell you that we were
more than satisfied with our walk; it quite meets Scott's
description. We trod the same path by which Bertram and
Wycliffe wound their way from Barnard Castle to Mortham, and a
wilder or more witching scene could scarcely be imagined. We
had walked from Stockton to the Castle by the side of the
Tees, sixteen miles, stopping for refreshment and rest at the
little, humble inns which alone are to be found on this
unfrequented route; and truly, after the parade and luxury of
large hotels, it was a delightful change to see something of
simple country life. You would have enjoyed it, too,
notwithstanding the novelty of carrying the equipments of one's
toilet in our pockets.
"At Penrith we found our letters by the May packet, and yours,
dear Emma, was most welcome, not only for the news you gave me
of my darling children, but for the kind feelings which
dictated it, and the great entertainment it gave us. It was
just such a letter as we wanted just at that time; it was the
latest account, too, that we had had, for though one from Mrs.
Barnard, and another from Dr. John and William, reached us at
the same time, they were of earlier date. You brought my little
Robert more vividly before my eyes than any thing I have heard
of him. I could see his little hand resting on Clarissa's
shoulder, looking half coaxingly at you; and if the picture
made me long to try if he would notice me any better, I was
amply compensated for my inability to do so by the knowledge
that he was doing so well, and under such kind care. At Penrith
I had an attack similar to that which I had when you were at
Brookline with me, which detained us a day; but, as it rained,
it was not of much consequence. We had projected a drive round
the lakes in a gig, and this plan we entered upon the next day
(Saturday, 11th),--just such a day as we should have asked for.
We went to Ambleside, via Ullswater and Patterdale, where we
spent Sunday; heard Wordsworth's son preach, and looked at
Windermere. Monday we breakfasted with Wordsworth at that
lovely place, which I doubt not is still visible to your mind's
eye, as we saw it that beautiful morning. It looked just as
beautiful without, and as perfectly in keeping within, as we
had imagined it. I confessed our theft, to the no small
amusement of Mrs. Wordsworth, who did not, however, seem
surprised at our feelings. Wordsworth, his wife, son, and
daughter, composed the party. I wished I could have seen him
again.
* * * * *
"_July 16._ Dear me, what a careless child! I have just
discovered that I began my letter on a sheet which Mr. Ware had
one quarter filled to another person; and, having no time to
rewrite, I must send it piecemeal. I was going to say, that I
wished I could have seen Wordsworth again, because he did not
meet my expectation; and therefore I felt disappointed, in
spite of all my reasoning with myself that my imagination
should not be the standard in such a case. Besides, such a man
could not be seen at one view; that which is most delightful in
him would not be delightful if it were external.
"The ride to Keswick you will remember well. It lost nothing by
being seen a second time. We were at the same inn at which we
formerly stopped; and I could hear, perhaps, the same horses
tramping along the same pavement over which our nags paced
their way for us that memorable morning.
"We drank tea at Southey's, whose residence is much more like a
poet's than it appeared at a distance, having a fine view of
the lake between the trees with which it is almost enveloped. I
heard him talk but little, as there was a party at the house;
but was more pleased with that little than I expected to be.
His study is just the most enviable one that I ever have seen.
The next day we went upon an expedition to Crummock and
Buttermere, which, though fatiguing, we enjoyed highly, having
a fine row upon the lake. We returned to Keswick by a road
which gigs seldom pass over, the Crag through Borrowdale. It
was just such an expedition as you would have enjoyed on
horseback, perhaps on foot, as we took it for three of the
worst miles I ever passed over for roughness and wildness. The
last part amply repaid us for our toil. We rode by the side of
the Keswick lake for the whole length, just as the sun was
setting, yesterday.
* * * * *
"_July 17._ O, what would you not give for the sight which is
before me now!--'fair Melrose,' not by the 'pale moonlight,'
but by the light of as beautiful a sunset as you could ask for
upon such a scene. I have not been out of the house yet, having
contented myself with looking at it from my window, and am now,
with all diligence, scribbling for the next Boston packet,
while Mr. Ware has gone to see Mrs. Hemans, who wrote us that
we should find her in this neighborhood. This is no small
addition to the attractions of Melrose. I feel very much as if
I were going to see an old friend, so near does sympathy with a
person's writings bring one to the writer himself, in soul at
least, if not in the outward expression. On our way hither from
Selkirk, we passed Abbotsford. A motley group of towers and
chimneys did it appear; and it verily made me hold up my head,
and feel stronger, at the thought of breathing the same
atmosphere with its mighty inhabitant. We passed Branksome also
to-day, and came through Teviotdale,--classic ground every inch
of it. But it will not answer for me to run on at this rate; I
shall scarcely complete one letter beside, when I wish to write
fifty.
"Just at this point Henry returned from his call, with the
original 'Dominie Sampson,' and the intelligence that Mrs.
Hemans would join us in our intended visit to the Abbey. The
moon is just now in full-orbed splendor. Thither, therefore, we
repaired; and I met Mrs. Hemans for the first time on the top
of one of the towers, in such a scene as beggars all powers of
description. Never were mortals more favored by the heavens and
the earth for such an expedition. The air was very mild; not a
sound disturbed the midnight stillness but the chirping of
the ---- (I cannot remember its Scotch name; its sound is somewhat
like a cricket's). There were just clouds enough to give us all
the varieties of light and shade. We did enjoy it highly. And
yet we almost wished we had been alone. One did not want to
have the interest divided; and the Dominie's dry sayings and
droll manner had such an effect upon our risibles, that we had,
in spite of ourselves, a little too much of the ridiculous with
the sublime. This Dominie, whose real name is Thomson, junior
minister of the kirk of Melrose, is unique, not _exactly_ such
as Sir Walter has described, but quite as original.
