Chapter XXII: Introduction (10)

"And now has come this new trial of my faith, this new test of
its reality, that there may be no hiding-place left for me, no
light wanting by which to search into the hidden recesses of
the spirit to 'see if there be any wicked way in it.' And
whatever may be the result of this strict scrutiny, am I not to
be thankful for it? Am I not to feel that it is indeed the
kindest love that subjects me to it? We feel it a privilege
that a child should have earthly parents to guide, counsel, and
correct it; and shall we not be grateful to that Heavenly
Parent who does the same in a far better manner? I would thank
God that he has by his past dispensations taught me the duty
and happiness of submission, so that I can bow to the rod, and
desire only to see how its chastisement is to be used and
improved. I have always looked upon the death of children
rather as a subject for joy than sorrow, and have been
perplexed at seeing so many, who would bear what seemed to me
much harder trials with firmness, so completely overwhelmed by
this, as is frequently the case. But I know that upon any point
in which we have had no personal experience we cannot form a
correct judgment, and therefore I have never had any definite
anticipations of its effect upon myself. I am thankful to find
that the general views upon which my former opinions have been
founded are not obscured by the flood of new emotions which
actual experience brings. I can resign my child into the hands
of its Maker, with as strong a belief as I ever had, that it is
a blessing to itself to be removed, 'untasked, untried,' from a
world in which the result of labor and trial is so doubtful. It
is a blessing to be taken from the care of ignorant, powerless
human teachers, to the guidance of higher and holier and
perfect instructors; so that its pure spirit will not now be
sullied by the pollutions of this degraded world, but go on
from glory to glory until it has attained the full measure of
the stature of a child of God.

"You know too well what are the hopes and enjoyments belonging
to the relation of parent and child, to require to be told how
hard it is to lay them all aside; and there was something in
the peculiar circumstances of the birth and life of this child,
which could not but give a peculiar character to our connection
with him. And so he has passed from us; but what a comfort to
know that we have not lost him! We had a visit from Dr.
Channing yesterday, in which he spoke so gloriously of the
honor of having given a child to heaven, as to elevate me far
above common considerations. But enough; think of us still as
happy.

"M. L. WARE."

One of the traits of Mrs. Ware's character--not named for its singularity or distinction, but simply as a fact, noticed by all who knew her--was the amount of time and strength which she devoted to her children. With all the sicknesses, which from this period came almost constantly either to her or her husband, and which are apt to make such sad inroads upon our quiet and faithful intercourse with our children,--amid all her domestic cares, of which she took as large a share, in every department, as perhaps any woman ever did in a similar position, feeling and seeing, all the time, the painful need of a rigid economy, in the midst of never-ceasing and never-limited hospitality,--her thoughtfulness and care for each child, in regard to the body, the mind, and the soul, seemed literally uninterrupted. And this care of her children reached them in their absence as well as their presence. In the summer after Robert's death, the oldest son, John, was placed at school in Framingham, where he remained several years; and seldom did he fail to receive, not only faithful letters, but a journal of daily doings, from his mother's pen, though she long remained feeble, and was now the mother of another infant, which she was compelled to put out to nurse. Another term of severe illness ensued, causing a lameness of long duration. But as soon as possible, indeed all along, she was doing something for the absent son.

"When you left home, my dear John," she writes in July, 1832, "I thought I should soon be well enough to write you, and intended to keep a journal for you of what went on amongst us, to be sent to you every fortnight; but now you have been gone two months, and I have not been able to write to you once, so little can we calculate upon the future. I have been obliged to keep my bed a great part of the time, and am not yet able to walk across the room without much pain. I have not been down stairs, excepting twice, when I was carried in arms to the front door, and rode about ten minutes, which hurt me so much that I shall not try it again very soon. I tell you all this, that you may understand how impossible it has been for me to fulfil my promise to you. I have thought much of you, and rejoiced to hear so often from you that you were happy and improving. When I have felt that I should never get well, and perhaps never see you again in this world, I have been very anxious about you, and have prayed most fervently that God would guide you in the right path, and hoped that you would live to be a comfort to your father when I was gone....

"This is a busy week with us; yesterday being Exhibition, to-day Valedictory, to-morrow the Theological Exhibition in the morning and a public meeting of the Philanthropic Society in the afternoon. We shall have an open house, and hope to have as many friends with us as we had last year." An open house, filled with friends, all welcomed and in some way entertained by the lady of the house, who is not able to walk across the room without pain! We doubt not there are hundreds of such cases, some it may be, more trying and more remarkable; but it does not alter the fact, nor make it less worthy of notice in a woman who did all that Mrs. Ware did.

