"Framingham, November 5, 1843.
"My dear Emma:—
"This has been a day of peculiar trial to me. At no period, since the commencement of Henry's last sickness, have I found it so difficult to adhere to my determination not to trouble those around me by the want of self-control. This first communion service since that sacred occasion, when we together witnessed that celebration of the rite by him who can now be present only in spirit! I feel as if I needed the relief of utterance; and to whom can I go for this relief so naturally as to you, who are strongly associated with the remembrance which so deeply agitates my spirit? It frightens me, when, upon such an occasion as this, I am led to probe the nature of my feelings, to find how much the reference to him in his spiritual state is becoming to me a substitute for all other thoughts of heaven. Great as was my absorption in him while he was with me here, I find it is so far from being lessened by the removal of his visible presence, that it has only changed its character into an idolatry of a more alarming nature. It is so much easier for me to conceive of his presence than of that of any other spirits, that it is the thought of his inspection of my inmost soul that dwells perpetually on my mind, whatever I do, or say, or think, to the exclusion, except by an effort, of the idea of even a higher presence. What shall I do, if this grows upon me? How shall I root out this enemy to Christian improvement? It may be only the first effect of the blow. Time may modify or rectify this infidelity,—I trust it will; but at present it is overwhelming. O, how deeply do such seasons of strong emotion make me realize my loneliness, now that I have no longer that ever-ready sympathy, that composing, strengthening counsel to turn to, with the certainty of comfort and peace in the turning! I do indeed feel his presence with me, but my heart calls and he 'answers not again'; there can be no response to my application. How deeply, how tenderly, is he associated with all the holiest hours of existence! It seemed to me to-day I could hear his voice in the hymn which had so often been read by him on the same occasion; I could anticipate the words which would fall upon my ear as we should leave that service together, rejoicing, as he was wont to do, that such a service had been ordained for weak, sensual mortals, to take their souls sometimes away from flesh and sense to the unfettered contemplation of heavenly love. Fully do I realize, that the sense of loss is to grow with every added day of my existence; nothing can come near enough to supply it in the least degree; nothing else can become so a part of one's own self. This consciousness of desolation must press perpetually like a weight upon my heart, as long as life lasts. And yet how strange! I go on, and every thing goes on outwardly as before. I eat, drink, sleep, talk, and laugh with others, whenever it is important for their comfort to do so, as if nothing had changed. In the midst of all, I stop and ask myself, 'Am I dreaming?' Or is it really true that I am alone,—that that point has been actually passed, which in anticipation had always seemed impossible in the possession of any power of action? I have thought that the trial could not be borne and sense left!
"But why indulge myself in this strain? I find I cannot write, or even think, connectedly; so I will stop.
"Your own Mary."
Language so strong as this, from a nature so calm as Mary Ware's, means a great deal. Nor can we marvel. For what a change is that through which a true woman passes,—from wife to widow! Is it not greater than even the first change? Often has Mary referred to the difference, which few could feel as she had, between her former isolation as to natural ties, and her adoption into a large and united family circle. But now she felt the change through which she was passing still more,—inasmuch as she had a more profound and pervading sense of all that is comprised in conjugal affections and parental responsibilities. And while none can have a higher standard of duty and obligation, very few have a meeker estimate of their own powers; particularly as regards the care and the training of Children. This was to be now her great work,—the chief object and anxiety of her remaining days. And unfeignedly did she shrink, not from the task, but from the vastness of the trust and the burden to be sustained alone. "When I think of this large family of little children to be left to my care, instead of his, it requires a process of thought to feel so assured that God can bring good out of seeming evil, and work out his purposes by the weakest instruments, as to be able to calm the throbs of anxiety, and say, 'Peace, be still!' to the troubled spirit." True, her ideal was high, and she could never be satisfied with that which would more than satisfy many parents. Years before had she said of one of her children: "For her intellectual progress I have no anxiety, that is, so far as the acquisition of knowledge goes; but how to cultivate the moral, so that it shall govern and guide this intellectual progress into the right channels, and establish the supremacy of the spiritual in the character, I know not." Again, she exclaims: "And these are Mary Pickard's children! When I go back in recollection to Pearl Street days, to its long hours of lone watching, when my mind dwelt upon the deficiencies of my condition until it had