"October 18, 1844. ... I have determined, as a fixed principle, not to go beyond my income, for any thing short of necessity, and it is a delicate question to settle what necessity is. I choose to take it for granted that there never can be a question in any of our minds, that taste is to be held in subjection to principle, and I am not only willing, but desirous, to indulge taste, within that limitation, to the utmost bounds of my ability. I think a refined taste has an indirect, but certain influence upon morals; and I never can believe that one of my children will ever for an instant be pained at any restraint put upon them by a necessity which God has ordained.

"I have great sympathy with the struggles of young people in this matter. I well remember how often I had to school myself (for you know that many of my associates in early life were of the wealthy classes), when I saw my companions gratifying every wish for amusement, instruction, and dress, while I could only just keep decent enough not to shock them, and had to give up all my longings for expensive amusements and accomplishments. But I had this great advantage, by mixing familiarly with the rich,—I soon discovered that neither goodness nor happiness were dependent upon these adventitious circumstances, and I was so fortunate in the characters of those whom I thus dealt with, as to be made to feel very early in life that my own position among them was not in the least degree affected by externals. I soon began to look upon my oft-turned dress with something like pride, certainly with great complacency; and to see in that, and all other marks of my mother's prudence and consistency, only so many proofs of her dignity and self-respect,—the dignity and self-respect which grew out of her just estimate of the true and the right in herself and in the world. I can distinctly remember coming to this conclusion upon the occasion of wearing an old-fashioned, stiff, purple silk dress, with a narrow plaited tucker in it, to a party at Colonel P——'s, about the year 1808; I have never had any trouble on that score since. I did shed some tears, when I found I must give up my long-cherished hope of learning music, some years after, but they were 'natural tears,' and 'wiped soon.'

"But I have become garrulous, talking about my youth (as old people are apt to), and have wandered from the case in hand."

"November 8, 1844. I feel that I must have some free communication with you, for my heart is full to overflowing. That I can understand all your internal trials, I have often assured you; and, strange as it may seem to you, it is from experience that I am enabled to enter into them. In the solitude of my early days, the consciousness of unworthiness preyed upon my spirit, until I persuaded myself that every body despised me, that I was nothing to any one, that nobody could care for me for my own sake. Many and many a night have I lain and thought of this, and looked at life through this medium, until I wished that I had never lived, and in my agony have cried myself into perfect hysterics. Even my mother's love failed to satisfy me, for I thought it was only an involuntary feeling for an only child, not depending upon or growing out of my own deserts. O, how many precious hours of life have I thrown away in uselessness to others, and in misery for myself, by this morbid sensibility! Would that I could recall them! Would that my example might ward off from you like regrets! I had suffered many years from this cause before I discovered the true source of my trial, or caught a glimpse of its remedy. And when at last it flashed upon me, that it was the want of true Christian humility, not the real conviction of inferiority, which led to all this, I could not at once credit my own consciousness; and many and severe were the mental exercises by which I was led at last to understand and feel the truth. I believe this to have been a constitutional tendency; and however much the demon may have been brought under subjection, there have been times all along life, that it has so striven for the mastery, that I have feared it might conquer. But knowing one's danger is more than half the security against it, and I have gained in happiness more than a compensation for the warfare.

"... When we find ourselves disturbed in spirit, we very naturally refer to the exciting cause as an excuse for it; and however we may blame ourselves, we still feel that those whose wrong-doing irritates us are really the most to blame. But we must get away from this view of things, if we ever hope to improve ourselves. As long as we live in the world, we are to live with those who do wrong. We can never be perfect, nor can we find others who are; and our care should be, to learn so to control ourselves, that not only shall we cease to be tempted to do wrong by their wrong-doing, but also cease to tempt them by our own. And who can doubt that the best hope of improving them is by showing them the advantage of self-control?"