It was a feature of Mrs. Ware's domestic character, that the throng of cares and conflict of duties seldom _worried_ her. Many are they who are as diligent and faithful, but yet live in a perpetual hurry and fret. She knew the danger, and brought all her power and principle to withstand it, even in the smallest matters. Often have we heard her lamenting the necessity of spending so much of life in mere drudgery, ministering to the perishing but never-satisfied _body_; a necessity and service that devolve upon many women, and take from them the opportunity of high mental and spiritual culture, unless they carry into these daily duties and petty cares a calm spirit and a cheerful tone, with an elevated and steadfast purpose. Such was Mary's habitual endeavor. The difficulty, and the frequent failure, none were more ready to own. She never satisfied herself, but she never flagged. She never worried. Sudden interruptions, culinary disappointments, "shoals of visitors" with little of preparation, were not allowed to chill her welcome or cloud their enjoyment. There were no apologies at that table. If unexpected guests were not always filled, they were never annoyed, nor suffered to think much about it. A clergyman, who visited the house often as a student, says of Mrs. Ware: "I remember the wonder I felt at her humility and dignity in welcoming to her table on some occasion a troop of accidental guests, when she had almost nothing to offer but her hospitality. The absence of all apologies and of all mortification, the ease and cheerfulness of the conversation, which became the only feast, gave me a lesson never forgotten, although never learned."

Are these little things? They fill a large place in life, and have much to do with its solid comfort. They affect the temper, they enter into the character, and may help or hinder our best power and improvement. We introduce them here _because_ they are little. There was not much in the life we are penning that was not little in some comparisons. It is the life of a plain, retiring, domestic woman. It is an example not beyond the reach of any who desire to reach it. We wish to show it just as it was; and to show, that of nothing was it more clearly the result, in nothing does its value more clearly consist, than in the power of Christian faith and simple goodness.

We have sometimes thought it would be well if all parishioners, those especially who are quick to discern the failings and slow to understand the labors of their pastor, could spend a few weeks in his house, and get some idea of the variety, complexity, arduousness, and endlessness of his duties. But from the picture which Mrs. Ware gives of the life at Cambridge, we should infer that the engagements and interruptions of most parishes were light in the comparison. "I used to think Boston life a very busy and irregular one; but our life here is far more so. There, there were some hours in the day in which, from conventional custom, one was secure of being quiet. But here, neither early hours nor late, neither rain nor tempest, are any security against interruption; and often, very often, does a whole day pass without either my husband or myself having one moment for our own occupations, or even a chance to exchange a single sentence of recognition. I do not complain of this, for it is inevitable. I must believe it is our appointed duty. But it seems sometimes a most unprofitable mode of passing away life; at least it is very difficult to make progress in the things one most desires, when our time and our thoughts are so little at our own disposal."

Still, amid all these calls and cares, the "journal" continues, and full sheets of companion-like narration or maternal counsel go to the schoolboy at Framingham, who is having some of the trials of school-life, petty, but serious.

"Dear John, it is time you had another letter, and I am very glad to be able to write you one; it is the next best thing to sitting down by you and having a good chat. I should very much like to look in upon you, and know exactly how you get along. I hope you will continue to bear any provocation you may receive with perfect quietness and forbearance. Such conduct as you describe is not worthy of notice; and if you persevere in doing right, and show no arrogance or pride about it, you will gain their respect in time, that is, of all who are worth gaining. I am very glad you have Mr. Abbot's book (The Young Christian). I thought of you when I was reading it, and felt as if it would be very useful to you. You will find much in it which you never thought of, and much of which you will see a counterpart within yourself, if you examine yourself faithfully. It seemed to me, while reading it, that I was looking into a glass which reflected myself; for I have lived long enough to know more about myself than I used to at your age, and I often wish that I had had such looking-glasses then; I should, I think, have been saved many a feeling of self-reproach, and many a foolish and sinful action. You can hardly imagine now how great a blessing you possess in the watchful care which is extended over you by your dear father; may it never be withdrawn from you until you have learned to guide yourself by the high and holy principles of Christian virtue!"

It shows Mr. Ware's apprehensions in regard to his wife's health as well as his own, that, in a letter to the same son, he writes: "I find that your two parents are in very frail health, and probably destined to a short life. You will perhaps, therefore, be left at an early age to take care of yourself."

We learn still more of their mental and social life at this period from two letters which Mrs. Ware wrote at the end of the years 1832 and 1833; there having been little variety between, except a journey south as far as Alexandria, which they took together, for recreation and health, early in 1833, with a few later incidents referred to in the letters.

