This principle was now to be put to a severe test, the severest, perhaps, of her whole life. We have seen what she did, and what she suffered, in her former visit abroad. Totally different were the circumstances now, but none of them such as to make the trial less. Then she had been alone as a traveller, and also alone as to all exposure and peril. Now she was to feel and fear for the one most dear to her in life, one who was ill able to bear the fatigues and discomforts to which he must be subjected, and whom neither his own faith nor her serenity could keep from depression and discouragement. Through the whole period of their absence, which proved to be a year and a half, Mr. Ware could not be said to be well for a single day. Much of the time, he yielded to dejection and apprehension, as she had never known him before. He enjoyed much, but suffered more. Not bodily suffering wholly, or chiefly; but that which is much harder to bear,—the hardest of all,—a sense of helplessness and the increasing fear of uselessness; the conviction, in the very prime of life, that life's work must be left undone, a calling which he dearly loved be relinquished, and he either remain abroad a wanderer in search of health, or return home with only the capacity of projecting numerous plans and labors, not one of which would be ever accomplished. All this his wife shared, at least in its effect; against all this she had constantly to contend, bearing most of the responsibility of measures and results, her own health not strong, and soon subjected to peculiar and most anxious trials.
We have no desire to magnify these trials. We only wish to set them in their true light, as making an unusual—not an unprecedented, but an unusual—demand upon the trust, endurance, and energy of a wife and mother. She herself has been heard to say, that this was the most trying period of her life; that no other experience equalled it. Yet this would hardly be inferred from her letters at the time. They were necessarily few, but written with her usual cheerfulness and unfailing hopefulness. Not all of them, however. One or two we have seen, such as cannot be used, that intimate, rather than express, peculiar suffering and solicitude. But this was in confidence, and for counsel; it being one of the peculiarities of the case that it presented many points where it was very difficult to decide whether wisdom and duty should carry them farther on, or turn them instantly back,—and the decision was with her.
We will not attempt to follow them closely in their foreign tour. Those who wish to trace its progress, and note the dates and incidents, will find them in the Memoir of Henry Ware by his brother. They visited England, Scotland, Ireland, Holland, Switzerland, Italy, and France, spending the winter in Italy. The first summer they passed over much of the ground and sought the spots, in England, so familiar and memorable to Mary from her former experience. They visited Wordsworth, Southey, Mrs. Hemans, Miss Edgeworth; and passed much time with Unitarian ministers, whom Mr. Ware wished particularly to see, that he might learn all he could of their position, cultivate a fraternal feeling, and open the way for a more frequent and friendly correspondence between those of the same household of faith in England and America. About the last of August they went to the Continent, taking Holland first, and thence through Switzerland into Italy, reaching Rome in December, and remaining there until April.
The few letters that Mrs. Ware wrote home will be given in the order of their dates, with little explanation or comment. Some are in the form of a journal; and here and there we see the hand of Mr. Ware, taking up the thread which his wife had dropped, and then leaving her to resume.
"Greta Bridge, July 8, 1829.
"My dear Emma:—
"I slept last night in the very same room, at Barnard Castle, which you and I occupied four years ago. And having been in many places lately where we had been together, such as Studley, Ripon, and the George Inn at York, where we parted, and moreover, as you have visited me in my dreams, night after night, for a long time past, I feel that I must yield to the desire of writing to you, although it may be but a few lines of uninteresting matter. This place will, however, insure to the letter some value, for I remember well how you wished that the rain would abate, that you might see something of its beauties. I wished it also then, but I wish it much more now, that I have had an opportunity of——
"Here the arrival of the coach which was to take us from this paradise cut short Mary's opportunity, and I dare say she will not remember what she was going to write; so that I, her substitute and lieutenant, go on to tell you how much we have mentioned your name while on these romantic grounds, and how glad we should have been to trace with you the paths of Rokeby and Greta in memory——
"My lieutenant seems to have been cut off in his march rather abruptly also; so I must beg you to imagine what beautiful associations of persons or things he was about to recall, and proceed with my own plain story,—just to tell you that we were more than satisfied with our walk; it quite meets Scott's description. We trod the same path by which Bertram and Wycliffe wound their way from Barnard Castle to Mortham, and a wilder or more witching scene could scarcely be imagined. We had walked from Stockton to the Castle by the side of the Tees, sixteen miles, stopping for refreshment and rest at the little, humble inns which alone are to be found on this unfrequented route; and truly, after the parade and luxury of large hotels, it was a delightful change to see something of simple country life. You would have enjoyed it, too, notwithstanding the novelty of carrying the equipments of one's toilet in our pockets.
