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•'T^lLIi«¥]MII¥IEI^SlIir¥«'

1911

A CENTURY AGO IN NEW ENGLAND
MARY WILDER WHITE

'r/_i?/ 'rnat^e /''//ac

MEMORIALS OF
MARY WILDER WHITE
BY ELIZABETH AMELIA DWIGHT
EDITED BY MARY WILDER TILESTON

A CENTURY AGO IN NEWENGLAND

THE EVERETT PRESS COMPANY
BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS MCMIII

CK

:-ff.€03

Copyright, 190S, hy Mary Wilder Tileston

PREFACE
"l^TEARLY thirty years ago, at the request of
-i-^ my aunt, Mrs. WiUiam Dwight, I assisted
her in preparing a memorial of her mother by mak
ing selections from her letters, while she suppUed
the connecting narrative. It was intended for the
descendants only ; but even for them it has been of
little use, being in manuscript, so that it now seems
desirable to have it printed ; and I feel that the story
of my grandmother's life, with its brave and buoyant
spirit, its warm affections and intellectual delights,
and its intense rehgious faith, may help those who
are living through the joys and sorrows of our own
time. A friend, writing after her death, to her little
daughter, said of her, " She was beautiful, her person
small and delicate, her eyes were blue and had a
sweet expression, her teeth were white and regular,
her smile most lovely, — but of this beauty she seemed
unconscious ; her thoughts were not given to her own
charms of mind or person, but to the merits or the
wants of others. Her powers of mind, and informa
tion on all subjects worthy of attention, were as un
common as the beauty of her person, and a modest
sweetness gave a charm to everything she said or
did." Another friend wrote of her as "that wonder
ful being who fascinates all hearts."
During her short life she passed through experi-
[V]

PREFACE
ences of unusual interest and through strange trials.
When only seventeen years old she became engaged
to Antoine Van Schalkwyck, a young West Indian
planter, who was exiled from his home in Guadeloupe
during the years following the French Revolution.
After many vicissitudes and anxieties they were
married in 1801, when she was twenty years old, and
not long after sailed for Guadeloupe. They arrived
at an unfortunate moment: the island was in a state
of insurrection, a mulatto having just been put in
the place of the French Commandant, and there was
general distrust and terror. Yellow fever was raging
violently, and in three weeks from the day they
landed her idolized brother, who had accompanied
her on account of her husband's ill-health, died of
the fever. Three weeks later her husband died, leav
ing her alone in a foreign land. A few days after
this a plot of the negroes to massacre all the white
inhabitants was discovered, only a few hours before
it was to take place, and she had to fly to a neigh
bouring island. There she stayed for many months,
until troops arrived from France and, after a hard
struggle, put down the insurrection and restored or
der. She was desperately ill herself with yellow fever
and a succession of other illnesses, and it was a year
before she could return to her friends.
The years from 1802 to 1807 were spent in her
mother's home in Concord, Massachusetts. Her life
was enriched by friendships with Miss Mary Moody
Emerson, Miss Susan Cabot Lowell, and others Avho
[vi]

PREFACE
like herself were stirred by the intellectual and spirit
ual influences of that period, which has been called
the New England Renaissance ; and her letters are
full of references to the books which they were read
ing, as well as to the subjects of thought and feeling
which interested them. Her marriage to Daniel
Appleton White, in 1807, transferred her home to
Newburyport, where she died after a happy married
life of only four years.
" It is not growing like a tree
In bulk, doth make man better be ;
Or standing long an oak, three hundred year.
To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere !
A lily of a day
Is fairer far in May,
Although it fall and die that night, —
It was the plant and flower of Light.
In small proportions we just beauties see ;
And in short measures life may perfect be."
Mary Wilder Tileston.
Boston, October, 190S.
[vii]

CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
Early recollections of Mrs. Dwight, xvii — description of Mrs.
Hurd, xviii-xx pp. xvii-xx
CHAPTER I
I78O-I796 — Lancaster and Concord: Childhood
Birth and parentage, 1 — death of brothers and sister, 1 — ¦
death of her father. Dr. Wilder, 2, 3 — Henry Wilder, 4 — Flagg
family, 5, 6 — Gershom Flagg, 7 — Hannah Flagg, 8; her letter,
9; death, 10 — Mary, or Polly, Flagg (Mrs. Josiah Wilder), 11;
her poems, 11-13; letter about Mary Wilder, 1 3 ; and from her at
nine years old, 14 — Mrs. Wilder's second marriage, to Dr. Hurd,
and removal to Concord, 15 — the ideal stepmother, 15, 16 —
anecdote, Betty, Dr. Hurd's characteristics, 17, 18 — Ruth Hurd,
18, 19 — Mary Wilder's song, 19 — education, 20. pp. 1-20
CHAPTER II
1796-1801 — Concord: Youth
Letter to Ruth Hurd, on sensibility, 21 — Dr. Jacob Bigelow's
recollections, 23, 24 — Mrs. RadclifFe's novels, 24 — letter to E.
Bigelow, on balls, 24 — engagement to Mr. Van Schalkwyck, 26 —
account of him and of M. Blanchet, 26, 27 — letters from Baron
Van Schalkwyck, 28 — from Mary Wilder to Mr. Van Schalk
wyck, 29 — to M. Blanchet, 32, 33 — from H. Wilder, 34 — Hemy
Wilder not allowed to go to college, 35 — letters from M. Blan
chet, 36, 37 — illness of Mr. Van Schalkwyck, 38; and marriage
to Mary Wilder, 39 — letter from Madame Courcelle, 39-41 —
from H. Wilder to Mr. Van Schalkwyck, 41 ; and reply, 42 — they
sail for Guadeloupe, 44. pp. 21-44
[ix]

CONTENTS CHAPTER III
October-Dbcember, 1801 — Guadeloupe
Letters describing voyage and arrival from H. Wilder, 45, and
Mary Van Schalkwyck, 47, — insurrection just taken place, 45,
46, 50, 51 — death of H. Wilder, from yellow fever, 53 — letter
of his sister to Rev. Mr. Ripley, 53-55 — her tributes to the
memory of her brother, 55-59 — illness and death of Mr. Van
Schalkwyck, 61 — plot of negroes to massacre all the whites, 62 —
newspaper account of it, 63, 64 — flight to a neighbouring island,
62. pp. 45-65
CHAPTER IV
January-October, 1802 — Guadeloupe
Attack of yellow fever, 67 — arrival of troops from France, 76
— skirmishes and battles, 78, 85, 87 — letter from Mrs. Hurd,
79-82 — obituaries of H. Wilder, 83, and Mr. Van Schalkwyck,
84 — incendiary fires, 86, 88, 90 — success of French troops, 87
— fever, 91 — return to Concord, 94 — accounts of yellow fever
at that period, 95, 96. pp. 66-96
CHAPTER V
October-December, 1802 — Concord
Home in Concord, 97 — Miss Ann Bromfield, 98-100; letters
to her, 100 — to Grace Hurd, 101 — to unknown address, on balm-
of-Gilead tree and H. Wilder, 102, 103 — account of Mr. Frisbie,
103-106 — letter from D. A. White to Professor Norton, 104-106
— from Mary Van Schalkwyck to Mr. Frisbie, on melancholy,
106 — Mr. Rockwood, 107 — Mr. Samuel Hoar, 108. pp. 97-108
CHAPTER VI
1803 — Concord: Letters to Friends; Miss Mary Emerson
To Mr. Rockwood, on woman's abilities, 109-111 — account of
Miss Mary Moody Emerson by Miss Hoar, 112-117; and others,
[xj

CONTENTS
117-120 — letters by Mrs. Samuel Ripley, 118, 119 — letters from
M. \^an Schalkwyck to A. Bromfield, on sensibility, 124; on love of
nature, 127; on Ossian, 138; on Cowper, 139; on low spirits, 1 46 ;
on Klopstock, 147; on conversation and correspondence, 149 —
about Dr. Ripley, 125 — to Sarah Ripley, on death of Dr. Wilder,
126 — to M. M. Emerson, on friendship, 128-131 — defending a
friend, 131 — first letter to Mrs. Lee, 132; her reply, 133; to Mrs.
Lee, on Florian, 1 35 ; on Sully, 137; weather and health, 1 42 ; on
the"British Spy," 150 — from Mrs. Lee, about society, 139-141 —
to Mr. Rockwood, on fashionable follies, 136 — talk by Mr. Fris
bie, on Mrs. Radcliffe's novels, 141 — to R. Hurd, on pointing out
faults, 144; and on conversation, 145 — letter to Mr. Rockwood,
about the Moravians, 151, 152 — ^ records of inner life, 154-156 — ¦
prayer, 156. pp. 109-156
CHAPTER VII
1804 — Concord: Letters to Friends
Prayer, by Mrs. Hurd, 157 — letters from M. Van Schalkwyck
to Mr. Rockwood, on winter and love of money, 159-161 — to A.
Bromfield, on New Year's day, l6l ; on a journey from Charles-
town, l64 — from Sally Hurd, about an escort, l62 — account of
Miss Susan Lowell, 166-168— journal, 168-173— letter about
Milton, 174 — to Ruth Hurd, on men and women, 177; the wail-
flower, 180; on humility, 194; on Buckminster, 201 — letter
from Ruth Hurd, 200 — to Sarah Ripley, on writing, sweet flow
ers, etc., 183-185 — to Rev. Wm. Emerson, 186 — contributions to
the "Monthly Anthology," 186-191— letter on early death, 191
— playful letter to Mr. Rockwood, 193— -to Susan Lowell, on
autumn, 197 — prayer, 204. pp. 157-205
CHAPTER VIII
1805 — Concord: Letters to Friends
To Mrs. Lee, on stage-coach journey from Lancaster, 206 ; on
Euler, 213 — to A. Bromfield, on fraternal affection, 209; on Mrs.
[xi]

CONTENTS
Klopstock, 211 ; on Channing, 218; on a golden elm tree, 219 —
to S. Lowell, on the Moravians, 210; on the country and the
theatre, 212 — to Benjamin Hurd, on the French, and reUgious
duties, 2 13-21 6 — diary, 217,218 — first mention of Daniel Apple-
ton White, 220 — letter to Mr. Rogers, on dejection, 221.
pp. 206-223
CHAPTER IX
1806 — Concord: Engagement to D. A. White
Letter to Mrs. Lee, on accession of fortune, 224 — to AimBrom-
field, on Mr. Hoar, 225 ; on "Lay of the Last Minstrel," 248 — to
S. Lowell, on Mr. Frisbie, 226, 228 — to S. Lowell, R. Hurd, and
A. Bromfield, on the iUness of Betsy Hurd, 229, 230, 232, 233,
234 ; and death of Betsy Hurd, 234, 235, 236 — lost in the woods,
238 — engagement of Ruth Hurd, 239 — death of Grandfather
Thompson, 239 — diary, 241, 249-251 — letter from S. Ripley to
M. M. Emerson, about first meeting of D. A. White and M. Van
Schalkwyck, 243 — M. M. Emerson, on Niagara, 245 — illness in
Charlestown, 247 — Benjamin Hurd's illness, 239, 249; death,
252 — engagement to D. A. White, 251 pp. 224-252
CHAPTER X
January-May, 1807 — Concord: Engagement
Correspondence with Daniel Appleton White, 253-310 — sym
pathy in sorrow, 254 — death of B. Hurd, 255, 256, 257 — jour
nal, 258, 259 — Saurin's sermons, 261 — "Rasselas,"' 265, 266 —
letter from Mr. Frisbie, 269 — journey in snow-storm, 270 — lung-
fever, 274 — good morning,283 — Lavater and social silence, 285,
288 — Dr. Ratcliffe, on colds, 287 — on causing pain and anxiety,
290, 291 — dedication to God, 276, 292 — finding a house,
295 — house-furnishing, 298, 299, 309 — visit in Charlestown,
300-310 — sincerity, 300 — holy communion, 302, 305 — on tem
porary homes, 303 — rainy drive, 304 — manifestation of affection,
306 — busy with a mantua-maker, 308 — voice and smile, 309 — ¦
return to Concord, for marriage, 309. pp. 253-310
[xii]

CONTENTS CHAPTER XI
May-December, 1807 — Newburyport
Marriage to D. A. White, and removal to Newburyport, 311 —
letter from Miss Bromfield, 312 — sitting up for company, 312,
313 — Mrs. Eliot in Boston, 313 — Mrs. Susan Newton, 313 —
Grandmother Atkins, 314, 315, 316, 318 — Mrs. Searle, 314, 315
— Miss Fanny Scale, 315; her letter describing Mrs. White, 315
— Margaret Searle, on Mr. White, 319. pp. 311-321
CHAPTER XII
1808 — Newburyport
Letter from Mrs. Hurd, on the Democrats, 322 — birth, 323,
illness, 326, 327, and death, 327, of first child — thunder-storm,
324 — bad times, 326 — visit to Concord, 328-331 — maternal
affection, 323, 3^4. pp. 322-331
CHAPTER XIII
1809 — Newburyport
Removal to State Street, 332 — letter to Mary H. EUot, 332 —
to Margaret Searle, 333 — birth of second daughter, 334 — Sally
Hurd's illness, 335, 336; death, 337 — letter to F. Searle, on love
of nature, 336 — to D. A. White, "bubble, bubble," 338 — to F.
Searle, on Mrs. Grant and baby speech, 339, 340. pp. 332-340
CHAPTER XIV
1810 — Newburyport
Letter to Ruth Hurd, on dancing, 341 — Mrs. Hurd's philos
ophy, 343; and on Democrats, 344, 345, 347 — a green bonnet,
346 — hemorrhage of the lungs, 346 — letter of Dr. S. Johnson,
348 — birth of third daughter, 349. PP- 341-349
[ xiii ]

CONTENTS CHAPTER XV
1811 — Newburyport: Illness and Death
Letters to and from her husband, in Massachusetts Senate,
350-375: the bed an altar, 351; Democratic machinations, 352,
353, 362, 363; the actor Cooke, 352, 355, 357; sermons of Chan
ning, 355, 359; imperfect devotions, 357; dangers of theatre,
357; very severe snow-storm, 359-362 — increased illness, 366 —
letters by Miss Emerson, 372, 373 — last letter from D. A. White,
375 — the great Newburyport fire, 376-378 — calmness and seren
ity in danger, 377 — general vaccination in Concord, 379 — last
hours, 379 — from Miss Bromfield's diary, 379-381 — tribute and
poem by Fanny Searle, 382, 383; by Sarah Searle, 384, 385; by
Margaret Searle, 385 — obituary from the "Port-Folio," 385-388
— epitaph, 388 — death of Mrs. Hurd, 389. pp. 350-389
APPENDIX
The Wilder Genealogy, 391 — The Flagg Genealogy, 391, 392
— The White Genealogy, 392, 393 — List of books read by the
subject of this memorial, 393-395. pp. 391-395
[xiv]

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Silhouette of Mary Wilder White, 1807 Facing title-page
Portrait of James Flagg, attributed to Smiberi, 1744 (?) Facing p. 5
Portrait of Gershom Flagg, painted hy Robert Feke, 1746 (?)
Facing p. 7
Portrait of Hannah Flagg, painted by Robert Feke. 1746 (?)
Facing p. 8
Portrait of Mary (Polbf) Flagg, attributed to Blackburn. 1763
Facing p. 1 1
House of Dr. Hurd, Concord, Massachusetts, from water-
colour sketch hy Henry Wilder. 1801 Facing p. 97
Facsimile of handwriting Facing p. 133
Silhouette of Daniel Appleton White. 1807 Facing p. 242
Silhouette of Mary Wilder White. 1808 Facing p. 324
Silhouette of Mrs. Polly Hurd, 1810 Facing p. 348
[XV]

INTRODUCTION
MY mother died when I was but two years old,
yet such was her hold upon my affections dur
ing the short period she was with me that the void
created by her death was at once filled by her mem
ory. My earhest recollection is of being lifted on
to her bed, where I was often permitted to he be
side her during the hngering iUness which preceded
her death. Another recollection which haunted my
childhood is before me now. I see the darkened
room, the mysterious casket, my father's face and
figure as he stood near it, the gloom upon the coun
tenances of all present, the appearance of the uncle
who held me up in his arms that I might see the
face of her with whom "death had made his dark
ness beautiful." My father has told me that, after
one look, I was taken from the room, apparently in
an agony of grief and fear; but of that I have no
recollection, while my mother's face, "as it had been
the face of an angel," was then deeply imprinted on
my memory, to bless me throughout my hfe.
My father's first object, after my mother's death,
seemed to be to give, as far as possible, to the two
daughters who survived her an idea of her charac
ter. In our earhest years, as in later ones, he was in
the habit of talking of her to us as of a superior be
ing. When we reached the ages of six and seven he
began to read to us from her letters. Other friends,
[xvii]

INTRODUCTION
who cherished her memory, attempted to describe
to us her beautiful person and manners. All that
was said of her, as well as her own writings, har
monized with the image I had of her in my heart,
and helped to make her a living presence there.
My mother's mother lived till I was twelve years
old, giving to her "dear httle girls," as she called
the children of her "beloved Mary," a mother's love.
Her hfe was interwoven with that of my mother,
whose death, she said, "broke the last tie that
bound her to earth." Their memories are insepara
bly blended in my mind, claiming an equal tribute
of affection and respect. Among the most interest
ing recollections of my childhood are the visits my
sister and I, driving with our father in the tradi
tional one-horse chaise, made to our grandmother,
in Concord.
Although at the time I first remember her she
must have been not more than sixty-five years old,
she was, to my young eyes, venerable in appear
ance — made more so, doubtless, by the close cap
of white mushn, with band of black ribbon, and the
severely plain black dress and white inside handker
chief, which was the costume of the period for la
dies advanced in years. I have a silhouette taken
of her at sixty which recalls, not only the dress, but
also her head and face. She had lost her voice,
years before, through severe illness, and spoke only
in a whisper. Her manner was gentle and affec
tionate, with a tinge of sadness. In looking back
[xviii]

INTRODUCTION
upon her, after an interval of more than half a cen
tury, my principal recollection is of the extreme
tenderness with which she always welcomed and
parted from us. I was too young to appreciate her
character, but all that I remember of her accords
with my father's high estimate of her worth, and
with that of others who knew her intimately and
are well quahfied to describe her justly. "Pure at
heart and sound in head," they represent her. "The
finest character I ever knew," says one who, for
years, enjoyed her friendship and confidence. An
other, the last remaining niece, writes to me of her:
" Your grandmother was, indeed, a woman of un
common mind, and, under many sorrows, of great
self-control." Strong religious faith, under the vicis
situdes of hfe, was conspicuous in her as it was in
my mother. Their habit of tracing every circum
stance of their hves directly to God enabled them
to enter fully into the spirit of the Psalms, and
supphed them, as it did David of old, with a con
tinual flood of devotional feehng. Indeed, as I have
pored over their papers, now yellowed by time, I
have felt that St. Paul's "dearly beloved son Tim
othy" had not, in "the faith which dwelt in his
grandmother Lois, and his mother Eunice," a more
precious legacy than that which my grandmother
and mother have bequeathed to their children and
children's children.
Nearly all of those who knew them personally
have passed away. Only a few remain who love to
[xix]

INTRODUCTION
speak of my grandmother's disinterested kindness
and hospitality, and who kindle, in their old age, as
they recall the charm and power of my mother's
influence over them in their youth. But we are not
wholly dependent upon the recollections of friends
for our knowledge of what they were. Fortunately
for us, they hved in the age of letter- writing, — "the
old familiar letters, for the absence of which neither
biography nor memoir will ever quite make up."
Many of my mother's letters, and some, not less
valued, of my grandmother's, have been preserved.
With the exception of those of my mother's which
were written while she was in the West Indies, and
which contain events of unusual interest, these let
ters are valuable, mainly, as illustrating the minds
and characters of the writers, and furnishing the
means of perpetuating their memories, which should
not be permitted to die. If with these letters I am
enabled to prepare a memorial of them which shall
tend to awaken the love and reverence of their de
scendants, I shall have accomplished the object I
have at heart. Elizabeth Amelia Dwight.
Brookline, 1875.
[XX]

CHAPTER I
1780-1796
CHILDHOOD : LANCASTER AND CONCORD
MY mother's maiden name was Mary Wilder.
She was the daughter of Dr. Josiah Wilder,
of Lancaster, Massachusetts.' He was born on May
27, 1744, graduated at Yale College in 1767, and
became a physician. He settled first in Boston, and
then in Lancaster, where he was an active citizen,
influential in town affairs, and an ardent patriot. On
August 28, 1774, he married Mary Flagg, daughter
of Gershom and Hannah (Pitson) Flagg.
Their children were:
William Pitt, b. June 11, 1775, d. Sept. 1, 1778.
Henry, b. March 27, 1777, d. Sept. 19, 1778.
Mary, b. Aug. 22, 1778, d. Sept. 17, 1778.
Augustus, b. Nov. 4, 1779, d. Nov. 16, 1779.
Mary, b. Oct. 8, 1780, d. June 29, 1811.
Henry, b. April 27, 1782, d. Nov. 12, 1801.
This list of births and deaths tells a sad story of
bereavement. When my grandmother's third child
was only ten days old, her oldest child died (of scar
let fever, as I have been told), sixteen days later her
baby died, and two days later her last remaining
child. She herself was iU with the fever, and ap-
' See Wflder Genealogy in Appendix.
[IJ

MARY WILDER WHITE [itso-itss
parently died. The undertaker, when about to lay
her in the coffin, thought he saw signs of hfe, and
summoned her husband. She was resuscitated, but
never regained her voice fully, being able only to
whisper. My grandfather died in Lancaster, December 20,
1788, at the age of forty-four. The httle that I know
of him is quickly told. I have an extract from a let
ter, written evidently in 1780, before my mother's
birth, by my grandmother's youngest sister, Grizzel
Apthorp Flagg (afterwards Mrs. Gould), to a rela
tive in Rhode Island, in which she gives an account
of various members of the family. Of my grand
mother she says: "My sister Polly is married to a
doctor, as worthy a man as now lives. In a partner
she is one of the happiest of women, but of the bit
ter cup of affliction she has drank often, and in large
draughts. She has been the mother of four smihng
babes, but has been deprived of all by that hand
that has an undoubted right to take when He pleases.
She lost three in seventeen days, — one aged three
years, one of seventeen months, and one of one
month, — and in a year after, one of three weeks.
But she and her companion say, 'The Lord gave;
the Lord hath taken away,' and I beheve they are
careful to add, 'Blessed be the name of the Lord.'
Such patterns of resignation, were you to see them,
you would think were not often to be found."
The view here given of my grandfather's Chris
tian faith and resignation is the same that I find in
[2]

1780-1796] CHILDHOOD
the following extract from one of my mother's let
ters, to whom addressed does not appear. The letter
is dated Concord, June 29, 1803. She says: "I wit
nessed at a very early age the power of rehgion, not
only in enabling man to sustain misfortune, but to
meet death undaunted. My father was in the me
ridian of hfe, his prospects flattering, his situation
agreeable. He had a virtuous and affectionate wife,
a son whose opening childhood promised everything
good and lovely, and a daughter whose extreme
youth demanded aU his paternal care, when he was
attacked by a consumption. Soon convinced his dis
order was remediless, he rehnquished the idea of
recovery, and then was the triumph of Christianity.
Assured that all events are conducted by Infinite
Wisdom and Goodness, he cheerfully submitted to
the disposal of Him who cannot err. He arranged
his affairs, he marked the spot where he wished his
body might repose, and, convinced that the Al
mighty is ' the Father of the fatherless and the wid
ow's God and Judge,' he committed us to His care,
and then awaited the approach of death with a sub-
hme serenity which had more the air of triumph
than of dread. O my father, what gave thy sun
this glorious setting, what enabled thee to quit hfe
so cheerfully, when it was so pleasant to thyself, so
desirable to thy family! Thine own words instruct
me, — 'a calm conscience, a reliance on thy God, and
a bright hope of an eternity of progressive virtue
and happiness.'" [3]

MARY WILDER WHITE [nso-n96
This tribute of my mother's to my grandfather
has given me, from childhood, a tender interest in
his memory, which was fostered by my father. At
an early age my sister and I were taught to repeat my
grandfather's words, as here quoted by my mother.
I remember, too, when we were quite httle girls, as
we were returning from Springfield, where we had
been visiting, to our home in Salem (a journey which,
taken in a private conveyance, then occupied several
days), he went out of the direct route to pass through
Lancaster, that we might see our mother's birth
place, where she lived the first nine years of her hfe,
and where our grandfather Wilder was "the beloved
physician." Henry Wilder, the only son of my grandfather
who survived him, more than fulfilled the promise
in opening childhood of which my mother speaks in
the letter already quoted. Mrs. Rapallo, a niece of
my grandmother, and daughter of Mrs. Gould, says
of my grandmother's family: "Looking back into
the past with a desire to record some of my early im
pressions, my first recollections of them in my child
hood are not very distinct. I have only the faint rec
ollection of the vision of a youth more beautiful than
anything I had ever seen, — he was called Henry. I
saw him only once, but I never lost the memory of
that face." From other sources it is evident that his
mind and character were correspondent to his face.
My mother loved him with all the enthusiasm of
her nature. His early death, under circumstances pe-
[4]

2 77iej ^..^, 'LC/c/c,.

178(^1796] CHILDHOOD
cuharly distressing to her, was the sorrow which
I overshadowed the remaining years of her life. Her
'letters and manuscripts show with what devotion
I she cherished his memory.
In the same letter from which I have just quoted,
INIrs. Rapallo speaks of my mother as "one whom,
in childhood, I thought nearer to perfection than any
other human being, and whose lovehness, after four
score years passed away, is fresh in memory."
My grandmother was bom October 25, 1750, the
sixth child of Gershom and Hannah Flagg. Gershom
Flagg was bom in Boston, April 20, 1705.' In 1730
he married Lydia Callender.
His second marriage, to Hannah Pitson, the mother
of all his children, took place on January 4, 1737.
They had seven children, three sons and four daugh
ters. Their first child, Ebenezer, died young. Their
next child, James, a merchant, settled in Gardiner,
Maine, in 1762, but afterwards removed to Boston,
and died in the West Indies, of yeUow fever, un
married, in 1775. After his death, a tract of land be
longing to him, on the Kennebec, near Norridge-
wock, fifteen miles long by half a mile wide, was sold
for the small sum of nineteen pounds, five shiUings.
The next child, Hannah, married the Hon. Joseph
North, and settled in HaUoweU, Maine. Gershom,
the third son, also settled in Maine, and died in May,
1802. The fifth chUd was Ehzabeth, who married, first,
' See Flagg Genealogy in Appendix.
[5]

MARY WILDER WHITE [ir8o-i796
Henry Wells (a brother of the wife of the patriot
Samuel Adams), and, afterwards, the Rev. Jacob
Bigelow of Sudbury.
My grandmother, who survived Mr. and Mrs.
Bigelow only a few years, wrote of their death, which
occurred in 1817, as follows: "The death of Mr. and
Mrs. Bigelow, and that of their two sons, has made
a breach in Sudbury which casts a gloom over the
town. The earnest desire of my brother and sister
was that they might not long be separated. It was
granted, and if a life of practical piety could give
them happiness, they undoubtedly have it." Their
son. Dr. Jacob Bigelow, has added lustre to the
name of his parents, fulfilhng the prediction of my
mother, who, when he was yet young and undevel
oped, said of him, "He will take the front rank in
whatsoever profession he enters, and become a dis
tinguished man."
My grandmother, who, though named Mary, was
called, after the fashion of the day, PoUy, was next
in age to her sister Elizabeth, between whom and
herself, Dr. Bigelow has told me, a great affection
and intimacy existed.
The youngest child of this family was Grizzel
Apthorp Flagg, from whose letter we have quoted.
She married Captain Benjamin Gould of the army,
and was the mother, among other children, of Ben
jamin Apthorp Gould, of the Boston Latin School,
and of Hannah F. Gould, the poetess. She died Jan
uary 19, 1827, aged seventy-three years. To her
[6]

/CU AoT/l

1780-1796] CHILDHOOD
youngest child, Mrs. Rapallo, and to Dr. Bigelow,
I am indebted for recollections of the past.
From family records, it appears that my great
grandfather, Gershom Flagg, was an architect by
profession. He was employed at the rebuilding of
Fort Richmond on the Kennebec in 1740, and went
with Governor Pownal to the Penobscot in 1759,
as a contractor in constructing Fort Pownal. He was
a proprietor in the Plymouth Company, and lands
in Augusta, Maine, were assigned to him in the dis
tribution. On the lot in Augusta a compact part of
the city was afterwards built. The lands on the Ken
nebec developed enough in his hfetime to make him
wealthy for the times. It is to be inferred that he
was a freemason, from the squares and compasses on
the head-stone of his grave in the Granary Burying-
ground, in Boston. At the time of his death he had
large possessions in real estate in Boston, including
a homestead of many acres, with extensive garden,
richly cultivated. This was his home until a short
time before his death, when he removed with his
family to the town of Harvard, in order to be out
of the way of danger to them when the anticipated
hostihties between this and the mother country
should break out. In Harvard he occupied the house
belonging to Henry Bromfield, Esquire. This house
is described by Dr. Slade, in his account of the Brom
field family, as "situated amidst avenues of lofty
elms, of venerable appearance, with gambrel roof, and
quaint chimneys, suggestive of home comforts."
[7]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1780-1796
Mrs. RapaUo, in giving me her recollections of
the past, says, "Some time after the removal of the
family to Harvard my grandfather went to Boston
on business. He said to a friend, when he retired at
night, that he did not feel very well, and, in the
morning, he was found dead in his bed." From other
sources, I learn that "he died suddenly at Brattle
Tavern in School St. on the 23rd of March, 1771,
aged sixty-six."
My grandmother's mother, Hannah Pitson, was a
daughter of James Pitson, who "was admitted in
habitant of Boston in 1714,"in which year the records
show "he, being a stranger, comes well recom
mended." The inference is that he had but recently
emigrated from England. Portraits in oil of Mrs.
Flagg and her husband, which have descended to us,
show them both to have been of commanding pres
ence and decided personal attraction.'
From some of Mrs. Flagg's descendants I learn
that, though hving in affluence, she was a careful
and thrifty housewife, who educated her daughters
in aU domestic duties, the rule being that, as they
became of suitable age, they should take turns as
housekeepers. We have an interesting illustration of
* They were painted by Robert Feke, one of the earliest of the colonial
painters. He was descended from a Dutch family, who settled at Oyster
Bay, Long Island. It is said that, having been taken prisoner and car
ried to Spain, he there learned to paint, and on his return home settled
at Newport, R. I. He worked also at New York, and in 1746, at Philadel
phia, where his portraits have been considered the best after those of
West. He subsequently went to Bermuda for his health, and died there,
at the age of forty-four. — Ed.
[8]

',£l/7y/i

1780-1796] CHILDHOOD
what Mrs. Flagg was as a wife in a venerable-look
ing paper which my great-grandfather has marked
"August 2nd, 1754. A letter from my spouse." I
copy the letter as follows : ''August 2nd, 1754.
''My Dear, — I wrote yesterday, but, having still
an opportunity, am glad to lay hold of it, and let
you know that I have just received yours by Mr.
WiUard, and am very sorry to hear of your hard
ships. Hope you will make the more haste home,
where I shall do my endeavour to make it up to you
if I can. I long to have you come home upon my
own account, your children's, and your business, but
as much on account of your hard fare and being ex
posed. I was fuU of expectations of your being home
in a month or thereabout, but must submit to the
disposal of Providence. We know that no afflictions
are joyous, but grievous. If they, afterwards, yield
the peaceable fruits of righteousness, it will be well.
If I knew of anything that would persuade you more
than what I have mentioned, I should try." [After
some almost Ulegible hnes in reference to a neigh
bour, which are of no interest to us, she adds] " I sent
you a few beans by Mr. Faden. I know not whether
you received them or not. I now send a basket of
cucumbers and a ham of bacon, and six pair of shoes
and pumps by Mr.  , who has promised to con
vey them to you. He has this moment come for it.
Yours, in haste,
Hannah Flagg."
[9]

MARY WILDER WHITE [i78o-i796
I learn from Mrs. Rapallo that the latter years
of Mrs. Flagg's hfe, after her husband's death, were
spent with her daughter, Mrs. Wilder, in Lancaster,
where she died October 13, 1784. This account coin
cides with that given of Mrs. Flagg by her young
est daughter, in the letter from which we have al
ready made one extract, and which, though without
date, contains proof of being written either at the
close of 1779, or early in 1780. The record, though
not a cheerful one, is valuable as containing all we
know of the closing years of her hfe. "My Mama is
with my sister Polly. Since my father's death, she
has been very infirm, and has almost refused to be
comforted. She has, this winter past, been so lame
and sick that, for seven months, she has not walked
a step alone, dressed or undressed herself, and there
is no prospect of her being any better. This for our
comfort. Ma'am, that her mind, which you may re
member was sometimes confused, is now perfectly
composed, and she waits patiently to know the wUl
of her Lord, and till her great change comes."
Of my grandmother's childhood we know only
what may be seen in a portrait taken of her in early
life, here reproduced. As, in imagination, we foUow
her through childhood and youth, associating her
with what we know of her father's attractive homes
in Boston and Harvard, we are ready to assume that,
while faithfiiUy educated as a housewife, her mental
culture was not neglected. Indeed, we have evidence
of this in one of her manuscript books, where her
[10]

¦//¦¦'ut'-i/ r_y4,€Z/y//'

1780-1796] CHILDHOOD
maiden name repeatedly appears. Many of its leaves
have been cut out, and some are badly torn ; enough
is left, however, to show that, before as well as after
marriage, she records there, not only recipes for pud
ding and cake, but also selections from the old Eng
lish poets, with here and there an original composi
tion in vevse. These last are valuable as showing her
reflective tm'n of mind and the aspirations with
which she entered upon life. From one of these, a
part of which is gone, I copy the following, in which,
after expressing gratitude for the gift of endless life,
she asks for heavenly aid in consecrating herself to
the highest aims :
'^Indulgent God! in vain my tongue essays
For this immortal gift, to speak Thy praise ;
How shall my heart its grateful sense reveal
Where all the energy of words must fail.
Oh, may its influence in my life appear;
May every action prove my thanks sincere !
Grant me, great God, a heart to Thee inclined.
Increase my faith and rectify my mind;
Teach me betimes to tread Thy sacred ways.
And to Thy service consecrate my days !
Still, as through life's uncertain maze I stray.
Be Thou the guiding star to mark my way.
Conduct the steps of my unguarded youth.
And point their motions to the paths of Truth ! "
The next hnes that are legible seem, in view of
her many sorrows later in life, and the spirit in which
she met them, almost prophetic:
[IIJ

MARY WILDER WHITE [i78o-i796
"My God! should adverse fortune be my share.
Let not its terrors tempt me to despair ;
But, bravely armed, a steady faith maintain.
And own all best which Thy decrees ordain.
On Thy Almighty Providence depend.
The best protector and the surest Friend! "
To this page she has appended her own signature,
"Mary Flagg," with the date "1770."
On another leaf are hnes entitled "The Choice,"
signed "Mary Flagg."
It would be interesting to know whether we have
here my grandfather's portrait in the days of their
first acquaintance, or a fancy sketch :
"If marriage ever be my lot in life.
And I, by fate, am destined for a wife.
If e'er to love's soft power I yield my heart.
May worth inspire, and merit point the dart!
May he to whom my hand and heart are given
Have every blessing from indulgent heaven.
Each noble virtue with his soul be joined.
And sense adorn, and honour guide his mind.
In temper mild, in judgment sound and clear.
Courteous to all, and to his friend sincere.
Grave, without rudeness, and polite, with ease.
His rule, good manners, and his aim to please.
Proud to oblige, a stranger to deceit.
Ambitious rather to be good than great.
May winning candour and unsullied truth
Adorn each action of the accomplished youth.
Blest with his love, no higher bliss desire ;
Content with that, let vainer joys expire.
Let vain coquettes their empty triumphs boast.
My only glory is in pleasing most
[12]

1780-1796] CHILDHOOD
The youth who best deserves my heart to share.
Whose kind affections claim my every care.
Through the uncertain, rugged paths of life.
Fulfil with joy the duties of a wife.
And, till his growing virtues cease to shine.
Pleased, I'll admire, and strive to make them mine."
I have a record of my mother's birth, and of the
leading events of her life, in a letter written to my
father by my grandmother four years before she
died: "Concord, Sept. 2nd, 1817.
"As I have a presentiment I shall not long be able
to write, and every communication respecting our
beloved Mary wiU be acceptable one day to her off
spring, and now to yourself, I write now. Mary was
born on Sunday morning, the eighth day of Octo
ber, 1780, and was presented, and received baptism,
the same day, by Mr. Harrington, whose eyes were
filled with tears of joy, as she was then said to be a
precious gift, being our fifth child, and only hving
one. At three years, she was uncommonly forward
in her letters. Her memory was very good. Her first
master was Mr. Mead, a young minister, who
boarded with us, and was very fond of her brother
and herself She daily progressed in everjrthing set
before her. Her strength of mind was very percep
tible at an early age. She could commit to memory
faster than many children could at her age read.
Her father, after a long confinement, died in 1788.
In 1790, she came to Concord."
[13]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1780-1796
The following letter to her mother was evidently
written at school, and may have been given her to
write as a composition: "Lancaster, October 9th, 1789.
"Hon^ Mad^, — Your goodness to me I cannot
express. My mind is continually crowded with your
kindness. If your goodness could be rewarded, I
hope God will repay you. If you remember, some
time ago I read you a story in 'the Mother's Gift,'
but I hope I shall never resemble Miss Gonson. O
Dear! what a thing it is to disobey one's parents. I
have one of the best Masters. He gave me a sheet
of paper this morning. I hope Uncle Flagg wiU
come up. I am quite tired of looking for Betsy, but
I hope she will come. When school is done keeping,
I shall come to Sudbury. What a fine book Mrs.
Chapone's Letters is ! My time grows short, and I
must make my letter short.
Your dutiful daughter, P. W."
I wish I was able to add to these records of the
first nine years of my mother's life an exact transcript
of a few lines which were once among her papers,
but which I no longer find there. I think I can give
from memory the substance of what I have often
read on that worn scrap of yellow paper. After say
ing that she gave the morning hour to her devotions
and to reading of Scripture, she says, "After break
fast, dusted the parlour, sewed on my muslin hand-
[14]

1780-1796] CHILDHOOD
kerchief, studied my lesson, read, took a walk."
There were some good resolutions on the subject of
early rising and industry, which are not distinct in
my memory. The record showed her, when she was
but nine years old, "commending herself to the
guidance of duty" with an earnestness which is un
usual at that age.
The removal to Concord, mentioned in my grand
mother's letter, was the result of her marriage to Dr.
Isaac Hurd of that town. He was a physician in
large practice, a widower with five young children,
three sons and two daughters, about the ages of
her Mary and Henry. Mrs. Rapallo writes, "They
seemed a remarkably happy, united family, they
grew up together in harmony and love." That the
happiness resulting from this union of famihes was
greatly due to my grandmother's beautiful spirit of
unselfishness cannot be doubted. In illustration of
the admirable manner in which she filled the place
of mother to children not her own, Mrs. Rapallo
gives the foUowing anecdote, which was told her in
her youth. Not long after my grandmother's removal
to Concord she received a call from an acquaintance
in the neighbourhood. Her visit so far exceeded the
usual bounds of a morning call as to excite the sur
prise of the family. The dinner-hour drew near, and,
as she showed no intention of leaving, she was asked,
comparative stranger though she was, to remain and
dine with them. The invitation was accepted. After
dinner, and just before leaving, she said, "To be
[15]

MARY WILDER WHITE [i78o-i796
frank with you, Mrs. Hurd, I must tell you that I
had a purpose in my visit to-day. I have been told
that you were so entirely without partiahty in your
treatment of your children that it would be impos
sible for any one to know, by your manner, which
were your own and which were Dr. Hurd's. I did n't
beheve it, and I came to see. I am perfectly satis
fied. It is as I have been told." Little as we can ad
mire the intrusive neighbour, this tradition is valu
able for the view it gives us of my grandmother,
which does but confirm the statements of others.
One of Dr. Hurd's nieces, who was intimate in
his family, always spoke to me of my grandmother
as "the model stepmother." My father used to say
it seemed to him she was, if possible, more devoted
to Dr. Hurd's children than to her own. They grew
up under her care, rewarding it in every respect.
The three sons engaged early in commerce. Thomp
son, the oldest, was lost at sea, in 1801. He seems
to have been greatly beloved by his family. The two
daughters, SaUy and Betsy, and the youngest son,
Benjamin, my grandmother nursed through pro
tracted iUness, closing their eyes at last. The second
son, Isaac, married and hved in Concord. To his
young family his stepmother was no less devoted
than she had been to her own. He was a true son to
her, and the only one who survived her.
She was no less a model wife than mother. Her
devotion to Dr. Hurd and his interests was absolute
and entire. No claim was allowed to take precedence
[16]

1780-1796] CHILDHOOD
of his. She took a personal interest in his patients,
and many demands were made upon her time by his
profession. He had, also, a farm, the supervision
of which devolved chiefly upon her, in those days
of primitive simplicity when one female domestic
was considered enough to meet the demands of any
famUy, however large or however given to hospi-
tahty. My grandmother's "Betty" is remembered by the
few who stiU hve to teU of the pleasant home in Con
cord, with which she was as much identified as any
member of the household. She is spoken of as faith
ful and untiring, but as quite dependent upon my
grandmother's head to help her through the mazes
of her various duties, and bring them to a success
ful issue. When we consider my grandmother's del
icate health and inteUectual tastes, we cannot but
regret, as did her contemporaries, that Dr. Hurd,
with his ample means, did not more effectuaUy re-
Meve her from the fatiguing labour which, in addi
tion to usual household cares, came upon her in con
nection with the farm. She, however, was never
heard to complain of what was before her to be done,
and only mentions it occasionaUy as a reason for
cutting short a letter, or denying herself the pleasure
of a visit; as, for instance, in a letter of August 11,
1813: "The day, if we rise before the sun, wiU not
allow us to accomphsh the business before us. Hay
ing and reaping add to our cares very much. Ten
men to board and lodge has tried my strength, and
[17]

MARY WILDER WHITE [i78o-i796
sometimes my patience, but aU these things wiU
soon have an end."
As for Dr. Hurd, although the family letters show
him to have been an affectionate husband and father,
and, in religious feelings and principles, he was in
sympathy with my grandmother, we cannot escape
the conviction, from the testimony of those who
knew him, that he was a person of narrow views
and of a somewhat selfish, exacting nature, in strik
ing contrast to her own.
Among the pleasures which her new home brought
to my mother were the friendships she formed with
the families of Dr. Hurd's two brothers in Charles
town, Massachusetts. They both had daughters near
the ages of my mother and her step sisters. With
aU of them my mother seems to have been a favour
ite. The one of their number who most attracted
her was Ruth, the second daughter of Mr. Joseph
Hurd, distinguished in youth, as she was through
out a life of unusual length, for her personal and
mental charms. My mother seems to have regarded
her with the tenderness which an older sister feels
for a younger ; while she, in tum, looked up to my
mother with the enthusiasm often felt by a young
girl for one beautiful and admired, some years older
than herself.
As her " lovely friend Ruth " developed into wom
anhood, my mother gave her the greatest proof of
her affection by cherishing the hope of seeing her
united to her brother Henry. She could hardly have
[18]

1780-1796] CHILDHOOD
felt more interest in her than this hope implies, if
she had foreseen that, in the distant future, she was
to become the stepmother of her daughters. My
mother's memory was affectionately cherished by
this friend of her youth. During the closing years of
her long life, when her mind was as bright as ever,
it was her delight to talk of my mother, to whom,
she said, more than to any one else, she was indebted,
in early hfe, for stimulating and guiding her intel
lectual tastes. A short time before her death, and
after her ninetieth bu-thday, she Avrote to me a letter
containing, among other memories of my mother,
the foUowing: "I remember her as she was when
she first came to Concord, a fascinating child. She
was a sweet natural singer, and I can now recaU,
perfectly, the words, though not the music, of one
of her little songs, although I never met with them
once from that time to this. Her whole appearance
as she sang, and the lovely tones of her voice, im
pressed them upon my memory, and I can now re
call, as if it were yesterday, the charm of her man
ner, as she sang these words :
" O fortune, how strangely thy gifts are awarded.
How much to thy shame thy caprice is recorded !
Witness brave Belisarius, who begged for a half-penny,
'Date obolum, date obolum Belisario.'"
Dr. Bigelow teUs me that one of my mother's gifts
in chUdhood was original composition in verse. He
remembers that she composed an elegy, at that early
age, on the death of her father.
[19]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1780-1796
Of my mother's education, after her removal to
Concord, my grandmother writes : " When she first
came to Concord, she went to the Grammar School
kept by Mr. Whiting, and, afterwards, to Dr. Ban
croft. For several years, a Miss BurreU from Boston
kept a private school possessed of every advantage
usual at that day except music. Mary was always a
favourite with aU her instructors, who were pleased
to say she exceUed in every thing she undertook."
This is aU we are told of my mother's school days.
[20]

CHAPTER II
1796-1801
CONCORD : YOUTH, ENGAGEMENT, MARRIAGE TO MR.
VAN SCHALKWYCK
OUR next record is from my mother's cousin
Ruth, as contained in the letter already quoted.
She says, " I have a most lively impression of one
of my childhood days, even as early as twelve years
of age, with many others similar, but that I spe
cially refer to occurred at the time of your mother's
leaving us in Charlestown, after a visit of a few
weeks, when she was about sixteen, and fuU of en
thusiasm. She asked me to write, promising to an
swer my letters. I made a reluctant promise to an
swer her letter, which I greatly desired to receive."
The foUowing is the letter above mentioned :
"Concord, August 20th, 1797.
"Your request that I would write to you, my
dear Cousin, has prevailed over a consciousness of
my own inability to offer any thing for your perusal
equal to my wishes, or, I fear, to your expectations.
But you have assured me a letter would give you
pleasure, and I beheve you too sincere to assert what
you do not feel. I write, therefore, in reliance that I
shall be received with candour, and that every blem
ish will be seen softened by the mild eye of affection.
" In settling the first article of our correspondence,
[21]

