We have added Mr. Ware's pleasant little postscript to the last letter, chiefly to show, by his own confession, how very feeble he must have been, and how great her anxiety and care. Indeed, she says of him at this time, "His system requires rest; it will be long before it is fit for use again." She herself was far from well, and had the depressing prospect of a more serious sickness, in a foreign land, with added cares. And yet neither of them was idle, during any period of that trial. They accomplished a great deal in various ways, and prepared one distinct work for publication. We say, they did it; for Mrs. Ware seems to have joined in that labor which afterward gave us one of the most useful of Henry Ware's works. We refer to his treatise on the "Formation of the Christian Character." It is probably known that this book was written almost entirely in travelling; first in this country, during the horseback jaunt which Mr. Ware took alone through New England to Canada, in 1828, and then abroad, at various stages of this European tour. And here it was in Mrs. Ware's power to be of essential service to her husband, in a way which she explains in a letter written late in life, half jestingly taking to herself a part of the credit for the work to which we refer. To Dr. John Ware she writes, in 1844, in reference to her husband's labors in this and other ways, at the time of which we are speaking:—
"You will gather from the letters of European friends in what estimate he was held by them. That is of little import; but it shows how faithfully he preserved his identity as a minister of the Gospel. In looking back upon the jaunt, as a whole, nothing is so prominent to my mind as the perpetual indications of his ruling passion, if I may call it so,—his love of his profession,—the eagerness with which he sought out his ministerial brethren wherever he heard of them, stopping by the way-side to introduce himself and extend to them the hand of fellowship, often going out of the way many miles for that purpose, and making all other objects subservient to that of increasing his knowledge of men and things pertaining to the ministerial life. I know his visit was a useful one to his brethren in many respects....
"You know, I believe, that the greater part of his work upon the 'Christian Character' was written on that tour. Its pages are to my memory a sort of diary of our progress, associated as they are with the pleasant evenings, when, after our autumnal day's journey, having despatched our supper, we settled ourselves at a little table before a cheerful wood-fire in our inn, and he with his writing materials, and I with my work, or writing or reading, could almost imagine ourselves at home. Thus were my evenings spent in alternate writing, reading, and criticism, until I almost felt as if I had written the book myself!"
The end of the year 1829 found Mr. and Mrs. Ware travelling from Rome to Naples; and on the "last night," faithful to her friendships everywhere, she began the regular "annual" to Mrs. Paine, which she did not finish till after their return to Rome, thus giving some account of their condition in both places.
"St. Agatha,[4] December 31, 1829.
"My dear Nancy:—
"This is not the first annual which you have received with a foreign date; neither can you be surprised at any aberration in my orbit. And yet methinks you will have to consider twice before you can quite realize that it is 'Pearl Street Mary Pickard,' who is writing you from this region of ancient glory and far-famed beauty. But so it is; and could you look in upon me, you would wonder, as I do, that the very peculiar changes of the eighteen years you have known me should leave me so precisely the same. I begin to think that I am made of most invulnerable materials; for here I sit—surrounded by as singular and trying circumstances as any which I have ever known—as easy and happy, I had almost said as indifferent, as if the world were jogging on with me in the tamest way imaginable. At no period of my life have I had more for which to be thankful in reviewing the year which has passed,—that we should have travelled so far without the slightest accident, leaving our dearest interests so well provided for, finding so much kindness wherever we have been, and so many facilities for our enjoyment; and above all, that my husband, though not much better, should not have been made much worse by all the disadvantages under which he has labored of climate and weather. If I were at your elbow, how I should love to give you a detail of some of our experiences during the year. You know enough of the outlines to guess at the minutiæ in many instances, and enough of us both to imagine the internal effects produced by them.