"At Penrith we found our letters by the May packet, and yours, dear Emma, was most welcome, not only for the news you gave me of my darling children, but for the kind feelings which dictated it, and the great entertainment it gave us. It was just such a letter as we wanted just at that time; it was the latest account, too, that we had had, for though one from Mrs. Barnard, and another from Dr. John and William, reached us at the same time, they were of earlier date. You brought my little Robert more vividly before my eyes than any thing I have heard of him. I could see his little hand resting on Clarissa's shoulder, looking half coaxingly at you; and if the picture made me long to try if he would notice me any better, I was amply compensated for my inability to do so by the knowledge that he was doing so well, and under such kind care. At Penrith I had an attack similar to that which I had when you were at Brookline with me, which detained us a day; but, as it rained, it was not of much consequence. We had projected a drive round the lakes in a gig, and this plan we entered upon the next day (Saturday, 11th),—just such a day as we should have asked for. We went to Ambleside, via Ullswater and Patterdale, where we spent Sunday; heard Wordsworth's son preach, and looked at Windermere. Monday we breakfasted with Wordsworth at that lovely place, which I doubt not is still visible to your mind's eye, as we saw it that beautiful morning. It looked just as beautiful without, and as perfectly in keeping within, as we had imagined it. I confessed our theft, to the no small amusement of Mrs. Wordsworth, who did not, however, seem surprised at our feelings. Wordsworth, his wife, son, and daughter, composed the party. I wished I could have seen him again.
"July 16. Dear me, what a careless child! I have just discovered that I began my letter on a sheet which Mr. Ware had one quarter filled to another person; and, having no time to rewrite, I must send it piecemeal. I was going to say, that I wished I could have seen Wordsworth again, because he did not meet my expectation; and therefore I felt disappointed, in spite of all my reasoning with myself that my imagination should not be the standard in such a case. Besides, such a man could not be seen at one view; that which is most delightful in him would not be delightful if it were external.
"The ride to Keswick you will remember well. It lost nothing by being seen a second time. We were at the same inn at which we formerly stopped; and I could hear, perhaps, the same horses tramping along the same pavement over which our nags paced their way for us that memorable morning.
"We drank tea at Southey's, whose residence is much more like a poet's than it appeared at a distance, having a fine view of the lake between the trees with which it is almost enveloped. I heard him talk but little, as there was a party at the house; but was more pleased with that little than I expected to be. His study is just the most enviable one that I ever have seen. The next day we went upon an expedition to Crummock and Buttermere, which, though fatiguing, we enjoyed highly, having a fine row upon the lake. We returned to Keswick by a road which gigs seldom pass over, the Crag through Borrowdale. It was just such an expedition as you would have enjoyed on horseback, perhaps on foot, as we took it for three of the worst miles I ever passed over for roughness and wildness. The last part amply repaid us for our toil. We rode by the side of the Keswick lake for the whole length, just as the sun was setting, yesterday.
"July 17. O, what would you not give for the sight which is before me now!—'fair Melrose,' not by the 'pale moonlight,' but by the light of as beautiful a sunset as you could ask for upon such a scene. I have not been out of the house yet, having contented myself with looking at it from my window, and am now, with all diligence, scribbling for the next Boston packet, while Mr. Ware has gone to see Mrs. Hemans, who wrote us that we should find her in this neighborhood. This is no small addition to the attractions of Melrose. I feel very much as if I were going to see an old friend, so near does sympathy with a person's writings bring one to the writer himself, in soul at least, if not in the outward expression. On our way hither from Selkirk, we passed Abbotsford. A motley group of towers and chimneys did it appear; and it verily made me hold up my head, and feel stronger, at the thought of breathing the same atmosphere with its mighty inhabitant. We passed Branksome also to-day, and came through Teviotdale,—classic ground every inch of it. But it will not answer for me to run on at this rate; I shall scarcely complete one letter beside, when I wish to write fifty.
"Just at this point Henry returned from his call, with the original 'Dominie Sampson,' and the intelligence that Mrs. Hemans would join us in our intended visit to the Abbey. The moon is just now in full-orbed splendor. Thither, therefore, we repaired; and I met Mrs. Hemans for the first time on the top of one of the towers, in such a scene as beggars all powers of description. Never were mortals more favored by the heavens and the earth for such an expedition. The air was very mild; not a sound disturbed the midnight stillness but the chirping of the —— (I cannot remember its Scotch name; its sound is somewhat like a cricket's). There were just clouds enough to give us all the varieties of light and shade. We did enjoy it highly. And yet we almost wished we had been alone. One did not want to have the interest divided; and the Dominie's dry sayings and droll manner had such an effect upon our risibles, that we had, in spite of ourselves, a little too much of the ridiculous with the sublime. This Dominie, whose real name is Thomson, junior minister of the kirk of Melrose, is unique, not exactly such as Sir Walter has described, but quite as original.
But I have come to the end of my letter, that is, my time. Love to all, at Canton, Milton, Brookline, Nahant, Roxbury, Boston,—a goodly company truly. We have just had a ride to Dryburgh Abbey, on the Tweed, a fine ruin beautifully situated. The river here answers Scott's description better than at Berwick. There are very many lovely situations upon its banks. But I must close. With Mr. Ware's united love, and sincere wishes that you were with us, yours most affectionately,
"Mary L. Ware."