MARY WILDER WHITE [i796-i8oi
I propose we give Distrust, Formality, and their at
tendant Coldness, to the winds, and that we take,
in their stead, Confidence, Sincerity, and Love. This
being premised, we, neither of us, plead, as an excuse
for not writing, want of topics, or of expressions to
clothe them. The language of the heart is the lan
guage of nature, it is easily spoken and easily under
stood, and I would give more for five lines of it than
for five pages of the cold, methodical labours of the
head. I say this to you, because I think you will feel
it. I would not say it to many, because I think the
generality incapable of understanding it : to talk of
Sensibility, and those exquisitely refined powers of
the Soul, to them is a mere unintelligible jargon.
Ever since I was capable of making any observa
tions, I have remarked in you a very unusual share
of this quick delicacy of mind, and, though it irre
sistibly attracts my affection, I would caution you
against indulging it to an excess. I would, by no
means, wish you to extinguish it, or even to blunt
it, but only to strengthen it with judgment and for
titude. I would Avish you ever to possess the same
fine susceptibility you do at present, but I wish you
to have the power of resisting your feelings, when
ever they would tend to make you greatly unhappy.
"To you I do not think an apology for this ser
monizing necessary; you will accept it as coming
from a heart warmed with affection towards you.
Present to your parents the best respects, and to
your sister the love, of your Mary Wilder."
[22]

1796-1801] YOUTH
Apparently, the young cousin of twelve did not
feel equal to entering upon a correspondence so
early. Two years passed away before she ventured a
reply to this letter. They were eventful years to my
mother, as appears from even the few records we
have of them. Among the recoUections of her dur
ing this part of her life, there are none more valu
able than those cherished by Dr. Jacob Bigelow,
another of her favourite relatives. He and my mother
were o\vn cousins. She was about six years older than
he. I know of no one who has a more vivid memory
of her than Dr. Bigelow. He has now entered upon
his ninetieth year, is quite blind, and confined to his
bed ; but his mind is clear as ever, and his memory
of people and events in the past quite distinct. After
taking my seat by his bedside some weeks since, and
receiving from him the usual cordial greeting, I
asked him if, while lying there, his mind reverted
much to the past. He replied that it did. I then
asked, "Among those whose memories rise before
you, do you ever think of my mother?" He ex
claimed with great warmth of manner, "Do I think
of your mother ? Indeed I do. She was my guiding
star. I looked up to her as to a superior being." He
had previously told me what pleasure he had, when
a boy, in driving over to Concord for her in a chaise,
and bringing her to his mother's house in Sudbury,
where it was not unusual for her to make visits of
some weeks in length. He remembers that after the
pubhcation of Mrs. Radcliffe's novels she would de-
[23]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1796-1801
hght them aU by narrating them. He recoUects their
sitting on the stairs in the front entry, hstening to
her relation of them, which they aU thought more
interesting received from her hps than when read
from the book. He says that in narrating a story
she gave every detaU, so that one story would be
continued ten days or more. She gave the conversa
tions with great dramatic power, personating each
character as she spoke. He remembers her giving
"The Mysteries of Udolpho" with such power that
after passing an evening hstening to her he was afraid
to be alone in the dark, and, on getting into bed,
covered his head with the bedclothes in terror from
the pictures which had been so vividly presented to
his imagination.
Upon his teUing me that when visiting at his
mother's house she took him under her tutelage, I
asked him, "In what way?" He rephed, "For one
thing, I remember she used to have me read with
her out of the same book, and I recoUect that, when
I had made my way over a few hnes of a page, I
would find her at the foot of it. I can recaU the
rapidity with which she possessed herself of the con
tents of a page."
The foUowing letter was written by her to her
cousin Eliza Bigelow: "Concord, 3Iarch 20th, 1798.
"I received much pleasure from my dear Ehza's
letter, and, in return, wiU teU her aU the news I can
[24]

1796-1801] YOUTH
think of Last Friday eve closed, I hope, the assem-
bhes and balls for this season. I can say most sin
cerely I hope this, for I am tired of dissipation. The
brilliant appearance of a fuU dressed assembly, the
animating notes of sprightly music, and the flatter
ing attention of the Beaux, certainly amuse the
fancy, perhaps gratify vanity, (and who is there that
is whoUy free from it), but interest not the heart ; and,
after the charm of novelty has worn off, when sober
reason takes the place of extravagant imagination,
we then discover how dearly we have paid for a few
hours' amusement. I am sure I have reason to say
this, for I paid a fortnight's indisposition for a few
hours' dancing ; for this, however, I am to blame my
own imprudence in going out when warm with ex
ercise, but I have got over it, and am now very weU.
"I promised you, in the beginning of my letter, to
tell you aU the news I could think of; to be as good
as my word, I must inform you Papa has received
another letter from Mr. Schalkwyck, dated 'Paris,
Nov. 17th.' He says he shaU embark for America
soon, so as to arrive early in the spring. He has re
covered between sixty and seventy thousand dollars
of his estate, or rather, he has so much given him,
as compensation, in part, for the plantations that
were destroyed, which belonged to his family."
The beloved Cousin Ruth, in looking back upon
this period, and speaking of my mother's self-cul
ture, says, "I remember she loved to speak of an
[25]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1796-1801
Enghsh lady as a very good friend of hers, and quite
accomphshed in the French language, — Madam
Walker, to whose kind attention she was indebted
in learning to read and write the French language.
This lady boarded in Concord, in the same famUy
with Mr. Van Schalkwyck, and here the very early
attachment with this gentleman was first formed.
He was a man of education and refinement. I knew
him only as a great invalid."
Mrs. Rapallo, in writing of this part of my mother's
life, says, "Your mother, beautiful, accomplished, ad
mired by aU who knew her, with, I think, a touch of
romance in her dehcate nature, became strongly at
tached to a French gentleman, who was boarding in
Concord, and became engaged to him." From pa
pers in my possession, I infer that this engagement
occurred during the wmter of 1797-98, when my
mother was but seventeen years old.
Mr. Van Schalkwyck' was of patrician descent, a
French refugee from the West Indies ; he was born
in Guadeloupe, July 12, 1772. From Mr. Dureste
Blanchet, one of my mother's most valued friends, I
have learned more of him than from any other
source. Mr. Blanchet was a relative and intimate
friend of Mr. Van Schalkwyck. He used to speak of
him to me as an accomphshed gentleman, a man of
intellect and character, worthy of the heart he won.
I first knew Mr. Blanchet when I was a girl of six-
' His fuE name was Antoine Van Schalkwyck Classe Courcelle. It was
pronounced " Skalk'wyck. " — Ed.
[26]

1796-1801] YOUTH
teen, at which time he visited at my father's house.
He then answered to my idea of a gentleman of the
old school. I loved him for the enthusiasm with
which he cherished my mother's memory, and for
the interest he showed in the children she had left.
He, like INIr. Van Schalkwyck, was a AVest India
planter, a royahst driven from his own country to
this during the French Revolution, at the same time
with Mr. Van Schalkwyck. First, he went to Bos
ton and vicinity. Later, with quite a colony of the
French, he settled in New Jersey, where he mar
ried a French lady of high descent. They had a large
family of children. Some of their descendants still
live in this country, and the friendship which existed
between Mr. Blanchet and my mother, and which
he extended to her children, has come down as an
inheritance to members of both families, and exists
with unabated warmth to the present day.
Among those who came to this country with Mr.
Blanchet and Mr. Van Schalkwyck, and settled in
New Jersey, was the Baron Van Schalkwyck de
Boisaubin, a distant cousin of Mr. Van Schalkwyck.
He was a chevalier of the Order of St. Louis, and
belonged to the bodyguard of Louis XVIth. I find
among my mother's papers a letter from him to Mr.
Van Schalkwyck, which I copy here because it throws
hght upon the character of one who, from his con
nection with my mother, has a claim upon the con
sideration of her descendants :
[27]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1796-1801
"Morris Town, Oct. 22nd, 1798.
" It grieves me, my dear Schalkwyck, to inform
you of an event which wiU cause to you a great deal
of pain. Your sentiments and tender feehngs are
knoAvn to me, but, though it is hard to me to en
tertain you with so afflicting a subject, it is neces
sary that you be informed of it on account of your
business. We have received letters dated St. Bar
tholomew, from Mr. BeUevue, which apprise us of
your father's death. I need not teU you how far this
event affected me. When those moral virtues, hon
esty and probity, are united in the same person at a
time which vices are looked upon as ornaments al
most everywhere, we need not be relations to regret
that one who carried with him aU these precious
qualities [words missing]. A very great comfort re
mains to us, that is, we can say that we see with sat
isfaction the son inherit aU his virtues.
Adieu, &;c. Boisaubin."
This is all that we know of Mr. Van Schalkwyck.
Of what my mother was at the time of her engage
ment to him, and later, one of Concord's chroniclers
says, "Before her first marriage, and during her
widowhood, she was the most distinguished of aU
the young ladies of Concord, for beauty, grace, and
sprighthness ; and the fascination of her manners
and conversation made the hospitable mansion of
Dr. Hurd a most attractive place to the young men
[28]

1796-1801] YOUTH
of that day, and has come down, as a beautiful tra
dition, to later times."
The happiness that came to her from her early
engagement must have been greatly alloyed by the
anxiety and care to which it introduced her. Mr.
Van Schalkwyck was compelled, by the death of
his father, to return to the West Indies, under cir
cumstances which were fraught with peculiar dan
ger to him.'
Of aU the letters she must have sent to him dur
ing his protracted absence, we have only the foUow
ing, which shows what she suffered from hope de
ferred : " Wednesday afternoon,
Concord, April 3rd, 1 799.
" I am sick at heart ; it is now almost four months
since you left this country, and not one line have I
received from you. Suspense is intolerable. I know
not your fate. I am ignorant of your reception at
Guadeloupe, if indeed you have ever reached it. Per
haps you have not received either of the packets I
have written, but, even if you have not heard from
me, your anxiety cannot equal mine. You left me
in a secure and peaceful viUage, under the protec
tion of affectionate parents, you have every reason
to suppose that I remain so, and that I am in health.
1 The laws in Guadeloupe, as in France, were very severe against
emigrants, who were considered disloyal and worthy of punishment.
Many who returned to the island were thrown in prison, transported, or
otherwise punished. Besides, there were threatened massacres of the
whites by the blacks. — Ed.
[29]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1796-1801
But how different your situation ! I knew that you
were rushing into danger. Not a day, not a night
has passed but I have beheld you, (in my mind's eye)
a prisoner, sick, perhaps dying. I have sought to calm
my soul by the maxims of Philosophy, but I found
them weak and powerless when opposed to the strong
emotions of affection. I then caUed in the aid of Re
ligion. I implored the mercy of that Being who is
infinitely powerful and gracious ; to His care I com
mended you, and my soul was soothed ; but stiU the
weakness of humanity wiU at times prevaU, and this
dreadful suspense racks me with doubts and fears.
"I read your last letters from New York, and
weep. Sometimes I indulge the hope of your return.
I anticipate the joys of our meeting, but I soon re
turn to despondency. I remember this is the picture
of fancy, which I may never realize. Yet think not
my mind is always agitated thus, — human nature
could not bear it. I endeavour to appear cheerful to
others. With regard to my health, which you ex
pressed so much anxiety for, it is very good. I think
the journey to Wachusett was of essential benefit
to me. I have had good health ever since. I have
now comphed with your request, and my own in
clinations, in telling you aU my feehngs, in gi^dng
you a transcript of my heart."
In reply to a letter from Ruth Hurd, congrat
ulating her on the unexpected return of Mr. Van
Schalkwyck, she wrote: [30]

1796-1801] YOUTH
"Concord, 27th September, 1799.
"'The intention constitutes the act.' If this is
truth, my dear Ruth, and you are convinced of it,
I need offer no apology for suffering your letter to
remain so long unanswered, but simply to assure
you, that I intended to have written immediately
on receiving it. Numerous avocations, but, above all,
the spirit of Procrastination, induced me to defer
from day to day, what I considered as not less a
duty than a pleasure. A duty, for our correspond
ence was a voluntary engagement on my side, which
not even a sense of my inability to contribute to
your amusement can wholly annul ; you, only, have
the power to do that; and, as soon as you find an
interchange of letters with me to be tiresome, (which,
I prophesy, wiU be ere long), I beg you to give me
a candid hint, and thus save yourself the chagrin of
reading, and me the mortification of writing, unwel
come letters.
"Accept my thanks for your congratulations on
the return of my friend : but, what do you think of
Madame Sevigne's proposal, of mourning whenever
we behold a beloved friend, from the reflection that
we must soon part with them? I fancy you will say,
as some one else did, ''twould be a great folly to
grieve aU our hfe-time, because death must come
at last.'
" It is really the case that one knows not when to
be sad or joyous; the vicissitudes of life change the
tone of our minds each moment. But, blind as we
[31]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1796-1801
are to futurity, ignorant in so great a degree of the
consequences of things, what absurdity to suffer
ourselves to be either elevated to rapture or de
pressed to sadness by events of which we know not
the termination. Does not common-sense inculcate
equanimity of temper, to say nothing of Religion?
But, surely, if we think at aU of the Wise, Benefi
cent, and Powerful Being who formed the universe,
and whose Providence is as extensive as His works,
we must believe that He directs aU circumstances
to conduce to the ultimate happiness of those who
place their confidence in Him, and who endeavour,
by conforming to His laws, to secure His approba
tion. How utterly unable we are to decide what is
best for ourselves ! Are we not, in this present life,
this morning of existence, like capricious children,
who would be spoilt were they indulged in aU their
whims and wishes? How easy it is to reason, but
alas! how difficult to act! This is oft my exclama
tion when the weakness of humanity prevails over
the subhmity of faith."
Mr. Van Schalkwyck returned to Guadeloupe in
the autumn of 1799. The next letter we have from
my mother is addressed to her friend Dureste Blan
chet: "Concord, April 28th, 1800.
"The certainty of painftiUyaffectkig a friend I sin
cerely esteem, inspires me with an unconquerable re
luctance to address you. Under the mask of insensi-
[32]

1796-1801] YOUTH
bility, I know you conceal exquisite feeling. Oh, that
I was ignorant of this I I could then tranquilly bid
you prepare for the disappointment of your expec
tation of beholding a beloved sister this spring; I
could with more composure impart to you the intel
ligence of her illness, which I received from Van
Schalkwyck in a letter, the evening before last. He
requests me to inform you that her long indisposi
tion has terminated in the dropsy; our friend re
ceived this sad intelligence from St. Bartholomew,
the 15th March. Would to Heaven the voice of
sympathizing friendship might blunt the arrows of
misery !
"To a soul hke yours, fortified by the pure, sub-
hme, consolatory truths of Christian Philosophy,
common-place condolence would appear arrogant
vanity. To the wise and beneficent Power we both
adore, and to your own firm mind I leave you, —
with assurances of a friendship which can never end
till Dureste ceases to be virtuous and noble."
And again: "Concord, July 16th, 1800.
"'T is unnecessary to say I most sincerely sympa
thize with you, my valued friend. In the school of
Adversity, Virtue is perfected. To me, this school
appeared unnecessary for Dureste; Supreme Wis
dom thought otherwise ; and your merciful Father,
by removing many of this world's attractions, is
drawing you nearer to Himself, the source of felicity.
[38]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1796-1801
"Yesterday brought me a packet from Schalk
wyck ; he is now at St. Bartholomew, where he has
been lately ill with a fever ; the 6th of June, he was
— God be thanked! — on the recovery. He requests
me to remember him to you with brotherly friend
ship, and to chide you a little for negligence : he has
not received one line from you, but has written to
you three times."
I introduce here the foUowing letter to my mother
from her brother Henry, because every line from
him, however trivial his subject, has value in my
eyes: "Charlestown, May 5th, 1800.
"We arrived at Charlestown at precisely half-past
twelve, after a very agreeable ride, conversing on
the road upon several subjects, viz. wind, weather,
beautiful, agreeable, and sensible ladies and gentle
men, and the contrary, friends and acquaintances of
aU denominations, etc., etc.
"When I was up last. Mamma said she wished
Isaac and I could get a piece of linen for our own
wear. We have, accordingly, been able to procure
one, and should be much obliged by having it sent
down as soon as made up.
" Our luck in the lottery was not great, — we were
however, not losers.
"¦^Thus runs the great Lottery of Life,
In which we all draw blanks and prizes alternate.
But, in the end, we 're sure,
[34]

1796-1801] YOUTH
If we but act our parts arigjit,
Our last-drawn blank will be the highest prize.'
" Once reading will be sufficient for this, if then
you will take the trouble just to toss it into the fire,
you will oblige your truly affectionate brother,
H. Wilder."
Another letter from Henry, dated ".July 25th,
1800," ends with these words : " That health and hap
piness may always attend his sister is the hope on
which rests the happiness of your
Truly affectionate brother, H. Wilder."
When Henry says that his own happiness rests
upon that of his sister he does but express their mu
tual dependence: his sister's happiness was bound
up in his. Among other recollections of her in her
youth, given me by Dr. Bigelow, he says, "I re
member, after I had left home to fit for college, that,
on my returning once for a visit, my mother told me
that Mary Wilder had been to see her ; that, accord
ing to Mary's request, they had occupied the same
room at night, which was passed principally in con
versation, Mary shedding many tears, as she talked
of her bitter disappointment in the decision at home
that Henry was not to go to college. His tastes and
talents fitted him for that education ; he desired and
had expected it. His mother's property was suffi
cient to warrant the expectation, and to Mary it
[35]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1796-1801
seemed unjust, on the part of her stepfather, to ap
ply it in any other direction.'" We can easily sym
pathize with the sister's feelings on the occasion, yet,
for Dr. Hurd, it may be said that it was natural he
should take the same course with Henry that he
did with his own sons. The fact that their uncles in
Charlestown were merchants, actively engaged in
commerce, gave the young men peculiar advantages
for business hfe. That Isaac and Henry were in their
employ at this time may be inferred from the date
of Henry's letter.
The following letter to my mother from Mr. Blan
chet tells us all we know of the time of Mr. Van
Schalkwyck's return from the West Indies:
"Wrentham, November 18th, 1800.
"With eagerness, I improve this opportunity to
return my most lively thanks to my much esteemed
friend, Mary, for her evinced kindness in forwarding
to me Schalkwyck's letter, which came on hand yes
terday, by the mail. Since she is acquainted with the
tender good-will I bear its writer, it becomes need
less to mention how much joy it gave me to hear
from S. himself that he was weU, and in fine spirits.
Without doubt, Mary's sympathizing heart is actu
ated with similar sensations, anticipates full as much
as I do the gratifying happiness of seeing again soon
our much beloved friend. He writes that he was go-
^ I believe that Mr. Gershom Flagg bequeathed some real estate, to
be applied to giving his grandsons a college education, and, in Dr. Bige
low's case, it was used for that purpose. — Ed.
[36]

1796-1801] YOUTH
ing to take his passage to America, in the first con
voy that should leave the West Indies. His letter
bears date of the 2nd of September, so, with some
propriety, we may expect that he shall be with us ere
this month is out. May Gracious Heaven take him
under His fatherly protection in the course of the
voyage, and shortly waft him to his friend's arms."
From this letter of Mr. Blanchet's we may infer
that Mr. Van Schalkwyck's return was not long de
layed. We have no letters written by my mother
during the spring of 1801. We learn, from other
sources, of the anxiety and distress which she then
suffered. From letters of Mr. Blanchet to her, the
last bearing the post-mark April 27th, 1801, it ap
pears that JNIr. Van Schalkwyck had been danger
ously ill, probably in Boston:
"Wrentham, Friday morning, 1801.
"With an infinite satisfaction, dear Mary, I learnt,
by your interesting epistle, closed on the morning
of Monday last, which, however, I received but yes
terday evening, that our beloved friend Schalkwyck
continues to improve in health. The various acci
dents which lately threatened his life having subsi
ded, as you mentioned, now leave us almost a posi
tive reason to hope that, with the intervening good
ness of Providence, he shaU soon be restored to the
ardent wishes of his friends in a perfect state of wel
fare. May our prayers, on this occasion, ascend to
heaven and be heard !
[37]

MARY WILDER WHITE [i796-i8oi
"The delay experienced in hearing from you and
Courcelle [the brother of Mr. S. j indeed caused me
some anxieties at first, but, upon remembering this
old axiom, 'no news, good news,' I easily quieted my
mind, and your letter proved that I was not wrong;
besides, its contents is so pleasing to my heart that,
had I even been offended at your silence, I would
have forgotten it to think of the happy circumstances
you imparted me with.
"The favourable account you give of Mr. De Che-
verus does not at all surprise me. He deserves all the
good you may think of him, being himself good, by
excellency. It gives me pleasure to know that he has
repeated his visits to our friend. His conversation is
comforting, as well as entertaining.
"Tell Schalkwyck that he would have received
before this time, the preserved apples I was to send
him, if I had been able to procure, myself, the raw
ones. They are not to be obtained about here. If he
can send up some from Boston, Mrs. De la Roche
wiU, with pleasure, have them fixed for him. Accept
my best regards and wishes for everything that could
enlarge your share of happiness, and beheve me, for
ever, with perfect sincerity, your affectionate friend,
Dureste B."
Mrs. Rapallo writes, of Mr. Van Schalkwyck's ill
ness, " He was taken very ill in Boston, and his doctor
said his only chance of recovery was to return to his
[38]

1796-1801] YOUTH
native air. Your mother went immediately to Bos
ton and was married."
I find among my mother's papers a copy of a Bos
ton newspaper, the Columbian Centinel, of "Satur
day, June 27th, 1801," which contains the following
record: "Married on Thursday last, at the Roman
Catholic Chapel, M. Anthony Van Schalkwyck, from
the Island of Guadeloupe, to JNIiss Mary Wilder of
Concord." I have been told that the ceremony was
performed by Bishop Cheverus, who was my mother's
warm friend from the time they first met till she died.
The two months immediately following her mar
riage were passed at her mother's house in Concord,
the next month in Newburyport.
The foUowing letter, though undated, was un
doubtedly written during the summer. It was ad
dressed to ]M. Antoine Van Schalkwyck, and was
written by Madame CourceUe, the wife of his older
brother, who had just returned to Guadeloupe after
an exUe of seven years :
"II m'est impossible, mon cher frere et bon ami,
de vous exprimer toute la joie que j'ai ressentie
en embrassant mon cher CourceUe. Apres sept ans
d'absence, de peines, et de chagrins de tous les
genres, cette faveur du ciel me semble si grande
que j'ai peine a me persuader que ce soit une rdalit^ !
Ah! pourquoi ma chere maman, ma tendre soeur
Adelaide n'existent-eUes pas pour §tre tdmoins de
[39]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1796-1801
mon bonheur ! pourquoi la perte de mes enfants, et
ceUe de tous mes parents ch^ris ont-elles imprimd
dans mon coeur un sentiment de douleur qui m'ote
tout espoir de jouir en ce bas monde d'une f^licitd
pure et sans melange! Mais nul mortel ne jouit d'un
bonheur parfait, et celui que je goiite a present sur-
passe mon esperance, et j'en rends grace au ciel.
"J'ai appris avec plaisir que vous etiez unis a
votre charmante amie; vous ne devez pas douter
que je n'en sois bien aise; tout ce que pent con-
tribuer a votre bonheur, ajoute a ma satisfaction;
et il m'est doux de penser que j'aurai en elle une
soeur dont le caractere simpatisera avec le mien ; une
soeur du choix de mon cher frere ne saurait man-
quer de posseder toute mon affection.
"Ce que Courcelle m'a dit de votre ^tat me cause
beaucoup d'inquidtude. Vous ne sauriez donner une
plus grande marque d'attachement a vos amis, que
les soins que vous prendrez pour vous conserver pour
eux. Vous savez combien votre vie leur pr^cieuse, et
combien eUe est necessaire a leur bonheur; ainsi,
mdnagez-vous, mon cher fr^re, et songez que le jour
qui vous rdunira au reste de ma famiUe ne me lais-
sera plus rien a d^sirer. N'ayez aucune inquietude
sur le compte de votre frere ; il a 6t6 tr^s-bien ac-
cueiUi. Le Gdn^ral Lacrosse ne demande pas mieux
que de voir rentrer touts les honnetes gens ; il dit
qu'il desire se faire des amis de tous les ancien ha-
bitans de cette colonnie, mais je crois que toutes les
demarches que Ton pourroit faire pour reclamer ses
[40]

1796-1801] YOUTH
propri^t^s avant la fin des locations seroient inutiles.
Je compte aUer k la Pointe avec Courcelle dans quel
ques jours, et je tacherai d'obtenir des secours pour
lui. Si le succ^s de mes d-marches r^pond a mes dd-
sirs, je vous ferai passer quelques moyens, et vous
enverrai une petite note des effets dont j'ai besoin,
pour vous prier de me les procurer. En attendant, si
vous pouviez me faire passer deux petits chapeaux
de castor arranges avec des plumes, un petit parasol,
et quelques paires de gants a femme, vous me feriez
bien plaisir, car ces objets sont tres rares et tres
chores ici.
" CourceUe vous ecris ; il vous dira comme il m'a
trouv^ changde ; enfin, U ne m'appelle que sa vieille.
Vous pensez bien qu'on n'est pas a vingt-sept ans ce
que Ton ^toit a dix-neufs, — et sept ans de malheurs
ne m'ont pas rajeunie. Je ne dis pas de meme de
lui; a quelques brins de cheveux blancs pres, il est
plus joh homme qu 'avant son depart, ou, du moins,
je le trouve tel. Adieu, mon cher fr^re, je vous em-
brasse un million de fois, ainsi que votre charmante
epouse, et je fais des voeux au ciel pour le retablis-
sement de votre sant^.
Sophie Degreaux Courcelle."
On September 6th, 1801, Henry Wilder wrote
from Concord to Mr. Van Schalkwyck, as foUows :
"My dear Sr other, — The affair of my voyage to
the East Indies is at last given up, as Mr. Lyman
has found it impossible to get the vessel ready in
[41]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1796-1801
season for that voyage, but he will not suffer her to
lie in port, and whatever voyage he does determine
upon, I may have the same berth as I should have
had, had he been able to have fitted her out for the
N. W. voyage. One of the owners told Mr. Adams
that the vessel would now be fitted out either for
France or the Mediterranean, on a trading voyage.
I must confess I should not be very fond of going
up the Straits now that the Barbary powers have
'let loose the dogs of war.' You, my dear brother,
and Mary, have been so kind as to wish me to go
with you to Guadeloupe, and I will own to you that,
if the bargain for the Lancaster place had not fallen
through, nothing would give me greater pleasure.
" If I have not written enough about myself, I wiU
inform you that I am very well, and that anxiety for
the health and happiness of my dear Mary and her
Schalkwyck often engages the mind of their brother,
H. Wilder."
To this letter Mr. Schalkwyck replied as follows :
"Newburyport, Sept. 10th, 1801..
"Your letter, my dear Henry, has been duly re
ceived, which informs me that your voyage to the
East Indies has failed. I cannot say that I am sorry
for it, because I am far from viewing the advantages
of it in the same light with you. In this case, it is cer
tainly necessary that you change your plan. When I
first heard of your going to the East Indies, you
must remember what I told you about it. It struck
[42]

1796-1801] YOUTH
me that if you would go to Guadeloupe with me,
where you will find a home and friends, make your
self master of the French language, and, a few
months after, get into business, which are very prof
itable there, it would be, in my opinion, the best plan
you could form in your present time of hfe. I have
no doubt but, having the confidence of your friends
here and at Guadeloupe, you cannot fail to succeed.
" I invite you, therefore, to think seriously on it,
only I beg you to foUow the wish of your own heart.
In such circumstances, we ought always to deter
mine for ourselves. If your decision is to go to Gua
deloupe, you may think how much it will afford
me satisfaction. It wiU be an increase of happiness
to Mary, and, at Guadeloupe as in every place, you
wiU ever be treated as an affectionate brother. Mary
has wrote to your Mamma, and tells her more about
you. Undoubtedly she wiU impart it to you. Since
you have been gone, I feel much better, and hope it
wiU continue so.
"You wiU present my best respects to your par
ents, and kiss the girls for me. We anticipate to see
you soon. Adieu. I wish every happiness — and be
heve me,
" Your affectionate brother and good friend,
A. Van Schalkwyck."
Henry decided to go to Guadeloupe. Mrs. Ra
paUo, writing to me of this event, says, "Your Uncle
Henry, then, I think, about twenty, said he could
[43]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1796-1801
not let his sister go alone, with an invalid, to a for
eign country — that he must go with her, and return
when she landed." Doubtless Henry's anxiety for his
sister influenced him in his decision, and this added
poignancy to her grief under his loss ; but it is evi
dent that he went with the purpose of remaining in
the island, and pursuing the course recommended
by Mr. Van Schalkwyck. On September 29th, 1801,
they sailed from Newburyport for Guadeloupe.
In a letter to my mother begun at the same date,
her stepsister SaUy expresses her hope of seeing her
again within two years. She says also:
"October 18th. Ere this wiU reach you, my dear
sister, I trust Heaven's propitious gales will have
wafted you to the native shore of our beloved Van
Schalkwyck. You wiU have seen the lovely and in
teresting Sophie. She can no longer be called un
fortunate. Her exiled husband, and beloved brother
have returned to her, and the partner of that tender
brother makes up the happy group. I wish you to
send me a description of this lovely woman. WiU
you remember me to Courcelle, and his dear Sophie,
and teU them I wish them much happiness?"
[44]

CHAPTER III
October-December, 1801
GUADELOUPE: INSURRECTION, DEATH OF HENRY
WILDER AND MR. VAN SCHALKWYCK,
PLOT OF NEGROES
ON their arrival at Guadeloupe Henry Wilder
wrote as foUows to his parents :
"Port-Libre (formerly Port Louis),
Guadeloupe, October 22nd, 1801.
"Dear and Honoured Parents, — It is with the
greatest pleasure that I hasten to inform you of our
arrival at this place in health and safety, after a pas
sage of twenty-two days from Newbury Port. Mary
was extremely sick all the time; the vessel being
smaU (seventy-five tons), and accommodations not
very good, made it much worse than it would other
wise have been. Schalkwyck has been as weU, if not
better, since he left Newbury Port. The sea air suits
his constitution very weU. It was about six in the
afternoon of the 21st when we arrived. I went on
shore with the captain, who has been very kind and
obhging to us, but could not get permission for
Schalkwyck to land, until the physician of the town
had visited the vessel, for it seems that they are as
much afraid of importing diseases here as we are.
"The evening we arrived, we were informed that
there had been some disturbance at Point a Pitre,
[45]

MARY WILDER WHITE [isoi
and learned, in the morning, that General Lacrosse
had sent officers to arrest Pelage, the Deputy Gov
ernor, who resides at the Point, and that Pelage had
called upon the soldiery to protect him, which they
have done. It created a considerable disturbance, in
which there was one man kiUed, and three wounded.'
Pelage says that he has been guilty of no fault for
which he ought to be arrested.
"27th. We have news from the Point. Lacrosse
is under aiTCst ; it is supposed that he wiU be sent to
France. General Pelage is now the Commandant of
the Island. He has issued several proclamations tend
ing to quiet the minds of the inhabitants. He has
served in the national army in this island eight years,
and has acquired and supported a very good repu
tation. "Isaac has, I suppose, by this time doubled Cape
Horn. God grant we may soon meet again in our
native country.
" Adieu, my dear parents, may aU that happiness
which a dutiful child ought to wish you, be yours,
may your dechning years yet be soothed by the pres
ence of aU your chUdren, is the constant prayer of
your son, Henry Wilder."
Three days after her arrival at Guadeloupe my
mother wrote as follows to her parents :
^ A letter, of later date, says that Mr. Courcelle, Mr. Van Schalk
wyck's brother, was wounded in the affray. — Ed.
[46]

1801] GUADELOUPE
"Port Louis, Guadeloupe, Oct. 24th, 1801.
"I cannot for a moment doubt the pleasure my
most tenderly beloved parents will receive, when
they l^arn the safe arrival of their children at their
wished-for port ; and that pleasure will be increased,
I trust, by an assurance that, except the fatigue oc
casioned by the voyage, we are aU as weU as when
we left Newbury Port.
"The first nine days of our passage were most
unpleasant, the heavens constantly overclouded, the
wind contrary, the vessel rolling, and thunder and
hghtning often rendering the scene more dreadful.
But to your Mary, half-dead with sea-sickness, aU
was indifferent, and I heard Capt. Basset, on the
tenth night, say to Mr. S. ' I shall lay to to-night,
for, positively, I feel very unsafe to continue our
course, — we have been unable to take the sun these
three days ; by my reckoning, we must be very near
the Bermudas, and I should not like to inin on the
rocks, as many vessels do every year;' I heard this —
I heard them aU expatiate on the dangers of that
fatal cluster of islands, situated in the middle of the
ocean, and so low they cannot be discovered in the
night tiU you are near, — often too near them — with
out the least emotion ; the idea of death was neither
painful nor terrific, — so totaUy had the long contin
uance of sea-sickness unnerved body and mind, that
I should scarcely have raised my hand to save my
hfe. This illness continued, in a degree, the twenty-
two days of our passage. I was carried every day by
[47]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1801
the captain and Henry from the cabin, and laid on
a mattrass on the deck; and, at night, I can com
pare my feelings on returning to my berth only to
those of the slave, who feels his cruel master load
ing him with chains. Praised be Providence! Mr.
Schalkwyck was rather better than worse during the
passage; and Henry, except the first two or three
days, very weU. Our servant was not sick, and was
remarkably faithful and attentive.
"By the dawning of day on the morn of the 21st
of October, I was awaked by the cry of 'aU hands
ahoa,' and a moment after, Henry slid into the cabin,
with the joyful news of land. The island of Deseada
was in view, rising like a mountain from the bosom
of ocean. I cannot express my sensations on behold
ing the firm land once more, and they were height
ened to an almost painful degree when, a few hours
after, Guadeloupe arose hke a faint cloud on the
horizon. The heat of the sun was insupportable. I
was carried to my berth, whence I was summoned,
at three o'clock, to witness a scene new and roman
tic, beyond anything I ever imagined. We were half
a mile from the shore, but it appeared to me near
enough to have shaken hands with any one there.
The land terminates abruptly by a perpendicular de
scent to the sea, and, as you saU slowly along this
coast, innumerable caverns meet the eye, hollowed
by the hand of nature, but apparently the work of
art. These caverns were the abode of the ancient in
habitants of this country. They preferred living in
[48]

1801] GUADELOUPE
their dark recesses, and subsisting on fish with which
the shore abounds, to erecting houses, and cultiva
ting the fertile earth. No verdure can be more bright
than the plantations of sugar-cane, no inanimate ob
ject more majestic than the palm and cocoa trees,
that extend everywhere their hospitable shade. We
anchored in the harbor of Port Louis. Previous to
the Revolution, this was a rich and flourishing town,
but now it presents cruel evidence of the devasta
tions of war. On anchoring, Mr. S. wrote to the Com
mandant, requesting permission to land; he wrote
also to Mr. Tronquier, his tutor, for four or five
years, in the University of Paris, to inform him of
his arrival. We received an immediate invitation to
come to his house, and the next morning, after the
physician and captain of the port had been on board,
we received permission to land. At the sight of land,
I felt strong emotion, but when my foot first felt
the earth, when I found myself at liberty to walk,
an exercise I had not taken for three weeks, — my
sight, my little strength forsook me, and I fainted.
On opening my eyes, I found myself surrounded by
more than a hundred people of all colours, and ap
parently of all conditions ; it was the day of the Dec
ade, and therefore the crowd of gentlemen, soldiers,
and mulattresses was very great. When sufficiently
recovered, I was placed in a chair, and carried by
negroes to the house of Mr. T.
"October 27th. I flatter myself my dear parents
wiU not receive inteUigence of the change in the rul-
[49]

MARY WILDER WHITE [isoi
ers of this Island, tiU they receive my letter. Henry
wiU give you an account of the late disturbance ; for
a few hours it was terrific, — but aU is past. Be not
therefore anxious. General Pelage, who is the suc
cessor of General Lacrosse, promises protection to
the emigrants, and has issued a proclamation in which
he assures them they shall be better treated than by
his predecessor. Many royahsts return daily, and are
as weU received by Pelage as by Lacrosse.'
"I cannot express the degree of kindness and at
tention we receive from the inhabitants of this place.
Many of Mr. S.'s relations and friends have been to
see us, particularly CourceUe, and Madame Crui-
seUy, his mother's sister, who insists on our passing
some time at her house. I beheve, however, we shaU
go very soon to Point a Pitre by water, and from
thence by land to St. Ann's. I have had the hap
piness to be received in the most affectionate man
ner by aU the friends of Mr. S. I am particularly
gratified by the cordial warmth of an old and very
respectable lady, who has lately returned with her
family from Martinique. She is the grandmother of
Madame Boisaubin, and a near relation of Mr. S's.
' From Lacour's " Histoire de Guadeloupe," I learn that many emi
grants returned to the island after an encouraging proclamation in June,
1801, but a large number soon hastened to leave it, fearing devastation
and carnage such as had been the portion of San Domingo. The army
was composed nine-tenths of blacks and raulattoes. When the revolt oc
curred on October 21st, which put Pelage, a. mulatto, in the oiEce of
commandant of the island, in place of Lacrosse, a general alarm was
sounded, and there was great consternation, the people fearing an im
mediate outbreak of pillage and massacre by the blacks. — Ed.
[50]

1801] GUADELOUPE
She embraces me, and calls me her dear httle daugh
ter. I wish, JNIamma, you could see her, — she is the
image of goodness, benevolence, and graceful sweet
ness personified. Monsieur and Madame Tronquier
treat us like their children; and, indeed, was there
nothing but the hospitality, and the frank and easy
manners of the people to recommend this place, that
alone would be sufficient."
From my mother: "Point a Pitre, Nov. 5th, 1801.
"The embargo which has been laid on aU vessels
in this port, ever since the arrest of General Lacrosse,
wlU be taken off this day. I wiU, therefore, close my
httle packet, and send it to one of the American cap
tains, for I would not that my dear parents should
receive inteUigence of the disturbance in this place,
tiU they receive it from the pen of their daughter.
Such things are usuaUy exaggerated, and I know you
would feel very unhappy tiU you heard from us.
" Since I wrote you last, Mr. S. has waited on Gen
eral Pelage, and has been received as weU as his most
sanguine expectations. The General assured him of
his protection while he lived, and told him, if he
wished for anything in his power to grant, to come
to him at any time. Mr. S. is now setthng with the
persons who have hired his plantations of the Re
public. We expect to go to one of them in the course
of a few days. We are now at the house of Mr. Lande-
viUe, who is one of the first men in the island. We
[51]

MARY WILDER WHITE [isoi
have been received with the same hospitahty and
kindness we experienced at Port Louis. Mr. and Ma
dame LandeviUe are extremely amiable and pleasing
persons, and do every thing in their power to make
me forget I am with strangers.
"Early, last evening, the inhabitants were ordered
to close their doors, as General Lacrosse was going
to be embarked for France. The troops, to the num
ber of twenty-five hundred, were aU under arms, and
patroUed the streets during the night. Quiet prevails
this morning, and every one resumes their various
employments and pleasures. I shaU, however, quit
Point a Pitre with pleasure, — the tranquiUity of the
country was ever pleasing to my heart, and we ex
pect to reside in the pleasantest part of the island,
in an airy and healthy situation."
The foUowing letter from Henry Wilder is di
rected to Mr. Samuel Clark, Charleston, S. C. :
"Island of Gruadeloupe, Point a Pitre,
8th November, 1801.
"My brother-in-law is much better than when he
left Massachusetts. He has recovered one of his sugar
plantations since he came, and is in a very good way
to get the others. It has been very sickly for the last
three months, but now is as healthy as usual.
"There has been, too, a little disturbance in the
Government, which has frightened some poor souls
almost to death, but I beheve all is over now.
" I am going to the country for a month or two,
[52]

1801] GUADELOUPE
after which I expect to take up my residence in this
town, where any commands from you, or any of your
friends, wiU be attended to with pleasure.
" With sentiments of friendship and esteem,
I remain, H. Wilder."
Soon, too soon, his purposes were broken off! The
very morning on which this letter is dated he was
seized with yeUow fever, which at the end of the
fourth day terminated his hfe.
The next record is my mother's letter to her min
ister in Concord, the Rev. Mr. Ripley. Upon the out
side of this letter I find the following words in my
mother's handwriting: "This letter, which cost me
agony inconceivable, was written 15th November,
1801, three days after the death of my beloved
Henry." "Point a Pitre, November, 1801.
"My dear and good Sir, — Have compassion on a
heart almost broken with affliction, and spare me a
particular recital of the sickness which, in four days,
terminated the life of a brother too, too weU be
loved. "O Sir! you must impart this soul-rending intel
hgence to my unfortunate mother. How she will
support it, God knows ! I cannot tell her she has no
longer a son. O God! have mercy on us!
"TeU my mother to hve — to hve for the sake of
her other friends — especially bid her remember that
[53]

MARY WILDER WHITE [isoi
the life of her daughter is woven with hers, — that,
without the hope of embracing her again, Mary would
sink to the grave. Remind her of the innocence of his
life, of that sweet and heavenly temper which did, and
which willed, iU to no one — remind her that his short
hfe was spent in the cultivation of the talents God had
given him — remind her that he has no longer pain,
sorrow, or death to suffer. TeU her his hfe closed re
markably tranquil, and that he is now an angel in
Heaven. " Dear, dear Henry, why should I wish thee back
in this world, so fuU of sorrow and distress, where
every day brings new affliction, where we love, but
to lose the objects of our tenderness, where we hope,
but to be disappointed ! Henry, dearest Henry ! thou
wast to me a Father — Brother — Friend, — too much
the object of my pride and my affection. God has
punished me by removing thee from me. I adore His
decree, — I submit to His will, — tho' it pierces my
heart with indescribable sorrow.
" Tell my dear mother we have the consolation of
reflecting Henry had every possible attention. If hu
man aid could have saved him, he would be yet ahve.
He was attended by a celebrated physician and two
nurses. On Monday morning, he was seized with the
yellow fever — on Thursday evening, God reclaimed
the soul He had given.
"To-morrow, Mr. S. and myself expect to leave
this place for St. Ann's. From thence I intend wri
ting to my American friends. [54]

1801] GUADELOUPE
"My dear Sir, I give you a most painful task to
fulfil, but I know your goodness. My mother is com
paratively happy to receive this sad intelligence from
one so able to impart consolation. As for me — I
would have given worlds to have heard your voice
yesterday. My husband is deeply affected, and far
from being weU. He loved Henry, and sincerely re
grets our irreparable loss.
"Have the goodness to teU my parents not to be
anxious on my account. I have paid the tribute to
the country. For five days after my arrival in this
town, I was sick with a high fever, every night and
morn, but now I have no illness, save that grief which
hes at my heart.
"Adieu, my dear Sir. This letter has cost me many
tears, and much agony, but I could not bear the idea
of my parents receiving the inteUigence it contains
from an indifferent person, perhaps by the news
paper. "Again, adieu, my respected Friend. You know
those who are most dear to me — assure them they
are dearer than ever to the heart of
Mary Van Schalkwyck."
Among our most precious memorials of my mother
and of her beloved Henry is a manuscript volume
of extracts, upon the first page of which she has in
scribed the date, " Marie Galante, January 4th, 1802,"
and upon another, the foUowing sketch :
"Henry Wilder was born in Lancaster, Massa-
155^

MARY WILDER WHITE [I801
chusetts, 27th April, 1782. His opening youth gave
promise of every virtue, his riper manhood confirmed
them aU. Lovely in his person, his fine form was a
fit temple for the spirit of dignity and truth by which
it was animated. His large and expressive blue eye
beamed tenderness, but oftener was fixed in subhme
contemplation. His complexion was of the spiritual
kind that discloses every emotion of the soul. 'The
conscious blood rose in his cheek, and so distinct
ly Avrought, that one might almost say, his body
thought.' This is a faint sketch of the lovely exterior
of Henry — but who shaU display his virtues, who do
justice to his modest, but transcendent merit? What
to others was toil was, to him, amusement. He de
hghted in abstruse study, and his lightest amuse
ments were arts which others attain but by study.
A self-taught painter and musician, whose tones
were sweeter than Henry's ? Who breathed, like him,
the soul of harmony ? The warbling of his flute stole
on the ear of night, and, like Henry, deserving
universal admiration, shunned it. The melody fled
with the soul of Henry, but the magic tints of his
pencil remain. Thy music is no more, — the tints of
thy pencil wiU fade, — but thy virtues, Henry, are
recorded in the book of the Almighty. And, when
'the heavens shall pass away like a scroU, and the
elements melt with fervent heat,' thou wUt appear
with the Judge of heaven and earth, clothed with
the white robe, and, having the palm of victory in
thine hand, wilt receive a crown of immortal glory."
[56]

1801] GUADELOUPE
My mother has left many touching expressions
of what Henry was to her in his life, and of her
grief under his loss. None are more affecting than
those in her handwriting upon the pages of his
Bible, from which I wiU copy a passage. This cher
ished volume, which descended to my Uncle Henry's
namesake, the Rev. Henry Wilder Foote, was first
in the possession of Mr. Foote's mother, who was
the youngest daughter of my mother, born but six
months before her death; she inherited, with her
mother's name, her beautiful qualities of mind and
heart, and left a memory which is in perfect accord
with those to which we now "do reverence."
At the end of the Bible, on a fly-leaf, are these
words, written by my mother, in pencil:
"Yes, my beloved Henry, I vow to cherish thy
memory, — while I live, thou shalt live also. Though
dead to aU the world beside, in my heart thou shalt
hve for ever."
Among my mother's papers I find a scrap upon
which are written the foUowing words:
"Possessed of every virtue, adorned with every
talent, his person remarkably beautiful, his mind re
markably strong, his understanding clear and pro
found, his manners mild and unassuming, the rose
blushed on his cheek, intelligence beamed in his blue
eye. Such was H. W."
On another sheet are written the foUowing hnes :
"Sunday. In the dawn of manhood, in the bloom
of beauty, surrounded by fair opening prospects —
[57]

