title="[Pg vi]"/> Concord.—Mr. Ware's Illness there, and Apprehensions.—Her Use of the Warning, and Habit of Preparation.—Death of her Son Robert.—Her Account.—Devotion to her Children.—Letters to John.—Cases of Hospitality.—Crowded, but never worried.—Journal to John.—Letters at the End of 1832 and 1833.—Dangerous Illness of a Child.

XI.

Prudence in Sickness.—Mrs. Ware's View of it, and Experience.—Her Principle and Practice in Regard to Dress.—Exemption from Sickness.—Social and Private Efforts for Others.—Moral Cases.—General Intercourse.—Sympathy with Children.—Hatred of Gossip.—Husband's Severe Illness in 1836.—The Aid she rendered him.—Her Interest in the Theological Students.—Their Testimony to her Kindness and Influence.—Pecuniary Embarrassment—Death of a Sister.—View of Events and Circumstances.—Continued Mercies.—Pleasant Letters.—A Change approaching.—Various Records.—Her Husband goes to New York.—His Sickness there, and her Joining him.—Return, and Resignation of Office.—Dark Prospects.—Strong Faith and Hope.—Leaving Cambridge.

XII.

Pain of Removal.—New Residence.—Generosity of Friends.—Extracts from Letters.—Faithful Domestic.—Views of Service.—Larger Extracts.—Death of Dr Channing.—Kindness of Neighbors.—Mr. Ware's Illness in Boston.—Her Feelings.—Return to Framingham.—His Jaunts and final Sickness.—His Death.—First Sabbath.—Burial at Cambridge.—Letters to Children and Friends.—Isolation and Suffering.—Labor, Mental and Manual.—Preparation of a Memoir.—Communion with her Husband and the Departed Ones.—Letters to her Son.—Looking for a new Residence.—Decision for Milton.—Last Record of Framingham.

XIII.

Mrs. Ware's Fears of Loss of Power.—First Letter from Milton, describing her Condition.—Progress of Mind seen in her Letters.—Views of Education.—Reliance upon her Children.—Various Records.—The New Cottage.—Love of Nature.—Beginning of Disease.—Continued Work.—School.—Views of separating Children.—Trust for Things Temporal and Spiritual.—Annuals for 1845 and 1846.—Letters of Sympathy.—Letters to her Children.—Son at Exeter.—Her Visit there.—Views of Preaching and Preachers.—Tribute of a Pastor.—Family Religion.—Important Letters.—Equanimity in Sickness.—Death of Emma.—Visit to Cambridge.—End of the Year.—The Time yet remaining.

XIV.

Last Days natural, not wonderful.—Quietness and Enjoyment.—Relative Duties.—Decline of Strength.—Disclosure of her Disease.—Private Paper.—Visit to her Son.—Once more a Nurse and Helper.—Sinking and Rallying.—Accounts of her by Friends.—Her own Account.—Influence upon Others.—Her Pain at being praised.—Letter from England.—Her last Letter.—Conversation on the Future.—Her Pastor's Visit.—Closing Expressions.—Her Husband's Words.—Death and Burial.—Conclusion.

MEMOIR.

I.

INTRODUCTION.

The life of an unpretending Christian woman is never lost. Written or unwritten, it is and ever will be an active power among the elements that form and advance society. Yet the written life will speak to the larger number, will be wholly new to many, and to all may carry a healthy impulse. There are none who are not strengthened and blessed by the knowledge of a meek, firm, consistent character, formed by religious influences, and devoted to the highest ends. And where this character has belonged to a daughter, wife, and mother, who has been seen only in the retired domestic sphere, there may be the more reason that it be transferred to the printed page and an enduring form, because of the very modesty which adorned it, and which would never proclaim itself.

Such are our feelings in regard to the subject of the following Memoir, and such our reasons for offering it to the public. It has not been without scruple, and after an interval of years, that the family and nearest friends of Mrs. Ware have consented to the publication of facts and thoughts so private and sacred as many which must appear in a faithful transcript of her life. Perhaps this reluctance always exists, particularly in regard to a woman and a mother. In this instance it has been very strong, and it is but just that it be made known. Never was there a woman, we may believe, more retiring or peculiarly domestic than she of whom we are to speak. Never, we are sure, were the materials of a life more entirely private, and in one sense confidential, than those which we are to use; for letters are all the materials we have, and letters written in the unrestrained freedom of personal friendship, in the midst of pressing cares, and with a rapidity and unstudied naturalness, which will appear in all the extracts, but are still more manifest in the entire originals. Her correspondence was voluminous, to an extent unsurpassed perhaps in a life so quiet, with no pretence to literary character, and nothing ever written except for the eye of the receiver. How would the writer have felt, had she supposed these letters were ever to be opened to the public eye? It is a question which many ask,—some with pain, some with decided disapproval. It is a question which we have asked ourselves, and we prefer to answer it before we enter upon the work.

To answer it unfavorably, to yield to this natural reluctance to publish any thing designed to be private, and in its nature personal, would deprive us of the best biographies that are written. It would restrict to single families, and to a brief period, the knowledge of facts and features, of all most reliable, most valuable. Indeed, it is this very fact of humility and reserve, of freedom and naturalness, indulged in confidential communion and the quiet of home, that reveals most the reality of virtue, force of character, disinterested nobleness, and the power of religion. Who is willing that the knowledge of such examples should be withheld from the many who crave it, and whom it would stimulate and bless? Shall we make no sacrifice of our own feelings, supposing it to require one, shall we hoard exclusively for our own use the richest of God's gifts, when those by whom the gifts have come to us spent their lives in service and sacrifice for us? To these obvious considerations,