"TO MRS. LUCY ALLEN AND MRS. HARRIET HALL.
"Geneva, October 11, 1829.
"My dear good Sisters:—
"Wishing to say very much the same things to you both, and finding that the expense and trouble of transporting letters from this place across the Atlantic are pretty considerable, I am induced to address you both at once; hoping that the question of title to the possession of this valuable document will not give rise to a more severe litigation than the lawyers of Massachusetts will be able to settle. Your letters reached us in the course of time; yours, Lucy, while we were in London, and Harriet's just three months after its last date; both most welcome. It is a pleasure which none but a pilgrim can understand, to see the veritable handwriting of a friend when separated by such a space. You say much of the pleasure we shall receive in these foreign parts from the novelty, &c. of what we may encounter. So it is; and I trust that I shall enjoy all that we should do from the privilege allowed us. But I can tell you, under the rose, that there is no pleasure in all this wide creation like that of sitting down in a quiet corner, no matter what may be around us, holding communion with home; and I fully believe that all travellers would tell you the same, if their pride would let them.
"We have, as you may have learned, fulfilled in part your first wish, Harriet,—we have seen Miss Edgeworth, but not Sir Walter. She is a short, rather fat, extremely homely, perhaps I might say ugly woman, without a spark of intellectual expression in her still face, and not overmuch in her most animated moments; but as full of animation, kind feeling, good sense, and intelligence, in her conversation, as one could desire; a great talker, and a very good listener; not an item of pedantry or self-sufficiency, or indeed any thing of what one would fear to find in her father's daughter, or in any woman who had been so celebrated; easy, playful, natural. We forgot it was the renowned Miss Edgeworth, and felt only that it was somebody who must be loved and admired. We found her in the old family mansion at Edgeworthstown, whither we went fifty miles only out of our way to see her; but all the awkwardness of such a lion-seeking visit was entirely taken off by the reception we met with from the whole family, and we should have felt quite at our ease to have passed a week there. We could stay only a part of three days; that is, part of two, and the whole of the intermediate one. The only impediment to our comfort was, that, being constantly in the family circle, which is a large one, we could not talk with the lady herself upon many points which would have been most interesting. Perhaps we saw her to peculiar advantage, but we certainly do feel that she has been greatly scandalized in having the reputation of acting the pedantic authoress, and partaking of her father's scepticism. So much for Miss Edgeworth.
"I wish I could tell you half as much of Sir Walter from personal observation, but he was out when Henry called with his friend, Mr. Hamilton; and he is so overpowered with visitors, that we were not willing to add ourselves to the list of the curious who persecute him. We were delighted with all that we heard of him; indeed, the nearer we viewed his character, through the medium of those who knew him, the more our admiration and desire to see him increased. It would really seem that his vast intellect is his least remarkable feature. We saw many of his familiar letters to Miss Edgeworth, and that was next best to hearing him talk, for they are just like conversation. Mrs. Hemans, too, we have seen, and Bowring a great deal, and some others of the noted of the present day; and we shall treasure the remembrance of the few, for they have been but few.
"It has been truly tantalizing to pass through Switzerland in clouds and darkness, now and then catching a glimpse of its beauties to show us what we were losing, but the far greater part of the time passing through the very finest portions of the Alpine scenery without any visible indications that we were not in a level country. But we have proceeded thus far free from sickness, danger, or even difficulty, and have therefore too much reason to be grateful to find it possible to complain.
"We find a great deal to amuse us in the various habits and customs of the countries through which we pass, particularly since we left England; and the eating and drinking part of the business is not the least entertaining. We, however, manage to please ourselves, and our entertainers, too, pretty well. Henry eats his bread and milk as comfortably as he would at home, and I do what justice I can to the various dishes which are set before me, though, when they amount, as they have done, to twenty in number, in spite of all the 'J'ai fini's' I could utter, I have excited a smile of contempt from the waiter, who wondered at the barbarism of dining from one dish. We have not seen a carpet since we left Holland, except upon the sitting-room of an English lady here, and we have been in some handsomely furnished houses.... O this pen, ink, and paper! I will have no more to do with them, but leave them to Henry. Your sister
Mary.
"Dear girls, women, or wives: My loquacious helpmate has merely left me a place to send my love, and to say I wish I had room to write to you and your husbands. By way of supplement, I will just say of myself, that I am now able to talk while riding, without pain, which I never could do before we left England; and can also read loud a little while. This is something worth telling of. My visit to Geneva, owing to circumstances, is the least satisfactory that I have made. You will perhaps hear again from the land of the Cæsars, whence I will dictate a letter full of 'ettas,' and 'inas,' and 'issimas,' and 'ulinas,' and other satin euphonisms. Meanwhile, peace be with you! Your brother
"Henry."