"Rome, March 2d. Back in Rome again, after a five weeks' sojourn in Naples, from which place I should have despatched this, but that I did not think it quite worth while to send such a piece of egotism so far by mail. We had almost incessant rain while at Naples, which prevented our doing and seeing as much as we wished; but the few fine days we had, we enjoyed and employed to the utmost. Although in January, they were like our June days. A shawl was too warm a garment to be borne in the sun, and upon our out-of-town expeditions we took our lunch in the open air. These were rare days, to be sure, but they gave us some idea of what the climate would have been had the season been a common one, for so much rain at that time, they told us, was almost unprecedented. We went of course to Pompeii, where I had many and pleasant recollections of your husband, tell him; for the explanations which he gave me, when we saw the panorama of that place together in London, had made it all so familiar to my mind that I could not easily overcome the impression that I had been there before. Vesuvius we were content to admire at a distance, fearing the ascent would be injurious to my husband. But the classical regions of Avernus and the Elysian fields, the abode of the Cumæan Sibyl, and the beautiful temples of Baiæ, we explored at our leisure.
"I can scarcely fancy any locality more beautiful for a city than that of Naples, and, viewed at a distance, it has a very imposing appearance; but in itself it is noisy, dirty, and disagreeable, with the exception of the modern part of the street which borders upon the bay. We had rooms in that street, within forty feet of the water, and in rain or sunshine enjoyed the beauty of the bay with equal delight. We returned hither in company with Mr. and Mrs. Grinnell, and Mr. and Mrs. Rollins, with whom we have been the greater part of the time since we arrived in Florence in November. We are at lodgings with them here, and, as you may suppose, very much enjoy our quiet family party. We have also Dr. and Mrs. Kirkland, and Mr. and Mrs. Gould, from our part of the country, and many from New York.
"There is so much to be done here, and my husband is obliged to do things so leisurely, that I know not that we shall ever see half that is to be seen. There is a great difference between travelling for health and mere pleasure. Almost all our friends will be on the wing before us, but I trust we shall find our way home in good time, and be the better for having come. Mr. Ware's is just such an uncertain case, that it is impossible to have any very decided opinion about it,—he sometimes seeming almost as well as ever, then again prostrated by some very trifle. On the whole, there is still much to hope from time and care, but nothing to flatter one into the hope of speedy restoration. May we have patience to wait with cheerfulness the full development of the designs of Heaven with regard to us, hoping for good, and willing to submit to trial!
"This is the season of Lent, which makes no apparent change in the state of things, and before we leave Rome we shall have the famous solemnities of Holy Week, when, if the Pope does not die (which it is reported he is about doing), I hope to witness the illumination of St. Peter's, and to listen to the Miserere. So far, I have not heard any music in Italy which satisfied me, except once the vespers of the nuns in one of the churches here; it is all too loud, rapid, and theatrical. But it is time to despatch my letter, so good by.
"Yours, most affectionately,
"M. L. Ware."
The last date of the above letter is the 2d of March; and before the close of that month Mrs. Ware's second child was born,—a daughter, who still lives. Mr. Ware's letter, announcing the event to his brother in Boston, expresses his gratitude for the many mercies that surrounded them, among excellent friends, making "as pretty a little, quiet domestic circle as ever Rome has seen since the days of the twin founders." At the same time, he confesses his entire discouragement in regard to his own health, and their great embarrassment at what course to pursue. "I am weary of this miserably idle life, and yet I am fit for no other. I am afraid to go home, because I know I shall only be able to do half the requisite work, and to do that not more than half; yet to stay away is altogether out of the question." As usual, Mary was ready to do any thing that seemed best, even to go home alone with her new charge, if her husband would be benefited by remaining longer and acting freely. Some prompt and decided course she advised, at whatever sacrifice. "We have talked over this matter together, and the only relief which Mary is able to suggest is, that I should state my case exactly, resign the professorship, so as not to be a burden or hindrance to those for whom I care more than for myself, send her home from Havre, and spend a year in travelling Europe on foot and on horseback. This might be done at a very small expense, an expense which we could meet without taxing College or friends."
We can easily conceive of the anxiety of a high-minded woman, a devoted wife and mother, at such a crisis. We have said that Mrs. Ware has been known to refer to this experience as the great trial of her life, and we suppose the period of which we are speaking was the most trying of all; especially if we comprise in it the few months that preceded the birth of her child,—a season of which she has written more freely than of any other of her trials. Nor can we show the full power of her endurance at that time, and her wonderful energy,—such as is common only to woman,—unless by giving part of a letter written to her physician, describing this experience.