"December 12, 1844. I feel that you have begun the great work of self-education with a resolute will and I pray God to give you strength to pursue it without faltering. I do not expect, and you must not expect, that all can be done at a stroke. A whole life is too little for the attainment of all we desire; but having fairly set ourselves at work, let us go on hopefully, cheerfully, laboring diligently, 'knowing that we shall reap, if we faint not'; and remembering that, as we ascend, the prospect widens before us. And although we may be tempted to be discouraged, as we see more and more to be done, we are to look back upon the path we have trodden, and measure the steps we have taken, and find comfort and encouragement in the past, for the future. Go on, in the fear and love of God, in the path which he has marked out, the path of right principle,—and fear not,—all will be well."

"January 1, 1845. ... I can scarcely realize that the year has come to an end, so little have I marked the progress of time during its passage; and yet it has witnessed a great change outwardly. But how little does mere outward circumstance affect the life within,—how do we carry ourselves with us everywhere! Does not this fact of experience help us to anticipate something of future retribution? The past year has been to me one of such constant, tremendous struggle, that in looking back upon it I seem to see nothing but the heaving of the waves upon which my spirit had been tost. And yet I cannot lose sight of the many bright spots, the many and great blessings with which my life has been cheered. How should we praise and thank God that our circle has not again been broken,—that we are blessed with such kind friends, and the means of improvement and usefulness! As I look forward into the uncertain future, I sometimes feel as if I longed to know how it will be with us at this hour next year; but a glance at the possible picture makes me ready to exclaim, 'O blindness to the future, kindly given!' I feel as if some great change may come, but I can leave the whole to Him who will direct it right....

"How fully do I respond to the feeling you express of desire to see dear father once more. Sometimes,—I know not how,—for an instant an oblivion of the past comes over me, and the feeling of his temporary absence returns as of old when he had gone a journey, as if I could not wait, but must see him soon. Why is not our faith in the unseen sufficient to satisfy these longings? Why do we not realize more fully the presence of the spiritual? Let us remember his almost dying words: 'Body and spirit may be separated; spirit and spirit, never.'"

"June 26, 1845. ... No woman can be a true woman, whatever may be her intellectual acquirements or capacity, without that womanly knowledge which will fit her for domestic life, and enable her to fill 'home,' that appointed sphere of most women's duties at some time or other, with all the comforts which alone can make it happy. I do not mean merely the knowledge of the daily routine of outside domestic employments; but the cultivation of the domestic affections, the habits of concession and self-sacrifice, of delicate attention to the little things which go so far to make up the sum of domestic happiness, and the mechanical facility with respect to a thousand minor matters,—all of which nothing but practice in the atmosphere which calls them into exercise can possibly teach. I will not deny that I think a great deal, too, of education in 'common domestic employments,' as a means of happiness and usefulness. I hold that nothing can compensate for a wilful neglect of what may be made the means of so much comfort to others, as order, cleanliness, and a facility in administering to the human wants of our friends, which is peculiarly woman's province. Now, for this part of education, home ought to be the best place. Of course it is impossible, while attending school constantly, to find time for these other matters, and all theoretical learning upon such subjects can be of little use without practice."

Mrs. Ware had found another, new home,—a pleasant cottage built for her use by a friend after she went to Milton, and entered by her and her children toward the end of the year,—her last removal. And highly favored did she feel, both in the society around her and the local situation. No heart could be more alive to the beauties of that glorious "Milton Hill" than was hers. Its rich landscape, its gorgeous sunsets, and ever-varying hues, she enjoyed intensely, for their natural beauty, and not less, if not more, for their moral influence. The thought of her enthusiasm comes over us even now with subduing power, as we stand again at her side on those beautiful heights, to which she longed to lead all her friends, and see the emotion, if we hear not the utterance, of her glowing, admiring spirit. We catch again the earnest words with which she urged a visit there, even in the freshness of her widowed grief. "O this glorious view! I do hope the weather will be good, that you may see it in all its glory. I had no conception of the moral influence of the sublime and beautiful before. I really think one must be very wicked to be troubled about little things, within sight of such a display of the Divine love; even children feel it."