"_Cambridge, December 31, 1832._

"DEAR N----:

"F---- prophesied, ten years ago, that friendship between
married women could not be of long continuance. He did not know
that there is in woman's nature something which woman only can
fully understand; or his knowledge of human nature in general
would have shown him that the love of sympathy will triumph
over many an obstacle, which would be a perfect barrier to a
less powerful motive. Who but a woman, and one too who knows
the exact mould in which one's soul is fashioned, would
understand what it has been to me to stand on the verge of the
grave, in full possession of the whole intellectual being, and
prepare myself to leave such an assemblage of blessings as have
fallen to my lot,--husband, children, friends, and the
delightful duties which accompany these relations,--and then to
be restored to them all, with an added gift! And all without
one drawback, but my own want of sensibility, to make the
blessing as great as it would be with a more sensitive heart.
Perhaps no one can fully comprehend it who has not been placed
in exactly the same situation. But you can come nearer to it
than any one else, and you will not wonder that the past should
seem to me one of the most valuable years of my life. I have
often wished for just this experience, when I have felt how
ineffectual were the monitors of Providence in awakening that
deep sense of God's goodness, and that clear conviction of the
reality of a future state, which are so important to the
Christian life. I have almost envied those who were permitted
to approach so nearly to the gates of death as to give up all
expectation of a prolonged life. It has seemed as if this
appeal must be irresistible; as if there could be no more
deadness, or apathy, or indifference, after this. One _could_
not come back to the world and be absorbed as before in its
short-lived pursuits. But vain is the hope, I begin to fear, of
our being raised by any thing so much above the world, as not
to be subject to the power of the tempter while we live in it.
The physical weakness which enables us to realize the uncertain
tenure by which we are connected with this world is gradually
changed into strength, and the power to act brings with it the
desire;--and who shall easily set bounds to this desire? It is
the all-consuming monster that cries, 'Give! give!' until we do
give it every day, every hour, every thought,--until the
present alone occupies us, and, alas! satisfies us too. Is this
exaggeration, merely a dark picture drawn from my own sad
experience? I hope it is.

"But I am going too far, filling all my paper with croaking,
when I have so pleasant a picture of my 'outer man' to present
to you. We are all well; that is, well enough to be free from
anxiety on the subject;--neither Henry nor I good for much
beyond a very narrow sphere, but free from disease. I keep very
quietly at home. Indeed, I cannot do otherwise; a ride into
Boston tires me so much, that I am not fit for any thing for a
day after; a walk does the same. So I am fain to content myself
with my home comforts; and to this end I have converted my
chamber into a study, where Henry writes, I work, and Nanny
plays all the livelong day. It is more like Sheafe Street
comfort than any thing we have had since. My husband's social
habits, and the fact of our having lived so much together for
the last three years, make it particularly pleasant to him to
be saved the trouble of going in search of me whenever he wants
to read a sentence or say a word; and for the same reasons, it
is very pleasant to me to have so much of his presence without
feeling that he is taken off from his rightful pursuits by it.
January 1, 1833! A happy new year to you all!

"Yours truly.

"M. L. W."

* * * * *

"_Cambridge, December 31, 1833._

"MY DEAR N----:

"I am inclined to think that it is our inordinate estimate of
the happiness of this life, and our vague, half-sceptical
notions of a future state, that make us grieve so much when
such spirits as Elizabeth B---- are withdrawn from us. I don't
know, but I sometimes greatly fear that we do not bring home
the _reality_ of the future as we should do; we are so occupied
with our theories of right principles of action and correct
ideas of moral conduct in this life (all very good in their
place), and so afraid of falling into the extravagant exercise
of the imagination, which has betrayed so many of our opponents
in doctrine into enthusiasm and folly, that we lose sight of
the good influences which such contemplations might have upon
our hearts. This year has been to me one of less variety than
any of the last six. My husband's long sickness in the spring,
and the efforts consequent upon it, were the source of much
anxiety, and in some points a new experience. But I have had
for so long a time only to bear and submit, that my mind has
settled itself into that attitude, and it is no longer an
effort. It is quite another thing, when it becomes my duty to
exercise my energies in positive acts,--when others are looking
to me for guidance, when my habitual influence is to form the
character of this child and check the waywardness of that, with
all the train of active duties which devolve upon a married
woman,--then I am overpowered and powerless.

"I wished you had been by my side on Sunday, while I sat in my
old corner in Federal Street meeting-house, listening to that
voice which is to us both associated with some of our best
religious impressions. I went to hear Dr. Channing, for the
second time only since I returned home, as much for the sake of
recalling old associations as from any expectation of new
influences; for it does me good now and then to go back to what
I was, the better to understand what I am. If he had known just
what I was suffering, he could not have adapted himself more
entirely to my case. He was upon some of the obstacles which
may prevent our use of the present moment for improvement; and
he enlarged upon the tendency to rest satisfied with past
attainments. Because we had at one period of our lives been
deeply moved and strongly influenced by religious motives,--had
performed some great acts of benevolence, or sustained
ourselves under great trial with fortitude and submission,--we
deluded ourselves with the idea, that we had attained a height
from which we could not fall. But no mistake could be more
ruinous. The past was _nothing_, except as it influenced the
present. We trust too much to future improvement, to a vague
notion of gradual progress,--we know not exactly how, or by
what means. But as we are not conscious of becoming worse, we
think we must be growing better, and shall by and by be all
that we ought to be. Or we hope for more favorable
circumstances to influence us, and expect to be, we know not
why, in a more fit state at some other time for our religious
duties.