MARY WILDER WHITE [i8oi
thy lips were sealed, thine eyes were closed, and the
grave shut in upon thee. Blessed be God! Praised
be the wise and merciful Disposer of aU events ! The
sorrows of hfe, the snares of vice, the terrors of death,
shaU have no power over thee. Thou hast run the
race, thou hast won the victory, and everlasting in
nocence and peace shaU Avreathe thy brows.
" The God whom thy father worshipped, the God
of universal nature, beheld the cherished creature
He had formed. He saw the talents He had bestowed
doubled in thy keeping. He saw thee mature for
Heaven, though few years had passed over thee, and
in pity spared thee a longer trial. Yes, my brother
— thou art in Heaven, thou hast rejoined thy sainted
father! O my father — my brother — look from Heav
en, and guide and guard thy child and sister — a poor
wanderer, bathing the path of life with the bitter
tears of affliction. And Thou — Oh, my eternal and
omnipotent Father! Thou, who wilt never desert the
creature who looks to Thee for support, — be Thou
the lamp to guide my feet, be Thou my shield in
the hour of temptation! Enable me to do and to
suffer all Thy wiU, — and finally, when I have hved
long enough to answer the purposes of my creation,
receive me to Thy bosom, for the sake of my Sa
viour, Jesus Christ. Amen."
Again, on one page of a sheet which contains a
French exercise in Henry's handwriting, my mother
has written as foUows :
"That form which was the object of my pride, and
[58]

1801] GUADELOUPE
my admiration, is now mouldering into dust. Ah,
my brother ! the most perfect beauty, the finest tal
ents, the best heart, the most innocent life, could
not arrest the stroke of Death. AU were combined
in thee, — and thou art gone forever. No more shaU
I hsten to the melody of thy music, no more shaU
my eye dehght to dwell on the graces of thy person,
— no more shall my sorrowing heart repose itself on
thy fraternal bosom, and find there wisdom, tender
ness, and consolation. In sickness, thou wert my
nurse, — in health, my dear companion, — at aU times,
in aU circumstances, my tender friend, — and thou
art gone forever, — forever. O my God, grant me
strength to support this great affliction ! "
The foUowing hnes, on another page, remind one,
as do some of these already copied, of Eugenie de
Guerin's attempt, after her brother's death, to keep
for him a journal, addressing it "to Maurice in
Heaven." "The acacia, with its thorny arms and fragrant
flowers shaU guard and perfume thy grave, and the
sensitive plant, fit emblem of thy modest merit, shaU
dehght to dwell on the sod which covers thee. Ac
cept, beloved Henry, this tribute of fraternal affec
tion, and suffer me to place this httle wild flower in
the wreath with which justice has bound thy brow."
The next letter we have from my mother brings
us to her second great bereavement. The one "dated
from St. Ann," of which she speaks as her "last,"
if it reached its destination, has not been preserved.
[59]

MARY WILDER WHITE [i8oi
It is a disappointment not to find this and other let
ters which, in her correspondence from Guadeloupe,
she mentions having written to her American friends.
Fortunately, however, what we have give a vivid pic
ture of the scenes through which she passed during
this most eventful year of her hfe.
"Marie Galante, December 22nd, 1801.
"Ten days past, I have endeavoured to acquire
fortitude sufficient to enable me to write my dear
parents. In vain have I strove. At the present mo
ment I shrink from the task, and feel it too painful
to be supported. But, let me not, by a selfish wish
to avoid reciting late desolating events, risk your suf
fering more by an abrupt communication of the ir
reparable loss your unfortunate daughter has sus
tained. Ere you receive the present, you wiU have
wept the sudden death of my too tenderly beloved
brother, — ah! you thought not, at the same time, I
was deploring the united loss of Schalkwyck and
Henry. My last letter was dated from St. Ann. We
were then near one of our plantations. Mr. Schalk
wyck as weU as usual, except a relaxness ; both of
us anticipated, when time should have softened our
regret for the departure of our dear Henry, finding
in domestic life, in the society of our amiable friends,
and in the charming scenery of St. Ann and St. Fran-
9ois, as high a degree of fehcity as is usuaUy allotted
to mortals. It is true, the loss of Henry would have
ever cast a shade over the brightest day of life, but,
[60]

1801] GUADELOUPE
while my husband remained to me, I ever found the
tender consolation of knowing I possessed a friend
who valued more my happiness than his own, who
shared in all my feelings, who participated in every
joy, in every sorrow. After my letter from St. Ann,
Mr. S. became worse ; but, two days after my last,
he went with me to our plantation at St. Fran9ois.
On our arrival, he was carried to his chamber, which
he never after left. After some days, the sore mouth
commenced, — he suffered twice more than any one
I ever saw, — with pain he respired, with agony he
took the sustenance necessary. Night and day were
the same, — he slept not. We had three physicians.
Eight days before his death they told me I must
hope no more. I dwell not on the agony of that mo
ment. It was to me like the stroke of death. Mr. and
Madame Richebois, our brother and sister CourceUe,
and some other friends, were constantly with me.
Eight nights, I slept not; sometimes, I reposed a
few moments in a hammock, but it was the repose
of a breaking heart. Three days before the release of
my beloved friend, I prayed God to take him from
woe to bhss. His frame suffered aU that the frame
of man can suffer, but his soul was at peace. On Sun
day, December 10th, at two o'clock p.m., he per
ceived himself dying. At that awful moment, he
commended me fervently to the care of Courcelle.
I pass rapidly over the most cruel day of my life.
At nine o'clock. Sabbath evening, without a groan,
without a sigh, in the fuU possession of his reason,
[61]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1801
expired the tenderest husband, the sincerest and most
disinterested of friends. O my God! 'twas by Thy
strength alone I was enabled to support that scene!
"The next morning, I was carried to the house
of Madame CourceUe. I received, and continue to
receive, from aU that amiable family, and, indeed,
from aU the relations and friends of Mr. S. the ten
derest attention, the warmest professions of friend
ship, — but one event has succeeded another with
such rapidity, I have been scarcely able to discrim
inate the tears of grief for past misfortunes from
those of apprehension for the future. Four days
after the death of my husband, we were informed
the negroes at Point a Pitre, dreading the arrival
of the troops from France, had entered into a con
spiracy to destroy all the white inhabitants. They
assembled to the number of three thousand in the
night, — their chiefs were selected, — when a negro
girl informed Pelage (the mulatto General) of the
plot. He marched with his troops immediately against
the wretches. Three of the chiefs were killed on the
spot, six taken prisoners, and all the negroes dis
persed. Still, however, the white inhabitants trem
bled with apprehension lest to-morrow should ac
complish what to-day accomplished not. All who
could leave the island emigrated to other isles, to
await there the arrival of the troops from France.
Mr. and Madame Courcelle, Mademoiselle Coutoute,
myself, and five domestics, with many other inhab
itants, put ourselves on board a little vessel bound
[62]

1801] GUADELOUPE
to this isle. Here, aU is tranquil; we receive, daily,
the utmost hospitality and kindness from the peo
ple, and expect to remain here till the troops have
reestabhshed tranquiUity in Guadeloupe. Nothing
but the Peace would have been able to inspire con
fidence in the bosom of the unfortunate Guadelou-
pians. We doubt not but peace wiU restore aU the
tranquiUity we wish. We expect, in the course of six
weeks, twelve or fifteen thousand troops from France.
I need not say, the circumstance wiU occasion inex
pressible joy to the inhabitants.
"At present, my dear Parents, suffer not appre
hension for my safety to empoison your peace. I am
in health, in a peaceful and charming island, I am
with amiable and tender friends, and, above aU, I
am under the protection of a God, almighty and all-
sufficient. Mr. CourceUe intends to accompany me to
New England in the spring. 'T is unnecessary for me
to say I wish, ardently wish, to return to my native
country and my beloved friends. Fatal, indeed, to my
happiness, have been the two months I have passed
in the West Indies."
[From the Boston Gazette, Jan. 14th, 1802: "Ar
rived yesterday, schooner Exchange, Capt. Vibert,
from Guadeloupe. Left it on the llth [of December]
at which time Point a Pitre and the whole of the
island was in confusion, another insurrection having
taken place there, which, had it not been fortunately
discovered at the moment, would have involved the
[63]

MARY WILDER WHITE [isoi
total destruction of every white and mulatto in the
island. The rebels in the present insurrection were
the country blacks against the whites and mulattoes.
The former, having lent a helping hand in the revolu
tion which had been just effected, expected a total
emancipation from their masters ; but not finding that
event confirmed, or even contemplated in the Proc
lamation of the yeUow general. Pelage, they had de
termined to achieve their own hberty, through the
blood of Pdlage and his party. For this purpose, 11,-
000 were to have been organized on the night suc
ceeding that on which the plot was discovered — to
have burnt the towns, and to have murdered every
man, woman, and child of Pelage's party! At that
very moment only when it could possibly have been
defeated, was the plot discovered by a black woman,
and four of the ring-leaders were apprehended. Not
withstanding the bloody project had been discov
ered, and, for the present, warded off, every thing
was apprehended from the vengeance and ferocity
of the blacks, and aU was in the utmost confusion."]
Some days later she wrote :
"Marie Galante, Dec. 30th.
" I conclude my dear parents have received my let
ter of the nineteenth of the present month, and are
informed of the unfortunate circumstances which
have driven us from Guadeloupe, and of the infinitely
more afflicting circumstance of the loss of my ever
beloved husband. Unfortunate as I am, I have the
[64]

1801] GUADELOUPE
blessing of health, and the unceasing tenderness and
attention of all the family of Mr. Schalkwyck, — par
ticularly the family of Madame CourceUe, who con
sider me as a sister.
" I am inexpressibly anxious to receive letters from
you and my American friends, who are dearer than
ever to my heart. The loss of my other friends has
rendered more precious those which remain. God Al
mighty, whose goodness has enabled me to sustain
the heaviest misfortunes, the most heart-rending
events, wiU, I trust, return me to my native coun
try the ensuing spring. Mr. and Madame CourceUe
request me to remember them respectfully to you.
Both are iU at present ; he has been dangerously at
tacked with the bihous fever, four domestics are iU
also." [65]

CHAPTER IV
January-October, 1802
GUADELOUPE : ILLNESSES, ARRIVAL OF TROOPS FROM
FRANCE, BATTLES, RETURN TO THE
UNITED STATES

F

ROM Marie Galante, January 15th, 1802, she
writes :
" In a moment hke the present, agitated by con
tinual revolutions, I feel seldom the courage to write
to my beloved Parents; for, to write is to speak
only of past woes, to detail distressing events, which
have wrung, and which wiU forever affhct, my heart.
Since the death of my beloved Henry, I have sent
three packets, by different opportunities, to my
friends in America, and, ere you receive the present,
you wiU, I trust, be informed of the succeeding and
irreparable misfortune I have sustained in the loss
of my long-loved, and ever regretted, Schalkwyck.
The omniscient God alone knows the sufferings of
my heart, and He alone was my support under these
accumulated sorrows. Our necessary flight from
Guadeloupe, which I considered as an aggravation
of them ; has, on the contrary, a good effect on my
health ; and, by a change of place, by the variety of
new objects, and by the care I necessarily took dur
ing the illness of Mr. and Madame Courcelle, my
mind was drawn from a too intense contemplation
[66]

1809] GUADELOUPE
of my melancholy fate. At present, my most ardent
wish is to return to the bosom of my country, where,
though I expect not happiness, I hope for tranquil
lity. This wish cannot be gratified before the last
spring month. The settlement of Mr. Schalkwyck's
estate wiU render it impossible for me to quit the
West Indies at an earlier period. We expect, every
day, the arrival of troops from France, when we can
return with security to Guadeloupe. Alas I how has
that island been fatal to my happiness ! I entered it
Avith the most flattering prospects of felicity that ever
opened to mortal view ; blessed with the tender af
fection of a husband I had long loved, with the so
ciety of a brother, to whom I was but too much at
tached, surrounded and caressed by the friends of
Mr. Schalkwyck. What a blank now remains ! In the
stead of the bright visions of felicity which my fancy
had formed, the remainder of my life appears, to my
view, a solitary passage to the grave.
"February 3rd. With a hand trembhng with weak
ness, I continue my letter to my dear Parents. The
evening after I wrote the above, I was seized vio
lently with the fever, my life was in the extremest
danger for four or five days. I was bled four times
in twenty-four hours. ProvidentiaUy, I was attended
by a physician who understands perfectly the Amer
ican constitution. He has resided five years in the
United States, and understands perfectly his profes
sion. My symptoms were the same with my beloved
brother. I was seized in the same manner, and had
[67]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1802
every reason to suppose my iUness would terminate
in the same manner likewise. But it has pleased .Al
mighty God to continue my life, for what purpose
I know not, but I hope I shall be able to consecrate
the remainder to the practise of every virtue con
sistent with my situation. Never, during my iUness,
did I feel the least solicitude to live for any other
purpose than to view again my native country, and
embrace again my friends. Nor was that wish so
strong as to prevent my saying with the most per
fect sincerity, 'Oh God, Thy wiU in all things be
done!' I must quit the pen — the irregularity of my
writing is a sufficient evidence of my present weak
ness. "February 4th. Again I resume the pen to con
verse a few moments with my dear Parents before
I close my letter. We have received a very pressing
invitation from a gentleman of independent fortune ;
who resides in this island, about twenty miles from
the principal port (where we now are), to pass some
weeks with him. Mr. and Madame CourceUe wait
only till I have sufficient strength to accompany
them, when the whole family wiU go. Perhaps we
shaU remain there tiU the troops arrive from France.
Does it not appear a little singular to you for ten
persons to remain on a visit at a house for some
weeks? Such is the extraordinary hospitahty of the
country that M. Renard, when he first heard of our
arrival, wrote immediately for us to come to his hab
itation, and proposed sending horses for Mr. and
[68]

1802] GUADELOUPE
Madame Courcelle, and Mad'Ue Coutoute, and a
hammock for me, as I do not ride so far on horse
back. It is not probable I shall have an opportunity
to write from the habitation of Mr. R., and, what I
fear yet more is that I shall not receive letters from
my friends in America. Ah ! if you knew how ear
nestly I desire to receive intelligence from you ! and,
above all, how earnestly I desire to embrace you.
"14th February. I have news the most interesting
possible to communicate, — the troops have arrived
from France. Yesterday, I witnessed the entrance
of three fine French frigates, and as many smaller
vessels, filled with troops. To-morrow, other frigates
are expected with the Generals Lacrosse &c. There
are already twenty-three thousand men at Saint Do
mingo, eleven hundred here, and twelve thousand
are daUy expected at Guadeloupe. We witness noth
ing but rejoicings. The inhabitants assemble, alter
nately, at each other's houses to celebrate the happy
event." My mother's next letter to her parents is dated :
"Marie Galante, March 4th, 1802.
" My last letter to you, my dear Parents, was dated
February: — since the departure of the Captain who
took charge of it, I have again had the fever. At
present, I am convalescent; my last illness was nei
ther so long nor so violent as the first; of course, my
debility is not so extreme ; but I cannot flatter my
self to enjoy perfect health, tiU I breathe again the
[69]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1802
fresh gales of my native country ; and have the sweet
est pleasure that remains for me on earth, the pleas
ure of embracing my beloved friends. TranquiUity is
absolutely necessary for the restoration of my health ;
I feel it each hour; and each hour convinces me I
must not expect it in a country where scenes the
most terrible pass to-day, and to-morrow are forgot
ten in splendid parties of pleasure. The heart of your
daughter, after so many shocks, demands to be left
to quiet melancholy ; but my amiable friends, through
mistaken kindness, force me into society. We have
often the General and his suite, and not seldom pass
the day in a society composed of fifty or sixty per
sons. This, together with my ill-health, and an ar
dent desire to embrace all that remains of my family
have decided me to return, ere long, to New England.
"March 7th. When the above was written, I had
determined to return to New England with Captain
Choate, who takes charge of my letters to my friends,
but Mr. CourceUe objects so earnestly, he thinks my
presence wiU be so necessary in Guadeloupe for the
settlement of Mr. Schalkwyck's estate, and is so un-
wiUing for me to return without sufficient funds, and
without an attendant, that, to gratify him, I have
decided to remain some time longer in the West
Indies. The sacrifice I make to his wishes is great,
and I know not if I should have decided, had not
many persons assured me the season was extremely
dangerous. " I cannot express my anxiety to receive letters
[70]

1802] GUADELOUPE
from you, my Parents. More than three months have
elapsed since I have received that happiness. I dare
not indulge my apprehensions on your account, —
they are too terrible. I pray God to grant me the
dehghtful satisfaction of embracing you once more."
Again, she writes:
"Marie Galante, 22nd March, 1802.
" Since my last, by Captain Choate, I have passed
a decade in the country, at the habitation of Ma
dame Romane, a cousin of Madame CourceUe. A
fine, and very extensive prospect, pure air, and re
tirement, have had the most favourable effect on my
health ; I am neither so thin, nor pale, as before, but
my heart is more sad. I am extremely anxious on
your account, my dear Parents: to what reason am
I to impute your long, long silence ? My apprehen
sions are too painful: I dare not think!
"JNIy expectation of returning to New England
in April has vanished. It is necessary there should
be a written arrangement passed between Mr. Riche
bois, Mr. Courcelle, and myself, before I leave the
West Indies : and, as Mr. R. is in Guadeloupe, and
Mr. C. is here, it is impossible all should be settled
before our return to that island, unless Mr. R. should
come to Marie Galante. But for me, so earnestly do
I desire to embrace my dear friends in New Eng
land, I should quit everything to be arranged by the
law, did not aU the family oppose it.
"The excessive heat has commenced, but the sea-
[71]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1802
son is not so unhealthy as the four or five past months
have been ; with you, winter still exercises his rig
orous reign, the fireside is stiU the most agreeable
place, and the happy circle stiU meet to pass the long
evenings in simple and innocent pleasures. Alas ! why
do I not inhabit the same world! Here is a perpet
ual summer, nature in itself is charming, but an al
most general corruption has rendered the society of
the grand, detestable. Luxury presides at the board,
vice walks unblushingly in the streets, and the name
of religion is mentioned by the generahty only with
contempt and derision. I am not so unjust as to in
clude aU in this picture of the present manners. The
family of Madame CourceUe, and many others, unite
the rarest virtues with the most briUiant talents.
The people, in general, are hospitable and generous ;
but religion is cherished by a number so smaU, it is
scarcely perceptible. Ah ! how much am I indebted
to its divine consolations! What could have sup
ported, what still sustains me, but confidence in that
Being who is ever powerful, good, and wise ?
" We expect dafly the arrival of the remainder of
the troops from France. There is already a sufficient
number for Marie Galante, but not enough to re-
store tranquilhty to Guadeloupe. It is impossible to
express the impatience with which we count the days
and weeks, and the eagerness with which we exam
ine each sail that appears on the far, far distant hori
zon. Ah, my dear Parents, ah, my sisters, — in the
tranquil bosom of your country, you can form no
[72]

1802] GUADELOUPE
idea of the present situation of the West Indies. To
us, nothing appears more extraordinary than the gai
ety, the extravagance, and thoughtlessness of this
people, in a situation the most critical, surrounded
by the greatest dangers.
"March 29th. Day after day closes, weeks and
months succeed, and I receive no intelhgence from
New England. I accuse not my friends of negligence,
for I am siu-e they are incapable of neglecting me;
speciaUy in my present situation, lamenting, in a far
distant country, the loss of a beloved husband and
brother. But I lament that sad combination of cir-
cumstances which prevents my receiving the sweet
est consolation in the assurances of my Parents' un
alterable attachment, of their health, and of their
resignation to the dispensations of Providence, who
has, by the same blow, mutuaUy afflicted us.
"P. S. Will you, dear Mamma, write a few hnes
to SaUa A., and give her a short account of my sit
uation? Assure her I ever love, and cherish her re
membrance ; she is, and wiU ever be, dear to my heart.
I would write, but I dare not employ the pen, or the
needle, so much as my inchnation dictates. Any kind
of application brings on a pain in the head, and oc
casions a degree of fever. TeU her I have already
written twice, but have not received a line from her."
By "SaUa A." is meant Miss Atherton of Elm
HiU, Lancaster, Mass. Elm Hill is a beautiful spot,
which I remember my father's pointing out to my sis-
[73]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1802
ter and myself, during our interesting drive through
the town, as the one where, with her friends the
Athertons, to whom she was much attached, my
mother often stayed both before and after her resi
dence in the West Indies. The following letter, with
out date or address, which I find among her papers,
I suppose may have been written to these friends :
" The moment of my arrival in Guadeloupe was
a moment the most critical, the very day when a
formidable insurrection had placed a mulatto General
at the head of government ; terror and distrust was
painted on every countenance. Alas! the clouds of
the morning were but too ominous of the stormy day
that advanced to destroy my peace. In three weeks
after my arrival, I lost my beloved Henry, after an
iUness of four days. In the agony of the moment, I
thought nothing could add to my sufferings. I was
fatally undeceived in three weeks more, by the death
of that dear friend for whom I had left my family,
my friends, and native country. Misfortune suc
ceeded misfortune with a rapidity that confounded
my senses. Every day I heard of horrors, every night
retired to my chamber with an expectation of being
assassinated before morning. The dangerous situation
of Guadeloupe induced the family of my husband,
with many others, to quit the island, and seek in
Marie Galante an asylum till the arrival of the troops
from France. Scarcely did I find myself in a more
secure abode, when I was attacked with the fever in
[74]

1802] GUADELOUPE
the same manner as my brother. An eminent physi
cian attended me, and, by bleeding me four times in
twenty-four hours, my fever was diminished, but I
was left in an alarming state of weakness, which ter
minated in the fever and ague. At present, I begin
to taste the sweets of returning health, but my heart
sighs more fervently than ever for my native coun
try, and for those dear friends from whom I have been
so long separated."
From my mother's next letter to her parents, it
appears that her hope of hearing from them was still
deferred. The letter is dated :
"April 21st, Marie Galante, 1802.
" Capt. Chadwick has, in a degree, reheved my anx
iety on account of my dear Parents. He has assured
me he saw Uncle Hurd three or four days before he
left Boston, and, had any misfortune taken place in
the family, he would have informed him. At present,
my health is re-estabhshed, but the uncertainty at
what period the troops wiU anive from France, and
enable me to return to Guadeloupe, has almost de
cided me to embrace the first good opportunity to
return to New England. Possibly, in the course of
three or four weeks I shaU embark.
"Could you, at present, behold this island, I am
sure you would be wrapped in the most profound
astonishment. Every night, the streets are patrolled.
There is a sentinel placed at the entrance of aU the
principal streets. It is a time of war and general dan-
[75]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1802
ger, but gaiety, the most extreme, prevails. There
are balls and concerts every night, and dissipation
of every kind is almost universal. Such is the char
acter of the nation, that it is not in the power of mis
fortune or danger to render them sad. I speak gen
erally. There are many individuals who feel the hor
ror of the times, and yield to the melancholy so nat-
uraUy inspired by the present circumstances."
On a blank page of this letter my grandmother
has written in reference to her correspondence with
my mother: "After improving every opportunity,
and finding our letters were kept back, we enclosed
them to Madame Lambert Marcilius, an American
friend, by whom her heart was made happy in the
assurance that her parents could not be made hap
pier by any earthly occurrence, than to fold in their
embrace their beloved Mary."
Again, my mother writes to her parents:
"Marie Galante, May 4th, 1802.
"With a satisfaction the most ardent and sincere,
I give my dear Parents inteUigence of the arrival
of the fleet from France. The night before last, at
twelve o'clock, we were awaked by an Officer who
came to give us the news so important, and so long
desired. A frigate anchored before the town, and the
aide-de-camp of General Lacrosse landed, to give in
formation to General S^riziat, that the fleet, consist
ing of four men of war, six frigates, and fourteen
[76]

1802] GUADELOUPE
transports, having on board the troops from France
destined for Guadeloupe, commanded by the Gen
eral Richepance, and accompanied by the aide-de
camp of Bonaparte, were within twenty-four hours
sail. I need not say, the family arose instantly, the joy
became general, dragoons were dispatched to give
inteUigence in the country, sleep was banished from
aU eyes ; officers and soldiers passed continuaUy, the
streets were fiUed, and, — 'the fleet has arrived, the
fleet has arrived,' was echoed from mouth to mouth.
In the morning, the house was fiUed with the offi
cers who came to make their adieux, before they em
barked to conquer or die. A sensation of sadness
mingled with our joy, but the character of the na
tion was never more conspicuous than at that mo
ment. The regiment of General S^riziat embarked
singing, dancing, and exercising their wit in a thou
sand pleasantries.
" I shaU not close my letter tUl the fate of Gua
deloupe is decided ; we are, at present, at a crisis the
most important. God grant the event may be happy!
"May 12th. After eight days of the most racking
suspense, we have received the agreeable assurance
that aU is tranquil at Grande-Terre. When General
Richepance, with the fleet, arrived there, three ships
of the hne, which were too large to enter the port
of Point a Pitre, landed their troops near Fleur
d' Epde, a celebrated fort which commands the en
trance of the port; the other vessels entered, and
landed Gen. Richepance and his army in Point a
[77]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1802
Pitre. The black troops made a faint resistance, but
the French soldiers, with fixed bayonets, forced them
to immediate surrender. Had the rebels been united
in opinion, the event would have been extremely
doubtful ; but their division saved us scenes the most
shocking to humanity, perhaps nothing less than the
massacre of aU the white inhabitants ; nor should we
in Marie Galante have escaped the general destruc
tion. The aide-de-camp of Pelage, with two hundred
black soldiers, forced a retreat to Basse-Terre, where
he united with three or four thousand others, to take
possession of the fort and the town. Five frigates
were immediately dispatched to attack the town by
sea, and two thousand French soldiers, commanded
by General S^riziat, marched to attack it by land.
We hear constantly the sound of the cannonade.
Every one is assured the blacks wiU be obhged to
surrender. They have neither a sufl&cient quantity
of provisions, nor ammunition, to make a long re
sistance. I tremble however for the victims. Pdlage
has conducted extremely weU. 'T is to him the white
inhabitants owe their hves, as he prevented, by his
commands and entreaties, a general massacre.
"Adieu, my dear Parents. I have not said the half
I have to teU you, but must close my letter, as the
vessel, by which I send it, sails this morning."
The foUowing letter from my grandmother, of the
same date with this last of my mother, is doubtless
the one which was enclosed to Madame Lambert,
[78]

1802] GUADELOUPE
the previous ones having been intercepted with the
purpose of detaining my mother in Guadeloupe.
"Concord, May 7th, 1802.
"We will not, my dear, my much loved, daugh
ter, presume to arraign the decrees of the supreme
and all-wise Ruler of events. They are ordered in
infinite wisdom. His almighty fiat has passed ; His
ways, though dark and mysterious, and far above
our comprehension, will most assuredly be made
manifest to be perfectly right; it wiU not be long
ere the partition wUl be taken away, and we, I trust,
shaU meet those friends so tenderly beloved, never
again to suffer a painful separation.
"Your Papa went down on purpose to see Cap
tain Choate, and make inquiry about your situation.
My tears flowed plentifuUy at the disappointment,
when you could have come with so good a man, so
reputable a character, and only twenty-two days'
passage. Your friends' attention to you I feel very
grateful for. You wiU present everything you think
proper to them from your parents; but you must
return, we ardently wish it. If you cannot leave the
settlement of affah-s to some trusty hand, leave it ;
you wiU be provided for without it. I cannot think
of being another year parted from you. The death
of my dear Henry was almost too much for me. I
thought I could say as David did, 'Would to God
I had died for thee, my son!' My reason felt dis
tressed, I feared it would have left me. Never was
[79]

MARY WILDER WHITE [I802
anything more unexpected to us. From Mr. Schalk
wyck's disorder, we had not an idea that he could
recover, or even reach his native shore ; from the cli
mate and the delicacy of your constitution, I had
every thing to tremble at for you ; — but my son, as
though the shafts of death could not arrest him, I had
almost a certainty of seeing again. But I have made
a covenant with my God, — not one decree would
I reverse. I devoted you both to Him in infancy,
believing in His mercy, that what He saw best He
would do.
"When a report circulated that Mr. Schalkwyck
had paid the debt of nature, I was confined with a
lung-fever, and did not know of it for three weeks.
As soon as I was better, your papa went to Boston,
to know if any intelhgence could be procured. Noth
ing certain could be procured till your letter of the
22nd of December confirmed it; which we did not
receive tiU the 7th of April, but have never received
any one respecting your brother's sickness, except
the one you wrote to Mr. Ripley. Was he sensible
of his danger, or was it hid from him?
"May 9th. Thus far I had written, when I was
caUed to receive a letter from Mary ; my heart vi
brates at the sound, — date 22nd of March. You say
your health is more confirmed, — God be praised!
To Him, my dear daughter, ascribe all thanks. Let
not any of the aUurements which those around you
are enveloped in, take you from your duty to your
[80]

1809] GUADELOUPE
God, Every resource fails in time of affliction, except
His gracious promises. What could I have caUed on,
for aid, had it not been for that support !
'"What can I ascribe your long silence to, my
dear parents?' I can dnswer you readily, not to any
want of the purest and most ardent affection. We
cannot teU whether you have received any letters
from us, but have repeatedly written. Our anxiety
and distress on your account has been almost too
much for aU your friends, as, by the papers fiUed
with the most horrid accounts, we have seen you,
in imagination, suffering everything shocking to hu
manity. " Indeed, my dear child, you must come with Capt.
Choate, — he has orders not to leave you. You wiU
not need any other protector, relying on Providence.
Do not bring any slaves with you, — there are too
many here already for the safety of the community ;
the spirit of hberty has already begun to blaze among
them. Capt. Choate says if two-thirds of his cargo
should be necessary to insure your protection, he
would sacrifice it. Your uncle says he would venture
a daughter of his to any part of the world with him.
We have reason to think some of the vessels were
cast away in which your letters were, as you mention
many which we never received. A packet from your
papa has been in Boston and Charlestown to send,
a month. Vessels do not clear out for Guadeloupe.
They are unwiUing to have it known where they are
going. I am afraid to have you go again to that fatal
[81]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1802
place. Cannot your affairs be settled where you are ?
Do not wait tiU the hurricane months arrive. Your
papa has said he wished to go for you himself, but
I cannot make another sacrifice.
" It is generaUy supposed that a war wiU take place
in the course of a year, between France and Amer
ica. Our President does not appear to be a friend to
the people or their hberties, has set aside everything
the good Washington did, and expects to bring us
into subjection to some other power.
"May the Father of the faithful, the omnipotent
Jehovah, bless you with His kind support and pro
tection, may no more clouds arise, and may you meet
again on earth those friends who are ahve to every
thing which affects you.
"Your Papa joins in love and parental blessing.
We are much gratified that your rehgious principles
are not contaminated by the prevailing vices of the
place. "We have not heard anything from Isaac since
October 27th, — he was then at Rio Janeiro, but as
many of our young men have shared the fate of
Henry, we fear for him. None can die more lamented
than your darhng brother, whose character was justly
published in the Gazette; Mr. Schalkwyck's also.
We have preserved them for you."
Upon this letter, my mother has written in pen
cil, "Alas! dear and tenderly beloved Parents, thy
Mary sighs vainly for the happiness of embracing
[82]

1802] GUADELOUPE
thee. The ocean separates us, and a cruel contrariety
of circumstances enchains me to this unfortunate
isle." The following obituaries are those to which my
grandmother refers :
From the Columbian Centinel, January 13th, 1802:
"Died — at Guadeloupe, in November last, Mr.
Henry Wilder of Concord, Mass., aged 20. In the
character of this amiable youth were concentrated
aU the virtues which could dignify human nature,
and render man interesting and happy. In him we
beheld the bright dawnings of uncommon genius,
iUumined by those perfect principles of piety, which
ever add lustre to greatness. By his death, parental
tenderness is caUed to mourn the loss of a beloved
son, whom sweetness of disposition, innocence of
hfe, and filial duty had greatly endeared, while he
was daily fulfilhng the most sanguine wishes of his
parents. As a brother, he loved, and was beloved;
for his fraternal affection taught him to be both the
friend and the protector. To see, was to admire;
to know, was to esteem and love him. Yes, dear
Wilder! though the sod of a foreign chme hath cov
ered thee from our view, and thy pure spirit hath fled
to its native region, yet, in the heart of each relative
and friend, shall be erected a monument of tender
remembrance, at which affection and virtue wiU con
stantly weep."
[83]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1802
From the Columbian Centinel, March 31st, 1802:
"Died, on his plantation at Guadeloupe M. An
thony Van Schalkwyck, aged 28. During a residence
of several years in this country, he uniformly sus
tained the unblemished character of the man of
honour and virtue. His particular connections and
friends, who best knew his worth, will pay a tribute
of sincere respect to his memory, and long regret his
early exit."
My mother's next letter is dated:
"Marie Galante, June 2nd, 1802.
"My last was written with sensations very differ
ent from those which have since agonized my heart.
Forced to become a spectatress of scenes the most
terrible imagination can form, I have been on the
point of bidding an eternal adieu to my beloved
friends. "You are already informed of the arrival of the
troops from France, of the ardent joy with which
they were received, and of the peaceable surrender
of Guadeloupe, or, rather, of Grande-Terre.
"Thus far, aU had succeeded better than our most
sanguine expectations ; when Grande-Terre had sub
mitted to her legitimate governor, we did not think
it possible Guadeloupe should dare to resist. Unfor
tunately, Gen. Richepance did not conduct with suf
ficient policy. He commenced by arresting aU the
black troops at the Point ; two hundred, commanded
by Ignace, a mulatto of a violent and sanguinary
[84]

1802] GUADELOUPE
character, made their escape, and passed by land to
Basse-Terre, the capital of Guadeloupe, where they
united their force with Delgr^s, the mulatto who
commanded the fort of Basse-Terre, and where they
were joined by six or seven thousand men of colour.
These men, brave even to desperation, providentiaUy
were ignorant of the art of war. Gen. Richepance,
who, with two thousand soldiers, passed by sea from
the Point to Basse-Terre, landed with very little op
position. It was a critical moment ; if the rebels had
known how to have seized it, the army of Richepance
would have been forced to reembark. Happily, few
men were lost in landing, and, after a battle of a
few hours, the French army gained the heights, and
estabhshed their camp ; where the General attended
the arrival of Gen. S^riziat, who was to join him by
land with two thousand men. Unfortunately, the rain
feU in torrents, and sweUed the rivers in a degree
which prevented the junction of the two armies.
Meanwhile, Gen. Richepance attacked the fort sev
eral times, but was always repulsed with vigour. He
had frequent engagements with the black troops,
who ravaged the country, and committed daily the
most shocking atrocities. Many women and children
were assassinated; and others, yet more miserable,
were made prisoners, and conducted to the fort.
Judge of our situation, when, on the third day of the
attack of Basse-Terre, we saw arrive five vessels filled
with wounded soldiers, and with the unfortunate fe
males of Guadeloupe. They informed us the num-
[85]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1802
ber of the negroes increased daily; scarcely one re
mained on the plantations, but men and women,
after massacring many famihes in the most shock
ing manner, repaired to the fort. For five or six days,
every person in the famUy was employed in making
lint for the wounded, who were between four and
five hundred in number. This was our employment
in the day, and, in the evening, we repaired to the
shore, where we had the anguish of seeing, on the
fifth evening, many habitations in flames. For sev
eral days, we had heard distinctly a continual and
terrible cannonading; it was the French who bom
barded the fort, (the armies of Richepance and S^ri-
ziat had formed a junction,) and who finaUy took it
by assault. The number of rebels kiUed in the attack
was very great, but a yet greater number escaped,
and fled to the country, where they committed every
imaginable horror, burning the habitations, and mur
dering those who were so unfortunate as to faU in
their power, in the most cruel manner.
"We were apprehensive they would pass into
Grande-Terre. Every one assured us it was impos
sible, but, in a short time, our fears were reahzed.
Notwithstanding every precaution, they crossed the
river, burnt many habitations, seized a fort near Point
a Pitre, and spread horror and dismay among the
miserable inhabitants. The town had been left with
very few troops ; several companies composed of the
young inhabitants marched to attack the fort. The
women and children threw themselves aboard the
[86]

1802] GUADELOUPE
vessels in the harbour, and many came to join us in
this little island, where we heard distinctly the sound
of the cannon, and where we were scarcely more in
safety than in Guadeloupe.
" It is three days since we have received inteUi
gence of the important battle of Bainbridge, which
commenced at six o'clock in the morning, and, at
eight in the evenmg, was concluded by taking the
fort. Between four and five hundred of the black
troops were destroyed, and little more than thirty
of the brave young Creoles feU, universaUy deplored.
The chief, Ignace, received the mortal wound from
the hand of Mr. Blanchet, the brother of our friend
Dureste. The other chief, Delgres, who had remained
in Guadeloupe, perceiving himself lost, entered a
house in which he had placed a sufficient quantity
of powder, and, together with one hundred of his
followers, coUecting his unfortunate prisoners, put
fire to the powder, and all perished.'
' According to Lacour's " Histoire de Guadeloupe," Delgres did not
sacrifice the hves of his prisoners, but those of some French soldiers who
had just succeeded in entering the house in question. Three hundred of
Delgres' followers perished with him.
The negroes had taken eighty white women and children from their
homes and imprisoned them at the fortified post of Dole. They discussed,
in the presence of their prisoners as the French troops approached,
whether they should cut their throats or blow them up. They decided on
the latter course, and put a quantity of powder under the building. From
the windows of their prison, the unhappy women, in their desperate dan
ger, made signals of distress to the French troops, which incited them to
impetuous action. They charged at the point of the bayonet, dispersed
the blacks, and saved the women — killing a negro at the moment when
he was about to set fire to the powder. — Ed.
[87]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1802
"In Grande-Terre all is at present tranquil, but we
have every evening the horror of seeing the flames
in Guadeloupe. Pelage, under a merciful Providence,
has preserved Grande-Terre ; which, if you regard its
situation, separated only by a little river from Gua
deloupe, wiU appear to you a miracle. A police, the
most vigilant and the most severe, is observed ; every
inhabitant, old and young, is in the service. The town
of Point a Pitre has been illuminated several nights,
that all which passes may be distinctly seen.
"In all these occurrences, I know my dear Par
ents and friends have trembled for their Mary. But,
thank God! my fortitude has increased in propor
tion to my affhctions. In the contemplation of gen
eral calamity, every private sorrow has been forgot
ten, and I adore the mercy of Heaven, in taking my
beloved husband and brother from a world of suf
fering and misfortune to its peaceful bosom.
"I request you to remember me respectfuUy and
affectionately to my friends. One of my greatest
sources of anxiety at present is the long silence you
have observed. For six months I have not received
one line to tell me you remember you have a daugh
ter, who has never ceased to love you, and who, in
aU the dangers to which she has been exposed, has
ever rejoiced you were exempt from them."
Upon the margin of the last page of this letter my
grandmother has written: "My dear, beloved Mary
httle knew the laceration of my heart when she wrote
[88]

1802] GUADELOUPE
this, and deeply wounded was that heart when we
received this. Our letters had been intercepted, we
had reason to suppose, by the famUy, as they did not
wish her to return. Every artifice was used to detain
her in a second marriage with a French General.
Scarce a vessel sailed, but carried letters from her
numerous friends."
The foUowing extracts from a letter dated " Marie
Galante, June 6th," but without an address, give a
few more detaUs:
" My former letters have informed you of the sad
destiny which has unceasingly persecuted me, since
my arrival in this unfortunate country. Young, a
stranger to the world, unacquainted with misfor
tune, I found myself alone, a wanderer in a foreign
country, whose language I knew not, with whose
manners I was unacquainted, my heart torn to agony
by the loss of friends dearer than hfe, and in a mo
ment when every one retired to their chambers at
night, with the expectation of being assassinated ere
the morning.
" I left Guadeloupe with the family of Mr. Schalk
wyck, and sought an asylum in this island. But judge
if we were in perfect security, when I teU you that
we see distinctly the houses in many parts of Gua
deloupe from our windows in Marie Galante, so near
are the islands. The Gazettes have undoubtedly in
formed you of the arrival of the troops from France.
The troops of colour opposed their entrance, and a
[89]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1802
war the most terrible commenced, in which mothers
and their children were sacrificed to the ferocious
vengeance of the blacks. Every imaginable horror
was committed. For six days and nights, the thunder
of cannon assailed our alarmed senses ; and, when
finaUy the black troops were obhged to evacuate the
fort St. Charles, they fled to the country, destroying
every white person who was so unfortunate as to faU
in their power, and desolating the country by fire and
the sword.
"Ah ! my dear friend ! God grant you may ever re
main ignorant of the horrible spectacle a country in
flames presents. For fourteen nights we have con
templated it ; for fourteen nights, we have seen the
red flames mount to heaven, and the richest country
in the world reduced to ashes."
To her mother she writes as foUows:
"June 7th. I had forgotten to observe, in the en
closed, not one of the habitations of the Schalkwyck
fkmily has been destroyed. Two negroes have been
arrested in the act of putting fire to the habitation
at St. Ann, which providentially was preserved. If I
have time, I shaU write to my sisters, and Sarah Rip
ley ; if not, they wiU render me the justice to believe
circumstances, and not a deficiency of attachment,
prevent me. Indeed, I give my Parents the strongest
proof of my affection possible, by writing thus much,
at a moment like the present, when my mind is agi
tated, my heart sad, and my nerves trembling."
[90]

1802] GUADELOUPE
Once more, my mother writes:
"St. Franpois, Guadeloupe,
August 6th, 1802.
"By the date of my letter, my dear Parents wiU
see I have returned to the unfortunate island, which
has so long been the theatre of horrors. Thanks to a
miraculous Providence, a large proportion of Grande-
Terre has been preserved from the flames which have
desolated Guadeloupe, and rendered that rich and
beautiful part of the island a mass of ruins.
" On our return to Guadeloupe, we passed a fort
night in the town of St. Fran9ois, as we were fear
ful to retire to the plantation, though an apparent
tranquiUity was universaUy observed. The town is
situated on the sea-shore; it had, previous to the
Revolution, many fine buildings, but they have
chiefly faUen to decay. There, with sensations of
mingled reverence, regret, and horror, I visited the
ruins of what was formerly a magnificent Church.
The roof, doors, and windows are destroyed; the
pavement torn up, the altar and paintings burnt ; and
the high waUs only, which are of white stone firmly
cemented, remain, an almost only proof rehgion had
even here once its votaries.
"After passing a fortnight in the town, the tran
quilhty which existed in the country induced Ma
dame CourceUe to return to the plantation ; the eve
ning of our arrival, MUe. Coutoute and myself were
attacked with the fever. For six days and nights, I
[91]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1802
remained in an almost constant dehrium, and, for
nearly three weeks, I was obhged to keep my bed.
When, finaUy, the fever left me, I found myself in
a state of debihty, which exceeded anything I had
before felt ; it extended to aU my senses. I could not
bear the hght, the softest voice gave me pain, by the
slightest odour I was almost suffocated, my limbs
were almost insensible, and I distinguished no differ
ence in the various kinds of sustenance which were
presented me. It has pleased my Almighty Father
again to restore me the inestimable blessing of health.
For what purpose I am preserved. He, to whom fu
turity is ever present, only knows. This is the third
combat between life and death. A circumstance
which, I am sensible, increased my illness, was the
agitation of my spirits the first day of my fever. My
passage was already engaged, my affairs nearly ter
minated, to my very great satisfaction ; and, on the
point of returning to my beloved Parents, I found
myself extended on the bed of sickness. The disap
pointment, by agitating my mind, probably increased
my dehrium, and prolonged my iUness. The vessel in
which I expected to return, sailed a fortnight since ;
but my passage, together with that of a female ser
vant, is already engaged in another vessel, and,
should no circumstance occur to prevent, I expect
to sail the commencement of September, in the brig
Eda, commanded by Captain Holland, and bound to
Newbury Port or Salem. The Captain is an elderly
man, of a very respectable character, and who is weU
[92]

1802] GUADELOUPE
known and beloved in Newbury Port, where his
family resides ; an ancient and experienced naviga
tor, which, I know, wiU be a circumstance that wUl
add to the satisfaction of my Parents.
" I have not received one line from New England
since I lost my beloved husband. Alas ! too often has
my bleeding heart felt 'the need of a consolatory let
ter from my friends. I have ever endeavoured to sup
port my misfortunes with fortitude and resignation,
but often the remembrance of the dear, the too ten
derly beloved, friends I have lost, brings to my heart
a poignancy of grief, which bears down every barrier,
and makes me regret I had not shared their fate. My
friends are attentive and affectionate ; they force me
into [word missing] and gay societies, they teU me
to shun reflection and to fly from thought. I have been
formed on different principles; but I must render
justice to my amiable friends by acknowledging their
care to provide me with every thing which could
draw my mind from a recollection of past events, has
perhaps been the means of preserving my hfe. It wfll
cost me the deepest regret to bid adieu to my friends
in this isle, but it is necessary to sacrifice the smaUer
to the greater good ; and I think there is no earthly
happiness reserved for me so great as the pleasure
of embracing my dear Parents."
Upon this last page, and beside the hnes in which
my mother deplores her need of consoling letters
from home, my grandmother has written the foUow-
[93]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1802
ing: "Letters, my beloved daughter, from your par
ents and sisters were put on board a vessel for Point
k Pitre a month since. They were intercepted."
My mother sailed for home about the middle of
September. Among the earhest recollections of my childhood
is the packet of my mother's letters from the West
Indies, which I have copied. Even at that distant
period, they were worn from much reading. Un
doubtedly, we have all that were received. It is evi
dent that some were written which never reached
their destination.
Mrs. RapaUo, in writing to me of this period in
my mother's life, gives some incidents not recorded
in her letters. She says: "While she was lying iU in
bed with the fever, her husband's brother came into
the room, and, hastily wrapping a sheet around her,
carried her into the street, almost without time to
speak. A shock of an earthquake was coming, and
they went into the street to avoid being buried in
the ruins of the house, if it should fall. I have no
record of time, — only facts as related to me present
themselves to my memory. While she was stiU in
the West Indies, waiting for an opportunity to re
turn to America, sitting with the ladies in the par
lour, they heard a tumult in the street. Then the
brother-in-law came in, took his sword, and went out.
It was the rising of the negroes, soon after that of
St. Domingo. The ladies were put into boats, and
rowed to a place of safety. Your mother was anxious
[94]

1802] GUADELOUPE
to get to America, but there was no vessel on that
side of the island. They heard of one going from the
other side. Over a rough hilly country, she was car
ried in a sedan-chair, while her brother-in-law rode
on horseback at her side, sword in hand, as they
passed the camp-fires of the negroes."
[In the memoirs of "Madame Desbordes-Valmore,
by Sainte-Beuve, translated by Miss Preston," a pas
sage occurs of interest in this connection, as showing
from another source the condition of Guadeloupe not
long before this time : " Somewhere about 1799, little
Marcelhne (then fourteen years old) accompanied her
mother to Guadeloupe, where they counted on find
ing a relative who had there amassed a fortune. They
arrived, however, to find the country in a blaze of
revolt, — the yeUow fever raging, and their relative
dead. And there the mother of MUe. Desbordes died
herscK of the epidemic."
The foUowing paragraph from a recent newspaper
shows the severity of the fever early in the century:
"A HaU of Honor has been established in Val de
Grace Hospital in Paris, where the names of French
medical men who have died in the performance of
their duty, are inscribed in marble. A Ust of 143 doc
tors and 45 apothecaries has just been placed on its
walls, aU of whom perished in the yeUow fever epi
demic in San Domingo and Guadeloupe in 1801-
1803." From a private letter from Guadeloupe to the
[95]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1802
Gazette of February 1st, 1802, dated December 4th,
1801 : " The fever has been very mortal among the
Americans, some vessels have lost half their crews,
and others nearly aU."
Both General Sdriziat and General Richepance
died of the fever, in Guadeloupe, in 1802, before
October. The foUowing passage from the "Reminiscences
of Fifty Years," by Mark Boyd, also shows what a
scourge the yeUow fever was in those days: "When
I first came to London, I met at the house of a friend,
at dinner, a countryman of my own who had spent
thirty years or more in the West Indies. Our host
described him as one of the fo7~ty-twa. It appeared
that about the beginning of the century forty-two
young Scotchmen embarked at Greenock for the
West Indies. The ship discharged her cargo and
loaded with sugar, which detained her about six
weeks, and returned to Greenock, bringing back the
trunks, or kists, of twenty-seven of the young men,
who had, within that short time, fallen victims to yel
low fever. Mentioning this circumstance to the late
General Frederick Maitland, of Berkeley Square,
who had served many years in the West Indies, he
told me that one Saturday he and seven brother
officers sat down to mess, and the following Satur
day he was the only survivor of the party."]
[96]

^§

;^

-i3<£ft>jn;iQ.'

