* * * * *
"Dear girls, women, or wives: My loquacious helpmate has merely
left me a place to send my love, and to say I wish I had room
to write to you and your husbands. By way of supplement, I will
just say of myself, that I am now able to talk while riding,
without pain, which I never could do before we left England;
and can also read loud a little while. This is something worth
telling of. My visit to Geneva, owing to circumstances, is the
least satisfactory that I have made. You will perhaps hear
again from the land of the Caesars, whence I will dictate a
letter full of 'ettas,' and 'inas,' and 'issimas,' and
'ulinas,' and other satin euphonisms. Meanwhile, peace be with
you! Your brother
"HENRY."
We have added Mr. Ware's pleasant little postscript to the last letter,
chiefly to show, by his own confession, how very feeble he must have
been, and how great her anxiety and care. Indeed, she says of him at
this time, "His system requires rest; it will be long before it is fit
for use again." She herself was far from well, and had the depressing
prospect of a more serious sickness, in a foreign land, with added
cares. And yet neither of them was idle, during any period of that
trial. They accomplished a great deal in various ways, and prepared one
distinct work for publication. We say, _they_ did it; for Mrs. Ware
seems to have joined in that labor which afterward gave us one of the
most useful of Henry Ware's works. We refer to his treatise on the
"Formation of the Christian Character." It is probably known that this
book was written almost entirely in travelling; first in this country,
during the horseback jaunt which Mr. Ware took alone through New England
to Canada, in 1828, and then abroad, at various stages of this European
tour. And here it was in Mrs. Ware's power to be of essential service to
her husband, in a way which she explains in a letter written late in
life, half jestingly taking to herself a part of the credit for the work
to which we refer. To Dr. John Ware she writes, in 1844, in reference to
her husband's labors in this and other ways, at the time of which we are
speaking:--
"You will gather from the letters of European friends in what
estimate he was held by them. That is of little import; but it
shows how faithfully he preserved his identity as a minister
of the Gospel. In looking back upon the jaunt, as a whole,
nothing is so prominent to my mind as the perpetual indications
of his ruling passion, if I may call it so,--his love of his
profession,--the eagerness with which he sought out his
ministerial brethren wherever he heard of them, stopping by the
way-side to introduce himself and extend to them the hand of
fellowship, often going out of the way many miles for that
purpose, and making all other objects subservient to that of
increasing his knowledge of men and things pertaining to the
ministerial life. I _know_ his visit was a useful one to his
brethren in many respects....
"You know, I believe, that the greater part of his work upon
the 'Christian Character' was written on that tour. Its pages
are to my memory a sort of diary of our progress, associated as
they are with the pleasant evenings, when, after our autumnal
day's journey, having despatched our supper, we settled
ourselves at a little table before a cheerful wood-fire in our
inn, and he with his writing materials, and I with my work, or
writing or reading, could almost imagine ourselves at home.
Thus were my evenings spent in alternate writing, reading, and
criticism, until I almost felt as if I had written the book
myself!"
The end of the year 1829 found Mr. and Mrs. Ware travelling from Rome to
Naples; and on the "last night," faithful to her friendships everywhere,
she began the regular "annual" to Mrs. Paine, which she did not finish
till after their return to Rome, thus giving some account of their
condition in both places.
"_St. Agatha,[4] December 31, 1829._
"MY DEAR NANCY:--
"This is not the first annual which you have received with a
foreign date; neither can you be surprised at any aberration in
my orbit. And yet methinks you will have to consider twice
before you can quite realize that it is 'Pearl Street Mary
Pickard,' who is writing you from this region of ancient glory
and far-famed beauty. But so it is; and could you look in upon
me, you would wonder, as I do, that the very peculiar changes
of the eighteen years you have known me should leave me so
precisely the same. I begin to think that I am made of most
invulnerable materials; for here I sit--surrounded by as
singular and trying circumstances as any which I have ever
known--as easy and happy, I had almost said as indifferent, as
if the world were jogging on with me in the tamest way
imaginable. At no period of my life have I had more for which
to be thankful in reviewing the year which has passed,--that we
should have travelled so far without the slightest accident,
leaving our dearest interests so well provided for, finding so
much kindness wherever we have been, and so many facilities for
our enjoyment; and above all, that my husband, though not much
better, should not have been made much worse by all the
disadvantages under which he has labored of climate and
weather. If I were at your elbow, how I should love to give you
a detail of some of our experiences during the year. You know
enough of the outlines to guess at the minutiae in many
instances, and enough of us both to imagine the internal
effects produced by them.