"Had I room, I could give you a long story about this, for my
mind is full of it. But I have another word to say upon the
fact of our giving so much time to the mere outside of life, to
the employment of our fingers, the mere mechanical employments
pertaining to the body. It is a question with me, whether it is
not a duty to be satisfied with a less elegant, and even a less
comfortable style of life, rather than take so much from the
cultivation of the intellectual and spiritual, when, as is so
often the case now-a-days, we must either do the drudgery
ourselves or leave it undone. I don't know,--I am puzzled. I
know that if we are doing our _duty_, however mean may be our
employment, we are fulfilling our destiny, and doing God the
best service. But the question is, What is our duty? And are we
not in danger of mistaking the real nature of duty, from too
great a love of this world and the things of it? This is one of
the difficult questions, which my husband and I try to settle.
I wish you would tell me what you think. And here comes my
Willie, with an imploring look to be taken up,--a reproving
one, too, that in all this long letter neither he nor his
family are so much as noticed. All are well.

"Yours ever.

"M. L. WARE."

Unusual freedom from sickness and apprehension was for a time enjoyed. Mrs. Ware was full of happiness and thankfulness. "It seems to me that never had people so much reason for gratitude as we; and I think I never felt this more than at this time, for I too am beginning to have the first feelings of health which I have known for a year and a half." But a change came. And with the letter which explains it we close this portion of the Cambridge life.

"_Cambridge, May 4, 1834._

"MY DEAR N----:

"... We have had our usual variety of sickness and health since
I wrote to you in January. Soon after that, I had a visit from
my old, and I thought conquered, enemy, the cramp; not a very
severe attack, but sufficient to make me very good for nothing
for a week, in the course of which Nanny had a very severe
fall, which for twenty-four hours made us apprehensive that we
should have to part with her. But this trial was spared us, in
much mercy; for two days after this, Elizabeth was very sick,
though not dangerously. All this had its effect upon Mr. Ware
and myself, and we have been the greater part of the time in
the most disagreeable state of betwixity, neither sick enough
to be excused from labor, nor well enough to do any thing
profitable,--just good for nothing. In the vacation in April,
Mr. Ware went to Portsmouth to collect materials for his Memoir
of Dr. Parker, intending by the way to go to Exeter.

"The day after he went, my Willie, who had been the very
perfection of health and happiness all winter, began to droop,
and, notwithstanding pretty efficient measures, in a few days
became the subject of decided lung fever; not very sick, but
requiring constant watching and careful attention. A week from
the day he was taken, he had a severe spasmodic attack, from
which we thought he would never revive; and when, after various
measures, he began to breathe again, we sat for four hours
expecting that every moment would be his last. It was a season
of severe trial, not a little increased by his father's
absence, and the impossibility of his reaching home until this
sweet child must be for ever removed from his sight. Yet it was
not for me to learn then, for the first time, that He who sends
trial always gives strength to bear it. I knew it would be so,
and in that faith I rested in peace and tranquillity. But this
blow, too, was averted. After a long struggle he revived, and I
realized, what I had never known before, that this second
birth, as it were, of a child is a far more affecting cause for
gratitude and joy than the first gift ever can be. It was a
great experience in many ways. It helped me to understand the
feeling of those who were witnesses of miracles more than any
thing I ever met with. For all human means were at an end;
nothing could be done but to pray that the Almighty Power, to
whom all things were possible, might yet interpose to save. And
the fact of having been carried through such a trial with
entire submission and calmness,--what confidence does it not
give in the all-sufficient power of that religion which can
alone succor one in such an hour of need! The kindness, too,
which such an occasion calls forth from those around us, is not
the least of its blessings. It makes us view human kind more
justly than we are sometimes inclined to do, and sinks for ever
some of those petty and contemptuous feelings which will
sometimes rise towards those with whom we have but little
sympathy.

"My husband returned after all this was over, quite sick; but
he did return without the necessity of my going to him, and
returned to be the better for being _at home_, gaining every
moment after he entered his house. All this was during that
bright, warm interval in April, when nature seemed buoyant with
joy. We had just completed our summer arrangements, and
altogether it seemed to me as if I had begun existence anew.
Although somewhat exhausted by the struggle, I really am better
than for months past.

"Yours ever.

"M. L. WARE."

XI.