CHAPTER V
October-December, 1802
CONCORD : MISS BROMFIELD AND MR. FRISBIE
MY mother returned to her mother's home in
Concord, where she hved tiU 1807.' Of her
arrival in this country, I have more than one record
from my grandmother's pen. In her letter to my
father in 1817, containing the leading events of my
mother's hfe, she says: "She arrived in Newbury
Port on her birth-day, [October 8, 1802], a widow of
twenty-two, having lost those most dear to her. At
that time she determined to pass the remainder of
her days with the Moravians, in Bethlehem, Penn
sylvania." We can imagine the interest awakened in the lit
tle town of Concord by the return of one so much
admired and beloved. The following note, which I
have in my mother's handwriting, was doubtless read
in the viUage church, by Mr. Ripley, the first Sunday
after her return: "Mary Van Schalkwyck requests
'The picture of Dr. Hurd's house given here is from a water-colour
sketch by Henry Wilder, made in 1801. It was originaUy one of the three
garrison-houses, or block-houses of the village, fortified for a place of de
fence for the villagers from the Indians, and one of its rooms stiU shows
its history. Dr. Hurd was a large owner of real estate, owning a place in BiUerica,
one on the borders of Carlisle, wood-lots, lands, and houses in the east
part of the town, and all the land on the north side of Main Street, from
the miU brook to the house of Mr. Samuel Hoar, including two taverns.
-Ed. [-97J

MARY WILDER WHITE [I802
thanks may be rendered to Almighty God for His
infinite goodness in restoring her from sickness, in
protecting her in danger, and in returning her to her
native country. She requests your prayers that all
the afflictive dispensations of Providence may be
sanctified to her, for her spiritual good.
"Her parents join with her in these requests, and
in desiring prayers for their absent son, that he may
be protected, and returned in safety."
The earliest date we have from my mother, after
her return from the West Indies, is that of a letter
addressed to Miss Ann Bromfield, of Newburyport.
As she does not appear to have been one of my
mother's correspondents before her marriage, we
may suppose that their acquaintance began while
my mother was in Newburyport, previous to her
departure for Guadeloupe. In later years, when that
town became her home, my mother had no more de
voted friends than Miss Bromfield and her venerated
mother, and by none were the children she left more
tenderly cherished for her sake.
Among the most refining influences which came
to us in our childhood were those which we received
from "Aunt Bromfield," and "Cousin Ann," in their
charming home, where we passed many happy days
during the first five years after my mother's death,
when we lived in Newburyport. These friends were
of the same family with the revered Henry Brom
field of Harvard, the owner of the house already
mentioned, which was occupied by my great-grand-
[98]

1802] CONCORD
father Flagg at the time of his death, when Mr.
Bromfield was in England. They were ladies of the
old school, of remarkable dignity and refinement. I
remember Aunt Bromfield as of medium height, yet
of a presence which commanded respect while it won
affection. She was venerable in appearance rather
from her style of dress, which was like that I have
described as my grandmother's, than from any loss
of personal charm. Her portrait by Stuart, an accu
rate likeness, might have been a fancy sketch of an
ideal old lady, it is so beautiful. That picture, and
others which adorned her parlour, made it attractive
to a child. Miss Ann Bromfield, who, late in life, be
came Mrs. Thomas Tracy, did not inherit her mother's
beauty of person. She was, however, distinguished
for mental ability and self-culture, no less than for
her high character. She was tall and thin, of a sin
gularly erect figure, a strongly marked countenance,
and a somewhat precise and formal manner. She was
most emphatic in discourse, and equally so in wri
ting. Her letters abound in expressions emphasized
by a stroke of the pen, and often by more than
one stroke. She did not gratify our taste in child
hood as her mother did, but as we grew older we
learned to value her as she deserved, especiaUy for
the enthusiasm with which, to the end of her long
life, she cherished our mother's memory. Much as she
taUced of her to her children, she could never men
tion my mother's name without shedding tears, as
for a fresh grief. [99]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1802
John Bromfield, the husband and father of this
family, did not inherit the virtues of his ancestry.
The distress of the mother and daughter on his ac
count, and, for similar reasons, on account of one of
his sons, and their grief under the loss of another
greatly beloved, explain some of my mother's ex
pressions in writing to Miss Bromfield. Mrs. Brom
field's youngest son, John, was a blessing to his fam
ily, and to the community. He was distinguished for
his private character and public benefactions.
Two weeks after her return to Concord my mother
wrote to Miss Bromfield, who was then in BiUerica,
a letter from which the following passage is taken:
"Concord, October 24th, 1802.
"We are, indeed, connected by many ties: sisters
in affliction, and daughters of the same great Parent
who conducts aU events in infinite wisdom and good
ness; and who wiU, I trust, perfect in Heaven the
friendship He has seen commence on earth.
"Yes, my dear friend, we have both been separated
from objects the dearest, best beloved. But the sep
aration is only temporary. For, if the Soul retains her
faculties, and surely she wiU rather gain than lose,
she must recognize, in a state of perfection, those be
ings whose virtues had secured her esteem, and at
tracted, by congeniahty of spirit, her love on earth.
And how sweetly does the idea of this reunion rob
Death of his terrors ! [100]

1802] CONCORD
"'Our dying friends are pioneers, to smooth
Our rugged pass to death ; to break those bars
Of terror, and abhorrence, nature throws
'Cross our obstructed way ; and, thus, to make
Welcome, as safe, our port from every storm.'"
The words which foUow were probably written to
Grace Hurd. She was a niece of my mother's step
father, and her home in Charlestown was one of those
at which my mother often visited.
"If we consider this life as a state of probation,
should we not rejoice when, the trial is past, and we
are received to the mansions of our Heavenly Father ?
Let 'the dust return to the dust from whence it
came,' if 'the spirit returns to God who gave it.' Of
what consequence are his chains to the freed pris
oner? You know your friend to be familiar with the
'King of Terrors.' He has approached me in various
forms. At one time, in a slow and gradual manner,
he tore from me one long and justly loved. At
another, he snatched suddenly, in the fuU bloom of
youth and health, a brother whom I regard as sac
rificed for me, and for whom I would gladly have
died. Often has he approached me, — often have I re
garded his face, and have not found it frowning. Me
thought it was placid, and he said : ' I bring an an
tidote to the sorrows of life.'"
That this cheerful view of death had its source in
Christian faith, and not in natural temperament, is
evident from the following paragraph from another
[101]

MARY WILDER WHITE [I802
letter: "I recollect my feelings when I first reahzed
the absolute necessity of dying, — the horror I expe
rienced at the idea of my person's becoming a hfe-
less mass committed to the earth, and my discon
nected spirit going I knew not where, existing I
knew not how. Till the truths of Christianity be
came, in a degree, famihar to my mind, the subject
so terrified me, I feared to dweU on it."
That my mother's grief under the loss of her
brother was aggravated by the thought that he was
"sacrificed" for her appears not only in the letters
to her cousin Grace, but also in the foUowing extract
from a letter without date or address :
" I passed last Thursday night at the Parsonage.
Sarah and I remained in the west parlour two hours
after the family had retired for repose. The night was
remarkably fine, the air clear, and the heavens se
rene. The river had overflowed its banks, and pre
sented a little sea to our view; its clear surface re
flected every surrounding object softened by moon
light. You recoUect the peculiar beauty of that pros
pect, especiaUy when the river is swoUen by rains.
After contemplating it some time with stiU rapture,
mine eye settled on the balm-of-Gilead opposite the
window — perhaps you do not remember that tree;
't is not remarkable for its beauty or majesty, — nev
ertheless it is, to me, one of the most interesting of
inanimate objects, for under it I passed an hour the
last evening I spent in Concord with my brother.
[102]

1809] CONCORD
Henry, Sarah, and myself, after strolling on the
banks of the ri\ er, returned, and standing beneath
the branches of the tree, Henry carved our names on
its trunk. 'Before they are obliterated,' said he, 'we
shall meet and renew them.' May you, my friend,
never have the agony of believing a being, dear be
yond expression, was sacrificed for you ! I have felt
that agony in aU its bitterness. Had that dear youth
expired in the arms of his mother, did the turf which
presses his father cover him, I might have wept a
separation from one who had been the object of pride
and affection so many years, but the arrow of afflic
tion would not have been barbed by self-reproach. I
should not have said, ' For me Henry left his coun
try, for me he died, far from his friends.' When I
recollect the despair that seized me when I learned
he had ceased to breathe, I regard myself with as
tonishment, and can impute to nothing short of im
mediate assistance from Heaven my continued hfe
and reason. I was proud of him, ambitious for him,
jealous that others paid him not the esteem and ad
miration which I thought his due, suspicious envy
would attempt his injury. How far was I from idol
atry?" Again Henry is touchingly alluded to, on a later
page, in a letter to Mr. Frisbie, who was an intimate
friend of both my father and my mother, years before
they were personaUy known to each other. His very
name awakens such dear associations in my mind
[103]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1802
that I am moved to a special memorial of him here.
Before my earhest recollection of him he had be
come distinguished as Professor of Natural Theol
ogy and Moral Philosophy in Harvard CoUege, and
was a man whom the most gifted and the most
learned regarded with admiration for his genius, his
character, and his attainments. AU this I was too
young to appreciate. I only felt, when I was with
him, that he must have loved my mother very much
to account for his extreme demonstrativeness to
wards her children.
In writing to my father after my mother's death,
he said, "I do, indeed, partake of your loss. She was
to me the best and most disinterested friend I ever
had, and it was always cause of peculiar satisfaction
to me that she was united to a man too noble to look
on this friendship with a jealous eye." My father's
acquaintance with Mr. Frisbie began soon after the
latter was admitted to Harvard University. He was
of the class of 1802, to which my father held the re
lation of tutor. Of Mr. Frisbie's character at that
early period, my father wrote after his death, to their
mutual friend Professor Norton, as follows:
" The relation which I sustained to his class led me
to take the more interest in his literary progress, and
laid the foundation of a friendship which I have ever
regarded as among the blessings of my life. His rehg
ious and moral principles, as weU as habits, appeared
to have been fixed before he left his paternal abode.
[104]

1802] CONCORD
He was blessed with a father who was, in all respects,
qualified to form his youthful mind to wisdom and
virtue. I beheve he had aU that sensibility of con
science, and purity of manners which distinguished
his son, who always seemed conscious of a tribunal
within which led him scrupulously to avoid not only
what appeared to be wi'ong, but every thing which
he did not feel assured was right. This elevated love
of virtue, and sacred regard to duty, which rendered
Mr. Frisbie an object of universal respect among his
companions at coUege, was associated with such can
dour and frankness of disposition, and generosity of
conduct, that he gained their affection and confi
dence ; and, however they might feel reproved by his
example, they were never disposed to withhold the
honour that was due to him. Nor was his inffuence, at
this early period, lost on the university. Alone, he
might not have produced any visible effect, but, to
gether with other kindred spirits, he did much to
raise the standard of character among the students.
It is well remembered, by those who were then in the
college govemment, that the class in which he be
longed, and where he held preeminent rank, acquired
a reputation, at that time unexampled, for their ar
dour in the pursuit both of moral and literary excel
lence, and for uniting with a manly independence of
character an honourable respect for the authority of
coUege. From the university, Mr. Frisbie carried in
to the world a heart rich in virtue and generous af
fections, and a mind stored with the best treasures
[105]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1802
of modern and ancient learning ; with all his fine in
teUectual powers and moral principles so improved
by culture, that, youthful as he was, he united, in his
character, the authority of the critic with the attrac
tions of the poet and orator."
The first year after leaving college Mr. Frisbie
passed in the town of Concord, and it was then that
the friendship between him and my mother began.
When I remember him most distinctly, he was a suf
ferer from the languor and depression which usually
accompany invahdism. Already he was doomed to
consumption, of which he died in 1822. Probably the
dehcacy of constitution which predisposed him to
that disease induced, even in youth, the "propensity
to melancholy" of which my mother speaks in this
letter to him. I extract from it the following:
"Methinks you indulge too far this propensity to
melancholy. Why this despondency in contempla
ting the future ? Why, blest as you are with Religion
to guide and console, with sensibility to joy as weU
as sorrow, with talents and principles to make you
useful to others, and happy in yourself, should you
despond? You are not in Paradise, but even this our
world, though fruitful in woes that try, and, trying,
purify the soul, is also amply stored with marks of
its Author's divine beneficence. Plenteous are the
streams of felicity that flow from the Fountain of
aU good, and to each reasonable, uncorrupted being
these streams are open. Am I arrogantly sermonizing
[106]

1802] CONCORD
to one who might, with greater justice, correct me?
Oh no I I am but saying to you what I say often to
myself — I am but repeating the same lessons my
head has often taught my heart. I know while suffer
ing some present ill, or when pained by some disap
pointment, perhaps trivial in itself, but magnified by
imagination, we tint all nature with the sad hue of
our own feelings ; but, is not an indulgence of this
disposition ingratitude to Him whose benevolence
formed, sustains, and wiU most surely bless His chil
dren? " Have I wearied you ? Let me pass, then, to a sub
ject more interesting. You are blest with the pres
ence of your parents, your sisters. If the character
of your sisters harmonizes with your own, you have
one of the richest, the most dehghtful sources of hap
piness open to you. No friendship can be more ar
dent, tender, disinterested, and pure ; none can bear
so perfect a resemblance to that which we beheve
will exist in the celestial regions. Every considera
tion tends to rivet the attachment. Alas! I had a
brother. Henry was self-devoted for me."
Another friend and correspondent of my mother's
during the period in her life which we have now
reached was Mr. Rockwood, who, my father used to
say, was one of the most briUiant scholars and inter
esting men of the class of 1802. He, hke his class
mate Frisbie, studied law in Concord, and thence
removed to Charlestown, where my father often met
him. ^^^^-j

MARY WILDER WHITE [1802
Yet another friend of hers, his regard descending,
a precious inheritance, to her children, was Mr. Sam
uel Hoar, of Concord, one of New England's most
honoured sons, and, throughout his life, a friend of
my father's. His feeling for my mother is thus inci-
dentaUy mentioned by his daughter, when (writing
to me of Miss Emerson) she says: "Of your mother
she always kept the tenderest remembrance, as did
my dear father also. Many times, in my latest inter
course with both, her name would be mentioned, —
some little scene or word remembered, and always
it seemed invested with an ideal charm. I never heard
my father speak in the same way of any other friend
of his youth."
My mother certainly enjoyed the friendship of
some of the most gifted men of that day. If among
them were those whose regard for her was, at first,
warmer than she was able to return, this does not
seem to have prevented their remaining her friends.
My grandmother, in the letter to my father already
quoted, containing a brief sketch of my mother's hfe,
says: "She had several offers of marriage, but none
were acceptable. You were the one appointed for
her, and she was supremely happy in the connection."
[108]

CHAPTER VI
1803
CONCORD : MISS MARY MOODY EMERSON
'T'T'NDER date of February 18th, 1803, we have
V^ my mother's first letter to Mr. Rockwood. The
estimate it contains of woman's abilities and attain
ments, as compared with man's, is in striking con
trast with that taken at the present day, and reminds
us how comparatively few were the advantages of
education afforded women at the beginning of the
present century. "Concord, Feb. 18, 1803.
" I know I am doing what some would denom
inate madness, and others imprudence, but, as I am
not in the habit of acting on the principles of others
when I cannot see their reasonableness, and, as an
epistolary correspondence with a man of good sense
and good morals is not inconsistent with my idea
of propriety, (for I see many positive advantages,
and no probable iU consequences that may flow from
that source), I reply to your letter with pleasure.
"And, first, let me correct an error into which you
appear to have fallen, in the opinion you have formed
of my character. Either you have mistaken a dispo
sition naturaUy social, which leads me to speak often
and openly in company, for excessive vanity, or you
extremely over-rate my abilities. If the first be true,
[109]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1803
you wrong one who, though enfeebled by the vanity
as weU as the other weaknesses of humanity, does
not possess a sufficient share to induce her to believe
the flattering causes to which you attribute your
proposal of a correspondence, unless your judgment
in this instance is exceedingly erroneous, and you
believe her to be that to which she has no preten
sions. Not to discuss a long-disputed point, the nat
ural equality of man and woman, education alone is
calculated to give a decided superiority of strength
to the former. And, when you recollect the boy of
twelve is further advanced in inteUectual improve
ment than the woman of twenty, you cannot form
a very exalted idea of the advantages that may be
expected to result from a correspondence with one
for whom neither nature, nor education, has done
anything uncommon.
"I am gratified extremely to find you disposed to
consider woman as 'rational and human.' That we
do not more frequently conduct hke reasonable be
ings is the fault of man ; who, by the attention he
pays to the exterior, seldom fails to convince us the
more difficult attainments of moral and intellectual
exceUence may be easily dispensed with, provided
the person be pretty, and the air and dress fashion
able. When one reflects a moment on the manner
in which woman has been treated, it appears rather
wonderful that she preserves her rank among intel
ligent beings, than that she is so often vain and tri
fling. [110]

1803] CONCORD
" I know Mary WoUstonecraft is held in general
abhorrence, and some of her principles I detest, as
undermining the foundations of social hfe. But I do
not think she has been, by her writings, more injuri
ous to her sex, than those good people have, who,
so long, have impressed themselves and us with the
behef that we were meant as the mere baubles of an
hour, neither capable of being the companion and
friend of man, nor the instructress and guide of
youth. "'Your cousin,' you say, 'supports her misfortune
with as much philosophy as could be expected of any
woman whose beauty should be in danger of a scar.'
Have a care lest you should grow severe, and remem
ber that, till the exterior shaU be less regarded, it
wfll ever be a serious misfortune to stand near fall
ing lamps."
Next among my mother's papers is a short letter
to Miss Mary Moody Emerson. There is reason to
suppose that this was the beginning of their corre
spondence, which continued as long as my mother
lived. Miss Emerson left no direction as to the dis
posal of my mother's letters, and they were not pre
served. We are therefore indebted to my mother's
habit of occasionaUy retaining a duphcate of what
she wrote for the few letters that remain in evidence
of a friendship which she regarded as one of the bless
ings of her life.
My only personal recoUection of Miss Emerson
[111]

MARY WILDER WHITE [isos
carries me back to the time of my marriage in 1830,
when I left my old home in Salem for the new one
in Springfield. "In her later years," writes Miss Eliz
abeth Hoar, "Miss Emerson liked to come and board
in Concord, for she would not make visits of any
length, and would start away, on a sudden impulse,
every few months, and go off by herself to seek board
in some other town where she had heard that the
minister had books, or genius, or learning in the di
rection of her tastes. I have laughed to think to how
many different towns I have directed letters in all
parts of the State ; and then her nephew, Mr. Emer
son, or I, would go and bring her again to Concord,
when she was ready to come."
When I went to Springfield in 1830, 1 found her
boarding in the family of the Rev. Dr. Howard. Dur
ing the short time that she remained there I went
often to see her, and she came repeatedly to see me.
She had for me the peculiar and almost sacred inter
est that has ever attached to those who are exclu
sively associated with my mother. Yet it was not as
my mother knew her that I then saw her. To quote
again from Miss Hoar: "When she became inter
ested in me, she was already feeble, and the eccen
tricities and necessities of old age made, perhaps, a
stronger impression on me than was just to the gen
ius and spirituahty which made her so remarkable
an influence upon her friends, and especially her
nephews, in earher hfe." My own recoUection of her
personal appearance had somewhat faded until Miss
[112]

1803] CONCORD
Hoar recaUed it to me by the following vivid and
accurate description: "She was a little, fair, blue-
eyed woman, her face never wrinkled, and with a
dehcate pink color when past eighty, (she was eighty-
seven, when she left this world), — a blue flash in her
eyes hke the gleam of steel, — yeUow hair, which,
however, was cut close, and covered up with a black
band and mob cap."
I remember conversing with her on religious and
hterary subjects; but the incident in our intercourse
which made the strongest impression upon me was
her plainness of speech on one occasion, in pointing
out to me what she considered a fault. She had ob
served me one Sunday morning in the vestibule of
the church, smiling and talking hghtly with the
friend who accompanied me. The next time we met
she told me it had pained her to see my manner so
unlike what my mother's would have been at such
a time and place. She then dwelt upon my mother's
subdued and reverent aspect when entering the house
of God. Her reproof touched me very much, it was
so evident that she was led to it by her fidelity to
my mother's memory.
It seemed to me then that I could never forget
some parts of her conversation. Yet, after the vicis
situdes of nearly half a century, I remember only
that in intercourse with her I felt myself in the
presence of a superior being, who put to shame my
lower interests and aims.
My mother's great love and admiration for her
[113]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1803
has made me wish to supplement this memory of
my own by others more definite. Miss Hoar, who
was hke a daughter to Miss Emerson in her old age,
gives me the following account of her childhood as
received from herself:
"Her father, the Rev. WiUiam Emerson, was
minister of Concord at the beginning of the Revo
lution, entered the army as Chaplain, and died soon
after, of fever, in Rutland, Vt., leaving a widow and
five children, of whom this daughter Mary was the
youngest but one. She was adopted, then, by an
aunt, her father's sister, Mrs. Waite, in Maiden, and
there grew up 'in sohtude and hberty,' as she used
to say, reading everything she could find to read,
sitting with her book by the hen on her nest, ' be
cause she thought the bird would be lonely.' She
found in her garret at Maiden, in childhood, a book
without title-page, a poem, which she read and re
read with delight. Afterward, hearing her scholarly
brother and his visitors talk of Milton, she was eager
to borrow his poems, and found, for the first time,
that her old book of the garret was Milton's 'Para
dise Lost.' Young, also, was an early and late friend,
the topics of 'Night Thoughts' especially congenial
to her. ' No one,' says Mr. Ralph Waldo Emerson,
' can read her manuscripts, or recaU the conversation
of old-school people, without seeing that Milton and
Young had a religious authority in their mind, and
nowise the slight, merely entertaining quality of
[114]

1803] CONCORD
modern bards. And Plato, Aristotle, Plotinus, how
venerable and organic as Nature they are in her
mind.' "Her mother," continues Miss Hoar, "married
Rev. Ezra Ripley, her husband's successor in the
Concord parish, and added to her family three Rip
ley children ; Sarah, who died about 1825, and two
sons, one of whom was the Rev. Samuel Ripley of
Waltham; the other, Daniel, a lawyer, hved and
died in the South. Aunt Mary's own brother, father
of Mr. R. W. Emerson, was a clergyman, settled
first in Harvard, then in Boston, over the First
Church, known as Chauncy Place Church. He died
at about forty years of age, leaving a widow and six
chUdren, five sons, and an infant daughter who died
soon after her father. Mr. R. W. Emerson was the
second son of this family. Aunt Mary, for many
years, assisted their mother in the care of the orphan
boys, and they all acknowledged the important stim
ulating and guiding influence which they owed to
her, and spoke of her almost as a sibyl and prophetess
in their house. Her aunt left her, at her death, a ht
tle property which she, afterward, chiefly invested
in the purchase of a farm in Waterford, Maine, in
order to provide a home for her youngest sister and
her family, — the husband having failed in business.
I suppose they chose this distant retreat because the
oldest sister of both already lived there, as the wife
of the minister. Rev. Lincoln Ripley. The scenery
is charming, with mountain, valley, and lake. Aunt
[115]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1803
Mary called the farm Elm Vale, for you look from
the house across a lovely intervale meadow, studded
with arching elms, to a beautiful lake, bounded on
one side by a mountain cliff, under which the road
runs next the lake, and, on the other, by green slo
ping hiUs, and, between these, you look ' out of sight '
away over the lake out into the world toward Port
land, fifty miles off. This farm was Aunt Mary's
home after the Emerson boys grew older ; and here
she read and wrote, and enjoyed poetic and spiritual
raptures, in comparative seclusion from living intel
lectual companionship ; ' hving on the farm,' which
was too far from market to yield much money. But,
sometimes, when she could command a little of this
means of liberty, she would come up to visit her Mas
sachusetts friends, and find conversation, and new
books and topics, — religious and spiritual themes
her favourites always. As I write, her mind and char
acter come up to me as so remarkable, so poetical,
so detached from all that is conventional or com
mon, that I feel that what I can say of her is whoUy
inadequate. " In her later years, her two sisters had died, the
Waterford family was scattered, the farm sold, and
an annuity bought for her. Her last four years were
spent in Williamsburg, L. I., in the care of a favourite
niece, one of the Waterford children. Her thoughts,
throughout her life, dwelt much on death, and, that
she might have everything ready, in case of dying sud
denly among strangers, in her independent changes
[116]

1803] CONCORD
of place, she kept always a white muslin or cambric
robe, which she called her shroud. But, as this might
grow yellow by lying packed away, she wore it for
a morning robe, and, when one began to wear out,
she would teU me that she needed a new shroud, and
I bought and had it made accordingly.
" She says of herself, ' I could never have adorned
the garden. If I had been in aught but dreary des
erts, I should have idohzed my friends, despised the
world, and been haughty. I never expected connec
tions and matrimony. My taste was formed in ro
mance, and I knew I was not destined to please. I
love God and His creation as I never else could. I
scarcely feel the sympathies of this life enough to
agitate the pool. This in general, — interest in one,
or so, excepted.' Again, — 'My oddities were never
designed. Effect of an uncalculating constitution, at
first, — then, through isolation, and, as to dress, from
duty. To be singular of choice, without singular tal
ents and virtues, is as ridiculous as ungrateful.
"A loftier boon his purpose knows,
A richer gift his love bestows."
That greatest of all gifts, the capacity to love the AU
Perfect, without regard to personal Happiness, —
Happiness 't is itself' "
"Destitution," says Mr. R. W. Emerson, "is the
muse of her genius. Destitution and Death. And
wonderfully as she varies, and poeticaUy repeats that
image in every page and day, yet not less fondly and
subhmely she returns to the other, the grandeur of
[117]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1803
humihty and privation, as thus ; — 'The chief witness
which I have had of a god-like principle of action and
feehng is in the disinterested joy felt in others' supe
riority. For the love of superior virtue is mine own
gift from God.'"
Her nephew, Charles Emerson, writes of her: "I
am glad the friendship with Aunt Mary is ripening.
As, by seeing a high tragedy, reading a true poem,
or novel hke ' Corinne,' so, by society with her, one's
mind is electrified and purged. She is no statute book
of practical commandments, nor orderly digest of
any system of philosophy, divine or human, but a
Bible, misceUaneous in its parts, but one in its spirit,
wherein are sentences of condemnation, promises,
and covenants of love, that make foohsh the wisdom
of the world, with the Power of God."
A striking iUustration of Miss Emerson's power
over the young, when she was herself in the prime
of hfe, comes from the pen of one no less distin
guished than she was for inteUect and genius. Miss
Hoar communicates it to me as follows: "I have
permission to copy this sketch of Miss Emerson from
a letter of Mrs. Samuel Ripley to Mr. Simmons in
Europe": "Oct. 7th, 1844.
"Mary Emerson, a sister of Mr. Ripley, has been
with us tiU to-day, when she took her departure for
Concord. She is seventy years old, and still retains
all the oddities and enthusiasms of her youth. A per-
[118]

1803] CONCORD
son at war with society as to all its decorums, eats
and drinks what others do not, and when they do not,
dresses in a white robe such days as these (October),
enters into conversation with every body, and talks
on every subject, is sharp as a razor in her satire, and
sees you through and through in a moment. She has
read all her hfe in the most miscellaneous way, and
her appetite for metaphysics is insatiable. Alas for
the victim in whose inteUect she sees any promise!
Descartes and his vortices, Leibnitz and his monads,
Spinoza and his Unica Substantia will prove it to the
very core. But, notwithstanding all this, her power
over the minds of her young friends was once al
most despotic. She heard of me, when I was sixteen,
as a person devoted to books and a sick mother,
sought me out in my garret, without any introduc
tion, and, though received at first with sufficient cold
ness, did not give up till she had enchained me en
tirely in her magic circle."
The foUowing letter, from Mrs. Ripley at the age
of sixteen, was found among Miss Emerson's papers,
marked, "first letter of her childhood in friendship":
"Dear, dear Mary, — I am afraid you will hear no
more about satiety and disgust of hfe. With every
rising dawn your idea is associated. The day no longer
presents an unvaried round of domestic duties ; bright
gleams of hope illuminate the duU perspective ; the
mellow rays of the dechning sun sweep the chords
of love. Your idea intrudes too often on haUowed
[119]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1803
hours. But the affection whose object is so pure, so
heavenly, wUi not militate with devotion. How de
hghtful the thought that our rehgion sanctions friend
ship! May aU that can render life's journey pleasant
be yours in perfection ! "
My mother at twenty-two entered upon her cor
respondence with Miss Emerson in a more subdued
tone than that in which Mrs. Ripley Avrote at sixteen.
From other papers of my mother's, however, it is
evident that she was equaUy captivated byher friend's
extraordinary gifts. This letter appears to have been
written after a proposal from Miss Emerson, to which
my mother had at first acceded, that they should cor
respond with each other, taking friendship for their
theme, and giving their correspondence to the pub
lic, through the pages of a magazine which Miss Em
erson's brother edited or was about to edit.
"Concord, Feb. 23rd, 1803.
"The pleasant hours I lately passed with you, my
dear Miss Emerson, would furnish me with the most
cogent arguments in favour of the advantages of
Friendship, had I previously needed them. Xhe sub
ject is as copious and as interesting as you could have
selected for a first essay of my weak powers. WiU
you then candidly allow me to be actuated by bet
ter motives than false shame, indolence, or stupidity,
when I dechne entering the hsts with an antagonist
who does me honour by selecting me for her opposer?
"You are entitled to a knowledge of the reasons
[120]

1803] CONCORD
that induce me to give an answer to your proposal
so different to that which I, at first, intended. New
to any thing which merits the name of composition,
I wish to pursue a course of reading calculated to
improve the judgment and correct the taste, to fur
nish the memory, and form the style. Nor dare I, even
under the mask of a fictitious name, present any
thing at present to the criticism of the pubhc. This
is not an affectation of modesty. I really feel my in-
abihty to improve, or even greatly amuse, the pub
lic. And I am sure your brother, whose excellent
understanding would enable him to see the exact
merits of every performance, would censure me for
presumption should I attempt a public disputation
with his sister. For yourself, flattered by a belief that
your partiahty would, like the bandeau of Love, con
ceal from your view the weaknesses, and soften the
deformities of your friend, I should, with pleasure and
profit, continue a correspondence you have so kindly
commenced. If you dechne it on any other terms than
those mentioned in your letter, I must, however,
for the present, lose the advantage. Perhaps, some
months hence, I may gain courage.
" I hope you will not feel whoUy uninterested in
my pursuits when I teU you, in confidence, I am
commencing a translation fi-om the French, on the
subject of the imagination. As I have, already, made
use of the signature of Eugenia, anything you may,
in future, see over that signature, of the translation
kind, wiU probably flow from the pen of your friend.
[121]

MARY WILDER WHITE [isos
I feel more confidence in an undertaking of that
kind, as no very great exertion of talents wiU be
necessary. I intend very soon perusing Kames' Es
say on Criticism. I have been extremely pleased with
a few chapters in it. If you have not already seen
it, I think you will be amply repaid for a perusal,
by the pleasure a good author always gives to the
mind. "After your recommendation of Godwin's 'St.
Leon,' I sent to town for it, but could not procure it
at the circulating Library. I shall not, however, cease
to inquire after it, as you have told me it contains
your idea of a perfect female character.
" I hope you will not be displeased to be assured
I shaU write to you as frequently as weak eyes, and
my other avocations, will permit. Allow me to hope
the friendship I sincerely feel for you wiU continue
to increase through hfe, and in death be perfected.
Adieu." To Ruth Hurd: "Concord, April 9th, 1803.
"I send for your perusal Gisborne's 'Female Du
ties,' and think both yourself and sister wiU read the
volume with approbation. Perhaps his system is not
perfect, — we are told
'He who hopes a faultless work to see
Hopes what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be.'
To me, I confess, it appears one of the best works
of the kind I ever read. He has preserved the good
[122]

1803] CONCORD
medium, and has not thought fit to make us either
Amazons or babies — goddesses or idiots. He appears
to me to have given the female character nearly the
dignity and energy of Mary WoUstonecraft, with far
more amiability and sweetness. He is unquestiona
bly superior to Fordyce, Bennett, and aU that class
of writers, who degrade Woman to infancy, and al
low her scarcely any real virtue, except Humility.
" WiU you now, my dear Ruth, pardon what may,
perhaps, appear officiousness ? Will you impute it to
its right source — a tender friendship for you, founded
on the virtues and graces I have long observed in
your character? Will you permit me to inquire why
you and your amiable sister, believing in Divine
Revelation, expecting salvation only through the
merits of our Divine Redeemer, do not pubhcly
comply with the last and most affecting institution
of our Beneficent Friend ? Every inducement is of
fered — 'Whoso confesseth me before men, him will
I confess before my Father who is in Heaven;'
'This do in remembrance of me;' 'If ye love me,
keep my commandments.'
" I would not be deemed impertinently officious,
but, sensible a few observations made by an affec
tionate friend of the same age, who must be ex
pected to feel the same passions, and be influenced
by the same objects, often has a greater effect than
the more sage advice of those whom age or circum
stance has made our superiors, and, of course, re
moved beyond our opinions and feehngs, I would
[123]

MARY WILDER WHITE [isos
offer the subject to you, though deeply impressed
with a sense of my own inferiority in very many
points to yourself."
To Ann Bromfield: "Concord, April 13th, 1803.
"Is it you, my dear friend, who apply for argu
ments in favour of Sensibihty! You, who declare
yourself ready to take arms against it ! You, who are
in gratitude bound to employ aU the strength of
reason, and graces of eloquence, in defence of that
quality which exalts us, nearer than any other, to
Divinity! Without it, how much better, or happier,
should we be, than statues of marble? What is it you
best love, in those you love ? What is the magnet that
attracts to you so many hearts ? Divine Sensibihty —
enthusiasm of feehng — thou art the universal mag
net, thou art the guardian and pledge of virtue ; the
heart in which thou residest, wiU recoil with horror
from vice ; thou inspirest the noblest sentiments, the
most subhme ideas ! To injure the feelings of another
appears to thy children more criminal than robbery
or murder appears to the unfeeling. Thy joys are rap
turous, — they penetrate the soul, — even thy pains
are dehghtful, for they demonstrate our existence,
and our capability of enjoyment!
"I acknowledge this is rhapsody, and not argu
ment ; but, who can argue cooUy on such a theme,
or who can judge of it impartiaUy ? Those who pos
sess it love even its sorrows, — and those who possess
[124]

1803] CONCORD
it not are indifferent even to its joys. Your own heart
wiU plead the cause far more eloquently than my pen.
I wiU, therefore, only add, the same objections of
fered against Sensibility might apply to every thing
valuable; for, is there any thing worth attaining,
which can be won or preserved without difficulty or
danger? Is there any good which may not be per
verted?" Our next record finds my mother visiting her
friend Miss Atherton, in Lancaster. It is a letter to
Miss Sarah Ripley, one of a little packet which has
been recently found in the garret of the Old Manse,
at Concord, which Hawthorne has so inimitably de
scribed. Rich as that time-honoured dwelling is in as
sociations, it has none of such interest to us as those
which connect it with my mother's memory. During
her childhood and youth, and for nearly half a cen
tury later, it was the abode of her beloved friend and
pastor, the Rev. Ezra Ripley, who was like a father
to her, and the parsonage, as she caUs it, was her fa
vourite resort, hardly a day passing without an inter
change of visits between its inmates and the family
of Dr. Hurd.
When, during childhood, my sister and I visited
our grandmother in Concord, we were always taken
to see Dr. Ripley. I recollect him as we used to find
him, in dressing-gown and slippers, seated in his
study, and seeming to my young eyes older than
much older people have seemed since. His daughter
[125]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1803
("Cousin Sarah Ripley," we used to caU her) I shaU
never forget. She is prominent in remembrance
among the number of those whose tenderness, not
to say sadness, of manner in meeting us made us
feel, even at an early age, that the sight of our moth
er's chUdren renewed their grief under her loss. She
and my mother grew up together in the intimacy of
sisters.
"Elm Hill, Lancaster,
27th April, 1803.
"On my arrival here, I found my friend confined
to her chamber, and principally to her bed. Her re
covery has been rapid. We have taken the air fre
quently together, and, I assure you, I have become
an accomplished driver. 'T is said, every one is fitted
to excel in some particular pursuit, and who knows
but your Mary was originally designed for that ex
alted station, — the coach-box?
" I have visited the grave of my father. I have wept
over the turf that covers what was once the taber
nacle of an immortal spirit. Mary, alone, of all his
chUdren, remains to cherish his memory ! I had seen
but eight summers when my father was on the bed
of death, — never will that scene be effaced from my
remembrance. There did I witness the resplendent
glory of a Christian's hope. It triumphed over the
agonies of dissolution and the terrors of death. Four
teen years have passed away — they appear hke a
dream. Yet a little time, and I also shall be numbered
with the dead. Oh, may I be numbered with those
[126]

1803] CONCORD
who sleep in Jesus ! I have been insensibly led to this
subject by speaking of my native viUage. The image
of my father is connected with everything around
me, — his remembrance consecrates every scene."
To Ann Bromfield : "Concord, May 16th, 1803.
"You describe your solitude as absolute; to you,
I am sure, it is not therefore unpleasant. The open
ing spring, in a place whose situation is uncommonly
charming, must supply you with pure and animated
pleasure. For myself, however, I acknowledge 'sober
Autumn ' has charms more attractive than any other
season. Perhaps it is endeared to my heart by the
recollection that the last months I passed in the so
ciety of friends inexpressibly beloved, and whose eyes
are now closed in death, was at the conclusion of the
year. "Do you not think, my dear friend, it is equally
duty and good policy to cultivate a taste for the beau
ties of Nature ? Are there any pleasures purer or more
transporting? Is not our devotion animated by it? Is
it not even a species of devotion to admire the works
of the Creator? The calm enjoyment, the elevating
serenity, which pervades the soul, and raises it above
the cares and sorrows of life, is seldom felt more per
fectly than when contemplating the sun sinking be
hind distant heights, and gilding, with his setting
rays, a fine prospect. I have rarely attempted to an
alyze my feelings at such a time. I felt that I was
[127]

MARY WILDER WHITE [isos
happy in myself, and that my mind glowed with a
warmer love to the Creator and His works.
"When at Lancaster, I became acquainted with
a lovely woman whom you have seen, and whom I
wish you to love. Mrs. Lee, formerly Miss Leighton,
the cousin and friend of Miss Soley, whose heart,
understanding, and accomplishments entitle her to
general admiration, but whose unassuming modesty
rather shuns than claims applause, is the lady to
whom I refer. She spoke feelingly of you, and I think
she must have retained a place in your memory.
Though educated in the metropohs, her taste and
her pursuits fit her remarkably for the enjoyment
of retirement.
"I am hastened to conclude my letter. Adieu,
therefore, my friend. May the beauties of Spring, the
glories of Summer, the bounties of Autumn, and the
sublime horrors of Winter, be to you exhaustless, and
ever- varying, sources of delight: and when 'rolhng
years shall cease to move,' may we meet never to
separate — in the mansions of our Heavenly Fa
ther. Again Adieu, says your
Mary Van Schalkwyck."
Two days later my mother wrote the foUowing
letter to Miss Emerson :
"Concord, May 18th, 1803.
"Permit me to say, you have only changed the
name, not the nature, of the correspondence you
proposed. I stiU find myself compelled to be your
[128]

1803] CONCORD
opposer, still find myself obhged to combat the in
genuity of your wit, and the cogency of your rea
soning. I coincide perfectly with you in the opinion
that 'hazardous falhbility,' that weakness and imper
fection, attach to every mortal pursuit. Friendship,
like every other affection of the human heart, like
every other engagement, and like all other good,
may be disappointed in its exertions, is liable to
change, and may be perverted to an evil. But, should
we argue because there are bad Christians, Christi
anity is in itself bad ? Because friends are often weak
and sometimes false, Friendship has a natural tend
ency to weaken and corrupt ? What do we under
stand by Friendship ? Is it not a sympathy of tastes
and opinions, of hkes and dislikes, proved by famfl
iar intercourse, and cemented by mutual offices of
kindness ? Is this a right definition ? What are its du
ties ? Are they not to benefit and improve our friends
to the extent of our abihty, without injuring any
other; to enhghten them as much as possible by our
discernment and judgment, to defend them when in
jured, to sympathize with them in affliction, and re
joice in their prosperity? If I have been deficient in
detaihng the duties of Friendship, your own heart
and understanding will correct the deficiency. Is
evU necessarily an attendant on a connection like
this? "You inquire if it does not lessen the independ
ence of the mind ? Were we, my dear Miss Emer
son, designed for independence? Are we not natu-
[129]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1803
raUy dependent on each other's aid ? To what would
amount the knowledge of a single man, unassisted
by the reason and experience of others? Would it
not require a whole life to acquire that which a child
might attain by a communication of the hght of
others? Does not our whole structure, moral, intel
lectual, and physical, demonstrate our mutual de
pendence ?
"'But,' you ask, 'does it not cool our ardour for a
purer state, and turn the tide of our affections from
eternal to mortal beauty?' Possibly, but I repeat,
not necessarily. Do we adore the Creator less fer
vently because we admire the reflection of His splen
dour in the soul of His creature ? Is our grateful ad
oration diminished by communication ? On the con
trary, when conversing with a friend on the wisdom
and goodness of our common Father, does not ' our
heart burn within us,' and do we not feel the ardour
of our love increased by being participated ?
"Your last objection is most difficult to be obvi
ated, and its evils are most generaUy attendant on
a connection which, by prejudicing our judgments,
renders us too indulgent to the failings, and too ex-
aggeratingly kind to the good quahties of our friends.
It is, however, undoubtedly one of the most heroic
proofs of genuine Friendship to repress this weak
ness where it would be injurious, and to correct our
friend with the same firmness with which we should
endeavour to correct ourselves." [130]

1803] CONCORD
The foUowing passage is from a letter without ad
dress or date:
"You cannot suppose I should hear with indiffer
ence anything suggested to the disadvantage of N.
The mystery blended with your accusation of her
heart gave me serious pain, since it incapacitated me
for undertaking her defence, — and defended I am
certain she deserves to be. You say you derived your
information from a source that cannot be contro
verted, but, teU me, is it possible for any one to judge
unerringly of the heart of another? Actions appar
ently wrong may originate in pure motives, and sen
timents may be expressed in the gaiety of the mo
ment, totally the reverse of general feehng and opin
ion. As you express a reluctance to be explicit, I
cannot urge you farther. Less I could not say; more
I think amdifeel. I entreat you to examine candidly
to the bottom of the affair. I am certain a thorough
investigation wiU terminate to her advantage. My
acquaintance with her is not superficial. I have known
her from ten to twenty, and one cannot be a deceiver
at that age, and for such a length of time."
We come now to my mother's first letter to her
new friend, Mrs. Lee, with whom she corresponded
quite regularly for several years, the friendship con
tinuing, on both sides, with unabated warmth as long
as my mother hved. I do not remember ever meet
ing Mrs. Lee, but when on my marriage I moved to
[131]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1803
Springfield, I found myself a neighbour to her oldest
daughter, who had married one of Mr. Dwight's
cousins. We used often to talk of the friendship of
our mothers, and it was through her that I received
my mother's letters to Mrs. Lee.
"Concord, May 20th, 1803.
"According to the rules of etiquette, this should
be a formal, complimentary, introductory epistle. I
should commence by speaking of the honour of ad
dressing a lady so much my superior, etc. etc. and,
after flourishing a few laboured periods, after having
presented a few flowery compliments, and having
introduced two or three studied sentimental obser
vations (EUenora like), I should conclude, very much
to your joy and my own. Instead of this, behold me
seated at my writing-table, scribbling with all the
ease and pleasure with which I should address an old
and beloved correspondent.
"Scarcely can I realize, my dear Mrs. Lee, our
acquaintance was formed but yesterday. The affect
ing circumstances under which that acquaintance
commenced, our mutual friendship for S., the deep
interest we both felt in her happiness, and the con
geniality of our sentiments on that, and several other
subjects, have given to our acquaintance the sacred
stamp of Friendship. At least, this is what I feel, and
flatter myself with your sympathy. As I do not think
it probable our characters wiU change essentially,
and, as I do not think my present feelings the effect
[132]

!.'''J!.^%-:

