So ended the visit to England. How unlike most visits there! It is not often that two years are spent abroad chiefly in confinement with the sick and devotion to the dying. We wonder not that Mary Pickard thought that such employment was her "destiny." More appropriate does the word seem than the common term, "mission"; for that expresses too much of design and consciousness to be associated with her. She projected no large plans, or distant enterprises. She simply held herself ready for the work to which she might be summoned, abroad as well as at home, and with an ambition as easily satisfied at home as abroad. All her ministrations might seem to have been accidental, if any thing were accidental;—the occasions sought her, more than they were sought by her. Yet in some way or other the occasions were sure to appear, and equally sure to be used. Nor were her charities merely those of the hand, or of time and toil alone. There was benevolence, as well as diligence. No one knew, no one will ever know, the amount of her direct gifts at Osmotherly. But we know, from various sources, that they were free and large. And by no means were they restricted to her kindred. There is reason to believe that the whole village shared her bounty; in moderate measure, of necessity, but in decided liberality. From the nature and power of the disorder, a general panic prevailed, aggravated by ignorance and superstition, and followed by improvidence and want. We have seen the statement, that a large proportion of the inhabitants either perished or became helpless and a burden. And when the sufferings of her own connections ceased, by death or recovery, Mary went out to do what she could among the diseased and destitute generally. She toiled till the alarm abated, and aimed particularly to remove from the minds and dwellings of the people those fruitful feeders, if not sources, of the calamity,—superstition and uncleanness. Is it too much to believe, that Osmotherly will always feel the blessing of that Providence which sent there the "good lady"?
It was a beautiful termination of her whole experience among that people,—whose very dialect differed so much from hers, that they could scarcely understand her words, but easily read her actions,—that, when she recovered her own strength sufficiently to take a final leave of them, the whole village came out in a body, young and old, and escorted her on her way.
VIII.
NEW RELATIONS.
Mary Pickard returned from England in the summer of 1826, and was warmly welcomed by her many friends in Boston. Her last home before going abroad had been at Miss Bent's in Washington Street, where she now went, and stayed through the fall and winter with the exception of short visits to friends in the vicinity. Thronged with visitors, and occupied with business of her own which she never left to others if she could do it herself, she had no time for large correspondence, and we find few letters for some months. But there are brief notes which show the fulness of her enjoyment and gratitude, enhanced by the recollection of the trying scenes through which she had passed, but which she rarely named and never magnified, as we are assured by some who were constantly with her. The mercies of the past, more than the trials, filled her thoughts. "My whole absence has been but a succession of mercies, for which I could not in a long life show the gratitude I feel; and this the greatest of all, the safe restoration to my beloved home and blessed friends,—it is indeed overwhelming. I have been borne through afflictive trials by that Power which alone can enable us to bear them; may I also find the same strength sufficient to keep me firm and uninjured, amid the greater trial of prosperity and joy." This was said to one of her former instructors in Hingham, with whom she spent a week in November, reviving the memory of the "first awaking of the mind to high and holy thoughts and resolves."
To the trial of prosperity of which she speaks, she may have been exposed at this time, if at any. She had returned after a long absence, in which she had accomplished all that she proposed, and more than to most minds would have seemed possible. She was again in the midst of endeared and delighted friends, more free from care and solicitude for others than she had ever been before; her society sought by a larger circle of devoted and admiring acquaintance, paying her marked attention. There was every thing to gratify, and much to flatter. And she was happy, very happy,—"more lively and joyous, I think, than at any time of her life," writes an intimate friend. But she did not remain long unemployed, or live for herself. She sought other objects of interest, places and ways of laboring for those in need. She took classes of poor children in more than one Sunday school, and visited the houses of the poor during the week; of several families in Sea Street she is said to have taken particular care through that first season, though a season crowded with engagements of friendship and society, and occupied before its close with an unexpected and absorbing interest.
