Memoir of Mary L. Ware, Wife of Henry Ware, Jr. Part 16

Their energy is sure to be considered the _cause_ of subsequent and frequent debility; and if not blamed, they find less compa.s.sion 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 G.o.d. 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 const.i.tution, 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-gla.s.s 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 pa.s.sions that appear in human nature, and may be said to be a universal pa.s.sion. If it be stronger in one s.e.x than in the other,--a fact more easily a.s.sumed than demonstrated,--she is the n.o.bler 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 circ.u.mstances 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 cla.s.s,--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.

"_Sat.u.r.day 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 friends.h.i.+p 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 antic.i.p.ate 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 una.s.sisted. Very far was she above the poor apology, that to do any thing for one sufferer will create more. In a mult.i.tude 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 compa.s.s of a few lines, a whole volume of ill.u.s.tration 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 friends.h.i.+p, and our readers will deduct what they please on that account, but we must give a pa.s.sage 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 pa.s.sion, 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 a.s.sociated some of the happiest hours of life, and the best. We will always thank G.o.d 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.

"It is only tantalizing to meet in Boston, to fritter away the few moments of intercourse which we want for better purposes in the idle, profitless gossip of city life. Is it because I have so little interest in other people, or is it for a better reason, that I have no patience with hearing people descant upon the whys and wherefores of their neighbors' concerns; discussing their actions with as decided judgment upon their merits, as if the secret springs of thought, and all the various causes which led to them, were as fully developed to us as they can be to the Omniscient only? I know we may learn much from others' experience, both in warning and example; and to do this, we must closely observe them, and follow or vary from their course as our own conscience and judgment may dictate. But surely it is not necessary that we should be all the time speculating and gossiping with each other, upon every portion of the lives of our neighbors, or such portions as cannot from their very nature be of any importance to us in any way. Is it just to our minds so to employ them? Is it Christian charity towards others? I may see clearly my neighbor's faults, and if there be any chance of doing him good by it, I may speak of them to him freely. I may consult a friend, who I know will treat the subject with the same tender feeling that I have myself, upon all the views which could result in good to the guilty or ourselves. But to talk publicly to any and all about the matter, for no possible result but the getting rid of so much time, fostering contempt on the one hand and self-conceit on the other, seems to me the wickedest abuse of the high privilege of speech that I know of, next to absolute falsehood.

And how often does this habit lead to falsehood, and all manner of injustice!... But enough. Perhaps I am too much of a recluse to judge justly of the temptations of city life, and am committing the very sin which I am condemning. Suffice it to say, that thus was my whole comfort in town destroyed, and I came home feeling that, so far as regarded our knowledge of each other's inner woman, we might as well not have met."

With all the variety of the Cambridge life, there was necessarily a sameness which makes it needless to mark every year, or follow exactly the order of events. The chief "events" of these twelve years were the death of one child, the birth of four, and the variations of health and sickness to both parents. In the experience of sickness, the year 1836 brought one of the sorest visitations. We subjoin Mrs. Ware's account of it soon after its occurrence, and her review of the year at its close.

"_Cambridge, May 29, 1836._

"MY DEAR N----:

"... You have heard, no doubt, enough of the outline of our story to have traced us in all our outward movements. But you cannot know what rich experience the last four months have brought to us, and the compa.s.s of a letter can tell you little.

The first stroke was a heavy one. Henry had been very well all winter, and had gained a degree of strength and ability to labor unharmed, which, in our most sanguine moments, we never even hoped for, so that the disappointment was even greater than when he was taken ill at Ware, as the height from which he fell was greater. He was attacked, for the first time since that, upon the lungs; and when, for the first few days, it seemed quite reasonable to expect that the consequences, if not even more alarming, would be at least as lasting as those which followed the former attack, the prospect was heart-sickening.

It required the industrious use of all the few moments of thought I could borrow from my occupations, to gather strength enough to nerve me for the calm contemplation of the picture.

"His own view of the case was a very reasonable one; and the calmness with which he looked at the improbability of recovery, was at once an aid and a source of high enjoyment to me. A few weeks, however, gave us more encouragement; the attack was not a severe one, and yielded readily to the remedies applied. And although we could not but look forward to a long confinement at that season of the year, there was much in his state to give us pleasure. His mind is always, when he begins to recover, in a very animated state, very active, and upon the most entertaining subjects. This time he injured his eyes by looking over newspapers and books, in the early part of his illness; so that, as soon as my most arduous duties as nurse ceased, I had to commence those of reader and amanuensis.

I never was so literary in my life. I did nothing but read and write; nor have I done much else since, for he cannot yet do either for himself. Thus pa.s.sed ten weeks, a period equal to our whole residence at Ware and Worcester; and yet, owing to the difference of the season, he could not get out of his room more than once or twice a week, when he was carried in arms to a carriage. At this time, too, I sunk for a short term, not with disease, but exhaustion from confinement and incessant effort of some kind or other. I soon got rested; but whether from the interruption which this caused to Henry's literary employments, or because the time had come for a change, I know not,--his own animation ceased, and he seemed in danger of losing all his energy and strength for the want of air and exercise. I had hoped that he would be sent to a warmer region as soon as he had strength to get there, for air and exercise are always essential to his recovery. But he dragged on, until I was not willing to be submissive any longer; and I begged that he might go to New York at least, for a city is so much more protected than the country, that he could walk there in weather that would have kept him in here. I went to New York with him, but could not well stay; and as he was in a second home there, it did not seem necessary. He came home just in time to sit down by a fire during this long storm! It was most unlucky, but cannot be helped. Were it possible, I would go off with him as soon as the sun s.h.i.+nes, to keep him from going to work. I never say any thing is _impossible_, but it seems to me next to it that I should leave home now. All my five children are at home,--to say nothing of not having attended to any of my domestic duties since last January;--a little sewing to be done, you may fancy. Still, if it is _necessary_ to go, some way of effecting it will present itself.

"Yours in all true love.

"MARY L. WARE."

"_Boston, December 31, 1836._

_Sat.u.r.day Night._

"MY DEAR N----:

"What a crowd of recollections rush upon my mind as I date this letter! It is nine years since I have affixed 'Boston' to this annual epistle; and the last 'Sat.u.r.day night' which found me thus occupied was eleven years ago, at _Osmotherly_, 1825; and the last time I wrote the whole date was to a note which accompanied a pair of pegged gloves which I sat up till midnight to finish for your brother, in 1814. What an interesting and varied picture do these dates present to my mind's eye, and how many remembrances are a.s.sociated with them of joy and sorrow, of trial and happiness! I could willingly spend hours in recalling all in detail, and I feel as if it would do us both good, should I do so; for I find that, in the full occupation of the present, the lessons of the past are losing their power over me. Their voice cannot be heard in the busy bustle of life; and it is only at a few favored moments like these, when all creation within and around us pauses, as it were, before taking another onward step towards eternity, that we can hear their distant, solemn murmur. It is good, then, to turn our hearts to the teaching, and to fix in them more deeply the warning and encouragement which we may thus receive....