1803] CONCORD
of romance (having passed the age of fifteen), I cal
culate on their durabihty, and anticipate much sat
isfaction from their indulgence." [After a page given
to the troubles of a friend, and the sohcitude felt for
her, my mother closes with] " Kiss Elizabeth for me,
and accept the affectionate Adieu of
Mary Van Schalkwyck.
"P.S. I am enchanted with Gessner's 'Premier
Navigateur.' Have you perused it? Recollect I shaU
not return the volumes you had the goodness to loan
me, tiU you come for them. May I not hope this
commencement of a correspondence wiU not remain
long unanswered?"
The foUowing is part of Mrs. Lee's letter in reply :
"Lancaster, 21st May, 1803.
"And, 'according to etiquette,' my lovely friend,
it ought, at least, to be a month before I should suf
fer myself to inform you, (and then in a very limited
degree,) how much gratitude and pleasure I felt in
the receival of your very kind letter. Shall I not ad
dress you by the endearing appeUation of Friend?
My heart has yearned to do it, from the moment I
. first beheld Mary Wilder ; and your begun goodness
gives me reason to hope it wiU not be unpleasant.
The repeated conversations that our mutual friend
and myself have held concerning you, have always
ended with a sincere wish, on my part, to share a
portion of your regard ; I felt none of those feehngs
[133]

MARY WILDER WHITE [isos
that are usual in first interviews, and longed to em
brace, the moment we met. Fearing your dehcacy
would be injured by so sudden an avowal of friend
ship, I restrained the better feelings of my heart, and
appeared the common acquaintance."
From my mother to Ruth Hurd :
"May 25th, 1803.
"I renew my self-congratulations every letter I
have the pleasure to receive from you, my dear Ruth ;
and, though a numerous correspondence is no more
desirable than a very large acquaintance, and neither,
in my opinion, can be extremely interesting, yet an
epistolary correspondence with a select number whom
we either love cordiaUy, or esteem sincerely, appears
to me one of the dearest enjoyments of social hfe. It
has this advantage over conversation, — we are more
cool and coUected, we are not so completely under
the influence of that sweet enthusiasm, which so often
blinds our judgment, when warmed by the presence
of a friend ; and our opinions and sentiments are ex
pressed more clearly, because conceived more dis
tinctly. "Do you think, my dear Ruth, a taste for natural
pleasures, and for the beauties of Nature, is cultiva
ted with sufficient care? Generally speaking, is it not,
with many of our nobler faculties, neglected till it
becomes almost extinct?
"Are you not alarmed at the length of my letters ?
In compassion to my correspondents, I have sent to
[134]

1803] CONCORD
town for paper of a smaller size ; for, when writing to
those in whom my heart is interested, I find it im
possible to prevent filling up the sheet."
To Mrs. Elizabeth Lee: "Concord, May 27th, 1803.
" I shall never find words, my dear Mrs. Lee, to
express the grateful pleasure with which I received
your immediate answer to my introductory letter. I
can only say I considered it a pledge of our new-born,
but, I trust, immortal friendship.
" What have you read since I saw you ? I have pe
rused, with delight, this morning, 'Estelle,' by Flo
rian, a charming little pastoral romance, which speaks
eloquently to the heart, and interests its best feelings.
Do you not think that species of romance has a fine
effect on the heart ? Would it be possible for any one
to be conversant with Gessner, and not to find the
wish of emulating the virtues he paints so lovely and
interesting, glow in their soul of souls ? The heroes
and heroines of tragedy soar often beyond our im
itation, the situations in which they are placed are not
those of common life ; but every one has the power
of bestowing and enjoying happiness, either in the
character of an affectionate child, a faithful friend,
an endearing companion, or a tender parent. ' Estelle'
is preceded by an 'Essai sur la Pastorale.' In giving
his opinion of the style most suitable, the author says :
— 'Il faut qu'il soit simple, car I'auteur raconte; il
faut qu'il soit naif, puisque les personnages dont il
[135]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1803
parle, et qu'il fait parler, n'ont d'autre Eloquence
que celle du coeur; il faut, aussi, qu'il soit noble, car
partout il doit etre question de la vertu, et la vertu
s'exprime toujours avec noblesse.' Do you not ad
mire here Florian's style? He seldom attempts the
grand, nor has he need ; he is certain to charm when
ever he follows the dictates of his genius, which is
pure, tender, and affecting."
To Mr. Rockwood: "Concord, June 7th, 1803.
"Your picture of fashionable foUies, and hfe a-la-
mode, is highly coloured, but, alas ! the sketch is too
just. I hope, however, the number of fashion's vota
ries is more circumscribed than you appear to im
agine. Few, indeed, are uninfluenced by her in exter
nals ; it is perhaps wisdom to acquiesce in trifles ; but,
I trust, there is a good proportion, whose independ
ence disdains to sacrifice at her altar moral principle,
or essential duty. You called me an enthusiast at
Charlestown; may I not, with justice, retort the
charge? Can sober reason have told you the great
body of mankind was light and unprincipled, devoid
of taste and judgment, without discernment to see,
or strength to pursue, the path of rectitude and hap
piness? Methinks, you insinuate even more; you
think them not only frivolous and vain in themselves,
but insensible to the beauty of virtue, or brilliancy
of genius, in others. Are you not too severe? Is it
not true that, though there is a proportion of society
[136]

1803] CONCORD
denominated fashionable, who, desiring to distin
guish themselves from the * small vulgar,' and unable
to do it by any real superiority, endeavour to ef
fect their purpose by singularity of dress and man
ners; yet, that good sense still retains her empire
over the minds of very many, and that virtue and tal
ents ever did, and ever wiU, irresistibly command the
admiration of the world?"
From a letter to Mrs. Lee, dated June 30, 1803:
" I am much obliged by your immediately procur
ing me the satisfaction of perusing Sully. His mem
oirs ought to be studied by every one who has any
connection with Courts or Governments, and should
be read by aU who have leisure and taste for history,
and who wish to profit by the example and advice
of one of the most virtuous and enlightened men
Europe ever produced. Is it not astonishing that any
man should find it possible to fulfil the various du
ties, and neglect none of the important offices, of
CounseUor, Minister, Financier, Field Marshal, etc.
etc. Order and industry effected all ; aided by them,
there are few things which may not be accomphshed,
and, without them, man must not hope to become
eminently great or useful."
In reference to the troubles of a friend, my mother
says : " I have, through the whole course of this com
plicated affair, dreaded more from her romantic and
mistaken generosity, than from any other source.
[137]

MARY WILDER WHITE [isos
She forgets that truth and justice, though less bril
liant, are more valuable than this refinement of gen
erosity." To Ann Bromfield: "Concord, July 12th, 1803.
" I was this week made happy by a short visit from
Mrs. Lee, and Miss Soley. I have the satisfaction of
assuring you the latter is delighted with Lancaster,
and has found the air pecuharly salutary. We had a
violent dispute on the merits of Ossian, — you know
her opinion on that subject. I was gratified by learn
ing from her, that you, hke myself, are an enthusiast
in his praise. The picturesque epithets, to which she
objects, in my opinion constitute one of his most
striking beauties. When he describes 'the white-bos
omed daughter of Toscar, with soft blue eyes, and
dark-brown hair,' the image is conveyed perfectly
and distinctly to my imagination. No general terms
could have this effect. His pathos, and sublimity, ap
pear to me almost unequalled. In marking the ap
pearance of his ghosts, sailing on the red flame, or
descending on the moon-beam, ' the stars dim twin
kling through their forms,' we wish to prolong the de
lightful terror that thrills through the heart. Think
you, my dear Ann, the imagination of the Poet was
not much aided by the scenery to which he was ac
customed ? Think you a bard of modern times, sur
rounded only by cultivated nature, could equal in
[138]

1803] CONCORD
wild sublimity the songs of the war-like Ossian ? Or
that the hero, on his mountain, foUowed by his dogs,
and listening to the thundering torrent, could be cor
rectly tamel
"Have you not enjoyed the delightful evenings of
the last moon ? To me no season is so lovely, no hour
so enchanting, no scene so soothing, as a moonlight
stroll in the country, on the evening of a sultry day.
The heart expands, the passions sleep, and devotion,
hke the object for which it is felt, becomes pure and
elevated. "Yes, my friend, I assign to Cowper the high re
ward you mention, and think, with Wilberforce, he
may be truly caUed the Evangelical Poet. AU his
productions are charming, but I have been lately ex
tremely dehghted with his address to his mother's
picture. The simple pathos, the exquisite touches of
fihal love and gratitude it contains, and the tender
ness and piety of the concluding sentiments, render
it one of the most affecting httle things I ever read."
From Mrs. Elizabeth Lee to Mary Van Schalk
wyck: "Lancaster, 31st July, 1803.
"What is society, my Friend? Is it our afternoon
and evening circles ? You are more fortunate in Con
cord than elsewhere, if they are either instructing or
agreeable. But I must confess we have not aU your
talent of drawing out sense, where it is hid either by
[139]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1803
timidity or reserve ; for my part, the chief I hear is
sweetly affected monosyUables, with the common
place phrases of ignorance and stupidity.
"Are not the Americans generally the least fitted,
with all their advantages, to add a zest to society,
of any civihzed people ? They have now every aid,
and might, with attention, be as pleasing as the Euro
peans. I am sure you find more real pleasure from
an afternoon spent in any favourite study, than weeks
passed in the common routine of visiting. Life is
short and uncertain ; why not pursue that train which
most conduces to our real satisfaction ? Why waste
hfe in false parade, or stiU more tedious female so
ciety ?
"The first class, although possessed of every ad
vantage, are not more shining, commonly, than the
second. They feel their own superiority in such a
manner that, even if they have knowledge, it is too
great a condescension to converse with those who are
not equals; for (by the way), I reaUy think there is
more aristocracy in this country than in England;
but, too frequently, having riches at command, they
think it not necessary to make those exertions of
their abihties which faUs to the share of those who
have fame alone to depend upon.
"The second ape the first by getting a smattering
of their accomplishments, without the ease of be
haviour which makes them alone interesting. Their
conversation is chiefly novels and fashions, for their
reading never extends to a history.
[140]

1803] CONCORD
"The last and lowest are too frequently vitiated,
— the country in as great a degree as the town, — so
far as it is in their power to procure these pleasures
and dissipations. The greater part of the farmers are
very avaricious, and totaUy devoid of gratitude. There
are undoubtedly exceptions in every class of life, but
of these it is difficult to distinguish, and we must
consequently be civil to those who wiU despise us
when our doUars cease to be.
" Have you yet seen Roscoe's ' Lorenzo di Medici ' ?
I don't know the name, but think I should hke to
read it."
From notes, by my mother, of a conversation with
Mr. Frisbie:
" 'T was on a fine evening, which had succeeded to
a sultry day ; the moon, near her fuU, shone brightly,
the air was soft and serene ; aU was sUent, except the
tree-toad and the whip-poor- wiU. We were seated in
the entry. The beauty of the scene led us, involun
tarily, to speak of Mrs. Radchffe's descriptions. He
applauded the appropriate elegance of her style, the
frequent beauty of her scenery, and compared the
different merits of her novels. He thought the ' Si-
cihan Romance' a weU executed httle thing. But, to
me, he appeared to give the preference, aU points
considered, to the 'Mysteries of Udolpho.' He ob
served, the 'Itahan' appeared to be the production
of one who, sensible much was expected, endeav
oured to excel herself, and, therefore, failed to give
[141]

MARY WILDER WHITE [isos
pleasure. Characters and events were, in general, dis
torted, the mind was kept in constant torture, and
the expectation shockingly disappointed."
To Mrs. Lee: "Concord, July 27th, 1803.
"Are you proof against this series of unpleasant
weather? Or does it depress even your philosophical
temper? I weU remember to have felt deeply morti
fied when I first was compeUed to acknowledge the
influence of weather on the mind. I wished to be
heve mind more independent of matter than experi
ence proved it to be. But, after having been convinced
the spirits may be affected by a south-east wind, and
the powers of the mind debilitated by iUness of body,
I have learned to consider firm nerves, and perfect
health, as blessings to be ranked next to peace of
conscience ; and to think with the Poet,
'Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace.
And I their toys to the great children leave. '
And this I have enjoyed in an uncommon degree,
particularly the last six months. Lest I should for
get its value, I endeavour frequently to recoUect the
agonizing pain, and the yet more distressing debility
of disease. The recoUection of many species of mis
fortune enhances the value, and adds a zest to the
enjoyment of prosperity: for instance, sickness, pov
erty, and danger. But the remembrance of any real
good lost to us always creates pain. Does it not?"
[142]

1803] CONCORD
To Ann Bromfield: "August 2nd, 1803.
"Your kind reproaches have roused me like an
electric shock from the languor to which I was yield
ing, in consequence of having passed a sleepless
night. "How sweet was the return of sunshine after the
unpleasant weather we experienced last week. I never
hailed the golden rays of the setting sun with more
cordiahty than on Friday. The appearance was cheer
ing as the face of a friend when the heart is sad. Did
you not observe, dear Ann, the fine effect produced
by the yeUow beams brightening the verdure of veg
etation, tinting with various hues the west, whUe the
black clouds of the east seemed frowning on the
scene, and night strove with day for victory?"
In a letter to Miss Bromfield of later date, my
mother says, " I shaU be ere long with Mrs. Lee, who
has been dangerously fll with the malignant sore
throat, as have also her son, and brother."
To Mrs. Elizabeth Lee: "Concord, Sept. 3rd, 1803.
"Mrs. Clarke informed me you were so far con
valescent as to take the air, and that Thomas was
much better ; she told me also you were attended by
very good friends. Probably, your aunt and cousin
will not remain more than a fortnight with you.
[143]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1803
When they quit Lancaster, you wfll, I hope, accept
one who, though she cannot pretend to great merit,
wfll endeavour to find stories and plays for Thomas,
and cheerftilness for his mother. I am so daring, I do
not despair of gaining the heart of your son. I shaU
endeavour not to appear more than six years old, in
which I but foUow the example of many a venerable
predecessor, who strives to sink from sixty to sixteen,
— hke me, with the intention of winning the admi
ration of some young beau. Every one does not, like
me, avow their intentions, it is true ; and I hope you
wiU, at least, grant me to be frank."
To Ruth Hurd, in reply to a request from her that
my mother would point out to her her faults :
"Concord, Sept. 15th, 1803.
"You reproach me dehcately for passing over a
request that was urged most sweetly by you. I shall
not, dear Ruth, make use of the absurd and common
place comphment, 'You are faultless.' What mortal
can lay claim to it? Who is exempt from the frail
ties of humanity? Nor can I attempt to correct one
who appears to me far less imperfect than myself
We are both naturally weak and liable to err, — both
blest with reason and revelation to guide and fortify
us. We can be, at best, but imperfect judges of each
other's character: actions and words he, indeed, open
to human inspection, but motives can be correctly
known only to ourselves, and to that Omniscient
Power who is 'near, though remote, and, though un-
[144]

1803] CONCORD
fathomed, felt; and, though invisible, forever seen.'
It is, I believe, by analyzing the secret springs of ac
tion, by never suffering ourselves to think, 'I did
thus,' but 'why did I thus?' that we shaU acquire a
knowledge of our real characters. That knowledge
wiU, indeed, inspire humility, but humility, we are
told, is the beginning of wisdom.
"You are right, my dear Ruth, in caUing Mr.
Knapp and Mr. Frisbie two of my 'greatest favour
ites.' I have some personal acquaintance with the
former, much with the latter: both have ensured my
respect and esteem. Of Mr. Frisbie (whom I have
known intimately many months), I can say, with
the greatest confidence, his talents, which are cer
tainly uncommon, equal not his virtues. He quits
town this week, and wiU be long and sincerely re
gretted. For myself, I confess I think the society of
such a man an inestimable privilege, and his conver
sation more improving than the perusal of a library.
You know, however, my partiality for conversation:
it appears to me better calculated to correct our
opinions, and strengthen our minds, than mere study.
They do indeed reflect mutual advantage and pleas
ure on each other ; but, in conversation our minds act
far more decidedly, and independently, than when
reading. " Write me soon, I entreat you. Inform me if you
have seen any new pubhcations, if you have been
introduced to any new characters, or if anything in
teresting has occurred to you."
[145]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1803
To Ann Bromfield:
"Concord, Sept. 24th, 1803.
"Friday afternoon. I had half fiUed a sheet, in
spirits, — the consequence of my pleasant httle visit
to BiUerica, — was preparing to conclude and seal it,
when I was caUed from my pen by company, — and
now, dear Ann, so miserably devoid of animation am
I, — so completely in the penseroso mood, — that,
though I can not boast any other merit, that of con
sistency shall, at least, be mine. I will not send you
so motley a piece of composition as my former and
present epistles would present, but shall throw my
self on your mercy, and entreat you to prepare to
meet, with patient endurance, three pages of melan
choly dulness.
" One would think the enchanting appearance of
nature sufficient to correct every propensity to sad
ness, and to inspire cheerfulness and joy in every
bosom. The sun shines brightly, a clear and bracing
air invigorates the system. Heaven and earth smile,
I am addressing a friend who, I trust, reciprocates
the kind and affectionate feelings of my heart, — if
I were not incorrigible, so many images of delight
would chase far away corroding melancholy. Sev
eral causes have, of late, combined to depress me.
The season, though my favourite one, awakens pain
ful recollections, the indisposition, the serious indis
position, bodily and mental, of our friend  , and a
separation which, this week, took place between Mr.
Frisbie and his Concord friends. In parting with this
[146]

1803] CONCORD
truly estimable and interesting young man, we feel
the most sincere regret. We have lost, not a mere
acquaintance, but a most valuable friend.
"Were I not unwilhng to speak of your lovely
friend Susan with my present feelings, I could ex
patiate on the admiration with which she inspired
me. I feel an ardent wish to cultivate an acquaint
ance with her, — a wish unchecked by any senti
ment, except the fear of disappointing her in the
expectation she would form of one distinguished by
your partiality.
"Present to your exceUent mother an assurance
of my respectful remembrance. I am desirous, more
so than I can express, to see more of her. Her very
glance imparts a portion of that purity and benev
olence which distinguish her. Do you not think there
is an emanation from the souls of the good, which
improves all who come within the sphere of their
attraction?" To the same: "Concord, October 22nd, 1803.
"The 'Lounger' I have in vain attempted to pro
cure. It is to be met with only at the Boston Li
brary, and, as my name is not among subscribers, I
could not hire it from thence. I am resolved, on
your recommendation, to own it ere long, and have
with care preserved the numbers you kindly minuted
for me.
" Have you seen Klopstock's ' Messiah ' ? I have this
[147]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1803
week been perusing it; and, though the great vari
ety of characters introduced sometimes render it
confused, yet, on the whole, I think it calculated to
produce a most happy effect. Several descriptions
of the angehc host are inimitably beautiful. I am
now writing by the light of a candle for the second
or third time these twelvemonths. I dare try the
experiment no longer, but most affectionately bid
you Good-night."
To Ruth Hurd: "Concord, November 7th, 1803.
"Miss H. (shaU I caU her jour friend, or your in
teresting acquaintance?) has probably left Charles
town. She is a very striking proof that 'seventeen
years is as unfit to go alone in the world, as seven
teen weeks in the nursery.' With the very virtues
and graces of extreme youth, are connected dangers
and mortifications ; nor did I ever know a young per
son, on their first entrance into life, unless shielded
by a sensitive delicacy, such as few indeed possess,
or by a disposition naturally cold and insensible, who
did not expose themselves to mortification, if not
to censure."
To Ann Bromfield: "Concord, Nov. 22nd, 1803.
"This day, probably, will see my dear Ann de
part from scenes rendered dear by long acquaint
ance. The constantly unpleasant weather of the
[148]

1803] CONCORD
last week rendered it impossible, in Mamma's opin
ion, to visit BiUerica, though my heart was often
with you. This day, the first in which all things,
even the attendance of a Beau (which in a village
hke this is an animal of wondrous rarity, and con
sequently great importance), are propitious to my
wishes, this day is just one too late. I had so much
to say to you — how poor is paper conversation! Do
you not think more may be expressed in one con
versation, where the tone of voice, and stamp of
countenance 'comes from the heart, and reaches the
heart,' than in ten epistles, even the most flowing
and unreserved? I recoUect you objected to the dan
ger attending an epistolary intercourse between the
sexes. Is there not more, — far more, — peril in fa
miliar conversation with a man of taste and feehng,
than can possibly be found in a correspondence?
Yes, surely, my dear Ann, to judge only by what 1
feel for you, I should pronounce decidedly so. When
I have passed an hour or an half-hour with you, I
receive and communicate more than it would be pos
sible to express by pen ; and it is the recollection of
what I heard and saw at the interview, that renders
the letters I receive or write doubly interesting to
my feehngs. It was not, however, my intention to
quarrel with this best substitute for conversation ; I
acknowledge with gratitude the dehght it procures
me. My intention, at first, was simply to express my
regret and dissatisfaction that, for months, inter
course by way of letter was all I might hope for, and
[149]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1803
that the greater pleasure I anticipated in seeing you
must be relinquished for the lesser one of writing to
you. My disappointment is at this time the greater
that Miss Lowell, in whom I feel an animated inter
est, has been your companion. I had determined, too,
to carry the 'Lounger' with me, and to read, with
you and your lovely friend, the numbers most stri
kingly dehghtful."
To Mrs. Lee: "Concord, Nov. 26th, 1803.
"Your very friendly and characteristic invitation,
my dear Ehza, would be instantly accepted, was in
chnation solely consulted. Not, indeed, for the pe
rusal of the 'interesting French novel,' but for the
rational satisfaction I have ever found at Lee man
sion, in the society of my friend.
"Have you ever seen a paper published at New
bury Port, entitled the 'Repertory'? If so, have you
not been enchanted with 'The British Spy'? The
second number where is drawn the picture of a
blind and aged minister administering the sacrament
of the Supper is, for pathos and sublimity of descrip
tion, inimitable. The author appears to lay as much
stress on manner and. form in devotion as in the or
dinary pursuits of life, where we know them to be
essential. He thinks it impossible a preacher should
warm the hearts and elevate the souls of his audi
tors, if his unimpassioned manner, and uniform, un
interested, uninteresting, voice, implicitly declare he
[150]

1803] CONCORD
either believes not or feels not the truth he inculcates.
Do you not think he is right ? Sometimes, when at
tending to a discourse on the most affecting subjects,
the hnes of Shakspeare occur to my mind with force :
'Pleads he in earnest, — look upon his face,
'His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are jest;
'His words come from his mouth. —
'He prays but faintly, and mould he denied.'
"Make acceptable to Captain Lee the compli
ments of one who has most sincerely rejoiced in his
return to his country, and his restoration to the bosom
of his family."
The foUowing, though without address, I suppose
to be written to Mr. Rockwood:
"Concord, Nov. 29th, 1803.
"How preeminently attractive are piety and vir
tue, adorned by grace and sweetness ! I, last evening,
gave a dehghted assent to this truth, for, last eve
ning, I saw and listened to Mr. Harris of Dorches
ter. The sanctity, the modest gentleness, of his man
ners, the sensibUity of heart which animated his coun
tenance, and gave pathos to his voice, brought to my
mind the beloved Disciple. I cannot but believe, so
thought and felt, so spake and looked, John. This
truly good and interesting man has lately returned
from an excursion to the Western Territory, where
he went in pursuit of health. He entertained us with
a description of that beautiful, but almost unknown
[151]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1803
part of the country. He expatiated on the mildness
of the climate, the exuberance of vegetation, and the
balmy fragrance of the air, with the imagination of
the poet, and the taste of the painter. He then pre
sented us with scenes yet more interesting, nearer
home, and gave us a particular account of the soci
ety of Moravians at Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. With
so happy a pencil did he sketch the place, its inhab
itants, their primeval manners, pure, simple, affec
tionate, the admirable regulation of their time, the
striking and affecting forms of their devotion, — that
I could not but wish I had been born one of the com
munity. And, surely, no mode of hfe can be more
pleasant or improving.
"In our present weak, imperfect state, we feel the
necessity of forms. By them the ardour of devotion
is preserved, and the obhgations of morahty strength
ened. A society, therefore, united by mutual vows,
regulated by rules prescribed by wisdom and good
ness, must have a greater probabflity of enjoying
calm fehcity here, and superior bliss hereafter ; every
hour appropriated to the fulfilment of duty, every
duty, the parent of peace. Here, aU the advantages
of solitude may be found without its disadvantages.
Its members cannot be called useless or selfish, since
much of their time is devoted to the education of
youth, and much of their income to the propagation
of the divine truths of Christianity. I cannot, indeed,
beheve the world, with aU its alluring pleasures, of
fers anything that can be reaUy a counterpoise to the
[152]

1803] CONCORD
tranquil, uniform peace which must be the result of
such a life."
Among my mother's papers of this period I find
a letter to her from the brother of a friend of hers,
which is valuable as giving a view of her power of
sympathy, and of what she was to her friends under
circumstances of trial and suffering. EspeciaUy do I
value it because it reminds me so strongly of my
sister,' who inherited with her mother's name so
many of her gifts of inteUect and heart, and of whom
it was said, after her death, " It was in the highest
offices of administering consolation and counsel in
times of affliction and distress that she found her fit
test sphere."
"Boston, Dec. 29th, 1803.
"Dear Madam, — The subject of which I am to
treat I trust wiU be my sufficient apology for this
hberty, but, were it necessary to preface it with fur
ther excuse, I should find a justification in the uni
formity of your attachment and friendship for my
excellent sister. I am not unacquainted with your
kind attention to her during the most trying scenes
of difficulty. You extended the true and steady arm
of friendship and supported her, you soothed her with
the sweetest consolations, and lulled her heart to
rest." Two days later my mother and Miss Atherton
• Mrs. Mary WUder Foote. — Ed.
[153]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1803
together wrote to Mrs. Lee. I copy one paragraph
from Miss Atherton: "Concord, Dec. 31st, 1803.
"I have passed this week with our loved Mary. I
met her in health and cheerfulness, and still that
wonderful being who fascinates aU hearts ! In a world
hke this, how estimable to find a soul so pure."
Miss Atherton's enthusiasm in speaking of my
mother naturaUy suggests the question. How did this
"wonderful being, who fascinated aU hearts," pass
unscathed through the ordeal of flattered self-love,
to which we feel sure her extraordinary personal and
mental charms must have exposed her? We find an
answer to this question in the following records,
which, though without date, bear evidence of having
been made by her during this period of her life :
" Is it possible ! Can the vain conversation, the flat
tery and attention of beings weak and erring as my
self, introduce disorder into my mind, and estrange
my heart from Him whose love, whose wisdom,
whose perfections, alone are infinite? With such
weakness, can I hazard a residence in the world? Can
I voluntarily enter society when I feel its fascina
tions to be poisonous ? And yet, if I retreat to soh
tude, am I more pleasing in the view of the Creator,
who hath formed me for active benevolence, for prac
tical piety? Do not vain imaginations pursue me
there, does not indolence steal over me, and timidly
[154]

1803] CONCORD
dissuade me from exertion? What is the result of
this experience? 'The good which I would, I do not;
the evil I would not, that I do.' I err, and that con
tinually." Again she writes:
"A combination of circumstances invigorated the
serpents of pride and vanity. They were sustained by
my own foolish thoughts and vain imaginations. God,
by reveahng to my view the recesses of my heart,
saddened and humbled it. Yes, this is evidently the
goodness of God, for no exterior circumstance, no
mortification, or disappointment, has disgusted me
with the world and with myself, and has made me to
feel that *aU is vanity below the skies.'
"'O Thou, the Source and Centre of all souls.
Their only point of rest. Eternal Mind !
Give what Thou canst, without Thee we are poor.
And with Thee rich, take what Thou wilt away."
"'I hate vain thoughts,' yet am continually a prey
to them. Of this precious time on which Eternity
depends, how inconsiderable a portion is devoted to
the only object worthy attention. Even the hours
spent in devotional reading and prayer are of little
worth, unless the soul be engaged. Yes, saintly Mas-
sUlon, thou wert inspired by the Spirit of Truth,
when thou didst declare the pursuit of wealth and
fame and science was 'time lost for eternity,' unless
[155]

MARY WILDER WHITE [I803
they are rendered subservient to the love of God,
and the real happiness of His creatures.
" How ennobhng the ideal God has wiUed my ex
istence! From eternity this being so frail, so erring,
was foreseen, foreordained by Him who is.
"Continual company and excessive heat. How
fatal to improvement! A short proportion of each
day devoted to happier purposes is almost the only
part of the week on which I reflect with pleasure."
On another page she writes:
"'No one, however holy his life has been, should
venture to die in any other state than that of a peni
tent,' says St. Augustine. No one who has a ghmpse
of human depravity can venture to live in any other
state. I say not how imperfect are my best actions 1
but confess that even the performance of religious
duties is often but specious sin. What wanderings
of imagination, what intrusions of worldly thoughts
and passions, what pride and vanity!
"Gracious and Holy Father! I desire renewedly
to dedicate myself to Thee. I desire to dedicate all
my powers and faculties to Thy service, and fer
vently invoke the aid of Thy divine Spirit to en
hghten and strengthen me in the performance of
duty. Oh, guide, sustain and bless me, a sinner, for
the sake of Jesus Christ. Amen."
[156]

CHAPTER VII
1804
CONCORD : MISS SUSAN LOWELL; DIARY
THE year 1804 opens with the foUowing from
my grandmother's pen. It shows, as do other
records, how much the mother and daughter were
alike in their rehgious habit of mind.
"An introduction to the year 1804 is an era which
I had very httle expectation of arriving to. What
then shaU I render to Him who has not only granted
me time to be useful to my family, and has show
ered down blessings on me, but, above aU, has made
me more sensible of His love and tenderness ? Surely,
what remains of hfe I, wiUingly and with ardent de
sire, would wish to dedicate to Him, adoring Him
as the Author of aU good from my youth to the
present moment.
"Thou, O God, hast appeared for me in dangers,
in affhctions, in sickness, and health. When human
aid failed. Thou hast been my guardian and friend.
I confess my unworthiness. Humbled in the dust,
would I beg Thy pardoning mercy. Forgive me, O
God, for against Thee have I sinned. But, through
the mediation of my Saviour, will I lay hold on Thy
gracious promises. Withhold not Thy protection!
Save me from the consequences of my sins, and,
[157]

MARY WILDER WHITE [I804
when hfe shall cease, wilt Thou crown me with ever
lasting fehcity in Thy presence !
"May I never, while hfe shaU last, forget Thy
goodness in restoring my only child. Most merciful
Father, bless her with the communications of Thy
Holy Spirit, guide her in the paths of religion, suc
cour her when tempted, preserve her when distressed.
Through every change, in every scene, uphold her
by Thine Almighty power, secure her by Thine aU-
powerful arm. Bless her, O God, and she shall be
blest." The earliest date of this new year we find from my
mother is the foUowing letter to Miss Emerson:
"Concord, Jan. 7th, 1804-
"My dear Miss Emerson will treat my long si
lence with the same indulgence she claimed for her
self, at the commencement of our correspondence.
She wiU attribute it to the combination of circum
stances, apparently trifling when separately consid
ered, but, united, of sufficient weight to make my
conduct the reverse of what I intended it should be
when I received her letter.
"I confess I cannot perfectly subscribe to your
opinion respecting novels ; and, probably, I am, at
present, more pertinaciously attached to my own,
by the recent perusal of 'A Tale of the Times,' by
Mrs. West, — a work, the product of handsome tal
ents, and upright intentions. The author's aim is to
display the terrific tendency of the new Philosophy,
[158]

1804] CONCORD
and I think she has succeeded far better than any
of her predecessors. If you have not seen it, I think
it wifl yield you some hours' amusement, if you can
condescend to be amused.
"As you kindly consented to hear from me an ac
count of the books by which my attention was most
engaged, I wiU mention Johnson's 'Lives of the
Poets,' which has ^'ery much interested me of late.
Am I censurable, however, in declaring I think, as
a biographer, Johnson causes incomparably more
pain than pleasure? He viewed man with a critic's
eye, and, by a too minute attention to blemishes,
has cast a chilling damp on the pleasure attendant
on a perusal of the Poets. Perhaps his criticism on
the poet was just, but, surely, he might have exer
cised more candour on the man."
We have next a letter from my grandmother. My
mother was then visiting her friends at Elm Hill,
Lancaster. In it she urges my mother's return as fol
lows : " If you should have an opportunity to return,
I wish you would embrace it, as you are very dear
to the hearts of your parents. Your Papa says, ' Tell
that httle one I wish she was at home, as I want her
to talk with.'"
The foUowing letter from my mother is doubtless
to Mr. Rockwood: "Concord, Jan. 28, 1804.
"How has the bitterness of Winter passed with
you ? It appears to me I never knew a colder. I have
[159]

MARY WILDER WHITE [i804
read Thomson and Cowper again and again, with the
laudable determination to persuade myself Winter
was the season of subhme emotion, and social enjoy
ment. With Thomson, I listened to the driving tem
pest, and endeavoured to enjoy its horrors; with
Cowper, I drew near the cheerful fire-side, and tasted
the delights of friendly converse, but it would not
do; when the door opened, I shuddered with cold,
and paid involuntary homage to milder seasons. I
acknowledge, however. Winter is not destitute of
beauty, or pleasure. A landscape, even in January,
may have many charms, and a party of rational
friends may find a tolerable degree of happiness even
in Greenland. It were weU for us if we were disposed
to see and improve the advantages of every situation
in which we are placed; some pecuhar good is at
tached to every season and every state, and it is our
own fault if we do not extract good even from evil.
"Your observations, — I should rather say, your
criticism — on Salem, amused me by the poignancy
of the satire, but, on a re-perusal, drew a sigh from
my heart. If your picture be just, alas! for degraded
humanity! Is there a propensity in the heart of man
more destructive to his nobler feehngs, more deadly
in its effects, than the love of money? Does it not
gradually annihilate his moral sensibility, and leave
him nothing of humanity except the form ? In woman,
its deformity is yet more frightful, as, from her sit
uation, she is less exposed to its power. I believe her
very nature is more delicate, more tender and gen-
[160]

1804] CONCORD
erous. When, therefore, she violates the first prin
ciples of her being, when she becomes rapacious, ob
durate, and icy-souled, she is a monster — a very
monster. " Do you not think of returning to Charlestown
ere long? I 've been assured it is at present uncom
monly briUiant. BaUs have taken place of the Assem
blies, and the Beaux and Belles are preparing to trip
gafly 'on the hght fantastic toe,' Tuesday sennight."
To Ann Bromfield: "Concord, Feb. 2, 1804.
"My heart is not in fault, my dear Ann, that you
have not sooner received an answer to your charm
ing New Year's letter. Circumstances unexpectedly
led me to Lancaster the week I received it, and the
kindness of my amiable friends detained me there
three weeks. I thought, frequently, of addressing you
from the bosom of my dear native viUage, but the
bitterness of bitter January prevented writing in my
chamber, and, you know, letter-writing is not per
fectly consonant with the sociability of a family
party. "Alas! yes, — New Year's day, though fraught
with much of pleasure, though abounding with much
of mirth and joyous festivity, has long been to me
one of the most interesting monitors. It sefems a new
epoch in life, a commencement of being; and is sur
passed only by the thirty-first of December. Did you
ever, since you began to realize yourself a rational
[161]

MARY WILDER WHITE [i804
and immortal being, close the year without mortify
ing reflections on the trifling improvement so con
siderable a proportion of life had produced, without
gratitude for the beneficence with which it was
crowned, and resolutions to merit better that ben
eficence in future? I ever feel regret and deep dis
satisfaction when prevented passing the last evening
of the year in absolute retirement. I seem to have
lost what can never be retrieved.
"I think at present I shaU not see Charlestown
tiU the Spring opens. I cannot write the name of that
charming season without feeling a disposition to ex
patiate on its praise, especiaUy after having shud
dered beneath the rigorous reign of the coldest Win
ter I remember to have felt for many years. I am sure
Winter has no effect on the heart, but I do not know
with certainty that the mind is wholly independent.
What think you?"
To Mrs. Lee: "Concord, February 7th, 1804.
' ' I am reading Denon's ' Tour in Upper Egypt, ' and
find it very entertaining in general, extremely inter
esting in some passages. The writer is not only a man
of observation, but of great sensibility.
"WiU you obhge me by sending the minutes of
the passage of the English army over the Desert? I
wiU not trouble you to write the whole, only the
length of the march, the degree of heat, and the time
spent in making it." [162]

1804] CONCORD
To Ruth Hurd:
"Concord, Feb. 8th, 180 4.
"Don't you think the present temperature of the
air very unpleasant? Did I not hail the southern
breezes as the harbingers of Spring, I should acknowl
edge the severer, but the more bracing air of the west
was more welcome. I love the milder seasons ex
tremely ; but, in Winter, I dread a warm breeze which
dissolves the snow, destroys the elasticity of the air,
and, of course, produces a languid, inactive tone of
spirits. There are few things which teach us humility
more forcibly than this dependence on the weather.
We are compeUed to admit the astonishingly inti
mate union between spirit and matter.
"You are very briUiant in Charlestown, I am told.
Has the Winter passed with you more happily than
usual ? I think you must derive pleasure from occa
sionaUy visiting the theatre, where, 't is said, the per
formances are uncommonly good. I have heard much
of Bernard. What is his style of acting?"
Miss Bromfield was at this time visiting, in
Charlestown, her friend Miss Lowell, and my moth
er, soon after this letter, herself made a visit in that
town. I find among her papers a letter from her step
sister Sally Hurd, addressed to her at Charlestown,
and dated: "Concord, March 10th, 1804.
"I may have appeared inattentive in not writing
before, but I assure you, my dear Mary, it was in
[163]

MARY WILDER WHITE [iso*
appearance alone, for my inchnation would have in
duced me to write often, but we expected your re
turn every day. We do not ask you again to ap
point the day for us to send for you, but what kind
of gallant you would choose, as, on each day you
have expressed a wish to returh, we have procured
a safe conveyance for you, and were disappointed in
not seeing you. Now, we will thank you to send
word what profession, and of what age, would be
most agreeable to you. Lawyers, merchants, a dea
con, and a major have solicited the pleasure of es
corting you back to Concord, but have not been
fortunate enough to meet your approbation. Per
haps, a young student would be acceptable, — more
so than these grave gaUants who have presented
themselves to you."
On reaching home, my mother wrote to Miss
Bromfield: "Concord, March 19th, 1804.
"So unexpectedly did I leave Charlestown, I was
unable to bid my dear Ann adieu, or to make in
quiry relative to her health. At eight in the eve
ning, my brother informed me the stage would call
for me by six the next morning. As the storm was
then violent, I flattered myself it would justify me
in remaining a few days longer, and give me an op
portunity of again seeing my friend. Contrary to ex
pectation, the morning was not unpleasant. I there
fore took my seat in the stage, and could only look
[164]

1804] CONCORD
an adieu towards the Square. The roads were ex
tremely bad ; more than once, I thought we should
have occasion for a boat. Indeed, every movement
of the carriage reminded me of being at sea in a
storm. The vessel pitched and rolled, and twice was
nearly laid on her beam-ends. By apologizing for the
circumstantial egotism of this page, I should pay an
iU comphment to Friendship. The letters most grate
ful to my feelings are those which convey the most
perfect image of my friend, her thoughts, feelings,
and employments; and such I think most satisfac
tory to my dear Ann. In writing to a mere acquaint
ance, one may study for ingenuity of thought, or ele
gance of expression ; but in writing to a friend, one
feels the fuU value of that easy security with which
the soul reposes, the heart pours itself forth, fearless
of criticism, confident of being received with affec
tionate warmth.
"Let me know if you have determined to pass
the summer in Newbury. If so, I presume it wiU be
principaUy spent in sohtude. Miss Emerson, (a friend
whom you have heard me mention as one of the first
of women) has often observed to me, so far did she
think the pleasures and advantages of sohtude sur
passed those of society, so much more perfect was
her consciousness of existing in the presence of De
ity, a 'Deity believed, adored, and loved,' that she
never quitted her retirement without regret, nor re
turned to it without the most dehghtful emotion.
I do not know but this principle may be dangerous.
[165]

MARY WILDER WHITE [i804
What think you? Have we a right to seclude our
selves entirely from the world ? Can we dispense with
the social duties?
"To Susan, I add a postscript. May it be received,
as it is proffered, in the spirit of love, with which I
am, my dear Ann, affectionately yours,
Mary Van Schalkwyck.
"P.S. Will you, my interesting friend, welcome
through the medium of our Ann, an assurance of
my affectionate remembrance, and of the interest I
shaU ever feel in your happiness. I shall never for
get, nor can I consent to be forgotten by you. With
those dear ideas that make this life supportable, and
the next desirable, I class the hope of meeting you,
where friendship shall be perfected, and friends for
ever united. I cannot think it improbable that, at
some future period of existence, we may recollect
the time when this was only hope, and rejoice in the
perfect satisfaction of reality.
"Adieu — accept an affectionate good evening
from Mary Van Schalkwyck."
This postscript was the beginning of a correspond
ence between my mother and Miss Susan Cabot
Lowell (afterwards Mrs. Gorham), which lasted as
long as my mother lived. Mrs. Gorham preserved
many of my mother's letters. After her death they
came into my father's possession, and were read by
him to my sister and myself, with other letters of
my mother, when we were very young. I never knew
[166]

1804] CONCORD
Mrs. Gorham, who died only a few years later than
my mother, but it is a pleasant circumstance to me
that friendships now exist between those of her line
age and my mother's hardly less warm than that of
which we have so full an expression in these letters.
From Miss Anna Cabot LoweU, a niece of Mrs.
Gorham, I learn that her aunt, whose memory she
cherishes with affectionate reverence, was distin
guished for the enthusiasm and disinterestedness of
her affections, and for her refined and literary tastes.
She was the daughter of Judge LoweU, who was ap
pointed by Washington Judge of the United States
District Court — the same office which his great-
grandson, our valued friend Judge LoweU, received
from Lincoln. Mrs. Gorham's mother was Susan
Cabot, the second wife of Judge LoweU. Her home,
until her father's death, was in Roxbury, at Bromley
Vale, in the old mansion-house which afterwards
descended to the son and to the son's son of Judge
Lowell, and which has but recently been removed
to make way for the encroachments of the city.
When Judge LoweU died, in 1802, his widow and
third wife (who was a Miss Russell, and the grand
mother of James Russell LoweU) removed to Charles
town, where her relatives hved. There it was that my
mother, while visiting her cousins, met Miss LoweU
and her sister, and formed the friendship of which
these letters are the memorial. The elder sister of
Miss Susan LoweU, Miss Anna Cabot Lowell, who
according to the fashion of the day was caUed Nancy,
[167]

MARY WILDER WHITE [i804
was a daughter of Judge LoweU by his first mar
riage. Her mother was a Miss Higginson. From my
earhest recoUection I have heard of Miss Nancy Low
eU as the woman of her day most distinguished,
among all who knew her, for her remarkable intel
lect. Her niece and namesake has told me that her
Aunt Susan looked up to her elder sister with an
almost idolatrous affection, and that her Aunt Nancy
was regarded with hardly less enthusiasm by a large
circle of admiring friends. She and my mother died
within a few months of each other.
It would seem that the spring of 1804 was to my
mother a season of more than usual thoughtfulness
and self-examination. We find that on her return
from her visit to Charlestown she began a journal
which, after a few pages, she thought it best to dis
continue. This precious manuscript was given to me
by my dear father in the days of my youth. Corning
to me at that impressible period, a message from her
to whom I looked up as to a saint in heaven, it in
fluenced me as no hving teacher could do. The re
hgious views which I then received, as it were from
my mother's lips, are the cherished convictions of
my declining years. I copy passages from this jour
nal, as foUows:
"Sunday, 18th of March, 1804. Commenced this
joumal, with the humble and fervent hope of its be
ing the means of assisting me in self-knowledge, and
advancing me in the graces of the Christian char
acter. [168]

1804] CONCORD
" In the moming of this Lord's day, I awoke early;
but the dangerous habit of rising late which I have
too much indulged, rendered me unwilhng to leave
the bed. I sought, therefore, to compromise with
conscience, by determining, though I rose not, to
meditate and pray. How dangerous is it to yield to
indolence ! My thoughts were incoherent, my prayers
mere ejaculations, and those not fervent, — thus an
hour or more was unprofitably spent that ought to
have been devoted to the service of the Lord, my
Creator, my Preserver, my Redeemer. Father of
hght and life, give me strength to overcome every
propensity to the sin of indolence, — that mortal
poison to the soul!
"Read this moming Malachi iv. How delightful
was the promise that the 'Sun of righteousness
should arise with healing in His wings.' Oh, may this
glorious Sun warm as well as enlighten me, a most
unworthy creature! Read also the different tenets
of Calvin and Arminius, — neither of which can I
whoUy and cordiaUy embrace. Methinks, Calvin, by
denying the free agency of man, and by supposing
Deity has predestinated many to eternal misery, im
peaches His justice and goodness. On the other side,
the confident reliance of Arminius on works appears
to me altogether unsatisfactory, and opposed to the
first principles of Christianity. For myself, I feel it
would be a most miserable faith, and would make
death, indeed, the King of Terrors. I beheve, with
Calvin, in the depravity of human nature, and in sal-
[169]

MARY WILDER WHITE [i804
vation by grace alone ; with Arminius, I believe man
is a free agent, that the death of Christ put all man
kind in a salvable state, that grace is accorded to
every one who will pray for it, and improve it; and
that those who have believed may fall, and finally
come short of salvation.
"Mr. Ripley preached from II Kings v. 18; the
subject was Naaman's petition that he might be per
mitted to bow in the temple of Rimmon. My devo
tion, except in the last prayer, was cold ; my thoughts
wandered on many subjects, and I have brought
away less of the sermon than I ought. May I be en
abled to profit more in future!
"After my return, read the first and second epis
tles of Peter, and had a joyful sense of God's good
ness in Jesus Christ. In prayer, though I saw through
a glass darkly, yet had much satisfaction, and when
I offered up a petition for the souls of my husband
and brother, my Heavenly Father granted me sweet
consolation. I cannot, therefore, beheve it is displeas
ing to Him to hear prayers for the dead. How many
wise men, and sincere Christians, have united in the
belief that with such prayers God is weU pleased.
Besides, if no good results to the dead, certainly they
cannot be injured by them; and, methinks, it is a
kind of piety to treasure their remembrance even in
our devotion. The effect on myself, I think, is good. I
have never felt my heart more humbled, more pen
etrated, more deeply impressed with a sense of my
[170]