The last night of the year, Mary made one of that great congregation who listened to that discourse of Henry Ware on the "Duty of Improvement," which few who heard have forgotten, and of which one hearer has said, "No words from mortal lips ever affected me like those." We may conceive the emotions with which they were heard by her, in whose mind religious concerns were always paramount, and who already, as we have reason to believe, was compelled to feel a personal interest in the preacher. For we now approach that event which is considered the crisis of a woman's life, and which was certainly to change the whole aspect of a life that was felt to be peculiarly insulated. But we may be anticipating. No engagement yet existed, and in the letter written after the services of the "last night" to one who was never forgotten on that occasion, there is no allusion to new events, unless in the close.
"Boston, December 31, 1826.
"Were I by your side, dearest N——, I might be able to satisfy myself by talking; but when I think of committing to paper what I wish to say to you, I am almost discouraged, and have a great mind to give up the attempt. I do verily believe I should for once play truant, and shut up my desk, did I not fear, should I do so, that the ghost of the departing year would start up in visible form before me and pronounce a fearful malediction upon me for my apostasy. Indeed, so wedded am I to old customs, and really superstitious about the fulfilment of certain vows, that I should not dare to hope for peace or prosperity for the year to come, if I allowed myself to yield to the tempter.
"When I look back only upon the past month, I feel as if it were the work of an age to give you any idea of its interest; and when the year, nay, years, of which I wish to speak come in array before my mind's eye, it is not strange that I know not how to begin, or how to confine myself to the limits of a sheet of paper. You know, however, enough of the circumstances of the past year to understand something of the feelings which this period has brought with it. Perhaps I am inclined to exaggerate the peculiarity of the events of my life, which, after all, may have been no more exciting than every body meets with; but be that as it may, there can be no harm in magnifying the blessings. And as there is more hope of attaining a high degree of excellence, if our standard of comparison be high (even if it be beyond our reach), so I will hope that the more enlarged is our estimate of our subjects for gratitude, the more deep and heartfelt will our gratitude be. It does seem to me, that no being can have more for which to give thanks, than I have in past and present blessings; and that no one can fall as far short as I do of the effect that should follow such a belief.
"I have been reading the letter I was writing you at this time last year, and it does make me tremble to the very soul, when I contrast my situation now with what it then was, to think how much is required of one, who has been saved from such peril, and brought back to so much good. But it is in vain to attempt to tell you what I think or feel at this hour. One idea above all the rest will rise, and this you will join me in,—that the proofs which the experience of the past year gives of the never-ceasing, all-sufficient care of God should make us look forward with perfect trust to whatever the future may bring, without a doubt that all will be well that He directs,—that our weakness will be strengthened, our fear removed, and our spirits sustained and soothed under all trials, if we will but rest in faith upon his almighty arm. I have felt this so much, that I had begun to be presumptuous, and almost thought that no possible temptation could make me doubt its sufficiency. But I dare not hope so much. I find there are temptations of which I have hitherto known nothing, and under the influence of which I may have to learn a new lesson. It is said of Bishop Sewell, who once most strangely departed from his faith, that his fall was necessary to teach him humility, and improve his character. Perhaps it may be so with me. If I do fall, I hope it may have the same good effect.
"I have wished to-day, as I often do, that you could have an ear where mine was. Mr. Channing gave us a most useful sermon this morning upon the office of Christ, from the words, 'I am the way, the truth, and the life.' Mr. Gannett this afternoon upon the retrospect of the past,—good and solemn. And this eve, notwithstanding the violence of the snow-storm, Mr. Ware's house has been filled to overflowing, to hear his usual address. It was one of the most eloquent and impressive I ever heard from him; a powerful exhortation on the necessity of Progress, delivered with an energy which gave it great effect. I have heard but one of those discourses before this, but I should think it a most profitable service. The occasion is certainly one by which all who are capable of feeling seriously must be solemnly impressed; and the great interest which is generally felt in Mr. Ware gives him the power of making a good use of such a predisposition. And now that it is possible that he may accept the call to New York, his influence is greater than ever.
"I have passed a quiet, delightful week at Hingham, made my long talked of visit to Mrs. P——, and returned on Christmas day to be quiet at home (if possible) until I go to you; and yet I ought to be stationary for a time for business' sake. I need not tell you how much you have been in my thoughts during the past week, so strongly are all the singular events which have taken place in it associated with you. It has not been suffered to pass without its own special interest; to me it has indeed been full.
"Most heartily yours, with best wishes for the coming year.
"M. L. P."