"Not for a single day free from positive pain, I felt determined to keep out of sight all physical as well as mental distress. In this I believe I succeeded, excepting when occasionally nature was overpowered, and I lost for a time my consciousness. But the effort to keep a cheerful outside, when the body was undergoing so great suffering, and the mind fully awake to all the uncertainties and possibilities which lay before us, can only be appreciated or known by one similarly situated. My faith never failed me, nor my confidence that the course I had adopted was the right one. But the degree of tension to which every faculty was stretched, all the time, was just as much as my reason could bear unshaken; and more than it could have borne, I believe, had not my nerves found relief in hours of tearful prostration, when Henry was asleep, or so far out of the way as not to detect it."
We have no further particulars to give of the sojourn in Rome. The travellers gladly turned their faces toward home the moment the season and their strength would permit. Early in May we hear of them in Geneva, and at the end of that month in Paris. From both those places Mr. Ware writes home, in a disheartened, yet decided tone, as to his return, showing what a burden of anxiety they were still bearing. "I have only spoken out more plainly what has for some time been my conviction, that I am gaining nothing; and I simply wish to have you prepared for a proper reception of my miserability when I shall return." "I am sure I need not stay away; I am sure I am not fit to do any hard work; I do not think I could edit the Examiner. But I will come home by the packet of July 20th, and you shall judge. It will be the hardest of all I have yet done, to abstain from Cambridge, especially as Mr. Norton vacates his place, and there is the more need of other laborers."
In June, Mr. and Mrs. Ware were separated for a time, she taking lodgings with her infant at Waltham Abbey, and he making an excursion alone for his health. Soon after he left her, Mary wrote to him thus:—"I am quite sure it was best for you to go, though there was some risk in it. If you only keep a sharp watch upon your 'excitables,' not mistaking the effect of them for strength, and so do not overdo, you will, I doubt not, be better for the jaunt; you will be gaining much mental satisfaction, and I am sure that will help the body.... Yours to 'Miss Pickard' is just received. The dear little Miss is as good as possible; she knows how much I wish I were with you, and coos and smiles all the time to make me contented. I am thankful you are so well, and though I should have richly enjoyed being with you, I am sure it is better for you to be alone. I want to go to Chatham next week, if I feel better, but it is such a luxury to be at rest! O, dearest, how we shall enjoy it! I have had time to think a little, and collect my scattered wits, and I could pour out volumes of the result of my cogitations—but voila! the end of my paper! Do all you can, see all you can without injury, gain all that is possible to gain, and above all, feel that you have time enough; that is, don't feel 'hurried'; it is destructive to comfort and profit."
In this letter we find also a hint, which tells something of Mary's continued thoughtfulness and generous provision for that poor old aunt whom she left at Osmotherly five years before. On first arriving in England, she had again visited, with her husband, that scene of singular interest and mingled recollections. And now that Mr. Ware is journeying alone in that direction, she writes to him: "Should you go to Osmotherly (which is not quite worth while, as it would take you two days), give Aunty her yearly allowance, if you can,—ten pounds. But no, I remember you did not take enough with you. Write her a word,—it will please her; and pay the postage." This was said at the very time that Mrs. Ware had denied herself the pleasure of going with her husband, on account of the added expense of travelling with an infant. She continued that annuity to her aunt as long as she lived, and a friend thinks it was doubled part of the time. We bring the fact to notice, because, from a delicacy which ought not, perhaps, to suppress facts so illustrative of character, we have forborne to give half the proof we found, in letters and in conversation with friends, of her noble generosity in connection with the strictest domestic economy, and withal a personal self-denial and simplicity that caused remark, if not censure. Could all the facts be given of her early surrender of property to a considerable amount, when she might have held it, and the rigid restriction of her personal expenditure, through life, within the limits of bare comfort and respectability, while there were times when she could have done much more for herself, and no time when her hospitalities were not without stint,—were it right, or were it desirable, to refer to facts and instances confirming this general statement,—we are sure it would be seen to be at the least worthy of honor and imitation. But the very thought of her disinterestedness, and secret charities, checks and rebukes us.