Memoir of Mary L. Ware, Wife of Henry Ware, Jr. Part 7

"Our only neighbor is the farmer's wife, a most excellent woman of sixty, one of the old primitive people of the country, of good sense and sound judgment, just such a body as cousin N---- would delight in. Her husband is the church-warden, overseer of the poor, and indeed the princ.i.p.al man in all parish concerns; and their goodness to the cottagers makes them beloved by all.

You may imagine Mrs. L---- as about dear aunty's size, of pale complexion like her, white hair, just parted under a neat white cap, always surmounted with a neat black-satin bonnet, stuff gown, made as grandma used to wear hers, with a plain double muslin neckerchief within and a black or calico shawl outside, and a full linen ap.r.o.n, as white as the snow itself. Her face is all benevolence, and her voice, even with the broad provincial p.r.o.nunciation of the country, sweet and musical.

They have a large family of sons and daughters; one of the former, a very interesting young man, is now going in a consumption. It is the best specimen of an English farmer's family that I have yet seen.

"I went on Christmas day to the Cathedral at Salisbury. It is a very fine building, and the part appropriated to the services of the church is fitted up in a much better style than any thing I have seen, being of black oak, and in unison with the style of the building. The organ is a remarkably fine one, and I think I never felt music more powerful than the first symphony, played as the bishop and clergymen entered. It was at first so soft, that in that immense building it seemed rather as if it were the sound of the air itself than any earthly creation; and as the tones swelled, the very building trembled, and one involuntarily held the breath with awe."

"_Burcombe House, February 24, 1825._

"MY DEAR COUSIN:--

"The winter months have pa.s.sed very quickly, and, as spring approaches, I begin to look forward with much anxiety to the period when, having completed all for which I came, I may prepare to return to my beloved home, and join again the many dear friends I may find there. I thank G.o.d that he has been pleased to spare so many of them for such a length of time, for it is remarkable that among so large a circle there should have been so few changes in ten long months. You cannot conceive of the grat.i.tude which I feel whenever I hear from you, for you know not the anxiety which the consciousness of being at such a distance inevitably excites. I know not why it is, for were I ever so near, I could do nothing to save even one of the least of them all; but so it is, and it is a greater exercise of reliance and trust than I could have ever known, had I not left you. I try to look forward without fear, and I never doubt that, whatever trials may be in store for me, it will be in mercy that they will come, and I will be patient and submissive.

"With regard to the probable time of my return, it is impossible for me to speak with any certainty. The first four months that I was in England were lost, so far as the accomplishment of the immediate object for which I came was concerned; and it r.e.t.a.r.ded my progress more than that time, as it is impossible to do as much in winter as might be done in half the time in summer. I do not speak of this as regretting it, for I have no doubt that it was for some good object that I was so employed; and I saw much which I should not have otherwise seen at all. But it makes it necessary that I should prolong my stay here, in order to do even what I calculated upon when I named a year for the probable limit of my absence.

In addition to this, many objects of interest have been presented to me of which I knew nothing, and peculiar circ.u.mstances have occurred since I have been here to make me desirous of remaining longer than I had antic.i.p.ated. For I consider myself a sort of isolated, unconnected being, who, having no immediate duties in life, is bound to improve all opportunities of usefulness which may offer themselves."

In April Mary received the welcome intelligence that her very dear friend, E. P. F., from America, had arrived in Liverpool. Being at this time at Ash, Surrey, the residence of her father's uncle, she immediately arranged to meet E---- in London, making, as she says, "a desperate effort" to break away from her friends at Burcombe House, to whom she had become so strongly attached as to make it no easy matter, as we may believe there was some attachment on the other side also.

Again and again was she constrained to alter her plans and defer her purpose of returning, by the entreaties of those whom she wished to gratify, and who urged upon her, when other arguments failed, one that was unanswerable; namely, that she had no _duty_ to call her home. With sadness did she admit it, and n.o.bly too. "I feel that I have many ties which have to _me_ the force of duties, in drawing me back; but I cannot forget that I am indeed without bond of any kind in life which can be called peculiar duty."

The two friends met in London, and, after a few days of delightful interview, Mary was called to Sydenham, where are dated two letters, from which we take portions, referring to widely different subjects and scenes.