LIFE IN CAMBRIDGE. (CONTINUED.)

It is the misfortune of those who are often sick to be blamed for their sicknesses in proportion as they are active and laborious when well. Their energy is sure to be considered the _cause_ of subsequent and frequent debility; and if not blamed, they find less compassion or kind consideration than the indolent and self-indulgent. These last may be sick all the time, and it is ascribed only to nature or the providence of God. But the conscientious and energetic, who accomplish wonders for themselves or others in their brief intervals of health, and possibly in sickness likewise, are accused of imprudence and a sinful disregard of self; while in truth it may be only by extreme care and unknown self-denials that they are able to accomplish any thing.

If Mary Ware was ever severely censured, we suppose it to have been in connection with this matter of health. Few women have been blessed with a better constitution, or greater power of action. With an almost masculine frame, there was such a degree of firmness with her gentleness, as always gave the idea of more strength than was wanted. We doubt if in early life she ever thought of saving her strength, so accustomed was she to do any thing that needed to be done, without saying or thinking much about it. She who had been the sole nurse of a sick mother at the age of eleven or twelve, and, as another describes her then, "going through all the offices of the sick-room with the firmness of a woman, holding on leeches with her little hand, and performing _all_ the necessary duties, not absolutely from necessity, but from so much love and so much confidence that no one else was wanted,"--she who had scarcely, from that period until middle life, been free from care and toil for the sick and suffering,--might be pardoned if she became self-relying, or at least self-forgetting. And yet when at last that vigorous frame was impaired, and the overwrought energies of body and mind partially gave way, so that the remainder of her life was subject to constant fluctuations of strength and weakness, powerful exertion and acute suffering, she does not seem to us to have been presumptuous or ever reckless. It is evident now, if it was not at the time, that she made this as much a matter of sober calculation and conscientious questioning as any thing, and much more than is common. Still she tells us that she was blamed for her imprudence; and she brings instances from her own experience to show the frequent error of judging of what one does, or forbears to do, by the apparent result, rather than from knowledge or by principle. "People judge by _consequences_, or what seem to be consequences, rather than by reasoning upon premises."

It is partly to show how Mrs. Ware defended herself, and at the same time submitted to counsel and was grateful for admonition, and partly to show how singularly insulated she must have been in her early training and her self-formed character, that we introduce the following note, written to a lady who acted the part of a true friend. The date is not given, but the note itself shows that it was written the year of the journey to the South already mentioned, when she accompanied her husband at some risk to herself.

"MY DEAR, GOOD FRIEND:--

"I cannot thank you as I would for your kind note. I have not
words wherewith to picture to you the joy I feel, that there is
any one human being in existence who is willing to admonish me
freely. If you have told me nothing new, your words are none
the less welcome, for one cannot have the truth too frequently
presented to the mind and although we may have _all_ knowledge,
it is not often that we can grasp it all at one glance, or even
that we remember the points most useful to us at the time
being.

"You will not think I boast, when I say that one and all the
views you present have long formed part of the rule of action
by which I have _tried_ to govern myself, because I know you
will easily understand the deep-searching, Argus-eyed
vigilance, which one wholly self-educated almost inevitably
acquires. I never have had, since I can remember, a principle
of action suggested to me, or a word said to show me _why_ one
action was wrong and another right. For many years a whisper of
blame never reached my ears; and when at last it came like a
flood upon me, there was no friendly looking-glass near to
point out to me the deformity from which my mistakes arose. At
ten years of age I waked up to a sense of the danger of the
state of indulgence in which I was living. At thirteen, by the
death of my mother, I was left wholly to my own guidance,
externally as well as internally; and from that time to this I
have labored night and day to know, discipline, and govern
myself, as I would a child for whose soul I was responsible.
Dr. Channing's sermons and conversation are the only effectual
human guide I ever had, until I was married. Having no one to
whom to speak, and but one friend to whom I could write upon
the subject, no wonder that my habits of thought should have
been more cultivated than of conversation; no wonder the whole
ground of self-deception, self-distrust, self-aggrandizement,
should have been gone over again and again until every root was
displaced and exposed to view; though, alas! not a hundredth
part eradicated. Now this is not to my point, but you will
still see that you have done me good by making me feel thus
loquacious and unreserved with you.