* * * * *
"_Rome, March 2d._ Back in Rome again, after a five weeks'
sojourn in Naples, from which place I should have despatched
this, but that I did not think it quite worth while to send
such a piece of egotism so far by mail. We had almost incessant
rain while at Naples, which prevented our doing and seeing as
much as we wished; but the few fine days we had, we enjoyed and
employed to the utmost. Although in January, they were like our
June days. A shawl was too warm a garment to be borne in the
sun, and upon our out-of-town expeditions we took our lunch in
the open air. These were rare days, to be sure, but they gave
us some idea of what the climate would have been had the season
been a common one, for so much rain at that time, they told us,
was almost unprecedented. We went of course to Pompeii, where I
had many and pleasant recollections of your husband, tell him;
for the explanations which he gave me, when we saw the panorama
of that place together in London, had made it all so familiar
to my mind that I could not easily overcome the impression that
I had been there before. Vesuvius we were content to admire at
a distance, fearing the ascent would be injurious to my
husband. But the classical regions of Avernus and the Elysian
fields, the abode of the Cumaean Sibyl, and the beautiful
temples of Baiae, we explored at our leisure.
"I can scarcely fancy any locality more beautiful for a city
than that of Naples, and, viewed at a distance, it has a very
imposing appearance; but in itself it is noisy, dirty, and
disagreeable, with the exception of the modern part of the
street which borders upon the bay. We had rooms in that street,
within forty feet of the water, and in rain or sunshine enjoyed
the beauty of the bay with equal delight. We returned hither in
company with Mr. and Mrs. Grinnell, and Mr. and Mrs. Rollins,
with whom we have been the greater part of the time since we
arrived in Florence in November. We are at lodgings with them
here, and, as you may suppose, very much enjoy our quiet
family party. We have also Dr. and Mrs. Kirkland, and Mr. and
Mrs. Gould, from our part of the country, and many from New
York.
"There is so much to be done here, and my husband is obliged to
do things so leisurely, that I know not that we shall ever see
half that is to be seen. There is a great difference between
travelling for health and mere pleasure. Almost all our friends
will be on the wing before us, but I trust we shall find our
way home in good time, and be the better for having come. Mr.
Ware's is just such an uncertain case, that it is impossible to
have any very decided opinion about it,--he sometimes seeming
almost as well as ever, then again prostrated by some very
trifle. On the whole, there is still much to hope from time and
care, but nothing to flatter one into the hope of speedy
restoration. May we have patience to wait with cheerfulness the
full development of the designs of Heaven with regard to us,
hoping for good, and willing to submit to trial!
"This is the season of Lent, which makes no apparent change in
the state of things, and before we leave Rome we shall have the
famous solemnities of Holy Week, when, if the Pope does not die
(which it is reported he is about doing), I hope to witness the
illumination of St. Peter's, and to listen to the _Miserere_.
So far, I have not heard any music in Italy which satisfied me,
except once the vespers of the nuns in one of the churches
here; it is all too loud, rapid, and theatrical. But it is time
to despatch my letter, so good by.
"Yours, most affectionately,
"M. L. WARE."
[Footnote 4: "A little village, or rather almost solitary inn, between
Rome and Naples."]
The last date of the above letter is the 2d of March; and before the
close of that month Mrs. Ware's second child was born,--a daughter, who
still lives. Mr. Ware's letter, announcing the event to his brother in
Boston, expresses his gratitude for the many mercies that surrounded
them, among excellent friends, making "as pretty a little, quiet
domestic circle as ever Rome has seen since the days of the twin
founders." At the same time, he confesses his entire discouragement in
regard to his own health, and their great embarrassment at what course
to pursue. "I am weary of this miserably idle life, and yet I am fit for
no other. I am afraid to go home, because I know I shall only be able to
do half the requisite work, and to do that not more than half; yet to
stay away is altogether out of the question." As usual, Mary was ready
to do any thing that seemed best, even to go home alone with her new
charge, if her husband would be benefited by remaining longer and acting
freely. Some prompt and decided course she advised, at whatever
sacrifice. "We have talked over this matter together, and the only
relief which Mary is able to suggest is, that I should state my case
exactly, resign the professorship, so as not to be a burden or hindrance
to those for whom I care more than for myself, send her home from Havre,
and spend a year in travelling Europe on foot and on horseback. This
might be done at a very small expense, an expense which we could meet
without taxing College or friends."
We can easily conceive of the anxiety of a high-minded woman, a devoted
wife and mother, at such a crisis. We have said that Mrs. Ware has been
known to refer to this experience as the great trial of her life, and
we suppose the period of which we are speaking was the most trying of
all; especially if we comprise in it the few months that preceded the
birth of her child,--a season of which she has written more freely than
of any other of her trials. Nor can we show the full power of her
endurance at that time, and her wonderful energy,--such as is common
only to woman,--unless by giving part of a letter written to her
physician, describing this experience.