"_Sydenham, June, 1825._

"DEAR EMMA:--

"It is so evident, from many circ.u.mstances of which you must be fully sensible, that this is an appointment by that Providence who guides even the sparrows in their course, that you have only to seek to fulfil its duties to the best of your powers, and humbly leave the event in His hands without whose blessing the best endeavors of the mightiest must be ineffectual. Do not be thinking how much more this or that one might have done; we should do what we can for the sake of obeying G.o.d, not for our pleasure; and acting from this motive, we may learn to be 'willing even to be useless,' if it be His will. This may seem more than the Gospel requires, but I believe, if we knew ourselves thoroughly, we should ever be suspicious of all feelings which led to personal comparisons. We should, as you say, be thankful for the one talent, not dissatisfied that we have not the many, knowing that we may please G.o.d, and accomplish the end of our being in the one case as well as in the other. And as it regards the good we may do, do we not often see Him using feeble means to effect great ends? At all events, it is our duty to be satisfied with what He has thought sufficient for us. But you need no urging to induce you to do your utmost; the only difficulty is, to know in what manner it is to be done."

"_Sydenham, June 9, 1825._

"MY DEAR MARY:--

"I made a call with some friends one day upon the clergyman's lady, when our names were carried along by a row of livery servants, each one sounding it louder and louder, until it was announced by my lady's own servant at the door of the drawing-room, in a voice that made me start at the fellow's impudence in speaking so loud to his mistress; but I found that the poor lady was very deaf, yet a good, easy, old-fas.h.i.+oned body, as sociable and kind as need be. My risibles unfortunately took alarm at the similarity of this train of servants to a line at a fire handing buckets, and I had much ado to look indifferent and dignified, as if I were used to it; but I had my laugh out when I got into the room, for the good-natured body soon gave me a pretence for it by her whimsical stories.

"I went to St. Paul's last week to see the annual gathering of the parochial schools and I could not have conceived any thing so striking as the sight was. That part of the church which is fitted up for service is not used, but temporary seats are erected for the children under the great dome, and the spectators sit in the body of the church, quite down to the western door. The children, about eight thousand, all clothed in the uniform of their several schools, are arranged one row above another to the number of sixteen, and to the height of at least fifty feet, within the pillars of the dome and on each side of the aisles. The appearance of the children was most deeply affecting; all between seven and fourteen, not half of what belonged to the schools, for want of room; all clothed and educated by charity; taken, for the most part, from the poorest cla.s.ses, and perhaps saved from destruction; it was a delightful sight for a Christian, a striking testimony to the power of religion. They were directed by the motions of one man and it seemed as if one impulse moved the whole, so perfectly did they keep time together. And when at last all were a.s.sembled, and the solemn silence was suddenly broken by one swell of their united voices in a hymn of thanksgiving, I think the most insensible there must have been melted; the sound filled the whole of that vast building, and reverberated again and again along its aisles. The morning service was performed by the clergyman, choristers, and children; the minister's voice was almost powerless in that vast place, and the organ, and voices of the singers, sixteen in number, could scarcely be heard at the end of the aisle; the children only could fill the s.p.a.ce, and as they occasionally burst out in different parts, the effect was wonderfully fine."

At this point, Mary received a cordial invitation from a party of American friends, to go with them to Scotland. It was an opportunity which she hardly expected, but most earnestly desired; not only for its own sake, but as facilitating a cherished purpose of visiting her father's only sister in the North of England,--a visit of which she thought more than any other, and which was to prove more important than any other, though in a way which she could little antic.i.p.ate. The journey thither, which was almost her only pure recreation, and was shared with a friend of all others desirable, was a high enjoyment; and her unstudied account of it, written from Chester and Gretna Green, we give at length, as we have allowed but little room to this kind of description. We claim for it no distinction, except that of naturalness and ease.

"_Chester, July 22, 1825._

"MY DEAR COUSIN:--

"From sundry letters from Emma and myself, which will, I trust, have reached you long before this does, you will be able to guess how I have found my way to this place; but I am very glad that I have time and opportunity to tell you, not only how, but why, I am here. I wrote to Ann the last of June, mentioning Mr.