exaggerated to a more than earthly possibility the happiness of having something to love which would satisfy the desires of my mind and heart,—and then compare that longing with the present reality,—is it strange that I can scarcely realize my identity with that same lone one?" The time had now come when she was again a "lone one." And this is what we would say,—that the loneliness which follows, is far greater than that which precedes, the knowledge and enjoyment of such communion and coöperation as she had known. Nor is there any thing inexplicable in the fact, that the most conscientious, even the strongest in character and highest in aim, suffer most from a sense of their own deficiencies, and use language which seems to many exaggerated and hardly sincere. "I am so perpetually oppressed," writes Mary at this time, "with the sense of nothingness, it is so very difficult for me to realize that I am to be regarded even by my children as the leader in any matter, that it all but frightens me to have any one look to me as one who is expected to have some influence. This is no mock humility; I think as well of myself as I deserve. I am aware that it grows in some measure out of the newness of my position, and know that time and habit may bring somewhat different feelings; but it is only these which can do it, and I must suffer for a long time yet from this as well as from the other effects of isolation."
We are the more willing to disclose such feelings, in connection with such character, from the fact that the world is severe in its judgment of those, whose affliction is not worn as a garment or an altered visage, but whose whole aspect and demeanor, even their occupations and apparent enjoyment of life, are nearly the same as at other times. At the time of her writing the words which we last quoted, Mrs. Ware had just exerted herself to collect in her own desolate home a little circle of children and youth for their social enjoyment, in which she freely mingled, and doubtless seemed cheerful and happy. And yet she said of it soon after, that at no moment since her trial had she felt so intensely or suffered more poignantly. "Every word was an Herculean labor; and I was conscious that all were disturbed by it. For once, I must say, I could not help it. And shall I tell you all my wickedness? I have in vain tried to look at life with sufficient interest to care about living. It has seemed to me that my children would be as well without me, as they could be under my imperfect guidance. I could not excite in myself any of that zest in the pursuit of an object which alone could satisfy the heart. I felt homesick when I waked up in the morning, and would fain shut my eyes and forget that there was any thing for me to do."
How much she did, particularly in regard to that which we see was most upon her heart, the care and culture of her children's minds, will appear in larger extracts which we make from letters of this and the previous year, brought together as referring to the same great subject of education and domestic discipline,—the first having been written to her husband, the others to her children.
"My dear Henry: ... When I am left to the sole care of my family, there is nothing that exercises my mind more than the right performance of family worship. It seems to me that it ought to be more peculiarly adapted to the capacities of children than we are apt to make it. For the older and well-educated part of a family, other means of instruction and communion with God are open and acceptable every day; but the children and domestics must of necessity depend upon this exercise for nearly all the religious influences of the day. The simplicity of diction which would fix the attention of even little children, would not be too plain for the generality of domestics; and we all feel that the most simple is often the most sublime and affecting expression in relation to the soul's connection with its Creator. I think, therefore, that the main object should be to excite in the minds of those present some clear ideas, which will be likely to stay in their minds through the day, and work there to some definite result; and that the choice of subjects should grow as far as possible out of the peculiar circumstances of the family,—not merely the general, but particular circumstances. For instance, if they are about separating, to dwell upon the use to be made of such an event, reminding us of final separation and the tenderness which should grow out of that thought towards all that are left. Is one child peculiarly out of humor? It will do no harm to any to be reminded of the importance of governing our passions; and, if done in the right way, subdue the rebellious spirit more than any arguments. So, too, with regard to reading the Scriptures; it seems to me the time is all but lost if a familiarity of the words only is gained, and that the book should never be closed without having the attention fixed upon some one at least of the useful passages read, either in the way of explanation or application to duty.... I have not time now to put into shape half that is in my mind, but I really feel that we do not do justice to our children in not acting more directly upon their religious characters every day. In many instances, I believe a wayward spirit might be checked by having a useful current of thought opened for it, which would take off the mind from the subject of irritation."