1804] CONCORD
dependence on God than when I approached Him
in behalf of my beloved departed friends. I concluded
the reading of the day by Sherlock's discourse on the
mysteries of the Gospel.
"Monday. Rose at half-past six. Was not animated
in my devotion. Wilt Thou, O Father, warm my
heart by Thy Love, and sanctify me by Thy Spirit!
" In the afternoon, Mr. Ripley called, with an invi
tation for Betsy and myself to pass a few hours at the
parsonage. We went. In the evening, Mr. Ripley
spoke of the state of departed souls, — of our recog
nizing our friends in a future state ; gave it as his de
cided opinion that we should ; thought every weU-
founded friendship would endure eternaUy ; and that
the fehcity of Heaven would consist, not only in love
to God, but love towards each other. He hkewise
mentioned his idea of future punishment, which he
thought would be a series of suffering, terminating
in annihilation. He rendered eternal punishment eter
nal death or annihflation.
"Tuesday. Read in Psalms; was indisposed, a vio
lent head-ache in the morning. Felt a depression of
spirits, — coldness of devotion except when reading
the Scriptures. Wrote to Guadeloupe, to Mr. Cut
ler, Miss Bromfield, and Grace Hurd. Read a letter
from Voltaire to Helvetius, containing exceUent ad
vice for the formation of his style.
" Wednesday. Read the third and fourth chapters
of St. John's Gospel. Was assisted in devotion by
[171]

MARY WILDER WHITE [i804
the Prayer-book of the Church of England. Is it not
best when our own devotion languishes, to revive it
by the perusal of prayers by others ?
"Thursday. The state of indifference, so much
to be dreaded, prevailed in my devotions. Read in
St. Matthew's Gospel. Afternoon, read Goldsmith's
'History of England.'
"Saturday. Was assisted in devotion by the
Prayer-book. It was a day of sorrow. May it prove
profitable sorrow to my soul! In the afternoon, was
much indisposed with a nervous complaint in my
head. Found consolation in the Bible, and endeav
oured to say, ' Father, in all things. Thy will be done.'
"Sabbath. Was assisted in devotion by the Epis
copal Prayer-book. Read the chief of St. John's Gos
pel. Was indisposed the whole day, yet did I expe
rience a happy tranquillity of mind, though with less
fervour in devotion than I wished.
"Tuesday. Read the Scriptures, but was not ani
mated with the spirit of fervent piety. Had many
uncomfortable doubts. Knew not how to reconcile
the idea of a particular Providence with Man's free
agency. Visited Mrs. Thoreau. Spoke of the doctrine
of Guardian Angels. Read Newton's letter on that
subject. " Wednesday. Was greatly favoured by my Heav
enly Father. Felt a greater warmth of devotion than
I had long known. Read Newton's hfe, written by
himself in a series of letters. Though I felt my heart
warmed toward God, and was impressed with a
[172]

1804] CONCORD
sense of my own unworthiness, stifl was I distressed
with doubts of a directing Providence. Oh, that I
could see a Providence directing all things! Grant,
Lord, this mercy, for Christ's sake!
" Thursday. Was highly favoured with a more holy
frame of devotion than I had long experienced. Read
in St. Matthew's Gospel. Many doubts arose in my
mind concerning this method of keeping a joumal.
Does it, or does it not, savour too much of ostenta
tion? Is not my conduct influenced by the idea that
aU will be recorded by my own pen ; whereas the de
sire to please God and obtain His Love, should be
the ruhng, and the only motive of aU my actions ?
Perhaps even my devotions are influenced, in a de
gree, by a wish to avoid a dark page in my journal.
These ideas have determined me to omit, for some
time at least, the custom of recording my feelings.
But, as a habit of committing to paper whatever re
markable I have read or heard in the course of the
day, appears to me to be beneficial, I have determined
to continue that practice."
That this was my mother's habit appears from
the many loose sheets that we find among her pa
pers, upon which she has transcribed what most in
terested her in reading, as weU as from her weU-fiUed
extract-book. The present journal, however, con
cludes with only the foUowing records :
"April 29th. Sabbath morning. Read in Psalms
and St. John's Gospel. Methinks, the tenderness,
[173]

MARY WILDER WHITE [iso*
the consohng love that speaks through the beloved
Evangehst must recommend him in a particular
manner to every heart of sensibihty. When does our
Divine Saviour appear so irresistibly lovely, as when
speaking through the medium of John? 'In my Fa
ther's house are many mansions. I go to prepare a
place for you.' 'I have prayed for you, and not for
you only, but for aU those who shall hereafter be
heve on me.' 'I go to my Father, and your Father,
to my God and your God.' 'Where I am, there ye
shaU be also.' 'Peace be with you, my peace I leave
unto you ; not as the world giveth, give I unto you.'
Who can read unmoved the pathetic tenderness of
our Lord ! How cold, how ungrateful is my heart,
which so often forgets aU the Saviour's love, — which
dwells hours on the gifts, for minutes devoted to the
Giver of aU good. How long has one letter from a
beloved friend dwelt in my mind and warmed my
heart — how frequently has it been perused, how
carefully its meaning examined, how dear has the
treasure appeared! But how often have the Divine
epistles of my Lord lain neglected, or but coldly and
superficially been perused ! Grant, Heavenly Father,
grace to warm, enhghten, and purify my soul!"
The foUowing fragment of a letter, though with
out date or address, I suppose, from the handwri
ting and other indications, belongs to this period.
" I have just laid aside Milton, who has become
my favourite Divine. In the course of this last win-
[174]

1804] CONCORD
ter, I perused several theological works, and have re
turned to my Bible with increased pleasure, and a
dehghtful consciousness that there is one volume
in which is contained pure Truth, unadulterated by
prejudice, plain to the simplest, divinely subhme to
the wisest. Next to the Bible, I rank the Poets ; I am
confident Milton, Cowper, Young, and Thomson
excite more devotional feelings than aU the contro
versial authors in Christendom. As I would avoid
the touch of the torpedo, would I fly from those
men who, refining away every thing not perfectly
comprehensible to our weak dim-sighted reason,
would make us believe a cold, speculative adora
tion of Deity is aU that we can or ought to pay, who
regard the Saviour only as the founder of a new re
hgion, and the institutor of a pure system of mor
als. As though an invisible Benefactor might not be
loved, and as though our Creator and Redeemer
were not entitled to the best offerings of the heart
as weU as the head. I know enthusiasm has its at
tendant dangers, but, to me, they appear far less fatal
than its cold reverse; and were happiness, even in this
world, my object, I would prefer waking and weeping
with enthusiastic Mary, at the foot of the cross, to
being the icy-souled, the self-thought rational, en-
hghtened Deist, or his dear friend and brother, the
Socinian. Thinking thus, you will not be surprised
that the Poets are my favourite Divines. Milton's
theology appears to me equally sound and dehghtful.
The most abstruse subjects explained by him be-
[175]

MARY WILDER WHITE [i804
come clear, and I sometimes think him inspired by
the Spirit he so solemnly invoked."
To Miss Bromfield: "Concord, March 20th, 1804.
" I need not say it would have given me pleasure
to have accepted the lovely Susan's invitation. Des
tiny appears to separate us here. Let us hope, — for
me, I fondly cherish the expectation, — that we shall
meet at some future period of existence. Were it
not for the hope of 'another and a better world,'
were it not for the expectation of meeting there
those who have been, and are, most dear to my
heart, I should be indeed wretched. Certainly, but
for this, I would never form a friendship. I would
endeavour to extinguish aU social affections, to sup
press every sentiment of tenderness, and invoke
apathy as the best of blessings.
" I am so truly in the writing mood, so perfectly
disposed to fill two or three more pages, I find it nec
essary to repeat, every moment, — 'Recollect, Mary,
you have letters to write to Guadeloupe.' Bless your
fortunate stars, dear Ann, for this circumstance."
To Ruth Hurd: "Concord, March 23rd, 1804.
" To live in the constant presence of aU those who
are dear to us is rarely accorded to mortals. And,
indeed. Wisdom and Love Divine have so deter
mined it. Contrast is necessary, alike, to beauty and
[176]

1804] CONCORD
happiness. Separation from those we love heightens
exceedingly their value, and the pleasure of a re
union compensates for the pain of absence. I found
this reasoning necessary to reconcile me to quitting
Charlestown in the abrupt manner I did, and thus
it is: —
"'There is some secret virtue in things evil.
Would men observingly distil it out.'
"No, my dear girl, I, by no means, imagine Mr.
R. so insensible or unjust as to think of you as you
intimate. The same observations would apply to me,
as weU as to yourself. I am perfectly conscious of
my inferiority to Miss N. L., and should think no
more of vieing with her than with Mr. Dexter ; but
I should be extremely mortified did I not believe a
man of sense could converse with us both without
feehng contempt. In truth, my dear Ruth, I fancy
there is a natural distinction between the sexes, and
that woman may not only be as interesting, but as
improving, when she preserves the distinction, and
cultivates those p6wers that render her the sooth
ing, consohng, amiable, (but not therefore ignorant,)
friend and companion. I respect that woman who,
to superior strength of mind, unites goodness and
kindness; — I do more, I admire her as almost a
prodigy. But, so rarely is mascuhne strength alhed
to feminine sweetness, so unfortunately is the woman
lost in the confident orator, that I believe had we
abihties, we should be no great gainers by assuming
superiority. The woman who rightly understands
[177]

MARY WILDER WHITE [i804
her interest, wiU indeed cultivate her mind as highly
as possible, she wiU strengthen it by exercise, she
wfll consider herself rational and immortal, but she
wiU not forget she is still woman, that the duties
prescribed her by the God of Nature, are essentially
different from those of man; and, of course, it be
comes her to cultivate those powers by which she is
fitted to fulfil her duties.
" I assure you, it was far from my intention, when
I sat down, to enter into this dissertation. I have in
sensibly been led from sentence to sentence by the
subject. I flatter myself our opinions harmonize on
this as well as on other subjects. Indeed, I am cer
tain we think and feel here in unison.
"Most joyfully do I congratulate you, my dear
friend, on the resolution you have formed to declare
yourself openly the disciple of the blessed Jesus, and
to become a guest at His table. Besides the satisfac
tion of complying with a positive and most affect
ing command, besides its being the means of our
grovii:h in rehgion, it forms so delightful a bond of
union between Christians, that, were the most pain
ful sacrifice necessary to attain the privflege, we
should be insensible to hesitate making it.
"Since my return, the walking has been so ex
tremely bad, I have not seen our amiable B., but
expect this afternoon to converse with her on a very
interesting subject. I believe she has not heard from
Mr.  , several months past, and am astonished,
with the certainty which he possesses that the cor-
[178]

1804] CONCORD
respondence was not displeasing to her, he should
delay writing a single post. I confess, my dear Ruth,
I do not much credit the ardour of that attachment,
which is so diffident of its own strength and con
stancy. I beheve genuine love never suspects the
possibility of change.
"Afternoon. I have opened this letter to give you
an extract from Moritz' 'Travels through England.'
Speaking of Lichfield, which you remember Andrd
mentions so enthusiastically, he says : — 'It is an old-
fashioned town with narrow, dirty streets. The place,
to me, wore an unfriendly appearance ; I, therefore,
passed hastfly through it.' Who could imagine this
to be 'the beautiful city that hfts her fair head on
high, and says: — / am, and there is none beside
me.'" To Ann Bromfield: "Concord, May 8th, 1804.
" Your letter arrived most opportunely, my dear
Ann, to relieve me from serious anxiety for your
health. I was on the point of addressing a letter of
inquiry to you, or your excellent mother, when a
messenger from the post-office wrought an immedi
ate change in my feelings and determinations. You
see I do not easily suspect the constancy of a friend ;
the idea of diminished regard would be so exceed
ingly painful, I cautiously avoid it, and impute to
any other cause that apparent neglect which is some
times inevitable, even among the dearest friends.
[179]

MARY WILDER WHITE [i804
"May 9th. The early morning dehghtfuUy in
vites me to address you. How sweet is the cool
breeze after the heat of yesterday, how gratefuUy
the verdure of nature sweUs to sight long accustomed
to dazzling snow, or the brown, lifeless earth 1 1 can
not describe my pleasure at the first warbling of the
red-breast, but by referring you to a recoUection of
your own. Is it not a thousand pities that sportsmen,
who know no other gratification in their amuse
ment than the pleasure of destroying, should be per
mitted to rob the country of its sweetest musician ?
Are there any sounds more in unison with a calm
sunset than the meUow notes of that social bird ? At
the opening of morning, there are innumerable shriU
pipes more enlivening, but not one possesses such
full and tender melody. What say you to the pro
posal of draughting a petition in behalf of this de
serving favourite ? Don't you think some wise heads
at the seat of Government might be more innocently
employed in framing laws for the preservation of the
blessings we do enjoy, than in forming schemes for
the acquisition of those we do not?"
To Ruth Hurd: "Concord, May 14th, 1804.
"How charmingly has the Spring opened upon
us I I cannot describe the pleasure I felt at the first
opening of the wall-flower ; it was the signal of re
viving nature, and, while it regaled us with its per
fume, it awakened ideas and feelings the most grate-
[180]

1804] CONCORD
ful. If you have never preserved it through the win
ter, 1 think you wiU be repaid for the care of doing
it, next season. The plant is hardy, and will cost you
less attention than any other with which I am ac
quainted. " ShaU we not see you, with our amiable Hannah,
soon in Concord ? Being vacation, it is the season of
Beaux with us ; and, as they remain not longer than
strawberries or cherries, we shall be happy if you
wiU hasten to share with us the rare view of two or
three GaUants.
"This letter is written hastily, but, my dear Ruth
wifl make aUowance for incoherence, when she knows
I have been frequently interrupted, and am now
caUed on to welcome some of our coUege friends."
To Mrs. Lee: "Concord, June 17th, 1804.
"Did I not think you confide in the constancy of
my affectionate regard, I should make a lengthy
apology for permitting SaUa to return to Lancaster
without an answer to your last affectionate and thrice
welcome epistle. In truth, a succession of company
has constantly claimed my attention, since the re
turn of the fine season has rendered the country
preferable to the town. Many books I intended read
ing have lain unopened, and several pieces of work
I thought to have accomphshed ere now, are un
touched. " How httle of our short hfe, my dear Elizabeth,
[181]

MARY WILDER WHITE [iso*
is at our own disposal, and, of that little, how small
a proportion is usefully and satisfactorily spent! I
am confident, could we exert the energy and inde
pendence necessary to a systematic hfe, we should
find our improvement, and of course our happiness,
greatly increased. The desultory manner in which
nine-tenths of the world pass their lives, is destruc
tive to good, while it leaves ample room for the
growth of evil. Of this truth no one can be more
convinced than myself; I am continuaUy forming
wise resolutions, and determining in future to fiU
each portion of time with improvement; and yet I
too often find 'trifles hght as air' dissolve the plans
formed in moments of tranquil leisure; 'busy idle
ness,' or listless inactivity, steals many of the hours
which, in anticipation, we devoted to the perform
ance of duty, the pursuit of wisdom, and the cul
tivation of taste.
"You are very kind to urge so many admirable
motives for my visiting Lancaster at this time. None
were necessary to induce me to wish to pass part of
this charming season with you. Apropos of Lancas
ter, I have lately heard as many fine things said, as
I myself ever imagined; and by whom do you think?
Even by the brother of your angehc preacher, Mr.
Channing. He was introduced to us the week be
fore last; I had indeed seen him before, but never
heard him converse. He appeared correct and ele
gant ; and, you will not doubt I give him credit for
[182]

1804] CONCORD
fine taste, when I tell you he said that, notwith
standing many learned authors had asserted the con
trary, he was certain, Lancaster was formerly part
of Paradise.
"I return 'David Simple' with many thanks, and
Helvetius with an apology for having so long de
tained it. I was, several times, on the point of sending
the volume, when I recoUected something I wished
to look at again, and thus it has remained with me
tiU now."
Next we have a letter addressed to "Miss Sarah
Ripley, Salem. Politeness of Mr. Cabot," — another
"moss from the old Manse." "Concord, June 27th, 1804.
" This balmy morning, breathing health and peace,
has inspired me with feehngs worthy to be devoted
to my Sarah, could they be transmitted by some
magic from heart to heart ; but, as Andrd complains,
'they must go such a circuitous route from the heart
to the head, through fingers, pen, paper, — over hiUs
and dales, — and then must undergo the scrutiny of
the eye, and be received into the head, before they
reach the heart again,' that I very much fear the
warmth, the animation, the soul, would evaporate,
and leave you little more than a mass of words, by
the time my letter reached you. I wiU refer you only
to your own feehngs on Thursday moming, at five
o'clock, if that early hour found you awake, adding,
[183]

MARY WILDER WHITE [i804
the sweets of new-mown hay supphed the perfume
of a city. When Mahomet termed smelling 'the sense
of the soul,' he approached the truth more nearly
than would be, at first, imagined. It certainly has
an effect indefinitely great on our feelings, the tone
of our minds, and the whole colour of our thoughts.
Did it depend on myself, I would embower my hab
itation with fragrant trees and shrubs, more remote
would place the fuller odour of sweet-scented flow
ers ; and this as a promoter of cheerfulness and com
placency. "Do not imagine I have expatiated on the de
lights of the morning air because I had nothing more
interesting, no subject nearer my heart. The health
of my dear Sarah has been as anxiously desired by
her friend, as she permits aught to be wished, which
concerns this momentary existence. I was relieved
by learning, from your father, you supported your
journey as far as Charlestown, with more ease than
he apprehended ; I am resigned to the deprivation
of your society, so well convinced am I, your health
wiU be benefited by change of air and objects, with
the attention, and amiable cheerfulness of Miss Law
rence. Present to her the sentiments you think most
acceptable from your Mary ; none can more admire
the noble sincerity and independence of her charac
ter, than myself, none render more justice to the
warmth of her heart.
"Monday, July 2nd. Company obliged me to quit
[184]

1804] CONCORD
my dear Sarah, and company has, until now, pre
vented my enjoying paper conversation with her. My
cousin, E. Gould, from Augusta, is with me ; she is
a lively, sensible, engaging girl ; and, were it not for
the sohcitude her dehcate health excites, I should
find her society a cordial. As neither of my sisters
is at home, the laws of hospitality, seconded by in
chnation, obhge me to devote much of my time to
her, — of course, little has remained for my pen.
"Yesterday, for the third time, I received welcome
intelhgence of your improved health. Don't be as
tonished, my dear; distinguished personages must
ever expect attention will be paid to their most mi
nute actions, and the state of their health, spirits,
etc., etc., afford subject of conversation to aU the
little beings around them. If you recollect with whom
you breakfasted on your journey to Salem, you will
not be at a loss to know from whom I once heard
from you. Hannah gave me yesterday an assurance,
the most gratifying, that Salem air, and Salemfriends
had proved as charming restoratives as our hopes had
predicted. " Should you see Miss Jenks, oblige me by assur
ing her my heart has ever retained the sweet image
of the httle blue-eyed girl I loved when, like herself,.
a child." With my mother's letters of 1804 I find the fol
lowing note to Rev. WiUiam Emerson, the brother
[185]

MARY WILDER WHITE [i804
of Miss Mary Emerson. My father has marked it in
pencfl, "To Editor of the Anthology.'" "Sabbath Evening.
" Not all my confidence in the candour of Mr. Em
erson enables me to transmit the superficial produc
tion of a winter's morning without reluctance. It is
only in compliance with his sister's request I deter
mine to send, by to-morrow's post, what wiU be per
haps rejected by the judgment and taste of the Editor
of the 'Anthology.' Should this be the case, no one
can acknowledge the justice of the sentence more
sincerely than the author."
From this it seems that my mother had "gained
courage" to write for the pubhc eye. The foUowing
note and letter appeared in the "Anthology" for
July, 1804.
"For THE 'Anthology.'
"Mr. Editor, — Should you be disposed to admit
into your elegant pubhcation the correspondence of
two obscure females, who have hitherto written
merely for their own amusement, and who still seek
concealment, you wiU probably receive several let
ters from Constance and Cornelia."
' In 1803, the Anthology Club was founded in Boston, consisting of
fourteen members, six of them ministers. In November, the first number
of the " Monthly Anthology " appeared, and it was continued until June,
1811. It was the first literary and critical magazine of any note published
in America. The article mentioned is in the form of a letter, signed Cor
nelia, and is addressed to Miss Mary Emerson under the name of Con
stance. — Ed.
[186]

1804] CONCORD
The editor of the "Anthology" adds the foUowing
note: "If Constance shall manifest the piety of heart,
and warmth of fancy, which glow in her friend Cor-
neha, the Editor will be proud of his new correspond
ents." TO CONSTANCE July, 1804.
The subhme death of Mrs.  , which you last
evening described to me, dear Constance, deeply im
pressed my mind. Resignation derived from such
sources, at the moment of such a separation, from a
mind hke hers, which, you say, "exhibited a fair and
beautiful symmetry, justness in reasoning, strength
to investigate, and clearness to discover ; with those
estimable qualities, sensibihty, fortitude, and mod
esty;" is truly wonderful.
When you left me, I retired to my chamber, with
the image of the expiring saint before me. Seating
myself at a window, mine eyes were involuntarily
raised towards heaven ; and " Where is now the abode
of the departed spirit?" was my first inquiry. Does
that state of progression, which we believe continues
after death, permit the idea that the soul ascends to
the complete enjoyment of the immediate presence
of Deity, which would be at once the perfection of
bhss and glory? Of the innumerable "gems that pave
the floor of heaven," we know little, but beheve them
to be suns, enhghtening other systems; those sys
tems are doubtless the abodes of inteUigent beings ;
[187]

MARY WILDER WHITE [i804
why may we not suppose them to be the different
"mansions of our heavenly Father," of which the
Saviour informed His sorrowing disciples, and where
He assured them of a reception ? And is it irrational
to believe congenial spirits assemble in the same
planet, and thence pass to more glorious orbs, as they
acquire greater purity and perfection ?
In this train of thought I feU asleep, but was soon
awakened by heavy thunder; severe and frequent
flashes of lightning were succeeded by peals awfuUy
majestic ; nature was alternately wrapt in flames and
in darkness, and the stiU silence of night was broken
only by the voice of God. It was then when I felt that
every flash might be the mandate of death ; when I
tremblingly realized the next moment might termi
nate my probationary state, and place my disem
bodied spirit in the presence of that pure and holy
Judge, by whose irrevocable decree my fate would be
sealed; that I acknowledged the foUy of indulging
mere speculations, the pastime of the imagination,
by which the heart is little affected, and of course the
life unimproved ; it was then, impressed with an idea
that my life was just closing, I felt that true wisdom
should engage us to employ with activity each mo
ment allowed us, to seek unceasingly the favour of
our Maker, and thus prepare for that death which is
inevitable ; instead of regarding it as a probable, but
very distant event, and amusing ourselves, in the in
terim, with fancying the scenes to which it may in
troduce us. [188]

1904] CONCORD
What is this strange propensity in our nature to
turn from the contemplation of indubitable and es
sential truth, while we readily resign ourselves to
imagination, and rove with delight in the boundless
regions of possibility ? How, my ever valued friend,
is this propensity to be corrected ; how, (since aU our
faculties may answer that important purpose,) best
made to conduce to our felicity as immortal beings?
The wish to obtain your opinion on this subject
induced me to throw on paper the thoughts and feel
ings of last night ; refuse not to oblige your
Cornelia.
In the "Anthology" for August, 1804, Miss Em
erson rephed to this letter, defending the use of the
imagination; in December, 1804, she wrote on bot
any as confirming the Christian faith. To this my
mother rephed, in a subsequent number, as foUows :
TO CONSTANCE January 15th, 1805.
Yes, my dear Constance, the interesting science,
whose tendency you have investigated and justly
eulogized, does indeed shed new hght on the best
interests of Man; and though to the mere naturalist,
it is little more than an amusement, to the Christian
botanist it presents a chaplet of never fading flowers.
And, surely, my friend, since the love of nature
is intimately connected with that of her Author, it
[189]

MARY WILDER WHITE [i804
is "devoutly to be wished" that a taste for all her
sublime and touching beauties might be universaUy
and assiduously cultivated. If the study of her low-
hest children tends to contemplations the most ele
vating, if the vegetable world demonstrates the Wis
dom, the Goodness, and the Power of the Creator,
ought not an attention to grander harmonies to sub
limate the soul and aU its capacities?
To a well-toned mind, and refined taste, inex
haustible sources of pleasure are opened. Change of
seasons presents objects ever new; and, even in the
short compass of day and night, the senses and the
imagination are regaled by a ceaseless variety of
beauties. The mere connoisseur, who criticises na
ture as he does the fine arts, is insensibly animated
and purified by it. The cheerful morning invigorates
his mind and his affections ; and the serene evening,
while it soothes the jarring passions awakened by the
events of the day, communicates to his heart that
tenderness and benevolence, of which it seems the
reflected image.
But how are these advantages enhanced, these
pleasures ennobled, to the being who beholds the
great Artificer, through the medium of His works!
In the simplicity and grandeur of that system which
blesses our world with alternate light and shade, he
views the goodness of a Father, and adores the maj
esty of a God ; whilst every proof of His omnipo
tence and omnipresence fills the heart with that sweet
[190]

1804] CONCORD
confidence, which is an antidote to aU the iUs of life.
And, when the west is splendid with crimson and
gold, how superior to the pleasure of the painter and
the poet is the rapture of gratitude which raises the
soul to Him, by whose law grey masses of vapour are
transformed into objects pleasing to the eye, ani
mating to the fancy, and elevating to the feehngs
of the admiring observer !
I know your opinion of Cowper, the faithful poet
of nature and of Christianity, too weU to imagine
you can have perused his life, written by the elegant
and affectionate Hayley, without pleasure. There is
genuine satisfaction in finding the Author whose
works we admire, worthy our esteem and confidence
as a man; his precepts acquire a strength and grace,
when iUustrated by his own example, which nothing
else can give to them. We are grateful to the good-
natured biographer, who, by presenting us with a
favourable portrait, adds energy to the page whence
we derive wisdom and delight. But there are dan
gers in this species of biography; and, on the whole,
which do you think most beneficial to the cause of
virtue and science, the tender partiality of Hayley,
or the stern investigation of Johnson ?
Hoping for an answer, I bid you an affectionate
fareweU. Cornelia.
I find an unfinished letter of July 2, without ad
dress, from which I copy the foUowing paragraphs:
[191]

MARY WILDER WHITE [i804
"There is, in the early death of a Christian, an in
describable charm, which all must acknowledge who
behold. To retire from the world with calm dignity,
at the moment when its allurements are aU displayed
to fascinate us ; to ascend to the world of spirits, the
fresh fragrance of youth yet unwasted, the soul un-
wedded to this world, and glowing with devotion;
to be admitted to the celestial assembly of perfected
beings, to become ourselves angelic, and dweU for
ever near the fountain of Felicity, without having
encountered the dangers and the miseries of a long
life, without having died a thousand times in those
we love, — is not this a boon devoutly to be wished ?
A beneficent Providence has accorded this distin
guishing favour to most of those I best loved. I
never lost an aged friend. My father, in the meridian
of life, died as all would wish to die, and the tombs
of the friends who have since ascended to Heaven,
bear a yet earlier date. Far from anticipating the
long life of those dear to me, I do not even ask it ;
to petition for their health is all I dare. With such
sentiments, you will judge the friendships I contract
must be for eternity. Not one have I formed, since
I was capable of deciding, which I do not hope wifl
be lasting as my consciousness of existence ; we may
pass but a year, a month, a day, together on earth,
but immortal beings may expect eternal intercourse
in some mansion of their Heavenly Father."
Probably written to Mr. Rockwood:
[192]

1*^0*] CONCORD
"Concord, July 5th, I8O4.
" Where shaU I address myself to the sage who
fled the dissipation and folly of Concord? Is he an
anchorite on the woody summit of Beacon HiU, hath
he sought an asylum on the lonely banks of the
Charles, or, less severe, is he aiding the gentle nymphs
of Salem to guard their fleecy charge ? In either case,
wiU not an epistle from one of the giddy but elegant
and dangerous votaries of fashion, be deemed imper
tinent? With what patience can he support such
an interruption to profound meditation, or tranquil
enjoyment? Ah! he wiU, doubtless, consign this poor
sheet to the four winds of Heaven, for having the
audacity to bear on its surface a splendid detail of
Plays and Concerts, BaUs and Routs, — and of what
else can I speak from the centre of this dazzling me
tropohs ? 'T is, doubtless, the spirit of contradiction,
so congenial with my sex, that induces me to write
at this time; and you may attribute my letter to
that — to vanity — cruelty — or any other commend
able motive your wisdom shaU see fit, provided, after
aU, you render me justice by believing, with aU my
faults, I am truly gratified to know your health and
spirits are good."
The usual tone of my mother's letters is so serious
and earnest that we welcome one which brings her
before us in her more playful moods, jesting with her
friend, as we may suppose her to have done in the
famfliar intercourse of daily life.
[193]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1804
To Ruth Hurd:
"Concord, July 7th, I8O4.
"How have you borne the extreme heat of this
sultry day, my dearest Ruth? The spiritless faces
around me, and my own languid feelings, demon
strate better than the thermometer, the degree of
heat. "The humiliation your letter expresses, my dear
Ruth, I have felt, I do feel most sensibly, but I be
lieve it has its origin in vanity. (I speak of that hu
mihty which arises from a consciousness of intellec
tual inferiority, for rarely does the superior goodness
of the simple and inelegant humble us painfully.)
Those feehngs of self-abasement which place us at
the foot of the cross, which lead us to acknowledge
ourselves to be 'poor, and miserable, and blind, and
naked,' are worthy our cultivation, and consistent
with the character of faUen creatures ; they are far
from painful, since they compel us to place our whole
dependence on the merits and compassion of the Re
deemer, and make 'God all in all.' But, tho' it is our
duty to acquire a knowledge of our own strength
and weakness, we should not repine if we discover
ourselves to possess but one talent ; we are required
to cultivate all committed to our charge, and to rest
content and grateful, should the number be more or
less. This, my dear Ruth, is my opinion. In practice
I am very deficient. The superiority of others often
draws from me a sigh for my own weakness and ig-
[194]

1804] CONCORD
norance, and, I fear, sometimes produces the crim-
inahty and folly of repining.
"The pain in my side which writing always in
creases, obliges me to conclude with an affectionate
remembrance of your sister, and respects to your
parents." To Mr. Rockwood: "Concord, July 24th, 1804.
" Your very friendly cautions with regard to my
health, I accept with pleasure, though they are ren
dered unnecessary, if proofs of friendship ever can be
so, by renovated strength. I am, indeed, so far re
covered I forget I am not perfectly well, tiU some
httle exertion reminds me of my promise to write
httle, and be very prudent, the remainder of the
summer. " Is it that woman, possessing greater susceptibil
ity, receives impressions more easily than man, — or
is it that her situation, which generaUy precludes a
knowledge of the world, and her education, which
leads her far from the study of the human heart, ren
der her more credulous? Whatever may be the
cause, I have remarked my sex to form decidedly
favourable opinions of strangers far more readily
than yours. Ann Bromfield and Susan Lowell as
sured me Mr. P. possessed 'exquisite, unequivocal
sensibihty, taste, and mental elegance.' His class
mates express a different opinion; and I observed,
[195]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1804
on the Fourth of July, the Gentlemen who knew
him not personally, attributed to affectation what
the Ladies fancied the effect of feeling. Who is it
that remarks the sexes are set as spies on each other ?
I 'm disposed to think very differently ; aU rivalry be
ing excluded, I think we judge wdth greater candour
and generosity ; and, though a good woman, who has
not been a critical observer of others, is credulously
kind in her judgment of all, she remarks faults less
readily in Man than Woman. This opinion has al
ways had an effect on my feelings ; among strangers,
I am far more at ease with a male, than female,
critic." To Ann Bromfield: "Charlestown, August 15th, 180 4.
"Each day confirms my belief that hope, consid
ered in reference to the present life, is a treacherous
illusion. I had indulged it in a very, very slight de
gree, when I thought of meeting you, dear Ann, in
Charlestown, and now rejoice I gave it not more un-
hmited empire. My disappointment is tempered by
an assurance of your health, and affectionate remem
brance ; for, to say truth, I have been very apprehen
sive about the former, and have had my jealous fears
concerning the latter ; but, I know not how it is, when
a silence of two or three months has made me a little
angry, a little hurt, and very sorrowful, the sight of
your hand- writing is ever a sufficient apology ; and,
before I have read your letter, I am convinced I
[196]

1804] CONCORD
ought to esteem you more highly for the very pain
you have occasioned me.
"Three weeks have I been in this place, and, tiU
last Sabbath, I scarcely enjoyed the society of our
inestimable Susan for a moment. We have met fre
quently in parties, and even to see her has given me
pleasure; but the 'flow of soul,' the rich repast of
sentiment and feehng was reserved for the last, that
it might be the most indelibly impressed pleasure."
To Susan Lowell: "Concord, September 12th, 1804.
"Are you too ethereal to suft'er from a change of
weather? Does the 'sunshine of the breast' render
you insensible to the cheerless storm ? If so, I would
gladly participate in an exemption from the only al
loy to the enjoyment of Autumn. The Spring, I
think, is your fav^ourite season ; I acknowledge it is
unrivaUed in beauty, but the Autumn revives in my
mind certain remembrances, and awakens a train of
thought and feeling more tender and delightful than
I have the power to express. At this season, when
the weather is fine, the heavens, you know, are pecu
liarly serene ; when I have been gazing at the setting
sun till I felt my soul glow with gratitude to the
Author of a spectacle so grand and beautiful, I have
sometimes thought natural beauty reflected on the
mind had a tendency to produce moral exceUence ;
and, for this reason, as weU as for the immediate
pleasure resulting from it, I would assiduously cul-
[197]

MARY WILDER WHITE [i804
tivate a taste for that beauty in every diversity of
form, from the humble wild-flower to the majestic
rising and setting sun."
Again: "Concord, October llth, 1804.
"In an union so intimate and indissoluble, more
than a sense of duty is requisite ; there should exist
not only a mutual wish to please, and to improve,
but an affection founded on esteem, and sympathy
of taste and feeling. Though constant exertion to
promote the happiness of another must produce
grateful attachment, yet without that harmony, the
heart wiU mourn in secret."
To Mrs. Lee: "Concord, October llth, 1804.
"I rejoice to learn, not only from yourself, but
SaUa, the perfect restoration of your health. At this
time, I can perfectly participate in your feelings, for
I am, myself, enjoying renovated strength and spir
its. I had scarcely recovered from a slight lung-fever,
which left me unusuaUy debihtated, when I made a
visit to a relation in a neighbouring town. The fort
night I passed at Sudbury was marked by a kind of
enjoyment to which I have been a stranger the last
twelvemonth. Almost every day, I spent an hour or
two in rambling through the woods; the exercise,
together with the fresh air of pine and walnut woods,
invigorated my frame, while the solemn tranquillity
[198]

1804] CONCORD
of retired solitude breathed a correspondent calm in
to my soul. The season of the year, too, so harmo
nized with my feelings ; it recaUed with such tender
interest the remembrance of 'days that are past for
ever,' and, at the same time, animated my hopes of
'endless Spring beyond the wintry grave,' that I have
seldom passed hours more pleasantly than in my soh-
tary walks."
To Ann Bromfield: "Concord, October 16th, 1804.
"The httle journey to Newbury which I antic
ipated with such delight, I very much apprehend
wiU not take place this Autumn. We have just re
ceived letters from Charlestown, which mention the
intention of some of our cousins to pass the coming
fortnight with us, and, I fear, the season wfll then be
too far advanced to permit Miss Lowell and myself
to commence the journey in an open chaise unat
tended. Not that I apprehend any danger for my
self, but I fancy our friends. Arm included, would
pronounce us afflicted with some kind of mental
disease. "The day on which I received your letter, was
marked in the calendar for an happy one ; it not only
brought me intelhgence from my dear Ann, but a
kind sheet from our ever mteresting Susan. With
the many other pleasures and advantages your friend
ship has procured me, I remember, with grateful af-
: fection, I owe to it an acquaintance with a family
[199]

MARY WILDER WHITE [i804
that combines talents the most brilliant with virtues
the most rare ; and, what is yet more dear, an inter
est, however smaU, in a heart which, for purity, gen
erosity, humihty, and tenderness, is scarcely to be
paraUeled." From Ruth Hurd to Mary Van Schalkwyck:
"Charlestown, November 6th, 1804.
" I was rather disappointed in the general society
[of Portsmouth] ; it was neither so extensive, nor so
polished, as I expected from the magnitude of the
place. They are uncommonly social, friendly, and at
tentive to strangers ; aU formality was banished after
the first introduction, and perfect ease and good-
humour prevailed. I saw httle that distinguished
New Hampshire from Massachusetts, — indeed, I
think the habits, etc. of the New England States very
similar, though there is much difference between
them and the Southern.
"The fame of young Buckminster has, no doubt,
reached you, — he is the reigning favourite of the day,
and certainly his talents entitle him to admiration,
even though not exercised in support of the most
sound doctrine. I regret extremely that he is not
what we caU orthodox. There is, however, reason to
hope for a happy change, as he is by no means big
oted, but candidly acknowledges that he does not
feel confirmed in his present opinions, which, I think,
inchne to the Socinian. His father's principles are
[200]

1804] CONCORD
widely opposite, and he reluctantly consented to his
son's delivering sentiments so repugnant to his ideas
of truth. I sincerely pray he may be added to the ad
vocates of 'pure and undefiled religion,' which must
give a force to his eloquence that I am sure the most
thoughtless cannot resist."
To Ruth Hurd : "Concord, Nov. 26th, 1804.
"Next to wishing, apologizing is the most foolish
employment ; candour wiU ever accept reformation,
and, without reformation, apology is but a proof of
insincerity or weakness. I certainly did not intend my
dear Ruth's last letter should remain so long unan
swered, I certainly do not intend to observe similar
silence in future.
" Mr. Buckminster I had been taught to admire ere
you gave him the meed of praise, and confirmed me
in the opinion that he is an extraordinary son of gen
ius. 1 think, with you, he wifl not be suffered to stray
into the wilds of error ; with simple and upright in
tentions, with a sincere love of truth, and an humble
rehance on his Heavenly Guide, there can exist no
doubt of his being enlightened as much as is neces
sary for his own, or the salvation of others. Indeed,
my dear Ruth, when we reflect on the many saints
of different rehgious opinions — when we behold the
Church of Rome embrace a Fenelon and a MassiUon ;
the Calvinists boast a Saurin, a Doddridge, a Flavel, a
[201]

MARY WILDER WHITE [i804
Witherspoon, and a Wilberforce ; the Episcopalians a
Beveridge and Watson ; the Methodists a Whitefield ;
and the Quakers an Anthony Benezet, and a War
ner Mifflin ; while the admirable Watts and Baxter
classed themselves with no particular sect, but char
itably laboured for the good of all ; it would seem we
must be indeed blind and hard of heart, not to be
lieve there are in our Heavenly Father's house 'many
mansions,' and that all who seek the truth in the love
of it, shall be received to some part of the glorious
abode. "Our attention has been very much engaged the
past week by a young lady who is with us on a visit.
Harriet White of Rutland, formerly of Boston, and
a pupil of Miss Butler, is in her nineteenth year. For
the last three years, a disease in her eyes has rendered
her almost blind, added to which, an affection of the
nerves, and a delicate state of health, has produced
a continued series of illness, and confinement ; yet has
she preserved the most cheerful resignation, the most
patient sweetness, I almost ever witnessed. Ever
wishing to be pleased and to communicate pleasure,
she never thinks her own sufferings an excuse for
murmuring, or even for dejection. It is impossible
to see and hear her without being moved, and I think
must be difficult for any one in the enjoyment of
health to contemplate her in the deprivation of it,
without being touched with a sense of their cold in
gratitude to Him who maketh them to differ."
[202]

1804] CONCORD
To Susan LoweU:
"November 26th, 1804.
"Yes, my friend, I think perfectly with you, — ob
scurity should veil the authoress from the public eye.
That her works be justly appreciated, her sex must
remain unknown. The Lords of Creation are too jeal
ous of their high prerogative to suffer a woman to en
ter the lists of fame without hurling the envenomed
shafts of iUiberal and cruel criticism. But, methinks,
when conscious of the power to enlighten and correct,
she should risk the possibihty of discovery, and nobly
dare to do as weU as to be good. There are not many
of our sex whose situation and talents combine to
make this a duty. GeneraUy, before mental maturity
is attained, they are engaged in domestic duties, and
engrossed by indispensable cares; but where, with
cultivation and talents, affluence and leisure are
united, the world, in general, and woman, in par
ticular, may and ought to prefer their claims."
The case here urged by my mother I understand
to be that of Miss Ann LoweU, whose inteUectual
powers she seems to have regarded with profound
respect and admiration, as did aU of that period who
knew her.
Among my mother's undated papers are the fol
lowing, which perhaps, from their subject, should
have been given a place in connection with her jour
nal of this year. [203]

MARY WILDER WHITE [i804
"Let your morning hours be devoted to prayer,
reading, and study, and suffer not trifles to break in
upon the arrangements you have made.
"Accustom yourself to frequent use of the pen.
What we commit to paper is not soon forgotten.
" Be careful to rise early, by which habit you wifl
have time for everything."
With the above I find the foUowing prayer, evi
dently her own:
"O Father of universal nature! Thou who art
everywhere present! Thou beholdest me. Thy crea
ture, laden with transgressions, and unworthy to
bow before Thee who art infinitely wise, and pow
erful, and good. O Father, wilt Thou, for the sake
of Jesus Christ, Thy glorious Son, and my spotless
Intercessor, forgive me ! Pardon all my sins of omis
sion and of commission, for His sake. And Oh, wilt
Thou restrain my wandering thoughts — fix them on
Thee, who art the only suitable object of supreme
attention and love. Enable me to see Thee as Thou
art, infinite in every perfection, and altogether lovely.
May I see Thee in aU Thy works, and in aU Thy
ways acknowledge Thee. In prosperity, may a sense
that every blessing flows from Thy hand add to every
enjoyment incomparable value. In adversity, may
the assurance that sorrow, as well as joy, flows from
Thy hand, and that Thou inflictest chastisements on
Thy children for their eternal benefit, render me
[204]

1804] CONCORD
submissive to the rod. And O my God! grant that
in life and in death, I may be Thine. Suffer no earthly
object, however amiable, to steal away my soul from
Thee, but wilt Thou reign supreme in my affections
through time and through eternity."
[205]

CHAPTER VIII
1805
CONCORD
/4 FTER a visit in Lancaster, with which the year
.XIA- 1804 closed, my mother wrote as foUows to
Mrs. Lee: "Concord, Jan. 3rd, 1805.
"When I left you, I was half determined to defer
returning to Concord until Thursday; several good
reasons combined to convince me I ought not to
change my resolution, even though tempted by con
siderations the most aUuring. At nine o'clock I en
tered a huge close sleigh, which conveyed to my
mind a lively image of the ark; and, allowing the
Pythagorean system to be true, it has doubtless been
the receptacle of every variety of animal. What
strengthened the illusion was its sickening motion,
which so affected Miss Channing, that she was half
fainting from Lancaster to Stow. Our travelhng com
panions amused themselves with agriculture and pol
itics, — but, had we even been disposed to find 'good
in everything,' our utmost ingenuity could scarce
have extracted advantage from conversation either
local or common-place. We were, however, too much
engrossed by selfish sufferings to pay profound at
tention to the Orators of the day, and, of course, es
caped much of the ennui we should have, otherwise,
unavoidably felt. [206]

1805] CONCORD
" I found my friends, as I left them, weU, and aU
interested in making inquiries concerning the health
and spirits of my dear Elizabeth. They unite in
friendly remembrances to both my friends. Do not
let Mrs. S. see that sentence ; she would think me
quixotic or hypocritical for presuming to bestow that
epithet on angels, if I had not known them a long
time. " I am disposed to fiU this sheet, and closely too,
but am surrounded by girls, who are chatting at such
a rate as to preclude the possibility of writing two
connected sentences."
To Susan Lowell: "Concord, Jan. 3rd, 1805.
"'Write me all about yourself Indeed, my dear
Susan, my hfe is so uniform, my employments, my
pleasures, so httle varied, that to sketch a day would
be to describe a month. In the wintry season, I sel
dom quit the family fireside except for church, or an
unceremonious visit at the Parsonage. Books, family
conversation, the pen, and the needle, vary my oc
cupations ; and, though they would not shine with
splendour on the page of history, they make time
pass pleasantly, and, I hope, not altogether without
improvement." To Ruth Hurd: "Concord, Jan. 26th, 1805.
"To one whose hfe passes uniformly as your
Mary's, and whose little circle of friends is ever the
[207]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1805
same, your animated description of new characters
is doubly grateful. You have, my sweet friend, a
golden opportunity to obtain a knowledge of the
world without being greatly in danger of contam
ination. Improve it, and let no character, no event,
escape you unnoticed; but, above all things, attend
to your own heart, — watch those serpents that are
ever ready to entwine even around our virtues, —
that pride, which assumes the front of noble inde
pendence, that vanity which wears the mask of a be
nevolent solicitude to please. These, and other dan
gerous passions, are the growth of every human
heart, and to repress them should be the warfare of
our hves. Nor is it enough to repress them, unless
we cultivate in their stead the opposite virtues. Par
don me, my dear Ruth, if I assume the monitorial
style. Were I placed in your situation, I should much
require your friendly counsel."
To Ann Bromfield: "Concord, February 16th, 1805.
"Since we parted, I have been constantly engaged
at the Parsonage, and with my Father, who has been
seriously indisposed. During several days, we appre
hended a nervous fever; the most alarming symp
toms have now disappeared, and we trust he is con
valescent. Sarah, in whose health you have kindly
expressed an interest, is not essentiaUy better. She
is now attended by Miss Emerson, whose watchful
attention to aU the little wants and comforts of an
[208]

1805] CONCORD
invalid, together with her sublime views of immor
tality, render her peculiarly fitted for her charge.
"There are few offices so dehcate and so difficult
to discharge as that of gardc-malade. Mary Emer
son possesses just the firm decision, the patient vig
ilance, the animating faith, and enhvening vivacity
of mind and manner, that fit her for it. Had I the
eloquence of Ann LoweU, I would describe the in
fluence of rehgion on the mind, the temper, and the
hfe of this uncommon woman ; as it is, I despair do
ing justice to her. The expiration of vacation has
deprived us of our Mercury. Since the illness of
Papa, he has been hterally a messenger ; he has be
come almost too necessary to the happiness of his
sister, the gloom of whose confinement he has gflded
with the sunshine of his mind and heart. Alas, my
friend! the danger there is in the most innocent of
aU attachments ! fraternal love, while it twines around
the heart-strings, prepares the poison of anxiety, dis
appointed hope, and fond regret, for the remainder
of hfe. I never see my friends Sarah and Daniel,
without a recollection that penetrates my soul ; and,
at such times, the only balm is faith in the Wisdom
and Goodness of Omnipotence."
To Susan Lowell: "Concord^March 18th, 1805.
"And now, how shall I express my admiration of
your sentiments, acknowledge my sense of their just
ness, and yet defend the wish to deviate from them?
[209]