"You remind me that I omitted one item in my defence, the mere
mention of which will answer many of your queries. Who can tell
how often a person, blamed for the disregard of many
considerations which ought to influence the conduct, is
inflamed by those very considerations, restrained by those very
motives? We see what is done; we cannot see what is forborne.
In proof of this, after I recovered from the long illness which
followed immediately upon my arrival at home, three and a half
years ago, it was five or six months before I felt any thing
like elasticity of mind or body; the least effort fatigued me;
I looked perfectly well, and every body was asking me why I did
not go here, there, and everywhere. I knew from my feelings
that I still needed rest, and I took it. Change of air,
consequent upon the necessity of attending Mr. Ware in his
sickness at Concord, produced a great change in my whole
feelings. I seemed well again; but I knew my system had
materially suffered while abroad, and I determined religiously
to abstain from all effort of all kinds that did not seem
perfectly safe. No one knew any thing about it, I was so well.
Still I persevered. I literally did not walk across the room,
or eat a meal, that winter, without deliberately arguing the
case,--was it best or not? In this healthy state, I went to Dr.
W.'s lecture, and was very prudent afterward; yet when my
severe sickness commenced, it was all laid to that lecture; I
was talked to, even in its worst stages, as if to be sick was a
crime, and I have not to this day heard the last of it....
Again, I never in my whole life did so _imprudent_ a thing as
undertaking the journey I did last spring; there was no one
reason against the probability, almost certainty, of its
injuring me. I knew the risk; no one else did. I took the risk,
because I thought the object authorized it. The result, after
much suffering by the way, was favorable, and all was well. Had
it been otherwise, there would have been voices enough to point
out that it was wrong....

"There is one simple question which I wish to have
answered,--How do other people attain infallible correctness of
judgment? Is it by experience or intuition? If the former, have
they not suffered from their experiments, sometimes erred in
their calculations, and should they not have charity for others
who are going over the same ground? If by the latter, should
they not pity those less favored than themselves? I will not
trouble you any more with my egotism. Remember, the best favor
you can confer is, when you think I am doing wrong, to check
me, ask me why, show me wherein I deceive myself; and never
fear to speak plainly to your grateful friend,

"M. L. WARE."

There is another province into which the really high-minded and independent will carry the same conscientiousness, with equal firmness. It is a province often regarded as low and little. Nothing is little that involves principles and affects character. And what does this more than Dress? It is a matter to which few can be indifferent, even in a pecuniary view; and that is by no means the highest view. Love of dress is admitted to be one of the earliest passions that appear in human nature, and may be said to be a universal passion. If it be stronger in one sex than in the other,--a fact more easily assumed than demonstrated,--she is the nobler woman, wife, and mother who gives it its proper place among the elements of education, and both deigns and dares to speak of it and act upon it as a Christian.

So did Mrs. Ware speak and act. The circumstances in which she had always been placed, inducing the habit and the necessity of strict frugality, as we have seen, would alone have prevented her from overlooking so large an item in the domestic and social economy. But besides this, she had regard to the integrity of her principles, and the influence of example. She aimed evidently at two points, not easily attained together,--to make little of the whole matter of dress, and, at the same time, bring it under the control of a high Christian rule. As to her own attire, we should say no one thought of it at all, because of its simplicity, and because of her ease of manners and dignity of character. Yet this impression is qualified, though in one view confirmed, by hearing that, in a new place of residence, so plain was her appearance on all occasions, the villagers suspected her of reserving her fine clothes for some better class,--a suspicion only amusing to those who knew her, but sure to give pain to her benevolent heart. In another note to the female friend last addressed, she expresses her thoughts and describes her practice on this subject, so simply and sensibly, that we cannot hesitate to offer all of it except the specific and personal applications; while these, if they could be given, would show yet more how consistent and thorough she was.

"_Saturday Evening, January 17, 1835._

"MY DEAR FRIEND:--

"I have such a poor faculty at expressing myself in speech,
that I never feel that I have quite done myself justice in any
delicate matter, when I have used only oral means. I have felt
this peculiarly since I left you this afternoon, because some
expressions of mine have recurred to my mind's ear, which I
thought might possibly be construed by you into a very
different meaning from their intended one. I do not, as you
know, like to trouble my friends with the discussions of
questions merely personal, and which I ought to be able to
decide for myself unaided; and the whole subject of _dress_
seems, at a first glance, so trifling, that most people would
laugh at my having a serious thought about it. But to me, the
least thing which can have an influence upon the character of
my children becomes in my eyes a matter of deep importance; and
for this reason I have really longed to enter upon this said
subject with some one who could look at it in the same light,
or who could disabuse me of my anxiety about it, if it was a
foolish one. Accident has opened the door to your ear, and if
you can have patience with me, and I can find words to tell you
what I mean, I may some time or other try your friendship in
this way.