Perkins's kind proposition, that I should join his party and go with them to Scotland. I received your delightful letter the day after, and, I a.s.sure you, the encouragement you gave me to see and do all I could, with the promise of the approbation of those kind friends whose wishes it is my greatest desire to fulfil, did not a little in deciding me to use the means placed within my power of acquiring the information, which I probably should never again have an opportunity of getting. I try to be satisfied in having done what appeared best, by the thought that it is my duty to improve all the means of doing good which may fall in my way. But I do not like to think that any thing is to keep me from you much longer. I had made up my mind when I came, to go on bravely to the end, let it take what time it might, but my hope was that a year would be sufficient, and I still hope that it will; yet I know you would not think me right to leave my work half finished, for any childish weakness, or homesick feeling. Be a.s.sured that I am as industrious as I can be, for my stimulant to exertion is a most powerful one, that of being again united to the beloved friends which that blessed spot, home, contains. We have had a most delightful tour so far, and I daily feel that I am a highly favored mortal, to have such an opportunity of witnessing the wonders of this goodly world; and I cannot but be grieved that I can make so little use of such a privilege.

"We left Bath upon the 9th, and have since pa.s.sed through South and North Wales, and to-day took leave of the interesting scenery and people we found there, with much regret. At Chepstow we pa.s.sed a day, seeing the ruins of its old castle, upon some sublime rocks on the banks of the river Wye, and walking through the grounds of Piercefield, a gentleman's seat in the neighborhood, finely situated upon the rocky, yet thickly wooded heights, which border the river for a long distance from its mouth. On our ride from Chepstow to Hereford, we stopped to see the ruins of Tintern Abbey and Ragland Castle, both very famous, and I should think as fine as it was possible any thing of the kind could be. Of the former, the walls and pillars of the church are nearly all that remain, but they are so perfect as to give one an exact idea of the beauty which it once possessed, built in the purest Gothic style, in the bottom of a quiet, beautiful valley, watered by the Wye, and protected on all sides by rocks and hills, which seem to defy any power that should dare to approach. But the hand of Time has worked silently and effectually, and what was once a most n.o.ble temple is now but a tumbling ruin, sublime, indeed, even in its decay, covered almost with ivy, and shaded from within by trees which have grown upon the very spots consecrated to the prayers and confessions of its former possessors. Its situation, and the peculiar lightness and beauty of its architecture, have made it very much talked of by travellers; but all my expectations were fully answered, although they were very great.

"After riding all day over hill and dale, with only the sheep for our companions, we came at once upon one of the most romantic scenes imaginable; the singular pa.s.s called the Devil's Bridge, a stone structure thrown over a chasm in the rocks of one hundred and fifty feet depth, through the bottom of which runs a very rapid stream, das.h.i.+ng over rocks which at some seasons must make quite a grand cataract; but at this time the water is low. The banks are thickly wooded, even to the edge of the water, and altogether it is very attractive. At A---- we pa.s.sed a night, and came through much glorious scenery to Dalgelly, where we performed the mighty feat of mounting Cader Idris, the highest mountain in Wales, except Snowdon, and two thousand eight hundred feet from the point we left in the plain below. Imagine me mounted on horse back, for the first time in my life, for such a perilous undertaking, fortunately without any fear, and much amused by the novelty of the situation. The day happened to be very hot, but the atmosphere was clear; and we should have been amply repaid for tenfold the fatigue we endured, by the grand scene we beheld from the summit. Never having before been on a great elevation, I knew not what to expect; and if the sensations were not just what I had supposed, they were sufficiently solemn to make me sensible that it was 'good to be there.' A birdseye view of a circuit of five hundred miles could not fail to fill one with an idea of the power and majesty of Him who formed these wondrous glories, such as no common scenes could ever have inspired. I think I shall never look back upon that hour without recalling emotions which should make one better for ever.

"MARY."

"_Gretna Green, July 30, 1825._

"MY DEAR MARY:--

"My last, I think, was from Lancaster, just as we were about commencing our journey among the beautiful lakes of c.u.mberland and Westmoreland. We crossed what are called the Ulverstone and Lancaster Sands to Ulverstone. The sh.o.r.e is very hard at this place, and when the tide is down the ride is perfectly safe and free from water, except in the centre, where a river pa.s.ses through. At this place is always found a guide, who conducts the carriage through the ford. I confess I did not much like the sensation, for though there is no danger in a heavy carriage, the current of the river is so strong that it seems as if the carriage were swimming. It was an odd feeling, too, after having been so recently three thousand feet in the air, to find one's self walking on the very bed of the ocean. We had about twelve miles of this kind of travelling. The coast is very bold, and we were quite delighted with the variety.