MARY WILDER WHITE [isos
I confess it was my wish — it has been my design to
become a member of the Society in Bethlehem. By
a concurrence of Providential afflictions, I found my
self, at an age when others are just commencing their
career, apparently at the close of mine. When I lost
the three natural protectors God accords to woman,
— Husband, Father, Brother, — methought it was for
no ordinary purpose I was thus afflicted, the fairest
blossoms of human hope bhghted, and the tenderest
ties of humanity broken. I beheved my Heavenly
Father was disconnecting me with earth, that I might
be whoUy devoted to Him. TiU then, though /^AoMg7i^
myself a Christian, my heart, my hope, my joy, was
aU of this world. But, when I began to consider the
present life as the infancy of existence, in which I
was to be educated for eternity; when I saw and felt
that the title of Christian was synonymous with that
of combatant, and imphed the necessity of encoun
tering hosts of external and internal foes ; I thought
it my duty to avail myself of the liberty Providence
had granted me, to retire to a situation fraught with
richer advantages, and blest with greater security,
than any other I could imagine. And, in this, I
thought not to violate my filial duties. I should not
have bound myself indissolubly to the Society, — I
should have, annuafly, passed some weeks with my
mother, who is happy in her family, and who would,
at any time, possess the power of recaUing her child.
You will recoUect that, were I engaged in domestic
hfe, it would be impossible to remain with her, and
[210]

1805] CONCORD
I should, probably, be far less at liberty to devote
myself to her, should such devotion be necessary to
her happiness. Were I at leisure, I could adduce
many arguments in support of my favourite plan,
but I am not, — and wiU only assure you that, since I
have discovered that by carrying it into execution,
I should deeply pain my Parent, who does not think
my improvement would be proportionate to the sac
rifices I must, in her opinion, make, — I have resigned
it. Nor should I at this time, my dear Susan, have
wearied you with this egotism, had not your letter
insensibly drawn me into a defence of my late in
tention." To Ann Bromfield: "Concord, March 25th, 1805.
"The 'Life of Richardson,' by Mrs. Barbauld, —
what a treasure, my dear Ann ! The subject was wor
thy the Biographer.
" I thank you for your interesting sketch of Mrs.
Klopstock, which has awakened curiosity to know
more of her. That she possessed a pure and feehng
heart, and a refined taste, is very evident ; she was the
beloved of Klopstock. But what were the pecuhar-
ities of her mind, what were her habits, what her edu
cation; aU, but particularly the two first, are inter
esting enquiries.
"Miss Emerson has been seriously indisposed, and
I do not beheve any ancient Philosopher ever sus
tained pain with greater heroism. It certainly is a
[211]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1805
privflege to witness the elevated height to which
faith and habits like hers may conduct a frail and
sensitive woman. Unwilling that matter should for
a moment triumph over mind, in proportion as the
sufferings of the former increased, she endeavoured
to interest the latter in reading or conversation.
'Why,' she would say, 'should we lose any portion
of existence which may be improved or enjoyed?'
And in this she is simple and true ; her Philosophy,
like her Rehgion, is sincere and unostentatious. She
does not waste a wish on admiration, — the applause
of the world appears to her an object too inconsid
erable to engross the thoughts of an immortal."
To Susan LoweU: "April 1st, 1805.
" I regret that, with your ardent love of this an
imating season, you should quit the country; our
meadows are becoming verdant, we have the mom
ing song of birds, and the evening hymn of frogs, —
both harmonize perfectly with the hours they cel
ebrate. TeU me, does the pathos of Cooper, and the
voice of artful music, compensate for this loss ? You
'retained your senses,' after hstening to Cooper!
Tell it not in Gath — your reputation for taste could
never survive such an avowal; if you are really so
outre, conceal it, lest the beau-monde, which has
hitherto imagined Susan L. to be a civilized being,
should pronounce her a mere barbarian. Should
Washington arise from his grave, think you he
[212]

1805] CONCORD
would excite greater enthusiasm, or should Napo
leon invade our country, would the pubhc be more
agitated than by this celebrated actor?"
To Mrs. Lee: "Concord, May 4th, 1805.
" Let me again thank you for the loan of Euler.
You do not know how precious an obhgation you
have conferred on me, unless you have received as
much pleasure from his ingenious and admirable
work as it has yielded me. Euler shines with con
spicuous splendour in the consteUation of subhme
Philosophers and profound Mathematicians, but his
most resplendent rays proceed from the principle of
piety that animated his soul. I shaU not rest tiU I
make some part of his ideas my own. They can, in
deed, scarcely pass through the mind, without leav
ing it wiser and better."
Mrs. Lee, in reply, says :
"Lancaster, May 19th.
"This is the first time Euler has been borrowed
of me, and happy I am to find one who enjoys
equaUy with myself a work, as they say, so very dry
and tedious."
The foUowing letters are from my mother to her
youngest stepbrother, Benjamin Hurd:
"Concord, May 15th, 1805.
"As you neither came nor wrote yesterday, my
dear Benjamin, we conclude you determine to see
[213]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1805
us no more tiU you return from France. Painful as
we find this idea, it is perhaps less so than a formal
leave-taking. Accept, before you quit your country,
an affectionate adieu from your sister Mary, accom
panied by a few lines of serious and sincere advice.
"I am acquainted with the habits, the manners,
and the customs of the People among whom you
are going to reside ; I know the fascination of their
social powers, the enchantment of their elegant and
varied amusements ; and I know, hkewise, how fatal
to Religion, how destructive to the pure Morahty
of the Gospel, is a life devoted to them. True, virtue
and vice are found among every People, — they are
confined to no nation or clime — but, without big
otry, I think I may securely say, in every Christian
country, the Sabbath is the standard by which to
judge of national correctness. If that is devoted to
Him who claims it for His own, and to a contem
plation of the sublime truths contained in His Word,
— we may be confident virtue rests on a sohd basis ;
but, if the reverse is the picture of truth, we must
be cautious in confiding, and scrupulous in avoiding
imitation. " In addition to the Bible, you will provide your
self a few books of Devotion and Morahty; for my
part, I would particularly recommend some com
pendious work fllustrative of the truth of Christian
ity. For instance, either Lord Lyttelton's 'Conver
sion of St. Paul,' Watson's 'Apology for the Bible,'
or Bonnet's 'Interesting Views of Christianity.' But,
[214]

1805] CONCORD
above all, I would recommend prayer ; God will never
give you up to infidelity, so long as you feel the ne
cessity of a Mediator and Saviour, and pray that
your faith in Him may be strengthened.
" I have said nothing of the practice of Morality,
because, in my opinion, it cannot be separated from
Religion. Whoever is sincerely pious, wiU be truly
virtuous. Be assured, that Religion which does not
make men more benevolent, upright, just, charitable,
temperate and pure, is either false, or hypocritical.
And be hkewise certain, that Morality, which is un
supported by Religion, hke the house built on the
sand, will faU with the rising tempest.
"Write frequently, be cautious in choosing your
society, regular in your hours, modest and decent
in your dress and appearance, and do not forget your
affectionate sister and friend, Mary Van Schalkwyck.
"Don't forget tamarinds, oranges and lemons, ca
pers, and cream of tartar, — you wiU wish for aU on
your voyage."
To Benjamin Hurd: "Concord, June 28th, 1805.
"When you receive this, my dear Brother, you
wiU probably be surrounded by the ambitious, the
busy, and the gay, whose ardent pursuit of their fa
vourite object leaves little leisure for serious reflec
tion on the grand purposes of Man's creation. But
[215]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1805
you, my Brother, wiU never, I trust, forget that the
'fashion of this world passeth away,' and we are pass
ing away with it ; but that, transitory as is the pres
ent hfe, it is the vestibule through which we pass into
the Temple of Eternity; and this latter considera
tion, I am confident, must and will chasten every
thought, every wish, every pursuit. Oh, let nothing
be done for which you should, as an immortal being,
blush!" To Susan LoweU: "Concord, July 3rd, 1805.
"With heartfelt joy, I offer my felicitations on
the return of your brother, dearest Susan. May this
happy event be the prelude to similar scenes, and
each give you a faint image of a more perfect re
union. I know, indeed, if there be a bliss on earth
that rises to suffering, 't is that of meeting a dear,
long absent friend. Our capacity to enjoy must be
astonishingly strengthened beyond the grave, my
dear Susan, or we could never sustain the ecstasy
of meeting all we love. Divine and human. Nothing
conveys to me a more exalted idea of the perfection
we shaU acquire, than our possessing the power to
enjoy supreme happiness."
Among the papers left by my mother, and care
fully preserved by my father, is a half-sheet contain
ing a diary of several days, written in July, 1805,
parts of which I copy, as foUows :
[216]

1805] CONCORD
"6th. The heat of the three last days intense, com
pany, etc. How does the week close? Alas! I have
indulged far too much the indolence of summer feel
ings. Except a little devotional reading, have read
nothing but works of imagination, and some pages
in Martin's 'Philosophical Grammar.' Perhaps, how
ever, CampbeU's 'Travels' do not rank with works
of imagination. This is certain,— I ought to have ex
erted more energy; and what attainments, moral
and intellectual, might I have made! May present
regret conduct to future wisdom !
"7th. Had we not innumerable proofs of the in
finite benevolence of our Heavenly Father, and Sa
viour, the institution of the Sabbath and the Lord's
Supper would carry conviction to every heart that
had experienced the blessed effects of both. Bless the
Lord, O my soul, and aU that is within me bless
and praise His holy name!
"8th. Doddridge recommends aspirations of grat
itude in morning devotion, — confession and peni
tence at night, and this seems the rational order of
erring and dependent creatures ; but, for myself, hu-
mihation and supphcation are most voluntary in the
first, — grateful adoration and thanksgiving, with
confession, in the last.
"13th. Received several interesting letters, — one
from Madame Lambert, who, on account of her hus
band's health, returns to the West Indies, with a
view of passing the remainder of her life there. It
affected me deeply, but I recovered composure and
[217]

MARY WILDER WHITE [isos
happiness by perusing the 37th, 38th, and 39th verses
of the 8th chapter of Romans, and by committing
her to God in Jesus Christ.
"14th. ' Being justified by faith, we have peace with
God, through our Lord Jesus Christ.' How enhght
ening and consohng is the whole of this chapter, 5th
of Romans! Redemption is indeed a mystery into
which angels may desire to look. Like the PiUar of
Fire, it enhghtens aU objects, while itself, by its daz-
zhng brightness, remains impenetrable to human
scrutiny." To Ann Bromfield: "Concord, July 15th, 1805.
"I have not told you with what feehngs I heard
the pious Channing, for the first time, explain the
extent, and fervently urge the performance of duty,
from Psalm 119. 'Thy commandment is exceeding
broad.' If it be the soul of eloquence to penetrate the
heart, to arouse or to subdue, to humble or to elevate
its feelings, then Channing is most eloquent. And his
is not the art of the Orator, — it is evidently derived
from an intimate acquaintance with his own heart,
and habitual intercourse with the Father of Light
and Love."
After a visit in Charlestown, my mother writes to
Miss Lowell: "Concord, Septeviber 6, 1805.
"My little journey homeward was as pleasant as
a briUiant sun, clouds of dust, and a crowded stage
[218]

1805] CONCORD
would permit. As we entered Lincoln, the sun set
gloriously, surrounded by clouds of gold and crim
son. I could not but fancy such a scene might arouse
even the slumbering muse of Mr. G. The evening
soon became damp, and, unprepared for the change,
I caught a violent cold, which has aft'ected me un
pleasantly ever since."
To Ann Bromfield: "Concord, Oct. 12th, 1805.
"After a Summer of debility. Autumn wakes the
spirit to new hfe, — its breezes restore the languid
frame, its serenity pervades the soul, and capacitates
it to see more clearly, and feel more forcibly, the beau
ties of Nature, sentiment, and taste. Perhaps, at any
other season I should not admire so much the appear
ance of an elm which fronts my window. Probably its
youth, and expanded branches, which equaUy expose
every part to early frost, occasion the sudden change
of its fohage from green to yeUow, without any in
termediate shade, while other trees are glorying in
verdure, or reluctantly resigning leaf after leaf. This
has a charming effect. At the first coup cHoeil, one
imagines a golden setting sun is lavishing his whole
splendour on that single object, — the entire tree ap
pears gflt. Notwithstanding the frequency with which
I see it, I am often surprised, on raising my eyes sud
denly, with the idea of sunset. And when shall I be
surprised by a letter from Ann? You cannot imag
ine me indifferent to the smaUest occurrence that in-
[219]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1805
terests you, and I am ignorant of almost everything,
even the place of your abode.
"Have you seen Cooper this season? Do gratify
me by saying you do not intend to see him frequently.
I really fear to visit Charlestown or Boston, lest the
fascination of 'Richard Third,' 'OtheUo,' or 'Ham
let,' should draw me to the theatre."
She then speaks of Mr. Hoar as "characterized by
integrity, frankness, candid opinions, and benevolent
feelings." And again, in a letter to Miss Lowell of near the
same date, she says : "Mr. Hoar has just left us, after
passing an hour or two, and awakening many inter
esting recollections of the past Summer. This young
man is a valuable acquisition. In any society he would
be considered such, — but in our little village, his
'price is above rubies.' He mentioned Mr. Rogers'
intention to oblige me by White's oration ; when you
see our friend, thank him for the intention, which I
receive as the pledge of performance."
Here we have my mother's first mention of my
father's name, which is repeated in her next date, ad
dressed to Miss Lowefl: "Concord, Oct. 12th, 1805.
"I thank you for mentioning the Oration which
reached me last week. The healthful mind and heart
wfll find it a rich repast. It is worthy of White."
[220]

1805] CONCORD
To Mr. Rogers, who was the intimate friend of my
father, she writes as follows: "Concord, Oct. 21st, 1805.
"Mr. Rogers has indeed conferred an obligation
on me in the oration of his friend. The performance
bears the impress of the author's mind and heart,
sound, perspicuous, delicate and benevolent, — such,
at least, I have ever supposed the one and the other.
In the friendship of such a man, you possess a treas
ure. Long may he live, improving and improved, to
communicate and receive happiness.
"I am dehghted to learn 'the desert smiles again.'
I am surprised you can, for a moment, regret the un
interesting bustle of New York. But, to be serious,
(and pardon me if mistaken wishes for your happi
ness render me too much so,) I was grieved to find
in your letter an expression of the same ennui, and
indifference to hfe which alarmed me in Charlestown.
As a man of good sense, of cultivation, of respect
able rank in society, is this despondence reasonable ?
As a son, a brother, a friend, is it right? As a Chris-
tian,is its indulgence pardonable ? How many sources
of fehcity even in this world are open to you! Who
can better taste the delights of science, literature, and
elegant society ? And, as a Christian, an immortal who
believes the present hfe to be but the dawn of being,
— but a nursery for eternity — Oh, you cannot re
gard it hghtly ! It is a path, rugged indeed, but ter-
[221]

MARY WILDER WHITE [isos
minating in glory, honour, immortality. Should not
the celestial rays emanating from the crown that
awaits the conqueror, shed lustre over the deepest
shades of hfe, and animate the combatant to 'perse
vere even unto the end ' ? For myself, whatever may
be the afflictions that wound, or the disappointments
that deject me, I supplicate Heaven never to suffer
an impatience of life, tiU I have subdued every evil,
and perfected every good quality, — which period, I
know, wiU never arrive. You will not deem this arro
gance; you know the motive whence it proceeds."
To Ruth Hurd: "Concord, November 23rd, 1805.
"Not the recoflection of a certain three months'
silence, not the gentle glow of friendly resentment,
which such a cause might be conjectured to originate,
nor yet a diminution of interest in your happiness,
or tenaciousness of your affection, my dear Ruth, has
caused this sleep of the pen. What then? Why, vari
ous intruders, my dear, — some in the form of winter
robes, neckerchiefs, etc., others assumed the more se
rious appearance of visiting volumes, to be returned
after perusal ; and others, more interesting, wore the
visage of long absent friends. Among the latter, Mr.
Frisbie would claim a conspicuous place, could his
presence, at any time, be deemed an intrusion by those
who know his rare character, rendered more than ever
interesting by affliction, and its usual effect, a diviner
[222]

1805] CONCORD
lustre of piety. His health is not good, and his eyes
stfll debilitated, but never did the acuteness, the just
ness, the elegance of his highly cultured mind, never
did the dehcacy, the refinement, and elevation of his
feehngs appear more refulgent; and never did the
spirit of religion appear more completely infused
through the whole mind and heart."
To Mary Emerson: "Concord, 7th December, 1805.
"To a mind but httle accustomed to the abstrac
tion of metaphysical disquisition, a minute attention
to the finest links that unite the chain of reasoning
is essential. When to this observation, I add — my
dear Mary writes too much hke other great people,
to be always legible, she will not be surprised when
I acknowledge I have not enjoyed the whole of her
valuable manuscript. Let me render myself justice,
however, by saying I was particularly gratified by
Drew's idea of the Soul, and most of the arguments
I comprehended, in favour of its immortality and
ceaseless consciousness, appeared to me conclusive.
If it is in my power to procure the volume, I shaU
not fail to do it." [223]

CHAPTER IX
1806
CONCORD
WE have now brought my mother's record to
the year 1806, memorable as the year which,
during its closing months, witnessed her introduc
tion and growing attachment to my father.
Her earliest date of this year is in a letter to her
friend Mrs. Lee, to whom she writes after an inter
val of several months, in the course of which, it ap
pears, Mrs. Lee has received a large accession of
fortune. "Concord, January 10th, 1806.
"I know not if I ought to present my congratu
lations or condolence on the change in your situ
ation. With the bauble splendour of wealth, I know
you could easily dispense; possessing resources of
heart and understanding which render you inde
pendent of external pomp and pleasure, you would,
perhaps, have been equaUy happy in the tranquillity
of Lancaster, as in the briUiant scenes of Cambridge
and the Metropolis. But an accession of fortune is
an increase of power to diffuse happiness, to dimin
ish human woe, to discountenance vice, and abash
foUy. I think with pride and pleasure that, by your
influence in the circle in which you move, it may
[224]

1806] CONCORD
become fashionable to be a good wife and an atten
tive mother; and therefore, on the whole, though
my friend may be wearied by company, and dis
gusted by the vain and the weak, I shaU be weU
pleased with knowing she presides in a splendid
mansion, and rides in a coach — circumstances which
wiU render those opinions and that conduct subject
to observation, and perhaps imitation, which would
otherwise have passed unnoticed.
"I wiU send Darwin to our amiable friend by the
first opportunity. It was not tiU September I received
it from Acton, and then, I fancy, not in precisely
the state in which you loaned it. I thank you for it.
The notes yield amusement and instruction, but the
poem appears to me too visionary and florid. Some
of his philosophical ideas, too, are absurd, some beau
tiful, and highly satisfactory."
To Miss Bromfield: "Concord, Jan. 18th, 1806.
"You will not be surprised to learn that Mr. Hoar
rises in our estimation in exact proportion to the
frequency of his visits, — for every visit unfolds some
new, or confirms some previously discovered, excel
lence. Possessing that genuine dignity of character
which is the result of a sound, enhghtened under
standing, and a heart of incorruptible integrity, he
commands esteem ; while the candour of his opin
ions, and the benevolence of his feehngs, inspire in
voluntary friendship." [225]

MARY WILDER WHITE [18O6
To Susan LoweU:
"Jan. 23rd, 1806.
"Poor  ! He is ill formed to buffet the tur
bulent sea on which he has embarked ; this he knows,
and, wrapping himself in the mantle of reserve, seeks
security in concealment. Is there any event, dear
Susan, from which a susceptible heart may not ex
tract pain, — either by reflexion or anticipation, — if
the habit of dweUing on the shades of life be once
established ? Montesquieu's nature, or, I suspect, his
habit, was the reverse of this. You recollect he ob
serves, 'I have sensibihty enough to enjoy all the
pleasures, but not enough to suffer the pains of re
finement.'" The foUowing, to Miss Lowell, evidently refers
to my mother's correspondence with Mr. Frisbie:
"Concord, Feb. 5th, 1806.
"Again, and most sincerely, I thank you, dear
Susan, for an admonition which friendship only could
originate. Your sentiments are just; I am convinced
the dangers you portray are not imaginary. Afflic
tive circumstances alone have induced me to con
tinue the correspondence you deprecate, the last six
months. To my dear Susan's heart I appeal; let that
decide if, in the present pressure of domestic and
personal woe, I should deprive F. of the sole friend
to whom his feelings are communicated. His father,
I am told, is fast declining, — that hfe, so long the
dearest treasure of his family, is closing — closing
[226]

i8o«] CONCORD
like Cowper's. We will waive the subject till we
meet, only observing that friendship, and that alone,
is professed or felt by cither."
To Ruth Hurd: "Concord, Feb. 18th, 1806.
"Concord has been enlivened the past fortnight
by the presence of Mrs. S. Thacher, and Mrs. Jones.
To the latter, when a school-girl, I was much at
tached. She possessed an ingenuous simphcity, an
affectionate warmth, and an unaffected vivacity of
character, which irresistibly interests us. Time, and
cruel experience of the perfidy of a cold-hearted
world, have corrected these prominent traits, or, at
least, thrown over them the veil of melancholy. Mrs.
Thacher is unchanged. The plain good sense, and
uniform feeling, by which she is characterized, en
abled her, when young, to form a correct estimate
of life, and she has been neither surprised by pain
or pleasure. She mentioned Mary P. with high praise,
observing she had become one of the most interest
ing and amiable girls she had ever known. This will
give you pleasure, for you probably recoUect her at
a period of her hfe when this character could not,
in fuU extent, have been accorded her."
To Susan Lowell: "Concord, March 4th, 1806.
"Your letter from Salem, dear Susan, conveyed
unusual pleasure, — not only as it was in itself inter-
[227]

MARY WILDER WHITE [18O6
esting and grateful to my feelings, but as it removed
the apprehensions your unusual sflence had excited.
"Your description of the polished hospitahty of
your amiable hosts charmed me. How closely alhed
are genuine pohteness and benevolence! Indeed, it
appears to me impossible to practise the former, for
any length of time, (unless stimulated to exertion
by some important object,) if the latter does not
shed its light and warmth through the heart. The
innumerable sacrifices real politeness makes, and the
restraints to which she submits, must be insupport-
ably irksome and painful to the cold-hearted and
selfish. I have ever admired St. Paul's description
of charity, as a portrait of aU that is most graceful
and lovely, and calculated to put fictitious pohteness
to the blush.
" The obituary of Saturday probably informed you
of the irreparable loss my friend has sustained. Such
a loss! — and so heightened by circumstances the
most afflictive! He is indeed involved in the deep
mysteries of Providence. A few months since, and
that beloved parent, possessing a sound understand
ing, a vivid creative imagination, a heart of exquisite
feehng, and subhmated piety and benevolence, dif
fused happiness through his cherished family, and
was at once the object of their pride and their af
fection. To his darhng son he was pecuharly en
deared by a perfect congeniahty of taste and feehng,
and habits of the most tender and famihar inter
course. But He who gave hath resumed, — in the
[228]

1806] CONCORD
manner and at the time His perfect wisdom and
goodness selected as the best. Let your prayers,
dearest Susan, ascend for that afflicted family. Im
plore the widow's God and orphans' Hope, to pour
into their bleeding hearts the balm of divine conso
lation — no other balm can be effectual. What an
asylum, dear Susan, is prayer, from the host of sor
rows that follows us through hfe! — and intercessory
prayer — how elevating to the soul, how ennobling
to our nature! It is one of the most precious privi
leges that Christianity bestows on friendship, — a
privilege that leaves us never weak, never powerless."
To Susan Lowell: "Concord, March 18th.
"We have been much alarmed by the indisposi
tion of my younger sister, who has had a cold, sev
eral days past, and, since I commenced this letter,
has, in coughing, thrown off blood, — a very httle,
but sufficient to alarm."
Again : "March 27th, 1806.
"I received my dear Susan's letter from the post
this moming, as a boon from Heaven; as indeed,
like her love from which it proceeded, it undoubt
edly was. It cheered a dejection of spirits which I
have feared to indulge, and, till now, have not im
parted, save to my piUow; a dejection the more un
reasonable, as my sister has, notwithstanding the de-
[229]

MARY WILDER WHITE [isoe
bility produced by diet the most abstemious, uni
formly progressed in convalescence.
" I do not think one can with facihty, or certainty,
penetrate the sentiments of R. Without the appear
ance of reserve, she has the reality ; and, by this for
tunate trait of character, escapes the indifference
which the former inspires, and secures aU the ad
vantages of the latter."
To Ruth Hurd: "Concord, April 9th, 1806.
"Will you this morning, dear Ruth, receive my
congratulations on the prospect of retaining our es
timable friend R. [Rogers], in Charlestown. Mr. Chan
ning, who has just left us, communicated the inteUi
gence, and I assure you it was welcomed with the
sincerest pleasure, as was his feeling eulogium on the
exceUence of his friend. Before I proceed to teU you
how much I was dehghted with the conversation of
Mr. Channing, let me soothe your anxiety for Betsy,
by assuring you, notwithstanding the vicissitudes
of weather, she has acquired strength, and is, in every
respect, better. Were it possible to subdue that self-
tormenting propensity of imagination to anticipate
an uncertain, and often an improbable evil, to the
exclusion of a not more uncertain good, — how much
suffering might be avoided! Were it possible! And
shall a being to whom Omnipotence has said, 'My
strength is sufficient for thee,' doubt the possibility
[230]

1806] CONCORD
of controUing even the wildest faculty of the human
mind ? But, in truth, we are equally reluctant to con
flict with indolence, by the complete exertion of
our own powers — or to abase pride, as we must, ere
we acknowledge all our own weakness and unwor
thiness, and apply, in sincerity, wdth fervour, to the
Source of light and strength. I acknowledge myself
too much a prey to imagination. I have never found
the real evil with which I could not cope. Rehgion
offers an aU-sufficient antidote to every rm/woe ; and,
were her sway extensive and supreme, as it should
be, where were the innumerable ills we feel or fear?
Sickness and death, as the dispensations of a wise and
tender Parent, would lose their corrosive power, and
disappointment would be robbed of its sting.
"Mr. Channing's conversation aided my feelings
in producing this sober page — to you I wiU not be
heve it unwelcome — if indeed it be legible. Benev
olence was among the topics on which he descanted
with his usual eloquence and feehng. In painting the
many modes in which it might be exercised, he dis
closed his own benevolent heart. He lamented that
ladies who are not engaged in the turmoil of busi
ness, as is the other sex, should not escape from the
lassitude and ennui of hfe by visiting the abodes of
poverty and sorrow, soothing the one by that sym
pathy they so much boast, and alleviating the other
by the sacrifice of superfluities, and even, (to give his
idea,) by the exercise of the needle."
[231]

MARY WILDER WHITE [18O6
To Sarah Ripley: "Concord, May 2nd, 1806.
"Mary [Emerson] beamed on us the day before
yesterday, and, like a ministering angel, consoled,
fortified, and elevated. The happiness that results
from a connection with her, is it not nearly without
alloy? We can suffer no anxiety on her account —
she is beyond the reach of real misfortune, — and
this is the inestimable privilege of loving those who
rest on the arm of Omnipotence."
To Susan Lowell: "Concord, May 7th, 1806.
"Were it possible, I would join you, though but
for an hour. To see your happy family reunited would
be a cordial. But, in the present state of my sister's
health, I do not even call at the Parsonage. She does
not progress in convalescence; even the joy of our
brother's return has not renovated her languid frame.
Our time — attention — hopes and fears — are hers.
But what have Christians to do with paralyzing fear?
Alas, my dear Susan! is it not deplorable evidence
of the insincerity of our confidence in the all-wise
and perfect ControUer of events, that we are reluc
tant to commit to His disposal 'all we have, and aU
we are'? Oh, for that confidence in God which His
perfections invite, justify, command! It is, as Mr.
Frisbie once said to me, ' richly worth a life of bhnd-
ness.' Possessed of it, we defy calamity, and triumph
in death." [232]

1806] CONCORD
To Ann Bromfield: "Concord, May 10th, 1806.
"The vessel that wafted hither our friend Ann
Lowell, returned my younger brother to the embrace
of his family. He remained with us but few hours ;
that short time produced an assurance that the in-
tegi-ity and purity of his youthful character was un
changed ; an assurance that terminated most grate
fully one source of anxiety. Another, in the iUness
of my sister, remains — because we are weak, I some
times fear criminaUy so. Would not a genuine, heart
felt confidence in Him ' in whose hands are the issues
of Life and Death' exclude this trembhng sohcitude ?
"I need not say with how much dehght I should
embrace you, how much I long to hear and to say
the thousand things understood only by friends. You
know I love you, and you wiU feel the pain it costs
me to say I cannot this month offer, — what I would
wish ever to retain for you, — an apartment in my
dweUing, as your remembrance has ever a place in
my heart. Previous to my sister's iUness, my father
had undertaken to enlarge a buflding; and, at pres
ent, every chamber, my parents' and sisters' excepted,
is occupied by carpenters, masons, and domestics."
To Susan Lowell: "Concord, May 19th, 1806.
"Do you recoUect that pathetic httle poem by
Bruce, commencing with, 'Now Spring returns, but
[233]

MARY WILDER WHITE [18O6
not for me returns ' ? It often comes to my heart with
irresistible force, as I contemplate the pallid, inter
esting figure before me ; but faith and hope combine
to chase the sad emotions it inspires."
Again : "Concord, June 18th, 1806.
"You ask me of my sister. Patient, composed, re
signed to the wiU of her covenant God, she is an ob
ject of congratulation. On the eve of receiving the
crown of immortahty, of escaping from the sorrows
and pollutions of life, of being admitted to the im
mediate presence of her Creator and Redeemer, and
to the society of the beloved friends who have pre
ceded her, — and this in freshness of youth, ere she
is withered by 'the burden and heat of the day,' —
O my friend, what a privilege ! I check as ungrate
ful the starting tear which usurps the place of thanks
giving and praise to Him whose promises sustain
her." To Ruth Hurd: "Concord, July 17th, 1806.
" Yes, my dear friend, * every murmuring thought is
dispeUed' by a contemplation of the fehcity to which
it has pleased the Author of aU good to elevate our
darhng Betsy. Far from avoidhig her remembrance
as afflictive, we recaU, we cherish it, as associated
with ideas the most sublime, consolatory, and de
hghtful. She has been, indeed, a privileged being; the
[234]

1806] CONCORD
purity of her soul, (a purity rarely equaUed,) was
never sulhed by an intercourse with the world, and
her Heavenly Father, to secure it forever, translated
her to His own abode. How few have lived so inno
cently, and so free from personal suffering ! how few
have exchanged worlds so peacefuUy and dehght
fuUy! "My dear Ruth, may we, at the hour of death,
possess her humble confidence, her gentle firmness ;
and may we be blest, as she was, with the soothing
presence of some beloved spirit, who may conduct
us to our compassionate, our adorable Saviour 1 How
rapturous the anticipation of that moment,
'When souls that long have loved before
Shall meet, unite, and part no more ; '
when we shall be permitted to behold 'Him who
loved us, and gave Himself for us,' with Mary to em
brace His feet, and express our overflowing gratitude
and love!
" Thanks, my dear Ruth, for your affectionate in
vitation. Our newly awakened fears for Benjamin
wiU not permit us to quit our home for many days,
untfl he shaU be perfectly restored."
To Ann Bromfield: "Concord, July 18th, 1806.
"Yes, my dear Ann, we have closed the eyes of a
sister whose lovehness, dehcacy, and faithful affec
tion, bound her to our hearts by indissoluble ties.
[235]

MARY WILDER WHITE [isoe
Never was a tranquil, innocent life closed by a death
more peaceful and happy. Firmly confiding in her
Saviour, reposing her all of hope and happiness on
Him, she was pecuharly privileged at the hour of
death, and her weeping but dehghted family pecu
harly consoled. I speak not to the world, but to my
dearest Ann, and she will not impute to enthusiasm
or superstition a conviction that shed lustre on the
closing hfe of a Christian, whose heart was calm, and
whose mind was clear ; a conviction that she beheld
our darhng Henry, that he addressed her, and at
tended to conduct her to another and a better world."
To Susan Lowell: "Concord, July 19th, 1806.
" Beloved Susan, you have sympathized in the sor
rows of your friend, — share her grateful joy that an
other Angel has entered the courts of Heaven, and
entered as an Angel should, the presence of the God
of Love. No terror, no anguish, clouded her brow,
or ruffled the serenity of her soul : humble, though
confident, relying implicitly on the intercession of
her Redeemer, the world of spirits opened to her view
ere her eye closed on the world of sense. The day pre
ceding her dissolution, when her mind was clear and
collected, she told me she had seen our beloved
Henry, that he came to her bedside blooming and
lovely as when he left her, and, embracing her, said,
smiling, he must leave her for the day, but should be
with her again at night. We scarce believed it pos-
[236]

1806] CONCORD
sible she should continue with us till then, but to
Mamma, with an earnest and solemn countenance,
she expressed a certainty of beholding him at the ap
pointed time. Evening arrived, and brought with it
emotions of indescribable sublimity. We aU felt a
conviction that he knelt with us around the bed, or
bent over the piUow of death. The lovely object we
regarded remained placid and serene ; her respiration
became shorter, her eye dim, but a faint smile ani
mated her face to the last, — and thus passed from
earth to Heaven one of the purest souls that ever in
habited this world. As a daughter, a sister, and a
friend, she was aU we could wish — few so young per
formed the duties of hfe so well ; but her whole con
fidence, her whole hope in death reposed on the mer
its of her Saviour. May God grant to us an exit so
delightful, — and, for aU the tempests that may arise
between the present and that blessed moment, His
wiU be done!
"The darhng brother, who so lately returned to
us, is the present subject of our hopes and fears."
The foUowing to Miss LoweU, relating to Mrs.
Farnham, shows us how severe a trial my mother
considered the one which was in store for herself.
"Concord, August 8th, 1806.
"To one who has but few ties to this world, and
whose affections are placed on Heavenly objects,
death is the herald of joy. Day before yesterday, I
visited a most interesting object, whose situation is
[237]

MARY WILDER WHITE [isoe
widely different, and who is advancing with slow, but
certain step, to the tomb. Mrs. Farnham, the eldest
daughter of Mrs. Ripley, is the mother of ten chil
dren, seven of them girls; in the bloom of life,
strongly attached to her family, and feehng all the
sohcitude of an intelligent and affectionate parent,
she is the prey of consumption. Such a sufferer, my
dear Susan, makes us blush to weep over our own
inferior sorrows, and causes us to tremble while' we
ask if our confidence in God be so firm as to enable
us to meet with composure such a fate." [After speak
ing with sympathy of the recent death of an aunt of
Miss Lowefl, my mother writes words which might
have been appropriately addressed to herself in ref
erence to her own coming fate, from which her affec
tionate nature then recoiled.] "Do not imagine, my
Susan, such a deprivation would be to you insup
portable. ' God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb,'
and mingles with the sorrows from which nature re
coils, consolations of which the mind has no concep
tion till the moment of trial arrives."
To Susan LoweU: "Concord, August 20th, 1806.
"Had I the pen of A. C. L., I would describe a
ride with Sarah, which occupied yesterday afternoon.
More than two hours we were lost in an intricate
wood, which extends over part of Lincoln and Con
cord, and which embosoms two sheets of water of
considerable extent; and round which we wound
[238]

1806] CONCORD
through paths overgrown with shrubs, the branches
of trees on either side frequently striking the chaise,
and impeding our course, without the power of di
recting ourselves into the traveUed road. The idea
of being lost within three miles of Concord is rather
ludicrous ; but our situation was rendered distressing
by the charge of Mrs. Farnham's sick infant, and
the approach of night. I have seldom felt a more
joyous surprise than when, on emerging from the
wood, we discovered ourselves to be within a mile
and a half of home.
"You have doubtless seen our friends, Rogers and
Ruth, since their engagement has been announced.
On no one could I have seen Ruth bestow herself
with equal pleasure ; the firm, consistent character
of her friend inspires a degree of confidence justified
by few men of the world. I have apprehended her
fate might be united with some one more splendid,
but less estimable than Rogers."
My mother seems at this time to be constantly in
scenes of sickness and death. Her next date finds her
in Bfllerica, to which place she and her stepsister
Sally went on the occasion of the illness of SaUy's
grandfather. To Miss Lowell my mother writes:
"September 6th.
"The date of my letter wiU surprise you, dear
Susan. The iUness of my grandfather Thompson at
tracted hither my sister and self; his death, which
has left Grandmamma afflicted and solitary, detains
[239]

MARY WILDER WHITE [laoe
us. Yesterday, his remains were committed to the
tomb where reposes our beloved Betsy. The scene,
in itself interesting, thence acquired double power
to affect us. This, with the necessary exertion of re
ceiving and providing for the accommodation of nu
merous guests, has exhausted every power of body
and mind."
A week later my Grandmother Hurd writes from
Concord to her absent daughters :
"Friday, Sept. 12th.
" I think of you, my dear girls, almost every mo
ment, and certainly made a great sacrifice in con
senting to your tarrying in BiUerica, as humanity
seemed to demand it ; but the avocations of the week,
thus far, have required your assistance at home much
more. Your father has never been in such immediate
danger since I knew him. Two nights, Tuesday and
Wednesday, he had the genuine quinsy, which ap
peared to be the last struggles of nature. He has
kept his chamber since, and is better. Benjamin is
much the same."
It makes one's heart ache to think of the dear,
unselfish mother worn out with anxiety and fatigue
in the absence of her daughters, whom she has given
up to others at a time when they were so much
needed at home. Of their return we have evidence in
a brief but interesting diary of my mother's, and a
not less interesting record contained in a letter ad-
[240]

1806] CONCORD
dressed by Sarah Ripley to her stepsister, Mary Em
erson. "September 17th, 1806. 'Retire, O my soul, to thy
quiet rest ! ' Let the serenity of nature be impressed
on aU thy feehngs ! The air is mild, the heavens are
cloudless, the earth, ever changing, yet invariably
beautiful, presents fruits instead of flowers, the va
ried hues of Autumn in place of the vivid verdure
of Spring. Let thy progress in hfe be analogous;
let the warm feelings and bright hopes of youth ma
ture into self-possession, confirmed good habits, and
steady confidence in thy Creator, Preserver, and con
stant Benefactor!
"An eventful Summer has closed. Shall I ever for
get the friend and sister whose smiles adorned its
opening, and who now exists no more on earth! But
she exists in a better world, and, through the mer
its of a Redeemer, I may yet hope to meet her ; this
conviction dries the faUing tear. Through the past
season, I have been an interested spectator of the
progress of disease and death. I have seen the bloom
ing girl of twenty, and the hoary head of eighty,
committed to the same tomb. How soon its doors
wiU unclose for me I know not; but this I know,
religion can make death lovely and desirable at any
age. Death! what is it? The termination of our pro
bationary state, — the commencement of immortal
ity, — how interesting! how glorious! O Thou Au
thor of my being! enlighten my mind, purify my
[241]

MARY WILDER WHITE [18O6
affections, elevate my views, — and grant that every
action of life may be influenced by just ideas of
death ! "
The foUowing has special interest for my mother's
descendants, whose privilege it is to cherish, with
love and reverence, the blessed memory left them
by my father.
"Sept. 18th. A character of rare excellence pre
sented in D. A. W. Esq. The world speaks of him
with respect, his friends with enthusiasm. For my
self, I should judge him to possess a sound, correct
understanding, a benevolent heart, and uncommon
tenderness and dehcacy of soul. To these he adds a
dignified firmness that gives weight to the milder,
and more graceful virtues."
A more admirable sketch of my father could hardly
have been given by his most discriminating friend,
after a hfelong acquaintance, than is here given by
my mother on the evening of their first interview.
In the letter of Sarah Ripley to Mary Emerson
already mentioned, which is dated " Concord, Sept.
19th, 1806," we have an account of my mother's in
troduction to my father on the previous evening,
from which it appears that it was through Miss Em
erson's intervention that they first met. Miss Emer
son often stayed in Newburyport, where her sister,
Mrs. Farnham, lived, and where my father was then
estabhshed in the practice of the law. I think that
[242]

1806] CONCORD
he boarded at Mrs. Farnham's. There Miss Emerson
became intimately acquainted with him, and, ap
parently, made up her mind that he and her fair
Concord friend were kindred spirits, and should be
brought to know each other.
This letter of Miss Ripley's, so carefully preserved
by my father and mother, was doubtless valued by
them for the sake of what it contains on this sub
ject, which I here copy, as follows:
"Concord, Sept. 19th, 1806.
" ]My beloved Mary will expect me to write a line
by so direct a conveyance, and, since the gaflantry
of Mr. AVhite has allowed me time, I shall follow
one of the strongest propensities of my soul, that of
speaking to you. We were surprised, and much grat
ified by the arrival of Mr. W- WeU, sister Mary, I
endeavoured to execute your wishes last evening;
and with the result you may be flattered, I think.
As sister Farnham was not at home when Mr. White
came, and we wanted to get Mrs. Schalkwyck up
here, we rode out and brought her home with us, and,
I assure you, Mary never appeared to greater advan
tage. We walked a little, she sang, and conversed
with unusual ease and freedom, and reaUy, I don't
think our friend was insensible to her charms. He
was in fine spirits, and acknowledges the justness
of our encomiums, which, for one so little acquainted
with her, is remarkable. Mary, I suppose, wiU write
to vou, for you have written to her lately, and she
[243]

MARY WILDER WHITE [18O6
can say for herself, the fine things she thinks about
Mr. White."
It is to be regretted that we have not the letter
which my mother doubtless wrote to Miss Emerson
at this time. The foUowing are the next entries in her
diary: "Sept. 19th. Languid feehngs and httle exertion.
This will never do !
"Sept. 21st. Enjoyed, in a sense of the Divine per
fections, and in confiding every interest respecting
time and eternity to my Heavenly Father, inexpres
sible peace."
Here she ceases for some weeks to write in her
diary. The gap, however, is partiaUy fiUed by her
letters. To Susan LoweU: "Concord, Sept. 22nd, 1806.
" Mrs. Farnham, for whose health you express so
kind a solicitude, returned, last Monday, from a jour
ney of considerable extent, with improved health and
spirits. A beam of hope, though faint, dawns on her
family. The infant declines ; it is at Newbury Port,
where Mary Emerson supplies the place of her sis
ter. Mary E. — you should know her intimately, dear
Susan, for you would mutually love and esteem each
other. Mr. White delighted me by the full justice
he rendered to her excellence, acknowledging her to
[244]

1806] CONCORD
possess a consistent elevation of principle, feeling, and
conduct, such as he had never known surpassed.
" Too stupid to offer anything of my own worth
perusal, I transcribe, for my dear Susan, part of Mary
E.'s last letter, which I received at BiUerica. Speak
ing of Niagara, she observes, ' Nothing can seize on
the affections hke the wonders of Creation, for they
present the grand idea of a God. And may not the
meanest Christian say. This Being, with all His
power. His magnificence, His love, His truth and
justice, is my God! — Mine, for the fleeting vicissi
tudes of a perishable, and often excruciating, mor-
tahty, and mine for all the grandeurs of an eventful
and happy immortahty! O my friend! when awed
and subhmated by a sense of His attributes, even
His works fade on the mind, and aU the transactions
of time disappear. Did not the sublime Apostle mean
feehngs hke these, when he spake of living above the
world while in it? This divine art robs disappoint
ment of its arrow, and disarms the whole artiUery of
worldly mortifications.'"
To the same: "Concord, Sept. 22nd, 1806.
"The messenger who deposited this morning's
epistle to my beloved Susan in the post ofiice, brought
me in return her welcome pages.
"My Aunt North, that beloved relative, whose
blindness and whose active benevolence you have
heard me mention, is now our guest, but will soon
[245]

MARY WILDER WHITE [18O6
proceed with my uncle, on her journey to Albany,
there to meet General North, the only brother of her
husband.' She is to me a very interesting object. To
reflect on her past life, and witness her present ex
ertions is dehghtful. At the age of sixty-one, she was
deprived of sight. How many would have sunk in
to despondence, or, at best, have submitted with quiet
acquiescence; but she, while feehngly alive to the
deprivation, bows to the decree of Providence, and
opens every remaining source of usefulness and fe
hcity. She has acquired, at this age, the art of wri
ting, of sewing, and knitting, without the aid of one
sohtary ray. We have received many charming let
ters from her since she ceased to distinguish between
dayand night, aU written legibly, though irregularly."
To Ruth Hurd: "Concord, Sept. 26th, 1806.
" I don't recollect to have heard you mention Mr.
White, except with general sentiments of esteem
and regard. He certainly appears to be a very inter
esting man, and his humane attentions to Mrs. Farn
ham and her lovely famfly prepossess her Concord
friends highly in his favour."
'She is described as follows in Hon. James W. North's " History of
Augusta, Maine" : " Madam North was a Boston lady of the old school.
She had a good person, a cultivated mind, dignified and graceful manners,
and, being remarkable for her powers of conversation, was the delight of
the social circle. Her sprightly and spirited remarks, in tones which were
music to the ear, were peculiarly pleasant and animating." — Ed.
[246]

1806] CONCORD
In the month of October my mother made a visit
to Charlestown, where she had a serious fllness, which
detained her long from home. In the following letter
from SaUy Hurd, we see that her good mother was
"given to hospitahty." "Concord, October 9th, 1806.
" You must not expect, my dear sister, I shall write
you a long letter at present, for, as fast as one com
pany leaves us, another comes to make their place
good. We are now in momentary expectation of see
ing our Charlestown friends, and, likewise, our Tops-
field friends. If we are disappointed in the first, we
shaU not be in the last, so do not be anxious for us."
From my grandmother to my mother:
"Concord, Oct. 18th, 1806.
"Your letter, and confirmation by Miss Hale of
your returning health, has given me pleasure. I think
you wiU not need caution, as Cousin Grace says you
are very prudent, so much so that you declined ri
ding with Mr. White. What carried him to Charles
town ? Perhaps he wanted to buy the ' Studies of Na
ture,' or something else not to be purchased else
where." A week later, Sally, in a letter, indulges, hke my
grandmother, in some jests on the subject of Mr.
White's visit, and closes, saying, "We have constant
company ; I have scarcely time to think, much less
to write." [247]