"Dear E——: ... Looking at affairs at home from a distance, I see many points in which we need improvement, and I want to talk and read more with you upon the subject of education.
"When we look back, and see and feel how much the circumstances by which we were surrounded, and the treatment of those about us, affected our views, we must bring it home to ourselves that what we are now doing is having the same influence upon them. God has set us apart in families to mark out for us a specific line of duty; and however we may wish that our path had been different, or our duties less arduous, as they are of His appointment, we have reason to believe they are the best for us. The longer I live, the more I realize the value of love, affectionate interest; and I think that many things, which we are apt to consider of moment at the time, ought to give way whenever they interfere with the cultivation of the affections in children. Disagreeable manners, childish though annoying ways, may be remedied in after-life, and are, after all, matters of very secondary importance in comparison with the growth of love, which is often sacrificed to them. To children the perpetual irritation of a check in trifles keeps the temper in a turmoil, and, by their standard, makes small things as important as great ones. Fault-finding is blame to them, be the subject what it may, and they will have an association of jarring and displeasure with those who keep it up, let the cause be ever so small, as lasting as if it were larger. We need change in this thing; we want a more cheerful atmosphere, a more affectionate, interested one, in which the affections may grow, and have room to expand. I do believe in Mrs. ——'s doctrine to a great extent, that virtue thrives best in an atmosphere of love. We should gain our object better, if, instead of finding fault with an action, we set ourselves to produce a better state of feeling, without noticing the action. Children imitate the manners of their elders, more especially of their elder brothers and sisters; for of course they feel that they are similarly situated, not always making the distinction of age which is expected of them. And I have always observed that the younger members of a household take their tone from the character and ways of the first in their rank, more than from their parents. I could name many instances of this which have come under your notice, as well as mine, and it does, as you say, make the responsibility of an older sister great. But do not feel that it is too great; be contented with doing all that you can, and not discouraged because you cannot satisfy your own conceptions. It is best for us, it is said, to aim at perfection; even if it is not to be attained, it keeps up our efforts for something higher and higher."
"My dear E——: ... The old saying, that 'children will be children,' might be improved by the substitution of 'should' for 'will.' I mean in the sense, that their natural characters, which are as different as their faces, ought to be educated gradually; not requiring of one child any thing because another child does it, to whom the thing may be perfectly easy, or more than we can in justice require of them at their age, in consideration of their peculiar circumstances. We are to judge and discipline a child simply in reference to its own individual character and circumstances, and deal with it with the single view to the improvement of its individual character, rather than to our own comfort or even its external improvement. Now, of course, the application of this principle, in detail, involves a great deal of thought, observation, and self-denial; but if we really desire to do good, and this opportunity of doing it is in our path, can we engage in a work of more extensive good, when we consider how these children's characters are to influence a still larger circle, and how great is our responsibility to future generations as well as the present, that we do all we can to prepare the way for their best instruction?... But to come down to our own case. We all take too much notice of mere disagreeables. The evil of doing this is obvious; if the child is dealt with in the same way for making a noise, or for carelessness, that it is for a moral delinquency, it soon learns to confound moral distinctions; and if it is fretted by being perpetually talked to about small things, it is easily worked up to a state of irritation which leads almost insensibly, and certainly without any design, to the commission of some moral misdemeanor. I think we may often see this with all children, and it is very clear, in such a case, that their sin is as much our fault as theirs. We should watch our own state very carefully, and see how far our desire to cheek them grows out of our own peculiar state at the time, and how far that influences our view of the offence. We all know that what at some times we feel to be a great annoyance, is of no consequence to us at others; and for the same reason, in a different physical state, it is sometimes easier for them to control themselves than at others."