"The next day's ride, from Ambleside to Keswick, was a very interesting one; the scenery of the grandest, and at times most beautiful, character. At Rydal we stopped to see what would have been a beautiful cascade if there had been any water, but we have had such a long period of dry weather that the stream had almost disappeared. The scenery about it was fine, and the thing itself could not but interest us under any circ.u.mstances, for it borders upon Wordsworth's grounds, and has no doubt been a favorite resort of his, and the suggestion of much of his fine poetry. His house is just below, and we could not help stopping at the gate, to look at the abode of one whose writings we so much admired. He was not at home, but his sister came out and invited us to see the place, and take a view from the Mount which gives the name to his place. This we could not do, but it was some consolation for our disappointment to have spoken to her, although it was very tantalizing not to be able to avail ourselves of her polite invitation. The lakes of Rydal, Grasmere, Windermere, came in succession on our way, all beautiful, but Grasmere with its little island in the centre the most so, by far; the banks being much wooded and ornamented by gentlemen's seats. And Emma and I fancied that, after searching the greater part of England, we had at length found a spot in which we should be willing to take up our abode for life. The mighty Helvellyn tempted us mountain-climbers to ascend its rough sides, but with Skiddaw before us we were satisfied to pa.s.s it, in the hope of accomplis.h.i.+ng the ascent of that. At Keswick we staid one night, riding to Ba.s.senthwaite in the afternoon, and sailing upon the lake in the evening.

Nothing could exceed the beauty and sublimity of the latter excursion. When we first went upon it, the sun was just setting behind the immense mountains which bound this lake on the west, throwing their shadows upon its smooth surface, and lighting those beyond with that purple, misty hue, which is not to be described but by the brush of an artist, this again giving way to the sober hue of evening, until all view of them would have been lost, had not the moon risen in full-orbed glory, to enlighten the scene with her paler, but not less beautiful light. We sailed about four hours upon the lake, landing upon one of the islands upon which is a gentleman's seat, and going to the other extremity to see the falls of dark Lodore, and to hear the singular effect produced by firing a cannon on the sh.o.r.e; it seemed like the rumbling of thunder, and was distinctly echoed five times. I don't think I have enjoyed any one thing so much as this sail, since we commenced our journey.

"We came on through Carlisle, and pa.s.sed the boundary line between Scotland and England, and reached this place before dark,--the first town over the border. It is a very small village, consisting of scarcely more than a dozen white cottages, but it has, perhaps, been the scene of as many critical events as many a larger one. We are at a very comfortable inn, got up for the accommodation of the fugitives who fly hither to seal their fate with the blacksmith's unholy blessing. Do not be alarmed for me, although I am quietly seated in the very room which has witnessed the consummation 'so devoutly wished' by most young dames. It is, indeed, mortifying to find one's self so near the goal, with so many requisites, obliged to miss the glorious opportunity for the want of one trifling article,--a husband; but so it is, and notwithstanding I am treading fairy land, I in vain look for some kind G.o.dmother to conjure up the needful, and must even submit to single blessedness a little longer. But I must stop; and have not time to look this over.

"MARY."

VII.

SCENES OF SUFFERING.

Very different from its beginning was the termination of the pleasant tour through Scotland. Mary felt it a duty to suppress all longings to go on with her good friend, who was soon to leave the country. Gladly would she have returned with her to America at once. But the great purpose, certainly one of the chief objects, for which she had gone abroad, was not yet accomplished. Her father's only sister, who had been left a widow in a very dest.i.tute condition, was still living in a distant and obscure village of Yorks.h.i.+re. Mr. Pickard had made an annual provision for her support while he lived, and his daughter determined to carry out his intentions, so far as she could. Yet she felt that no aid in her power to send would be as much to her poor aunt as a visit, and she had been anxiously looking for an escort to the place, which was so remote as to make it hardly prudent for a lady and a stranger to venture alone. She was therefore the more ready to accompany her friends to Scotland, as on their return they would go within eighty miles of Osmotherly, her aunt's residence. Accordingly she parted from them at Penrith, and went the rest of the way alone.

The visit that followed forms the most remarkable, and in some respects the most interesting and important, chapter in the story of her life.