"To go back a little. When we went to Europe, you may know it
was the liberality of our friends, and the goodwill of the
Corporation, which enabled us to undertake the expense of so
long a tour. We calculated very well for such novices, but
could not anticipate the great additional draft which a child's
birth and the journey home would make upon our resources.
Consequently we returned in debt. This debt we had hoped to
liquidate by living within our salary, and thus laying by a
little every year. Four years' experiment has proved this hope
fallacious. Every year has brought with it some occasion of
great extra expense, which has taken up what might otherwise
have been laid by for this purpose. We have had, you know, a
great deal of sickness, and there have been other contingencies
which it is not necessary to enumerate. These may not occur
again, but past experience proves that we have no right to
calculate upon such exemptions; and it becomes, therefore, more
than ever necessary that we economize in the strictest manner,
to do all we can to free ourselves from this burden, and to do
justice to others. Our children, of course, are acquainted with
this state of affairs, and it is right that they should do
their part, and from right motives. They know, as we do, that
there are many expenses of daily occurrence in which there
cannot be any retrenchment consistent with our obligations to
our friends and the situation we hold in society,--such as the
calls of hospitality and charity. But they ought to feel that
all _personal_ sacrifices are to be made that can be, according
to a standard of propriety which a high moral sense would
dictate. This, of course, must be in some measure an arbitrary
standard, to be settled as much by experiment and example as by
reasoning. I have therefore had but few _rules_ upon the
subject, leaving to each occasion which brings up the question
all argumentation, taking care to have as little discussion as
may be possible, lest it become in any way the subject of too
much thought. This is particularly to be avoided with regard to
dress, and upon this I have been more puzzled than on any other
branch, as both our elder children are just of an age to
require very 'judgmatical' treatment upon it. My rule for
myself is, as I told you, to do without every thing which I can
_decently_, making my own ideas of decency, not others', the
standard. It is a difficult matter, especially as I make no
pretensions to good taste, or good faculty, about externals;
but this, I maintain, does not alter the question of duty....

"I feel that I am trying your patience with much ado about a
small thing. But it is my weak side to wish to be thoroughly
understood by my friends, weak points and all; and it helps me
to understand myself, thus to try to make others understand me.
I have not a word of complaint to make. We are far better
provided for than is necessary to our happiness. We could live
upon our income and grow rich, were our wishes only our rule;
but as we are situated, it is not easy to make 'all ends meet,'
as the phrase is; and as our five children grow every day
older, it becomes more and more difficult every year. Can you
teach me to economize? I fear, however, that if you could, you
could not insure me strength to carry your plan into execution.
No one who has not experienced it can tell how great a drawback
sickness is to all saving, especially when it comes upon the
head of the house, and when it requires the most expensive
kinds of remedy. But enough of all this. I wish you would tell
me if you do not think I am right in declining your offer. I am
always doubtful enough about my own judgment, to be open to
conviction from those who differ.

"Yours in all love.

"M. L. WARE."

The years 1834 and 1835 are spoken of by Mr. and Mrs. Ware as peculiarly favored, having little sickness or severe trial, compared with other years. But this must have been only a comparative view; for we find several incidental allusions to a state of feebleness and inability, which most of us would consider quite enough either for discipline or release from labor. Very pleasantly, however, does Mrs. Ware speak of those interruptions and prostrations, as if they were the ordinary condition. To Emma she writes: "Could you have alighted upon us at any time within the last fortnight, you would have found yourself _at home_. Nearly all last week Mr. Ware and myself enjoyed a most social _tete-a-tete_ upon the two beds which occupy my chamber, neither of us capable of reading to the other, nor, a great part of the time, of speaking; I ill from the effects of the cramp, he from the fatigue of taking care of me with it. From this state we were compelled to rouse ourselves, by having one domestic taken sick, and Nanny ---- All the rest you know." This was said in 1834. In the autumn of that year a daughter was born; and for a time Mrs. Ware was so helpless, that she yielded more than was her wont to feelings of discouragement. "I did _try_ to be hopeful; but the idea of so long a period of uselessness, and its consequent evils to my children and family, was dreadful to me; and I could not quite feel that I could receive it as patiently as I ought." But severely does she chide herself for this distrust, especially as the result was so much better than her fears. She regained her health, and soon enjoyed a greater sense of strength and energy than she had had since her marriage. And this period of exemption--though not very long as regarded the health of all the household--was one of the seasons in which she strove to make amends for lost time, and accomplished a vast deal. Not that there was any remarkable, visible product. She never labored for one object exclusively, in doors or out, and it would not be easy to point to definite results. It may be doubted if she ever thought much of results, or expected, or even desired, to see them in any sure and signal form. To do "all she could" was her only ambition; and she had the wisdom which is worth more than any other,--to be _content_ with doing all she could, only taking care that that word "all" should take in something more than the thought of earth, or self. She did not forget that objects and interests have a relative, as well as positive importance; and probably all who knew her well have marked this as a characteristic trait,--that she studied the exact proportion of the different claims upon her time, and was more anxious to do justly than to do all things.