"Not for a single day free from positive pain, I felt determined to keep
out of sight all physical as well as mental distress. In this I believe
I succeeded, excepting when occasionally nature was overpowered, and I
lost for a time my consciousness. But the effort to keep a cheerful
outside, when the body was undergoing so great suffering, and the mind
fully awake to all the uncertainties and possibilities which lay before
us, can only be appreciated or known by one similarly situated. My faith
never failed me, nor my confidence that the course I had adopted was the
right one. But the degree of tension to which every faculty was
stretched, all the time, was just as much as my reason could bear
unshaken; and more than it could have borne, I believe, had not my
nerves found relief in hours of tearful prostration, when Henry was
asleep, or so far out of the way as not to detect it."
We have no further particulars to give of the sojourn in Rome. The
travellers gladly turned their faces toward home the moment the season
and their strength would permit. Early in May we hear of them in Geneva,
and at the end of that month in Paris. From both those places Mr. Ware
writes home, in a disheartened, yet decided tone, as to his return,
showing what a burden of anxiety they were still bearing. "I have only
spoken out more plainly what has for some time been my conviction, that
I am gaining nothing; and I simply wish to have you prepared for a
proper reception of my _miserability_ when I shall return." "I am sure I
need not stay away; I am sure I am not fit to do any hard work; I do not
think I could edit the Examiner. But I will come home by the packet of
July 20th, and you shall judge. It will be the hardest of all I have yet
done, to abstain from Cambridge, especially as Mr. Norton vacates his
place, and there is the more need of other laborers."
In June, Mr. and Mrs. Ware were separated for a time, she taking
lodgings with her infant at Waltham Abbey, and he making an excursion
alone for his health. Soon after he left her, Mary wrote to him
thus:--"I am quite sure it was best for you to go, though there was some
risk in it. If you only keep a sharp watch upon your 'excitables,' not
mistaking the effect of them for strength, and so do not overdo, you
will, I doubt not, be better for the jaunt; you will be gaining much
mental satisfaction, and I am sure that will help the body.... Yours to
'Miss Pickard' is just received. The dear little Miss is as good as
possible; she knows how much I wish I were with you, and coos and smiles
all the time to make me contented. I am thankful you are so well, and
though I should have richly enjoyed being with you, I am sure it is
better for you to be alone. I want to go to Chatham next week, if I feel
better, but it is such a luxury to be at rest! O, dearest, how we shall
enjoy it! I have had time to think a little, and collect my scattered
wits, and I could pour out volumes of the result of my cogitations--but
_voila_! the end of my paper! Do all you can, see all you can without
injury, gain all that is possible to gain, and above all, _feel_ that
you have time enough; that is, don't feel 'hurried'; it is destructive
to comfort and profit."
In this letter we find also a hint, which tells something of Mary's
continued thoughtfulness and generous provision for that poor old aunt
whom she left at Osmotherly five years before. On first arriving in
England, she had again visited, with her husband, that scene of singular
interest and mingled recollections. And now that Mr. Ware is journeying
alone in that direction, she writes to him: "Should you go to Osmotherly
(which is not quite worth while, as it would take you two days), give
Aunty her yearly allowance, if you can,--ten pounds. But no, I remember
you did not take enough with you. Write her a word,--it will please her;
and pay the postage." This was said at the very time that Mrs. Ware had
denied herself the pleasure of going with her husband, on account of the
added expense of travelling with an infant. She continued that annuity
to her aunt as long as she lived, and a friend thinks it was doubled
part of the time. We bring the fact to notice, because, from a delicacy
which ought not, perhaps, to suppress facts so illustrative of
character, we have forborne to give half the proof we found, in letters
and in conversation with friends, of her noble generosity in connection
with the strictest domestic economy, and withal a personal self-denial
and simplicity that caused remark, if not censure. Could all the facts
be given of her early surrender of property to a considerable amount,
when she might have held it, and the rigid restriction of her personal
expenditure, through life, within the limits of bare comfort and
respectability, while there were times when she could have done much
more for herself, and no time when her hospitalities were not without
stint,--were it right, or were it desirable, to refer to facts and
instances confirming this general statement,--we are sure it would be
seen to be at the least worthy of honor and imitation. But the very
thought of her disinterestedness, and _secret_ charities, checks and
rebukes us.
Before leaving England, she wrote the following letter to the two
children in America.
