During the time of writing the extracts that follow, Mrs. Ware went herself to Exeter, alone and at the shortest notice,—finding that some questions in regard to the course of study to be pursued by her son could be best determined by her actual presence. It was one of her last journeys, and, being in mid-winter, must have required resolution, if it did not cost suffering.
"January 1, 1847. The clock has just struck one, so I may fairly date 1847. And with the recollections of the old year which has just passed away, and the anticipations of that upon which we are entering, come many thoughts of you,—affecting thoughts, for I remember my own experience at your age, and I feel that this year must be to you one of the most important of your whole existence, in its influence on your character and happiness, both for this life and for that long future which can be measured only by one word,—Eternity. It must bring to you many trials, both of feeling and principle; it must bring to you many deep spiritual exercises, and anxious thoughts with regard to your religious progress. You have come to that period of life at which one cannot escape from a deep sense of responsibility for the formation of one's own character; when, with every power and faculty in a peculiarly excitable state, every nerve vibrates to the slightest touch of joy or sorrow, and one feels perpetually in danger of being led by feeling rather than by judgment. It is a period of intense enjoyment, and for the same reason may be one of intense suffering; and while it must depend much upon circumstances which shall predominate, I believe it depends still more upon our own self-discipline, in enabling us both to avoid many occasions of suffering, and to meet with a calm spirit those which are unavoidable. You are in a new position of independent action; and while, with the deep sympathy which is the result of experience, I can suffer and enjoy with you, in anticipation, I feel the satisfaction of a quiet trust that 'all will issue well.' I believe that you mean to govern yourself by the highest principle, and in that faith I can leave you to the guidance of your own conscience; hoping that you will never forget, that principle, to do its perfect work, must be applied to small things as well as great; that then only is it true principle when it regulates even the tone of the voice, as well as the most heroic action. Your mother's prayers are for you, at this solemn turning-point of life, that, when this anniversary next arrives, it may find you, whether in the body or not, able to look back with satisfaction upon the past, conscious that a true progress has been made towards that perfection of the soul for which it was created....
"You will say, you have much to struggle with in your own character, and that nothing can satisfy you while you have to contend with self so continually. But your greatest temptation is to dwell too much upon your internal trials, leading you almost insensibly to that most insidious and deceptive form of self-love, a too constant thought of self even in regard to one's faults. You will find your intellectual occupation a great help in preventing this. Do not think too much about your own deficiencies, be content to live along in the constant thought for others' good, and you will find that you have done more for yourself by your disinterested action, than you could have done by all the thought you would have given to the subject in twice the time."
"January 24. ... Cultivate in yourself a religious spirit; read God's word to learn what he would have you do; pray to Him for power to do it,—and you will succeed. Here lies the only sure foundation. Religious principle is the rock upon which alone you can build any superstructure; all other will be like the sand on the sea-shore,—the next tide of temptation will sweep it away. And do not think that it will interfere with any of the pleasures of youth, or restrain the spirit of mirth which belongs to your age. So far from it, it will promote all enjoyment; for when we engage in that which we have decided by the standard of principle to be right, we go forth with a free spirit, to enjoy to the utmost,—without any of that under-current of misgiving which is a perpetual check upon us when we are engaged in a matter of doubtful expediency. Experience must have already taught you this in some things, and, believe me, it is equally true in all. You will have many temptations in your little world, composed, as well as the great world, of various characters. But if you once establish it with yourself to pursue only the right, and to have a strong moral courage to say 'No' to any measure of even doubtful character, you will find that you not only gain peace of mind, but win the respect even of those who may at first laugh at you. Never fear for the result, if you only do right."
"January 26, 1847. Well, it was an event for me to go to Exeter. All my associations with the place are of the most interesting kind. All the romance of my youth was connected with it; my first knowledge of your father was during his residence there, through the medium of the admiration of that brilliant circle of young ladies, in whose society he found poetical inspiration. It was the home and the death-place of the first specimen of the highly intellectual and spiritual form of humanity that I had ever known intimately, in the person of your father's dear friend, John E. Abbot; and the very name of Exeter was sacred to me, from its connection with the daily details of his last sickness, which I received from Mrs. P——, then residing in her Aunt Abbot's family. I had been there, however, only once, twenty years ago with your father, when together we visited John Abbot's grave, and gave ourselves up to the emotions connected with his memory. You may believe that it was with no common feelings that I went alone, upon such an errand, to that spot. The sense of my sole responsibility in the care of my children presses upon me at all times; but it bore with peculiar power at that time and at that place, reminded, as I could not but be, how little qualified I was to decide the question, in comparison with a father's knowledge and experience."
"February 2. ... This has been an intensely interesting day to me. What a thing is this gift of life,—this strange, first union of the spiritual and the material! How closely such an event brings one near to the great Origin of all, and in what an interesting, affecting relation! The tender Father, watching over, protecting, sustaining, a feeble, mortal child in the greatest work of creation, the introduction of a new heir of immortality to the path which is to lead it to receive its inheritance!"
"March 3. ... Do not for a moment lose sight of your dear father's example. He was what he was, not by the bestowment of great natural powers, but by the religious industry with which he used his powers, the high standard of moral and religious character at which he aimed, the disinterested devotion with which he labored for others' good. He cultivated his conscience, and by its light he cultivated his intellect; marking out for himself that path in life in which he felt himself most likely to be useful. And this was the secret of his great success. He was willing to do any thing he could; and he regulated that 'could' by the most unwearied industry. What cannot one do, with such a lever?"