In our times, and in a position like Mr. Ware's, there were sure to be numerous calls and claims abroad as well as at home, and for a woman not less than a man. We have not inquired as to the names or number of the benevolent societies and industrial enterprises in Cambridge, in which Mrs. Ware took part. That she gained any notoriety in this way, we should be surprised to hear, both from her multiplicity of duties, and her preference of private to public activity. Yet that her influence was felt, her judgment peculiarly relied upon, and her presence always welcomed, in these connections, we know. Cases of moral want and exposure interested her most, and we have reason to think that she was never without some such case on her hands or in her heart. What she could not do herself, in the gift of time or clothes or money, she always induced others to do, _never_ suffering an object of actual want or peril to go unassisted. Very far was she above the poor apology, that to do any thing for one sufferer will create more. In a multitude of small notes given us, written by her to various neighbors and friends, we chanced to see in one, so small as at first to be overlooked, a few words that fixed attention; and on reading it through, we found, in the compass of a few lines, a whole volume of illustration as to her interest, her courage, and her power of indignation for selfish excuses. We give it just as it was written to a neighbor, another right-minded woman.

"I have company, therefore cannot answer you at length, or as I
wish. I should have stepped in to see you this afternoon, if I
had not been prevented by callers, to say a few words upon the
subject of the latter part of your note. I have to-day got at
the poor man's wardrobe for the first time, and determined to
_beg_ for some means to supply it with a few decencies, for
even they are wanting. Mr. Ware has thought it quite allowable
to state the case to one or two of our rich men, to raise
enough to pay the expenses of his journey; and I have just
resolved to undertake the other matter. But I am full of
wrathful indignation at being _sneered at_ for taking him in.
'You will have enough English beggars at your door, if you do
so.' A good argument against relieving any distress! So let the
poor suffer as much as they may,--no relief,--for others will
be idle and want relief too!--M. L. W."

In another brief note, we saw a statement of Mrs. Ware, to the effect that for many years she had not been without some "case of intemperance on hand"; and a little inquiry tells us that it refers to her habit of helping the reformed and the struggling to get an honest living. A "Ladies' Aid Society" had been formed in Cambridge, with that special object; and its President, being obliged to leave home, asked Mrs. Ware to look after her "patients," when she found that Mary had long been doing privately, and by herself, what they were doing as a society.

It may seem the language of enthusiastic friendship, and our readers will deduct what they please on that account, but we must give a passage from a recent letter, written by one of the many theological students who had free access to Mr. Ware's house and family. In reference to Mrs. Ware, he writes: "I have often quoted her example since to those who make the cares of housekeeping an excuse for the neglect of all public offices. She seemed to keep house better than any body else, to exercise a larger and freer hospitality, to make her tea-table a pleasant resort, to provide more simply and at the same time more attractively, while, after all, her domestic cares were only an incident in her daily duties. She seemed to have time for every great out-door or general interest, and to be full of schemes of benevolence and kindness. And it was the easy, natural way in which she performed these double functions that gave me such a sense of her _power_."

In regard to intercourse with general society and festive gatherings, Mary Ware was often drawn to them, not less by a social, genial temper than by a sense of duty. A duty even there she recognized and regarded; a duty secondary, certainly, to many others, but involving obligation when other duties came not in the way. She believed that society had claims as well as the family, and pure enjoyment as well as religion. Her social sympathies were always calm, but never cold; subdued, but ardent, and ever ready both to taste and impart pleasure. Her interest in children was a passion, and her love of seeing and promoting their enjoyment as intense as any we have known. She could ill brook any restraint put upon the freedom and joyousness of the young, beyond the point of propriety or others' comfort. Her own convenience, her rooms, her whole house, she would give up, adding her powers of entertainment and enjoyment, rather than make life cheerless or religion repulsive. Many scenes can we recall of childish glee and hearty frolic, presided over, shared, and promoted by both the heads of that house, with which are associated some of the happiest hours of life, and the best. We will always thank God that those two hearts, which He was pleased to chasten with many sicknesses and sorrows, were as genial and joyous as they were pure and humble.

There was one form of social entertainment--if it deserve the name--with which Mrs. Ware had no sympathy, and for which she had little charity. Indeed, that "indignation" which we have seen enkindled by selfishness, though not easily roused, could not always restrain itself in the hearing of small gossip or busy _scandal_. We said in the introduction to this Memoir, that not a single line or word allied to those petty vices have we found in the whole extent of her correspondence, sober or trivial. We are sure the same might be said of her conversation. Nor was this negative only. There was a tone of decided displeasure, and, if necessary, pointed reproof, called forth at times by the spiteful or thoughtless scandal-monger. She would not allow that we have a _right_ to be thoughtless; nor did she believe that we were sent into the world to scan a neighbor's conduct or impugn another's motives. In a letter written at Cambridge to a friend whom she had been to meet in Boston, but with whom her enjoyment had been greatly interrupted, she thus expresses herself.