"_Waltham Abbey, June 19, 1830._
"MY DEAR CHILDREN:--
"It is a long time since I wrote to either of you, for I was
ill for some weeks, and since I got well, I have been
travelling almost every day, and have not had time to sit down
quietly. But all this while I have thought much of you,
particularly when I was lying on the bed sick. When I
remembered how great was the distance which separated us from
you, and how uncertain it was if we ever saw you again, I
wished that I could be sure that you would always be good,
doing that which would please God, that I might hope to be
united to you again in heaven. You do not know how often your
father and I have talked about you since we left you, or how
anxious we have felt that you should improve; we hope to find
that you have made a good use of the time of our absence, if we
are ever permitted to see our home again; and how happy we
shall be to have you with us, not to be separated again, I
trust, for a long time!
"You will be glad to know that your dear father is better than
when he left home. He has gone now to Manchester for a few
days, and I have come with little Baby from London to stay with
a cousin while he is absent. Baby will have been a great
traveller by the time she gets home, but she will not be any
the wiser for it; when she knows how many wonderful things she
has passed by, she will wish she had been old enough to observe
them. I have seen a great many grown-up people in our travels,
who, I think, will not know much more than she does of what
they have passed by, because they have not the habit of
observing and thinking about what they see; they remind me of
the story in 'Evenings at Home,' entitled 'Eyes and no-Eyes.' I
dare say you recollect it. Others are not wiser for their
travels, because they have not prepared themselves to
understand what they see, by reading; they care nothing about
the antiquities of a country, because they know nothing about
its history; or the works of art which they meet with, because
they do not know how they are made, or their uses. You will be
surprised to find, as you grow older and know more, how much
every thing which you have learned will add to your pleasure. I
dare say you have many lessons given you, of which you do not
see the use at present, but you will by and by, and if you fix
them well in your memory you will be very glad then.
"It is now the 26th of June, and we have just heard that the
king of England died this morning, and his brother, the Duke of
Clarence, was proclaimed king, at twelve o'clock, at
Westminster. On Monday he will be proclaimed at three places in
London, by heralds dressed in very gay costume, such as has
always been worn on like occasions for many centuries, of
course very different from modern dresses. They will use
trumpets in order to be heard by as many people as possible,
who will no doubt collect in great crowds to hear them. The new
king is called William the Fourth. There will be a great parade
at the king's funeral, and the new king's coronation, but we
shall not see either. I hope we shall be on the water before
they take place, for the preparations are to be so great, that
it is said three weeks at least will be necessary for the
funeral, and perhaps months for the coronation. The next heir
to the crown is a little girl, only a year older than you,
Elizabeth.
"Good by, my dear children.
"Your loving Mother."
On the passage home, in August, Mrs. Ware had another severe trial of
her physical and mental energies,--a trial that is supposed to have
essentially impaired the vigor of a remarkably strong and enduring
frame. Mr. Ware, who had gained little if any strength during their
whole absence, became severely ill from a painful and alarming attack of
acute disease. His wife was his only nurse, and, if we recollect right,
the only physician. And there, amid all the deprivations and discomforts
of the _sea_, confined to the narrow range of a small state-room,
carrying in her arms a restless infant, of which those most willing
could but seldom relieve her, and with the whole weight of the
responsibility upon her saddened heart, that wife and mother performed
offices and made exertions, which, by some acquainted with all the
circumstances, have been called "almost superhuman." One fearful night
especially, the night which was to determine the result, she watched
over the flickering and apparently expiring light of the life most dear
to her, in anxious and most arduous services, until the crisis had
passed. Her husband recovered from this attack almost entirely, before
the end of the voyage; but the effect upon herself, of all she had done
and endured in the last seventeen months, was a prostrating and
protracted sickness soon after her return. Up to this time, we suppose
Mrs. Ware to have possessed a power of action and endurance seldom
equalled in her own sex or in the same walk of life. Yet she used to say
that her natural temperament was sluggish rather than active, and that
her activity was an exertion. Recurring, some years later, to this same
season, she writes: "You do not know me as well as you might, or you
would not talk of my _activity_. Naturally I am essentially indolent;
and to this day no one knows the effort it often costs me to rouse
myself from my lethargy. Still I have had a pride in my physical
ability, which has sometimes impelled me when better motives ought to
have operated. But that pride had a fall, when I went to Europe with Mr.
Ware, from which, it seems to me, it can never rise again. Yet it may
influence me when I do not suspect it, and I shall look out sharp for
it."
It was in this connection also that Mrs. Ware repelled the idea of
"sacrifice" in such relations. "The phrase 'sacrifice for those we
love,' I do not quite understand. I should think the thing intended was
more nearly allied to the germ of selfish gratification, and therefore
as little entitled to the appellation of a virtue as any other selfish
propensity." Just before leaving America for this European tour, when
not strong herself, she had written to her husband, "I am very much
afraid of becoming too thoughtful of this poor body of mine." And now,
on her return, she was compelled to think of it more than ever before.