Instead of three weeks, which she had set apart for this purpose, she remained three months at Osmotherly. And it is not the least noticeable fact in that experience, that she wrote on the spot a very full account of the whole, in the midst of cares and the sight and sound of sufferings which are ordinarily allowed to excuse, if they do not wholly prevent, any use of the pen or effort of mind. But we will not antic.i.p.ate. Nor will we interrupt the narrative, which we have drawn from various letters, by any comments of our own.

"_Osmotherly, September 2, 1825._

"MY DEAR EMMA:--

"I wish I could relieve your mind about my undertaking and prospects as quickly as my own was set at rest. I will not recapitulate all or any thing that I felt at parting from you yesterday, but you know me well enough to believe that it was with no common degree of regret and anxiety, which the uncertainty of the path before me tended not a little to increase. But I did recollect that I had never yet been forsaken in any difficulty; supposing the worst, there could be no fear of real evil, and anxiety and distrust only made all that real which might after all be merely imaginary. In order to obtain the quiet feeling which this view of things should create, I turned my attention to my fellow-pa.s.senger, who proved a very respectable, well-informed woman, and my only companion to North Allerton. Her experiences helped to make me more comfortable, for she had come from London alone, travelled all night, and had a very long distance farther to go. She said she found no difficulty in travelling alone, and gave me some useful hints upon the subject. Our route lay over a different road from that by which we approached York, and as the day was so fine, we had a more tolerable ride than I expected. At North Allerton I found a quiet room at the inn, and a civil landlady,--went directly to the post-office, where a long and delightful letter from Jane McAdam awaited me. Not a word there of my aunt's letter, and I then went to a gentleman, through whom I had formerly transmitted letters to her, and found that he had sent the day before a letter from her to me, and that she was then well. This set me quite at ease, and I took a chaise and rode hither with a comparatively light heart. And then I wished it had so chanced that you could have taken this ride with me, for a more beautiful one I have seldom seen. This town lies upon one of those hills which we saw at a distance towards the east the day we rode from Richmond; and the ride from North Allerton is a gradual ascent, giving at every step a more extended view of the rich country which we pa.s.sed through, with the additional beauty of numberless little streams which we could not see, and highly cultivated hills rising on one side to a great height.

"I found my aunt much better than I expected, and, as you may suppose, almost overpowered with joy to see me. I did wish you could have seen her,--a small, thin old lady, with a pale complexion, like Aunt Whipple, and the very brightest black eyes, which sparkle when she speaks with a degree of animation almost amusing in such an old lady. She lives in a comfortable little two-story cottage of four rooms, which far exceeds any thing I ever saw for neatness. I find that I could not have come at a better time to do good, or a worse for gaining spirits. My aunt's two daughters are married and live in this village; one of them, with three children, has a husband at the point of death with a fever; his brother died yesterday of the small-pox, and two of her children have the whooping-cough; added to this, their whole dependence is upon their own exertions, which are of course entirely stopped now. One of the children, a year and a half old, is with the grandmother, but so ill with the cough that she is almost sick with taking care of it. It has fortunately taken a fancy to me at once, and I can relieve her a little. But worse than all, one of her sons had come home in a very gloomy state of mind, and all her efforts had failed to rouse him to exertion. I hope to be more successful, for he seems willing to listen to me. You may suppose, under such a state of things, I shall find enough to do. My aunt's mind is in a much better state than I expected, and if she does not get worn out with care to do more for me than ever was done for any body before, I shall be most thankful that I came. She tells me of many neighboring places which it would interest me to visit, as resorts of my dear father, and I think, next week, if possible to get a vehicle, I shall take her off upon a jaunt round the country for a few days, in home style, driving myself.

"I have not seen half the mult.i.tude of cousins that I find are to be seen, but so far they are kind and affectionate, and disposed to make me comfortable and happy. I feel just like a child who has left home for the first time; the change is so sudden and so great, that the last eight weeks seem to me very like a dream of some distant age, and a most interesting one too. I never was more thankful for the varieties of life through which I have pa.s.sed, for without actual experience I never could have adapted myself to the new order of beings I now have to deal with. I shall find full employment for my fingers, in making my poor aunt as comfortable as I wish to leave her.

"Yours, "M. L. P."

"_Osmotherly, September 8, 1825._

"MY DEAR EMMA:--