But I have come to the end of my letter, that is, my time. Love
to all, at Canton, Milton, Brookline, Nahant, Roxbury,
Boston,--a goodly company truly. We have just had a ride to
Dryburgh Abbey, on the Tweed, a fine ruin beautifully situated.
The river here answers Scott's description better than at
Berwick. There are very many lovely situations upon its banks.
But I _must_ close. With Mr. Ware's united love, and sincere
wishes that you were with us, yours most affectionately,
"MARY L. WARE.
* * * * *
"TO MRS. LUCY ALLEN AND MRS. HARRIET HALL.
"_Geneva, October 11, 1829._
"MY DEAR GOOD SISTERS:--
"Wishing to say very much the same things to you both, and
finding that the expense and trouble of transporting letters
from this place across the Atlantic are _pretty considerable_,
I am induced to address you both at once; hoping that the
question of title to the possession of this valuable document
will not give rise to a more severe litigation than the lawyers
of Massachusetts will be able to settle. Your letters reached
us in the course of time; yours, Lucy, while we were in London,
and Harriet's just three months after its last date; both most
welcome. It is a pleasure which none but a pilgrim can
understand, to see the veritable handwriting of a friend when
separated by such a space. You say much of the pleasure we
shall receive in these foreign parts from the novelty, &c. of
what we may encounter. So it is; and I trust that I shall enjoy
all that we should do from the privilege allowed us. But I can
tell you, under the rose, that there is no pleasure in all this
wide creation like that of sitting down in a quiet corner, no
matter what may be around us, holding communion with _home_;
and I fully believe that all travellers would tell you the
same, if their pride would let them.
"We have, as you may have learned, fulfilled in part your first
wish, Harriet,--we have seen Miss Edgeworth, but not Sir
Walter. She is a short, rather fat, extremely homely, perhaps I
might say ugly woman, without a spark of intellectual
expression in her still face, and not overmuch in her most
animated moments; but as full of animation, kind feeling, good
sense, and intelligence, in her conversation, as one could
desire; a great talker, and a very good listener; not an item
of pedantry or self-sufficiency, or indeed any thing of what
one would fear to find in her father's daughter, or in any
woman who had been so celebrated; easy, playful, natural. We
forgot it was the renowned Miss Edgeworth, and felt only that
it was somebody who must be loved and admired. We found her in
the old family mansion at Edgeworthstown, whither we went fifty
miles only out of our way to see her; but all the awkwardness
of such a lion-seeking visit was entirely taken off by the
reception we met with from the whole family, and we should have
felt quite at our ease to have passed a week there. We could
stay only a part of three days; that is, part of two, and the
whole of the intermediate one. The only impediment to our
comfort was, that, being constantly in the family circle, which
is a large one, we could not talk with the lady herself upon
many points which would have been most interesting. Perhaps we
saw her to peculiar advantage, but we certainly do feel that
she has been greatly scandalized in having the reputation of
acting the pedantic authoress, and partaking of her father's
scepticism. So much for Miss Edgeworth.
"I wish I could tell you half as much of Sir Walter from
personal observation, but he was out when Henry called with his
friend, Mr. Hamilton; and he is so overpowered with visitors,
that we were not willing to add ourselves to the list of the
curious who persecute him. We were delighted with all that we
heard of him; indeed, the nearer we viewed his character,
through the medium of those who knew him, the more our
admiration and desire to see him increased. It would really
seem that his vast intellect is his least remarkable feature.
We saw many of his familiar letters to Miss Edgeworth, and that
was next best to hearing him talk, for they are just like
conversation. Mrs. Hemans, too, we have seen, and Bowring a
great deal, and some others of the noted of the present day;
and we shall treasure the remembrance of the few, for they have
been but few.
"It has been truly tantalizing to pass through Switzerland in
clouds and darkness, now and then catching a glimpse of its
beauties to show us what we were losing, but the far greater
part of the time passing through the very finest portions of
the Alpine scenery without any visible indications that we were
not in a level country. But we have proceeded thus far free
from sickness, danger, or even difficulty, and have therefore
too much reason to be grateful to find it possible to complain.
"We find a great deal to amuse us in the various habits and
customs of the countries through which we pass, particularly
since we left England; and the eating and drinking part of the
business is not the least entertaining. We, however, manage to
please ourselves, and our entertainers, too, pretty well. Henry
eats his bread and milk as comfortably as he would at home, and
I do what justice I can to the various dishes which are set
before me, though, when they amount, as they have done, to
twenty in number, in spite of all the 'J'ai fini's' I could
utter, I have excited a smile of contempt from the waiter, who
wondered at the barbarism of dining from one dish. We have not
seen a carpet since we left Holland, except upon the
sitting-room of an English lady here, and we have been in some
handsomely furnished houses.... O this pen, ink, and paper! I
will have no more to do with them, but leave them to Henry.
Your sister