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

by Edward B. Hall

In all her early letters there is an entire absence of that trivial talk about dress, parties, and the gossip of the day, so common at her age. Instead of it, we find remarks either upon moral and religious themes, or upon her reading and studies. In the very earliest letter we have, written in a child's hand, she speaks of her interest in the "Life of Washington, in five large octavo volumes," and expresses the opinion, that "the history of one's country ought to be the first historical lesson of a child." About the same time, we find her deeply engaged in an argument upon the moral influence of the study of astronomy; and her mind rises to the highest and the largest views.

"The hand of Almighty God certainly should raise in our souls such unbounded adoration and love, that our only object would be, to be worthy to appear before the presence of such excellent goodness, and partake of the joys of heaven. It seems unaccountable, that any one could for a moment raise his eyes to the sky and not be convinced of the being of some superior power, who rules and directs the paths of the planets and the ways of the children of men. If we for a moment transport ourselves to another part of the universe, and behold our little insignificant Earth in comparison with the rest, or with any other planet, and consider how highly favored it has been with the presence of the Son of its Creator, are we to think that we alone are thus honored, and that superior worlds are not endowed in the same manner with a knowledge of heavenly things? But I find myself getting into an argument, on which, though the subject may be interesting, the style of the writer must be tedious."

These extracts are from letters written to a friend near her own age, with whom there began at this time the longest and most confiding intimacy of her life, out of the circle of immediate connections, if indeed any exception need be made. To this friend are addressed some of the first and last letters that Mary ever wrote, and by far the larger number of all which we use for this sketch. It is an evidence of the faithfulness of her friendships, that from the date of the earliest letter we have, through nearly forty years, she wrote to that same friend, beside other occasional letters, "a New Year's epistle," every year, to the last in her life. And to her were confided her first and deepest trials, disclosed to no one else, and beginning while at school. There is something both ingenuous and magnanimous in such sentiments as the following, from a girl of fifteen, whom the death of a mother had placed in circumstances of peculiar responsibility, and often painful perplexity.

"I expose to you my weaknesses, my faults, my passions. There is but one thing of which I have the slightest apprehension. You may sometimes hear me blamed for deeds which you know are right. You will hear my lot in life envied, as apparently all that the reasonable wishes of any being could desire. And sometimes, too, busy Scandal, which honors even the most insignificant with her notice, will glance at me. Your generous, affectionate heart will prompt, I well know, on those occasions, some defence of your friend. But never give way to it; never whisper to the winds that she has any trials. It will necessarily involve the question, What are they? You are the only person to whom I ever communicated them, and my conscience almost reproaches me for it. I try to think my peculiar loneliness sanctions it, but my very uneasiness proves it was not strictly right, and I would not for worlds sin farther. You will bear with me. All this is foolish, but I must say it. I defy any one to tell from my appearance that I have not every thing to make me happy. I have much, and I am happy. My little trials are essential to my happiness. They teach me to value the only true sources of enjoyment this life can afford,—the affection of the good, the cultivation of the better feelings of the soul in the service of their Creator, and the joyful hope of a better, purer state of existence. Blessings and peace go with you, and pure, unalloyed felicity be your portion for ever.

"Mary."

In the latter part of the year 1814, Mary left Boston for Hingham, to be again in the family and under the tuition of the Misses Cushing. Of her character then, and the renewed impression made upon her instructors, a letter which we have recently received from one of them will give the best idea; though, from regard to the writer's wishes, we quote but a small part.

"I can hardly give you an idea of my feelings towards her, during the whole of her residence with us, without seeming to speak extravagantly. Every day's experience confirmed our first impressions of her, and showed in some form the sweetness of her disposition, her self-sacrificing spirit, and untiring devotion to the claims of those about her. She possessed such purity of heart, and elevation of principle, as were certainly uncommon at such an early period of life, and which, it seemed to me then, could only arise from a constant sense of the Divine presence, and an habitual communion with the Source of all good. Love was always, with her, the predominant feeling in her thought of God, and I have heard her say she never remembered the time when she did not feel that she loved God. This was said, you may be sure, not boastingly, but from surprise at hearing some one speak of the difficulty of giving the heart to God."

