Chapter XXVIII: Introduction (16)

In this connection it deserves to be mentioned, that Mrs. Ware found a true and most devoted friend in her physician. She knew the worth of such a friend; and it was one of her last acts of thoughtfulness and gratitude, to beg her children to remember the kindness of the Doctor.[6]

[Footnote 6: Dr. C. C. Holmes, of Milton.]

The last letter that Mrs. Ware wrote, or rather dictated, was in behalf of an aged and destitute clergyman, whose family she had often taken to her home, and for whose benefit the provision made by some generous friends, partly as a solace to her own departing spirit, shed upon that spirit a serener and brighter radiance. To him who told her of it, she said, joyfully, "I hope to have some spiritual ministry given to me; I have been able to do little here, but I hope to do more."

With great clearness, and in words that were retained, she had defined to a friend and clergyman, a short time before, her views of the world to which she was drawing near. "I find myself thinking very little of the future world as to its 'circumstances.' I mean, I am surprised to find how little _curiosity_ I feel about it. I trust myself with my Father, both now and hereafter. Whatever is best for me then, as now, I feel sure will be ordained.... If we suffer here, it is by a Father's hand, it is in wisdom and mercy. If we suffer there, it must be no less so. No, I desire to suffer in the coming world, as in this, if He pleases, if He will that I should. I have a perfect trust and confidence in God.... Ah, Mr. H----, it is the _self-surrender_, a renunciation of our will for God's, which is the thing. If we can only do this truly, it is all. But how much it means! It has relation to the whole of life. It in eludes action as well as endurance. It is a perpetual act. At times we feel strong to do it,--to do it in one great act. But in the details of life we come sadly short.... There are some who seem to think of self-surrender as implying and inducing a certain weakness of the spirit, a giving up of power, a lessening of the soul's activity. But it is not so. Far from it. It implies no lessening of activity, of energy or power of character. It is that these are out of _self_, and in and for GOD."

"The afternoon of the day before she died," writes her pastor, "I was told that she had expressed a desire to see me. As I entered the room, her face was perfectly radiant. She knew that her hour had come, and she would say a few last words of kindness to us all. 'I wish to thank you,' she said, 'for all that you have done,--every thing. And it is all here,' placing her hand on her breast, 'it is all here. This peace, this peace! it is all here.' 'Yes,' I replied, 'if we seek we shall find it.' 'I have not sought it,' she said quickly. 'It came. It was sent.' ... 'Come with a _smile_,' she said to one whom she had called to bid her farewell. And her chamber then seemed to us more as a forecourt of heaven, than a painful approach to the tomb."

On a lovely April day, the windows of her room all open that she might breathe freely, she looked up at one who entered, and said with a smile, "What a beautiful day to go _home_!" Near the end, one at her side said to another, in tears, "How much stronger she is than we are!" "I am so much nearer the Source of strength," she whispered. Her suffering was acute, but her thought and care were more for others than herself, to the last. Much of the time she held in her hand that sacred note which her husband had written to her when he thought himself dying, at a distance. And precious, very precious, must have been to her those last, parting words from one to whom she was now going. "Dear, dear Mary, if I could, I would express all I owe to you. You have been an unspeakable, an indescribable blessing. God reward you a thousand fold! Farewell, _till we meet again_."

* * * * *

In the evening twilight of another balmy day,--GOOD FRIDAY,--that spent frame was laid by the side of _his_, in the hallowed rest of Mount Auburn. And as we turned away, we felt that another tie to earth was broken, and heard another voice calling us to heaven.

* * * * *

With regret, rather than gladness, we lay down the pen which has attempted to record the life of a humble Christian. Delightful has it been to renew our communion, and extend our intimacy, with one whose presence was always felt as a blessing. If we have transgressed the bounds we set for ourselves in the beginning, and given expression to feelings as well as facts, we can only say that we have repressed more than we have disclosed of the recollections and emotions awakened by this intercourse. A true portrait may seem to be praise, but less than that would be injustice.

We draw no character, in the end, but only refer to the two facts which seem most worthy of note. First, the amount of happiness enjoyed by one whose life was passed in the midst of sickness and trial, and who for six years felt that a fatal and distressing disease was consuming her life,--yet could say of the whole, "It has been a beautiful experience." "I have been so happy,--no one can tell how happy." And, next, the illustration here seen of the large sphere, the vast power, and imperishable work, of a woman who never left the domestic relations, nor aspired to any thing that is not possible to every daughter, wife, and mother. If this appear, it is enough,--that religion, with or without rank, wealth, beauty, rare endowment, varied accomplishment, or any singularity, can lift WOMAN to the highest distinction and confer the most enduring glory,--that of filling well, not the narrow, but the wide and divine realm of HOME.

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