And now came a crisis in that inner life, which was always greater to Mary Pickard than the outward. Always thoughtful as well as cheerful, her interest in religion, and her wish to be wholly a follower of Christ, led her to an act, too rare with the young, and requiring, in school and college particularly, courage as well as principle. She desired to connect herself publicly with the Church. And the convictions by which she was brought to this purpose, with the views she entertained of the nature and importance of the act, we make no apology for giving, as fully as we find them expressed in her own letters; for there are older minds that might be instructed, and doubters who might be admonished and aided, even by so youthful a believer. Mary had received baptism in Trinity Church, Boston, but it is evident that in her moral training more heed had been given to the cultivation of piety than to adherence to forms and special doctrines. The preaching that she usually heard, in the church of her parents, did not edify or satisfy her; a fact which we give, without comment, as part of a faithful record, and as we find it in her own account to a son, in one of the last years of her life. The language in which she there describes her early religious wants is unusually strong for her, and might seem extravagant. We give only the result of her dissatisfaction with what she heard from the pulpit. "The final effect upon me was, by throwing me more upon myself, to open a new source of religious instruction to my mind; and I can now remember with great pleasure, and a longing desire for the same vivid enjoyment, the hours I passed in 'my little room,' in striving, by reading, meditation, and prayer, to find that knowledge and stimulus to virtue which I failed to find in the ministrations of the Sabbath." And then most earnestly does she exhort her son not to let these things, or any thing, tempt him "to treat sacred things with levity and disrespect."

Few minds have kept themselves, through life, more free both from levity and bigotry. At the time of which we speak, she seems to have thought only of her own unworthiness, her need of religion, and the greatness of the privilege offered her. A long note which she wrote to one of the teachers with whom she was living, and to whom she confided all her feelings, will explain the whole. It bears no date, but must have been written in the autumn of 1814, when she was about sixteen.

"Saturday Morning.

"Will you, my dear Miss C., pardon my addressing you in this way, when under the same roof; but as I could not speak on the subject I have now most at heart, in the presence of any one, I did not think it right to engross exclusively so much of your valuable time as would be necessary to say all I wish to. I could not feel satisfied with my own conclusions, until I had appealed to you, and I hope this will excuse the liberty I take. Though still young, I have tasted the bitter cup of affliction and disappointment, and have found thus early that all worldly enjoyments are incapable of promoting happiness, or even of securing present gratifications; and in every deprivation have felt the healing balm of religion to be the only source of consolation to the wounded spirit and afflicted mind. But I may, indeed, say with sincerity, 'It is good for me that I have been afflicted,' for it led me to reflect on the end for which I was created, to examine my own heart, and, by comparing it with the Christian standard, to prove its weakness and awake to a sense of my danger. A very little reflection convinced me I had been leading a very different life from that which was requisite to form the character of a true Christian, and that I must exercise my utmost powers to redeem the time which I had lost, and which could never be recalled. Though I cannot think the observance of any religious ceremonies sufficient to secure future happiness, unless the motive for their performance is founded on faith in the word of God, as revealed to us by his Son, yet they seem to me necessary, not only in a moral, but religious point of view, to the attainment of that degree of perfection which we are taught it is in the power of every one to attain.

"Ever since I have thought at all on the subject, it has been my earnest wish to be admitted a member of the Church of Christ. It is a duty which I cannot but think is of the highest importance, both as it is fulfilling the last request of one to whom we owe all we enjoy here or hope for hereafter, and as it continually reminds us of our obligations to obey his precepts, tends to make us better, and more worthy our high calling. If we assume the name of Christians, and obey not those positive commands of our Saviour which are in the power of every one who is sincere, how can we expect to receive a continuance of his favors? Fearing I was too young fully to comprehend the use and importance of so solemn a rite, I have delayed saying or doing any thing about it. I have thought much on it, and summed up all the reasons which appeared to me to prove it absolutely necessary to our happiness and well-being, and all the objections that arose in my mind against the propriety of young persons joining in it. I then read every book on the subject I could meet with, and found in none of them half as many objections as I had raised, and very few arguments in its favor which I had not thought of. Do not think it has made me think better of myself than I deserve,—far from it; it made me feel more sensibly my own unworthiness, when compared with what I continually saw I ought to be. Still, as I could not give up all thoughts of it, I determined to appeal to you. Tell me, my dear Miss C., if you should consider it a violation of the sacredness of the institution, to think I might with impunity be a member? I am well aware of the condemnation denounced on those who partake unworthily, and I tremble to think how liable I shall be to fall into error and sin, and how much greater will be my responsibility. These reflections have hitherto prevented my proposing it to my father or any one, and now almost make me fear I am doing wrong in writing to you. I am afraid I am presumptuous, and, did I not view it rather as a means of religion than the end, I should hardly suppose there were many who could say they were worthy of it. I cannot think there is any mystery connected with it, as some are so eager to prove, and its very simplicity renders it the more interesting and useful, and increases the obligation to perform it.

"Forgive me, my dear Miss C., if I have said any thing wrong, and correct me if you see any seeds of vice in me. Recollect I have been the guardian of myself too long not to have erred very much in my ideas of every thing; pity, and make me better, if the task is not too discouraging; and be assured, the purest love and gratitude of which I am capable will be the sincere offering of your affectionate young friend,

"Mary."

The self-scrutiny and humility evinced in this note prevented any hasty action. Mary seems still to have deliberated, and sought all the light and direction she could obtain. A long letter, of which we give a portion, to her true friend, N. C. S., in Boston, shows her state of inquiry and progress.