MARY WILDER WHITE [18O6
After my mother's return to Concord she vsTote
the following letter to Miss Bromfield:
"Concord, Nov. 20th, 1806.
" Last Saturday, I returned to my tranquil home, —
returned, trembling with apprehension of my broth
er's increased illness. My Ann will gratefully rejoice
with me that I found him much better than my fears,
— his situation is delicate, — is critical in the extreme,
and awakens all the feehngs of the past months ; but
I would not excite painful sympathy in the bosom
of my kind and feeling friend. Let me rather express
thanks for the pleasure you procured me by your ani
mated praise of the 'Lay of the Last Minstrel.' Did
ever the echoes of Scotia reverberate a wilder, sweeter
strain! Scott is, indeed, apoet, — his very faults evince
a master's hand, and scarcely does the polished beauty
of his finest pictures more dehght us, than the sim
phcity with which he chants of other men and other
days. Oh, how I wished you to participate in the
alternate emotions of pity, admiration, terror, and
tenderness, the minstrel so successfuUy inspires!"
To Susan Lowell: "Concord, November 26th, 1806.
"'T is the privilege of my ever dear Susan to be
placed above the suspicion of neghgence,or any of the
petty crimes that mar, and so oft undermine, the fair
fabric of friendship. A much longer silence would
have alarmed me, but would not have excited any
[248]

1806] CONCORD
apprehension that you ceased to love, or voluntarily
suspended intercourse with your friend.
"My brother is now much worse. With perfect
conviction of his danger, he is calm and composed.
His family endeavour to fix a steadfast eye on Prov
idence, and humbly to submit to its decrees, while
they implore an averting of its keen sorrows. My
friend, M. M. Emerson, passed with me last Wed
nesday and Thursday evening. Her society ever for
tifies and elevates above the events of life. Regard
ing nothing as evil which tends to moral improve
ment, she places sickness, sorrow, and death in a
sublime and consolatory point of view. My dear
Susan, you must know her. Ann already does, and
admires, — I am not certain, loves her. A longer, or
rather a closer intimacy, a more complete acquaint
ance with her heart, and aU its generous, tender feel
ings, is necessary to ensure affection. She is disposed
to love you, Susan, already, — your countenance and
manner impressed her strongly in your favour, — and
it is among her weaknesses to yield to first impres
sions. 'T is perhaps wrong to style that propensity a
weakness, since she regards it the least deceptive
mode of judging of those who are not perfectly known
to us."
Four days later, my mother makes the following
record in her diary:
"Nov. 30th. A lapse of more than two months, —
two interesting months. The rich and varied boun-
[249]

MARY WILDER WHITE [isoe
ties, the unmerited mercies, I have received, demand
acknowledgments, — demand a life of gratitude. A
short, but painful and dangerous, illness, at Charles
town, has been succeeded by unusual health. During
my illness, all that assiduous friendship, aU that com
passionate tenderness could offer as aUeviation, I
received, — and, what infinitely transcends human
consolation and aid, the light of God's countenance
cheered and sustained me. Oh, what love, what en
tire devotion is due to Him who hath 'healed aU my
diseases, and redeemed my hfe from destruction.'
Blessed Source of being and felicity! add to aU Thy
mercies a heart to appreciate them and to love Thee !
"My acquaintance with D. A. W. Esq. has pro
gressed. Radical worth ever gains by inspection, —
the more I have seen, the more I have admired."
We cannot doubt to what "most interesting
event" my mother refers in the next record.
"December 1 7th. A fortnight of suspense and anx
iety, rendered supportable only by confidence in the
Father of my spirit. On Him, who careth for His
children, I have cast my care. To Him I have re
signed a most interesting event. O Thou who art —
whose being and perfections are displayed in aU Thy
works, — I rejoice that Thou art omnipotent, for Thy
wisdom and Thy goodness equal Thy power. In Thy
perfections I behold a supply for aU my wants, a
balm for aU my sorrows. Be this my peace, my con-
[250]

1806] CONCORD
fidence, my happiness, — Thou art omniscient, om
nipresent, infinite in goodness, perfect in viisdom, in
power Almighty!"
A week later the record shows her reheved fi'om
suspense and anxiety on the subject nearest her
heart. "December 23rd. A day ever to be treasured in
memory, to be embalmed by gratitude to the Giver
of every good."
Many years ago my father gave to my sister and
myself the letters which passed between him and
my mother before and after their marriage. The first
in order is the foUowing, from my mother:
"Concord, December 24th, 1806.
"Why should I hesitate to acknowledge that Mr.
White's professions were received as he could wish.
To his character I am no stranger, — it justifies me
in confessing that, in the approbation of affectionate
parents, he wiU meet that of
Mary Van Schalkm'yck."
Three days later my mother wrote the foUowing
letter to Miss Lowell. The first paragraph has refer
ence not only to her own happy engagement, but
also to that of Miss Lowell, which occurred some
months before, awakening my mother's most affec
tionate sympathy. [251]

MARY WILDER WHITE [isoe
"Concord, Dec. 27th, 1806.
"My dear Susan's felicity is a rich source of sat
isfaction. Such I have found it when the shades of
affliction obscured my every earthly prospect, — and
such I have experienced it when, through the open
ing clouds, the unexpected sun appeared. That sun
beams have visited me, I apprize you, — but guard
the secret a few days, even from Mr. Gorham.
"My time, my almost undivided attention, has
been my brother's. Would that I could tell you he
was better. That he is resigned and composed, that
his faith and hope fail not, is cause of gratitude ; but,
my dear Susan, however fixed our conviction of the
perfection of the Divine government, to contem
plate the dear youth without emotions the most pen
etrating and affecting is impossible; the brightest
hopes, the dearest expectations connected with this
world fade on the mind, and immortality is the only
idea on which it rests with satisfaction, — immortal
ity purchased by a Saviour, and endeared by His
presence." Benjamin's death must have occurred within a
few days after this letter was written.
[252]

CHAPTER X
J.\nuarv-Mav, 1807
ENGAGEMENT TO DANIEL APPLETON WHITE, AND
CORRESPONDENCE
THE first date we have in 1807 is that of a letter
from my father to my mother, evidently his
first. Its contents indicate that, as early as the third
of January, he had, in visiting her, unexpectedly
found the house to be one of mourning. My father's
has always been my ideal character. This letter is its
index. I find in it the same charm that he had for
me from my earhest recoUection to his latest hour.
"Newbury Port, Jan. 5th, 1807.
"I cannot avoid hoping a few lines from me this
morning wiU be acceptable to my dearest friend,
though I write without her express permission, and
in a very hurried moment. The strong and mingled
emotions which filled my mind during the few but
precious moments of my last interview with her,
prevented my asking this permission, or even ex
pressing my gratitude for her goodness, or saying
any one of the many things which I had thought to
say. Perhaps, had my situation been different, I could
not have done all this. The best sentiments and feel
ings, those certainly which I value most, I find most
difficulty in expressing. I always wish them to be
[253]

MARY WILDER WHITE [i8ot
understood, without degrading them by words which
cannot express them. But, though my visit to Con
cord was of so different a nature from what I had
anticipated, I cannot regret it, only as it may have
given pain to my best beloved: and I hope she wiU
not much regret an interview which has made, if
possible, a dearer impression of her excellence upon
my heart. There are feehngs, though I know not by
what name to call them, which sometimes attend our
deepest sympathy and sorrow, infinitely more pre
cious than any which the brightest moments of pros
perity bestow. Such I experienced when I retired
from your father's door, as from a dwelling sacred
to grief, — too sacred for my intrusion. I felt all your
affliction, and thought of your divine consolations.
Many tender recollections of dear, departed friends
mingled with my thoughts of your lamented, excel
lent brother, and made me truly appreciate the priv
ilege of sohtude. My heart was prepared to yield to
the most delightful impressions of my loveliest friend.
I hope soon to have the happiness to see her con
soled and happy, with aU that real and genuine cheer
fulness which her own mind, and our divine religion,
are so well calculated to impart. She never forgets
the duties and privileges of life amid its afflictions.
"I have just read several times over two exquisite
poems in the 'Anthology' for December, selected
from James Montgomery. I cannot help pointing
them out to my friend, as I know they wiU give her
pleasure. [254]

1807] ENGAGEMENT
"I safely reached home on Saturday evening. I
found Mrs. F. no better, and probably not so well.
I am in haste (as you must perceive), preparing for
a journey to Portsmouth, where I shall pass some
days. On my return, shall I find a letter from my
dearest love? Nothing would so gladden the heart of
her most affectionate D. A. White."
The following is my mother's reply:
"Concord, Jan. 7th, 1807.
"How highly I appreciate the sympathy expressed
in the countenance, the manner, and the letter of my
friend, I need not say: at no period could it have
produced an effect more grateful. The scene I had
just witnessed when I saw you, in itself most inter
esting and affecting, was heightened by every ten
der recoUection, by an impressive sense of the im
mediate presence of Deity, and, (shaU I incur the
charge of superstition?) by a behef that the spirits of
dear, departed friends were hovering round the bed
of death, to hail the emancipated soul. If, indeed, the
shock was not too painful, I cannot regret meeting
my friend at that moment, I cannot regret the neces
sity of ever after associating his image with the sub
lime and affecting ideas which a recoUection of that
scene cannot fail to inspire. 'A death-bed 's a detector
of the heart.' Benjamin's character then requires no
encomium, but a simple description of his closing
scene. Tranquilhty so unmoved, confidence in his be
nignant Mediator and his heavenly Father so fixed,
[255]

MARY WILDER WHITE [I807
— are rare indeed. O my friend! may the ever pres
ent, the ever beneficent Being we both adore, con
duct us as innocently through life, and receive us as
tenderly to His bosom in death !
"Mrs. F. is 'no better.' I cannot think of that in
teresting woman without admiration. That in her sit
uation resignation can be felt, is the triumph of Re
ligion. I cannot conceive of a test so agonizing.
"The 'Anthology' for December I have not re
ceived, but several little poems of inimitable beauty
by Montgomery, I have read."
To Ann Bromfield: "Concord, Jan. 12th, 1807.
"Ah my friend! who could present themselves at
the tribunal of a Holy, Omniscient Deity, unshielded
by His love, manifested in Jesus Christ? And with
this shield, who can tremble to cast upon Him every
care, to repose on Him soul-cheering confidence, and
to *ask in faith, nothing wavering,' pardon and eter
nal life ? Confidence in the merits and intercession of
the Mediator gave to my darhng brother the most
perfect tranquilhty in death. Though his moral hab
its were remarkably pure, and his life uncommonly
innocent and useful, he disclaimed all self-depend
ence ; and, when my weeping father said to him ' You
are now happy in reflecting on a virtuous life;' — he
replied, ' I am now happy in meditating on the mer
its of a Saviour.' Though his feelings were less ani
mated, (he possessed constitutional equanimity,) his
[ 256 ]

1807] ENGAGEMENT
resignation in sickness, and his faith in the hour of
death, were equal to my sister's. Both have left on
memory a savour of Heavenly things."
To Ruth Hurd: "Concord, Jan. 14th, 1807.
"Ever dear Ruth, reserving for next week an an
swer to your last kind letter, for which I most af
fectionately thank you, I would now express the so
licitude I feel for your health, and that of our dear
Hannah. Caution the most scrupulous is necessary.
Do not attend meeting. Communion with a God
Omnipresent is confined to no spot; — intercourse
with a Saviour who is 'with us always,' is as practi
cable in the silence of night, and the piUow may
form an altar from which gratitude and devotion
may ascend as acceptably, as from His Temple."
To Susan LoweU: "Concord, January 16th, 1807.
" Though certain of my ever dear Susan's sympa
thy, its kind expression in her letter of this morning
was welcome and precious. The perfect resignation,
and firm tranquilhty, flowing from habitual religion,
which marked the iflness, and rendered the depart
ure of my brother sublime, is balm to our hearts.
Perfectly sensible to the last moment, confiding en
tirely in the Love of God through a Mediator,
with calm dignity he quitted this world, and with
fixed hope entered another. [257]

MARY WILDER WHITE [I807
"If my dear Susan could know, (and she shall
know,) every circumstance relative to a late event,
she would instantly acquit me of every shadow of
disingenuousness. She was the first friend out of
town, to whom I suggested a syllable, — Mary Em
erson excepted, who has long been the confidante of
Mr. White. To know my friend has long possessed
the esteem of my dear Susan is to me dehghtful ; she
will not regard him less warmly for knowing his af
fection to be the dearest earthly treasure of her Mary.
For years I have admired his general character; for
many months the finer traits of tenderness, dehcacy,
and benevolence, by which he is distinguished in
private life, have been unfolding to me, and could
not fail to interest. Our personal acquaintance is re
cent ; on his part it has been marked by feeling, del
icacy and honour, and your friend has not been in
sensible. I have ardently wished to see, and to im
part to my friend everything which, could interest her
in an event to me so important. When wifl that hap
piness be mine?"
My mother's diary of this period, the last, so far
as I remember, that we have from her pen, concludes
as foUows:
"January, 1807. Eventful month! Thine entrance
beheld a brother committed to the tomb. Thy prog
ress has witnessed the growth of an attachment
founded on esteem the most perfect, — confidence
the most entire. [258]

1807] ENGAGEMENT
"January 18th. On this Thy day. Father of mer
cies! Giver of every good! I would present myself
before Thee, to celebrate Thy beneficence. Verily,
Thou art a Father to the fatherless ! Thou hast not
ceased to protect and bless me, from the dawn of be
ing to the present moment JFrom Thee I derive every
blessing, and the value of every blessing is enhanced
by this consideration. I delight, especiaUy, in record
ing the goodness that preserved me from every other
connection, to unite my fate with that of the human
being I most respect and love."
My father to my mother:
"Newbury Port, Jan. 19th, 1807.
" I am returned, my dearest love, to my books and
business, in health, but with little power of applica
tion to either. I cannot withdraw my mind from the
delightful contemplation of the dear object of my
heart, who inspires and possesses my whole soul, who
has led all my affections into a most enchanting cap
tivity. O my Mary! my inestimably precious and
dear Mary, permit me this once to pour out my feel
ings of love and gratitude ! Yet I cannot. I have no
words for the fulness of my heart. May I be blest
with a sympathy in your feelings, which wiU speak
better than words! And 'may the ever present, the
ever beneficent Being,' in whose hand our breath is,
and whose are all our ways, accept the effusions of
my gratitude for His Providential goodness, and
[259]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1807
make me worthy to enjoy His richest gifts ! I never
before realized such a lively sense of gratitude to
Heaven ; I never before knew the extent of my feel
ings ; I never dared to hope in this life for the happi
ness I now feel. I am not romantic ; I am solemnly
serious ; and Oh, my lovely friend, lovely in every
charm that can interest and elevate the heart, it is
with a hallowed affection, I yield to your power, in a
confidence that knows no bounds. I am sure to incur
no risk in acknowledging the full extent of your
power over my affections. I feel that it is a heavenly
power, calculated to improve my heart and hfe, to
animate my devotions, and to elevate my eternal
hopes. May it ever be blest to our mutual improve
ment and happiness. May our Heavenly Father ever
smile upon the union of our affections, and bless afl
our wishes and exertions for each other, and may
He, my dear love, 'conduct us innocently through
hfe, and receive us tenderly to His bosom in death.'"
Her reply is as follows: "Concord, January 21st, 1807.
"Tears, — irrepressible tears, — more truly, more
tenderly than language can, expressed the feelings
of my heart on reading the letter of my dearest friend.
And the Source of fehcity, 'the Giver of every good
gift,' alone knows how fervently I pray that your
hopes may not be disappointed, that we may be mu
tual and everlasting blessings to each other. And
[260]

1807] ENGAGEMENT
such, I trust. He will make us. 'T is not for a day —
for a year — for hfe — no, my dear friend — I confess
to you, were our affection to terminate on this side
the grave, did its hopes, its prospects, extend no fur
ther, I should not have courage to harbour it. But I
do beheve I shafl love eternafly the virtues I now
love; I do beheve the sympathy of feehng which
attracted us on earth, will be equaUy attractive in
Heaven. I fear to say too much; yet, such is the
confidence I feel in you, a confidence surprising even
to myself, that I know not how to unfold to you less
than my whole heart. Ah, my friend! if that heart
should ever be less dear to you ! but I do not fear — I
know that in your character candour and constancy
are not less conspicuous than tenderness.
"The storm on the Sabbath prevented my attend
ing pubhc worship; I remained at home, and read
two of Saurin's sermons. If you have not seen his fifth
volume, you have not seen the perfection of elo
quence. On that morning, my soul expanded with
unusual gratitude to the Father of mercies ; and, per
haps, the voice of conscience influenced my choice
of a sermon on 'Transient Devotion.' It is, all in aU,
superior to any human production I ever met with.
I cannot refrain from giving you an extract ; I know
your soul wiU ascend with the devout author. 'O
Almighty God! we humbly beseech Thee, enable
us in the offerings we make to Thee, to resemble
Thee in the favours Thou bestowest upon us! Thy
gifts to us are without repentance, Thy covenant with
[261]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1807
us contains this clause, " The mountains shall depart,
and the hiUs be removed, but my kindness shaU not
depart from thee, neither shall the covenant of my
peace be removed. I have sworn that I will not be
wroth with thee." Oh, that our offerings to Thee may
be without repentance! Oh, that we may be enabled
to reply, "The mountains shall depart, and the hills
be removed, but my fidelity shall never depart from
Thee, neither shall the dedication which I have made
of myself to Thee, ever be removed. I have sworn,
and I will perform it, that I wifl keep Thy righteous
judgments. Amen.'"
"I hailed the unclouded sun with more than usual
pleasure on Friday ; for I was not a httle apprehen
sive that, with your interesting companion, you might
suffer from an unpleasant day. You saw our excel
lent Mary [Emerson]. You admire her for her own
sake ; I entreat you to love her for mine. Imperfect
as I am, and illy as I have profited by her admoni
tions, you know not how much I owe her. Coura
geous in correcting, and generous in commending,
she stimulates her friends to the pursuit of excellence,
by every motive and by every method that piety, good
sense, and affection can suggest."
To Ann Bromfield: "Concord, January 21st, 1807.
" The cordial sympathy of my dear Ann, and the
approbation and blessing of her revered parent, dif-
[262]

1807] ENGAGEMENT
fused a glow of pleasure through my soul. To my
friend I do gratefuUy acknowledge the beneficence
of that Being who has preserved me from other con
nections, and who, in the best time and manner, has
bestowed upon me a heart of inestimable value. I
fuUy appreciate it — and only pray that I may not
too highly prize it. Like you, dear Ann, I dare not
anticipate, fixedly anticipate, future happiness on
earth. Else should I dwell with delight on the pros
pect of being one day near you, of frequently com
muning with you, of associating with you and your
admirable mother, till I should become in some de
gree like the friends I admire and love. Am I sin
gularly depraved when I confess receiving pleasure
from a knowledge that even Ann was vulnerable to
jealousy, when the affection of a friend was its object,
and that friend was myself? But, most unjust was
the apprehension that you could ever inspire less than
the most heart-felt esteem and cordial love. Should
Providence conduct us to each other, and protract
our lives, you wiU, I trust, receive the most entire
conviction of this truth.
" Our dear Sarah will probably present you these
hasty, but affectionate pages. Alas ! on what scenes
is she entering! The family of Mrs. Farnham must
interest every heart. Have you ever noticed partic
ularly the second daughter, Louisa? She has, of late,
passed some weeks in Concord, and seldom have I
beheld a countenance more interesting, from its ex
pression of tender melancholy, or manners more at-
[263]

MARY WILDER WHITE [I807
tractive from their affectionate simphcity. You know
the mother, and feel the severe deprivation these in
nocents must soon experience. We do, indeed, firmly
beheve the orphans' Friend will be their guardian,
but we cannot behold the excellent mother of a nu
merous family 'fade as a flower,' in the bloom of life,
without anguish."
Of Mr. Popkin, who was afterwards her pastor,
and, throughout his life, one of my father's most hon
oured and beloved friends, she says, in reference to
his sermons : " One would imagine the spirit of Scou-
gal had descended to animate a second time, the
form of humanity."
My father to my mother, in reply to hers of Jan
uary 21st: "Newbury Port, Jan. 23rd, 1807.
" Had anything been wanting, my dearest Mary,
to complete my happiness, your tender and elevating
letter would have supplied it. Accept my warmest
thanks for all your goodness. Never, never, I trust,
will my Mary have cause to repent her confidence
in one who has yielded to her his whole heart, and
lives no less for her than for himself Our hearts, I
trust, wiU bear exposure to each other with aU the
frankness of sincere friendship and love. For myself,
I feel no more a wish, than I have the power, to con
ceal anything from my dearest friend. But I will not
trouble you with more professions ; you know you
possess my whole heart, and you will always find it
[264]

1807] ENGAGEMENT
open to your inspection. May you ever view it with
pleasure, though you find much to correct, and much
to lament: may the sincerity of its love, and the hon
esty of its intentions draw the mantle of your can
dour over its errors and imperfections : and may the
Father of hghts inspire me with wisdom and good
ness to secure your affection, and mingle my joys
with yours, not only in this imperfect state of good
and evil, but throughout our whole existence!
" I have just finished reading the inimitably beau
tiful and exceflent story of ' Rasselas,' and am so im
pressed with its beauty and exceUence, that I can
not avoid speaking of it to my dear Mary. The story
is undoubtedly calculated to leave the mind pensive,
solemn, and thoughtful, if not gloomy, and I don't
know that it has not served to give me a sort of ap
prehension that my present happiness is too great,
and my prospects too bright, for such a world as this.
My mind, however, is not apt to cherish such appre
hensions, or of a nature to suffer from the story of
Rasselas. But, granting the picture of human life as
here drawn to be too deeply shaded, yet, what pro
found reflections, what just and useful observations,
what accurate and beautiful descriptions from the
moral and natural world, abound ! What taste, what
elegance of language, what powers of reasoning, what
knowledge of nature, of mankind, and the various
conditions of life, are most happfly and forcibly dis
played ! What charms of sentiment and imagery, of
truth, wisdom, and eloquence, are aU combined to
[265]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1807
fascinate, exalt, and improve our minds! From my
heart would I pity and forgive that disposition to
morbid melancholy in the mighty mind of Johnson,
which inclined perhaps too greatly to darken the pic
ture. At the time of writing this work, he was sol
itary, and had just lost his mother; to defray whose
debts and funeral charges, it is said, the work was
composed in the evenings of one week ! No one, per
haps, can realize the sufferings of this great and good
man, without possessing his strong feelings and gi
gantic talents ; but he that can contemplate his ever-
returning pains and sorrows amidst his ardent zeal
and exertions for the promotion of virtue, piety, and
human happiness, and not feel his heart melt in rev
erential compassion, is surely not much to be envied.
Johnson had no vices ; and his failings are nothing
before the bright constellation of his virtues and ex
cellences. But I was speaking of his 'Rasselas,' and
would just add, that though the evils and sorrows
of this present world are so strikingly portrayed as
to sink it in our estimation, yet human nature is pre
sented in a dignified and endearing view. This distin
guishes him from the misanthropist. We find nothing
to disgust us with our species, and freeze our souls
with horror. AU has a tendency to soften and sol
emnize the heart, and prepare it for deeper impres
sions of virtue and piety ; and to induce us to exclaim
with the princess: — 'To me, the choice of life is be
come less important ; I hope, hereafter, to think only
on the choice of eternity.'" [266]

1807] ENGAGEMENT
From my father to my mother:
"Newbury Port, January 29th, 1807.
"Your letter of yesterday, my dear Mary, has
proved a most delightful cordial to my spirits. It
found them drooping under a very severe head-ache,
which I have suffered through the day, and am in
debted for, probably, to intense and long-continued
apphcation to Selfridge's trial last evening. This pre
vented my setting off for Concord this morning;
otherwise I was weU enough. My indisposition was
owing to an ordinary cold only. Indeed, to this source
I so invariably trace the slight interruptions my
health experiences, that I was not aware you might
be hable to receive any other impression. But, my
dear, I presume your sohcitude has given me quite
as much pleasure as it possibly could give you pain ;
so, you see, nothing is lost between us. I have now
the pleasure to assure you I feel perfectly weU, ex
cepting a little of the aforesaid head-ache. Selfridge's
trial, I think, would entertain you, as giving a fuU
view of our judicial proceedings, and of lawyers' lives
and labours. With Mr. Gore, I am sure, you will be
charmed. "On last Lord's Day, being detained at home, I
also read two of Saurin's sermons. They were those
on the fear of God ; of the last of which I could speak
almost as highly as you do of that on transient de
votion. I beheve I shafl become as enthusiastic in
my admiration of this subhme and eloquent preacher
[267]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1807
as yourself But how much wiU be owing to your in
fluence, I cannot say. Sure I am always to feel thank
ful for that influence. I begin to suspect that your
power wiU not be confined to my feelings, but wiU
make my sentiments, opinions, and even taste bow
to it."
I find that my father has preserved, in the same
package with these letters of my mother's and his
own, one which my mother received at this time from
her friend Mr. Frisbie. This indicates the peculiar
respect my father felt for their friendship. It also in
dicates his own strong and tender attachment to Mr.
Frisbie, to which I have so often heard him give ex
pression. I remember my father's account of his last
interview with Mr. Frisbie, a few days before his
death. Mr. Frisbie had had a dread of the last awful
change — a dread which he considered the effect of
the gloomy rehgious associations of his childhood.
In moments of depression induced by disease he
could not whoUy prevent the influence of these early
impressions upon his mind. But on my father's last
visit to him, immediately upon receiving him, Mr.
Frisbie said, "You know what a dread of death I
have had. I can now not only view it with perfect
calmness, but the prospect of the future world is de
hghtful to me." I remember my father's saying, with
tears in his eyes, that among other visions of the
future, Mr. Frisbie said, "I shall see your Mary."
The following is a copy of the letter:
[268]

1807] ENGAGEMENT
"Ipswich, January 26th, 1807.
" If, my dear sister, my visual faculties would per
mit, I should have much to reply to your letter. And
first, I should reproach thee as becometh a disap
pointed lover. Knowest thou not that, for more than
three years, I have been in love with thee myself;
at least, so saith the world, and the world, thou art
aware, always concerning such subjects judgeth
aright. Next, I would ask thee, if thou art now about
to take thy departure for Bethlehem, as thou speak-
est of prospects of felicity, and this was once a fa
vourite plan of thine? If so, I wiU e'en bear thee
company, and take the veil too.
"But pardon me this trifling: I will be more se
rious. I thank you for the confidence and the friend
ship of your letter. As I cannot say all I would upon
the subject, from my eyes, I shall merely observe
that I rejoice in your prospects, and pray you may
enjoy every blessing you can reasonably anticipate."
On my father's return home, accompanied by Miss
Sarah Ripley, after a visit in Concord, he writes as
foUows : "Newbury Port, Feb. 7th, 1807.
"The day we left you was rather cold, but our
ride was pleasant, and, having dined, and passed two
or three hours with our exceUent friend at Maiden
[Miss Emerson], we reached Salem before dark.
Sarah passed the night with Miss Lawrence, and
your friend with Mr. Pickering, and aU very agree-
[269]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1807
ably. How yesterday morning opened upon us, you
must recoUect. We ventured to set out in the midst
of the violence of the storm, but, having proceeded
as far as Beverly, I insisted on leaving Sarah at Mr.
Brown's, where they strongly urged me to tarry
also ; but, being obhged if possible to reach home
yesterday, and fearing lest the storm of snow would
block us up too long, I continued my journey, and
arrived at home just as the storm ceased. Sarah came
on in the stage in the afternoon, and here we both
now are, grateful and happy. My ride was, to be
sure, solitary and tempestuous from Beverly, but not
unpleasant. The dearest and the tenderest recoUec
tions fiUed my heart, and made me insensible to the
raging elements without. My thoughts dwelt on my
inexpressibly dear friend, and I would have cheer-
fuUy encountered aU the storms of nature, for the
joy of seeing that friend. Did you never experience,
my beloved Mary, that, after parting from a friend,
dearer to you than aU the world, you for some time
could feel no other wish, but to renew your inter
view with that friend ? I am sure you have, and wiU
not accuse me of weakness if during the pensiveness
of the storm yesterday, I found my heart melt with
in me, and my eyes overflow, without being able to
assign any reason for it, satisfactory to the schools.
Oh, my love ! do not forget to cherish and preserve
your health. Write only what is necessary — but to
me as much as you can without injuring yourself,
and no more. Let me know, my dearest love, a few
[270]

1807] ENGAGEMENT
hnes as soon as possible, and remember you have in
your power aU the happiness of your devoted friend,
D. A. W."
My mother to my father:
"Concord, February 5th, 1807.
"Friday morning. Am I departing from the letter,
or obeying the spirit of the law of kindness which in
terdicted writing ? Till I can receive the opinion of
my counsellor, I shaU determine in favour of the
latter opinion, and act accordingly. And this, too,
without personal injury; for, by writing ten minutes
in the moming, afternoon, and evening, a letter may
be easfly completed without fatigue.
"Monday morning. My plan was bhghted in the
bud — unexpected company, etc., etc., stole from me
the pleasure I anticipated, in devoting to my heart's
dearest friend a little part of each portion of the day.
Your letter was expected with anxiety, received with
eagerness, and read with delight. But, why attempt
to express the inexpressible feelings originating in a
sentiment in itself indefinable, and which can only be
felt. Let your affection interpret what would be un-
intelhgible to indifference : to that I refer you for
a picture of aU the sohcitude, the confidence, the anx
ieties, and hopes, that swell the soul, wresting from
every other object the attention — obtruding even on
devotion. Yes, obtruding.
"My dear mother peremptorily forbids another
page. A little cold taken yesterday at church has
[271]

MARY WILDER WHITE [I807
stimulated the kind monitor in my side; it unites
with her in warning me to close. FareweU, with truth,
with prayers, constant and fervent, for your present
and future fehcity, your Mary.
" Do not be anxious. I assure you my cold is slight."
To this letter my father rephes :
"Newbury Port, Feb. 10th, 1807.
"Indeed, my dearest love, my feehngs at once de
clare that you foUow both the letter and the spirit of
the law of kindness, when you write to me. Out of
your presence, I can receive nothing to be called
pleasure, in comparison with the delight your letters
afford. Yes, my heavenly friend, write to me as much
and as often as you can, without injury and without
fatigue ; and be assured that volumes to others can
not possibly produce so much happiness as a single
hne to me. Your plan I think excellent, and hope
you wiU be able in this way to give me happiness,
without suffering yourself
"What could induce you, what could induce you,
my Mary, to expose yourself at Church in the sever
est of weather ? You have all the means and aU the
feehngs of devotion at home, and where and what is
the counsellor who advises you abroad at the risk of
your health? In vain do you forbid anxiety — nothing
but assurance of your perfect health can prevent it. I
[272]

1807] ENGAGEMENT
wish not to alarm you or myself, but your ' kind mon
itor ' may possibly prove most unkind, at least to me.
It surely ought not to be needlessly roused. Do, my
dear Mary, try some expedient to estimate the impor
tance of your health to my happiness ; and, then, I
shall be sure, from your benevolence and compassion
at least, of aU the attention to yourself I wish. I know
this is aU tedious to you, but I cannot repress my so
licitude — do relieve me by a few lines as soon as pos
sible. TeU me you are weU, and mean to be kind and
attentive to your precious, your inestimably precious
self — where are aU my heart's dearest treasures, — aU
its tenderest joys, and hopes, and wishes. Oh, may
that kind Being, who loves us better than we our
selves, protect and tenderly cherish you, and preserve
and prepare us both for pure and never-ending hap
piness !
"Our exceUent pastor gave us a very pious and
exceUent discourse last Lord's Day, and very feeling
and appropriate, on cold weather, from Psalm 147,
16th and 17th verses. It made me, for the moment,
almost forget that intense cold was an evil-^— httle
did I think my dearest friend was then suffering;
though I could not, amidst aU the charms of the
preacher on the subject, forget her, — for I am sadly
exposed to obtrusions — but, while my attention is
withdrawn by them, my feelings acquire animation,
and return with more ardour and heart-felt gratitude
to devotion, and I hope therefore to be forgiven."
[273]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1807
My mother to my father:
"Concord, Thursday morning.
" Soon after closing my last to my beloved friend,
I was attacked with every symptom of a lung fever.
The applications made have reduced the disease. I
am now sitting up, and much better, though debil
itated by bleeding, blisters, etc. I do not wish to see
you at the risk of your health, or any serious incon
venience, but you are constantly in the thoughts,
and inexpressibly dear to the heart of your
Ever faithful and affectionate Mary.
" Come not but in pleasant weather. You see I am
not very sick — writing is demonstration."
As might be expected, this letter brought my
father to Concord. On his return to Newburyport,
he writes: "Feb. 18th, 1807.
" I have only a moment before our mail closes ; for,
if you will believe me, we did not reach home till in
the evening of yesterday. I lost entirely one day,
which I might have enjoyed with my beloved Mary.
The cold on Monday was much more severe than I
had expected, and when I caUed at Maiden, our friend
there [Miss Emerson], at once protested against com
ing on the whole way, and would consent to accom
pany me only on condition that I would pass the
night at Salem or Beverly. We accordingly came
that way, and put up at Mr. Brown's, in Beverly. I
[274]

1807] ENGAGEMENT
felt none the better for the journey, but Mrs. Brown,
with true motherly kindness, nursed me up, and we
might have come home yesterday morning, had I
not laboured under a mistake, and supposed I was
too unweU. Dr. Fisher, however, cured my mistake,
told me nothing was the matter, and I might come
as soon as I pleased : and I am thankful to find, this
snowy morning, that we are safe at home, and very
weU. My slight cold, (the infirmity which most easily
besets me,) has already left me almost whoUy, and
I have only to think of my ever dear and lovely Mary.
How happy should I be, could I but look upon you
once a day, and witness the joy of returning health!
But health is not necessary to make my Mary in
teresting and lovely. I can almost speak of the charms
of sickness. O my dearest love, what an ornament is
a 'meek and quiet spirit,' adorned with aU the tender
virtues and Christian graces! Never could I have
seen my friend more interesting to my heart. I will
not be anxious ; you are cherished by the attentions
of most affectionate friends, tenderly guarded by
your earthly and your heavenly Parent. We have
always cause for joy, for we are constantly under the
care and protection of that kind, almighty Being,
whose tender mercies are over all His works.
"Adieu, my dearest, my ever precious love. God
wiU bless and preserve you, and with your health
and happiness make entirely happy
" Your most faithful and affectionate D. A. W. "
[275]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1807
From my grandmother to my father:
"Concord, Feb. 19th.
" 'As cold water to a thirsty soul, so is good news
from a far country.' Our dear Mary is better, and,
as her amanuensis communicates the intelhgence,
her fever appears to have left her, her sleep easy and
refreshing. She is still very weak, but better than
when you left her. We ardently hope she wifl be
spared for many years, as her hfe is very precious to
her friends."
To this my mother adds the following:
"Dearest of human beings, as a tribute of grat
itude for past, and the promise of future blessings,
let us offer to God an entire sacrifice of ourselves.
In pubhc and in private, let us enter anew into cov
enant with the Almighty, who condescends to be our
Covenant God. Mamma wrote the above, but no eye
inspects this. I seal it myself"
In reply to my father's letter of the 18th, my
mother, made anxious by that letter, writes to him
as foUows: "Concord, Feb. 20th.
"Friday morning. You are not well. I ought not
to have consented to your returning on so cold a
day. Write soon, and honestly. Tell me just how you
are, and, if you love — truly love — your Mary, guard
attentively against the foe that most easily besets
you. [276]

1807] ENGAGEMENT
"Saturday morning. I hope I am childish and
grieving causelessly, but I have no letter this morn
ing, and cannot but apprehend. My own health
continues to improve, but I have little increase of
strength. If I were well, I should fear less, — for it
would be possible to see you if you were ill, and that
possibihty would be a relief. But you are the care
of a Being who is equaUy present in aU places, and
of whose power and beneficence I am, at this mo
ment, a monument. I rejoice you are at His disposal
who wiUs only the happiness of His creatures, and I
wifl cheer my poor heart with the idea that He
would not so singularly have united our affections,
had He designed an immediate separation.
"Let me hear from you soon, and do not give me
present peace, at the expense of future confidence,
by deceiving me with respect to your health."
On February 21st, her friend Sarah Ripley, who
was then in Newburyport, wrote to her, and my
father added a postscript of half a page. On Febru
ary 23d he wrote again:
" I need not, I cannot describe, my dearest Mary,
the emotions I felt at sight of your letter to-day,
charmingly greeting me in your own fair and steady
hand, as your letters were wont to do in your better
health. I am thankful, above aU expression, that you
are so weU, and am delighted, as you alone can con
ceive, by your letters; yet I entreat you to spare
your strength, and make no untimely exertions. Be-
[277]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1807
stow all your care and all your attentive thoughts
upon yourself. I am distressed for the pain I have
given you, for the moments of solicitude on my ac
count which you have suffered amidst such suffer
ings of your own, and which I might and ought to
have prevented. Forgive, I pray you, my want of
consideration. I know my Mary wiU forgive me, but
this will not change the past. I can form some idea
of what may have been her feehngs, from what I
myself suffered on Thursday. The letter which I ex
pected with such confidence, and waited for with
such anxiety, did not reach me that day, and I
speak 'honestly' when I say that I could not then
write to you. Had your letter arrived, as you doubt
less expected it did, you would have received a hne
from me on Saturday. But as I then supposed, from
some cause or other which I could not conjecture
without infinite distress, you had thought proper
not to send the letter which you were so good as to
promise me, I did not think of your expecting a letter
from me, even were I perfectly able to write it. And,
on Saturday, Sarah's writing prevented my making
a long letter ; she delayed it to the last moment, and
I added without consideration a few lines, when I
ought to have written a letter. I say without consid
eration, for Mary Emerson afterward told me that
malice itself could not have devised a more effectual
method to make you anxious. I again entreat your
forgiveness, for I must have been criminal, or our
friend would not have thus disciphned me. I was
[278]

1807] ENGAGEMENT
under two general impressions, — that more letters
than were necessary would not be beneficial to you,
and that you could not be solicitous about my health.
But what a tedious letter this I Mary Emerson has
just laid claim to a small part, which I hope wiU
enliven the whole.
"A Dieu, my love, — teU your dear friends around
you how grateful I feel for their kind attentions to
you. Be cheerful and happy as you are good. A
most tender and merciful Being protects us both.
Health wiU soon smile upon you, and may you al
ways smile upon your undeserving, but most ardently
and constantly affectionate D. A. W."
Miss Emerson's postscript is as follows:
"I cannot, my beloved friend, be whoUy silent,
when I recaU your sickness and recovery. Do be
careful, without anxiety, of your self Hope for every
thing, for there is nothing too good and too grand,
here and hereafter, for a Being infinite and happy
to bestow. Times of prosperity often incite tender
anxiety. Pass by these, and appreciate thy blessings.
Happiness is rare, — but, perhaps, a large draught
very healthy. M. E."
From my father:
"Newbury Port, Wednesday, Feb. 25th.
"What would I have given for a hne yesterday,
telhng me how you were on Monday morning! As-
[279]

MARY WILDER WHITE [i807
sure your Mamma how thankful I felt for her kind
ness the other day, and intreat that she, or some of
your attentive friends around you, would give me a
still more minute account of you. A fuU diary would
dehght me ; indeed, I wish you had some little Bos-
well about you to record whatever you do or take,
all your remarkable sayings and delightful whispers.
I would give more for his book than for Boswell's
'Johnson,' inestimable as it is."
From my mother: "Concord, Feb. 26th, 1807.
" Speak not of forgiveness, most dear and attentive
friend ; I rather should ask it, for the childish letter
with which I troubled you on Monday. Blessed be
the merciful Being who is, I trust, restoring health
to us both ; for afl the suffering He wisely inflicts,
and for all the rich blessings He kindly bestows, —
adored be His name!
" I have been thinking, beloved friend, of the de
sign of Providence in this iUness — some good is in
tended by it — let us not neglect to gather sweet fruit
from the bitter tree. Let the fruit be, a deeper sense
of our entire dependence upon God, a more perfect
devotion to Him, a liveher gratitude, a warmer love,
a more vigilant attention to our hearts and lives!
Dearest friend, I write this less for you than for my
self; show me this letter when you find me back-
shding, re-animate my devotion when you see me
cold and lifeless, by reminding me of what I owe to
[280]

1807] ENGAGEMENT
the Father of Mercies, 'who forgiveth aU our iniqui
ties, and healeth all our diseases.'"
My father to my mother:
"Newbury Port, Feb. 28th, 1807.
"My dearest love, for several days I suffered an
inexpressible anxiety which no exertions of my rea
son could control, tiU the arrival of your charming,
your most heart-cheering letter. I cannot avoid em
bracing the first opportunity to assure my beloved
Mary how happy and how grateful I feel, and how
fervently I pray that my heart may never become in
sensible to the goodness of our Father in Heaven,
which we are now experiencing. Oh, may my grati
tude and love to God not pass away 'as the morn
ing cloud, and as the early dew.' But I shaU always
need your gentle, stimulating monitions. May I al
ways profit and improve by them ! What you write
or speak, 'less for me than yourself,' may I always
earnestly strive to improve, as I feel there is, and
fear there ever must be, a greater need of it for me
than for you.
"Let me now again entreat you to be constantly
careful of yourself — now is a most important time
to your health — make no unnecessary exertions of
your strength, let no cares trouble your mind; re
member that, notwithstanding my wishes, I would
submit to any delay rather than your mind should
be exercised by any solicitude.
"Mrs. Farnham is very feeble; she is truly an ad-
[281]

MARY WILDER WHITE [I807
mirable woman. In the multitude of thoughts that
must so tenderly, so awfuUy exercise her mind, that
she can feel resignation, that she can manifest such
sweet composure, must indeed, as you once observed,
be the triumph of rehgion.
" When I shall have the greatest happiness I can
now realize, that of visiting my Mary, I know not.
The two coming weeks are the last of doing business
for our next court, which almost necessarily confines
me." My mother to my father:
"Concord, March 2nd, 1807.
"Monday morning. I would not rise this morning
till I had a letter to inspire me with strength and
spirits. Your affectionate pages dispersed every cloud
that rose on Saturday and dimmed the Sabbath ; for
I had calculated on seeing my dearest friend at the
close of the week. I am now happy you did not come.
I cannot wish to purchase the pleasure of seeing you
for a few hours at the risk of your health, at this ever-
varying season. Having consulted the almanac, I
knew the two ensuing weeks must be important to
your business. I shafl not therefore expect you tiU
the 'time of service is up.' Are you astonished at my
legal learning? I would say something more of it,
but that I must not write voluminously as usual.
"I continue to improve in health, and Papa thinks
this illness will prove advantageous, should I be spared
a relapse. A thousand times I thank you for the ten-
[282]

1807] ENGAGEMENT
derness that would shield me from danger and solic
itude. But sohcitude, of the kind you aUude to, has
never distressed me. I have many kind friends who
are ready to spare me every care, every exertion. I
wish to say innumerable things, but fear to write ; I
Vi^ould not injure your Mary."
After the proposed visit to Concord my father
writes : "Newbury Port, March 10th, 1807.
"My dear Mary wiU not be unhappy to learn that
her most affectionate friend is well and safe at his
office this unpleasant, stormy morning. I did not pass
through Methuen as I had intended. Finding the
bridge at Andover destroyed, I turned aside, and en
joyed two hours at Madam PhiUips,' with her and my
good friend Farrar, where I found a most cordial and
warm reception. I renewed my journey about three
o'clock, and reached home at seven with perfect con
venience and satisfaction.
"What joy would it give my heart to look in up
on you with a good morning! The sound stiU dweUs
most sweetly and most tenderly on my thoughts.
You are 'in my mind's eye' at this moment, lovely
and cheering as when, with 'sweet sorrow,' we ex
changed it at this hour, yesterday morning. O my
Mary, with what emotions does my heart anticipate
the time when these 'outward eyes' shaU daily be
hold in dehghtful vision the lovely object, so inesti
mably dear and precious to me ! May Heaven, in its
[283]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1807
goodness, speed this time ! May you be blessed with
health and every favour to make you happy. And
may our hearts ever be as united in love and grati
tude to the bountiful Giver of all good, as in affec
tion to each other. Write me often as much as your
health will allow, and no more — and all about your
dear self Heaven bless you."
From my mother: "Concord, March llth, 1807.
"You do not say, 'Make yourself your subject,'
without sincerely wishing it ; for my beloved friend
can never degrade himself or his Mary, by unmean
ing comphments. I need not say you were constantly
present to my mind aU the day — that I turned my eye
every moment to the window, and watched the in
crease and decrease of the storm with a heart re
sponding to every variation. The unpleasant weather
had yesterday a little effect on my lungs. I could not
have bid you good-morning in an audible voice, but
to-day I am quite weU.
" I am warned to close by significant glances, nods,
and, where these fail, by friendly hints that 'the mail
is closing,' etc."
Again she writes:
"Concord, March 12th, 1807.
"It is a most perplexing mystery to our good and
faithful Betty, that Mr. White and Mrs. Schalk-
[284]

1807] ENGAGEMENT
wyck should have so mttch to say. ' What can they
find to occupy so much time ? I 'm sure they must
repeat the same things again and again.' Unless the
heart of the postmaster should instruct him, I think
the mystery must appear to him no less dark. But
in truth, I have now important intelhgence to com
municate. Yesterday, I dismissed my sick robe, and,
my cap excepted, clad myself in the attire of health.
I wished to have written this from the sitting-room,
but Mamma objected to the morning as too cold and
windy for a first essay. And, reaUy, I have no very
strong inchnation to make the first floor my stated
place of residence, tiU after Court. Company neces-
sarfly produces exertion, and the society of friendly
acquaintance is far worse than any other. There is
not sufficient affection to render silence supportable
to them, and there is not enough indifference to their
opinions and feehngs to render it easily practicable.
'He who, silent, loves to be with us, he who loves
us in our sflence, has touched one of the keys that
ravish hearts.' If Lavater had never written anything
more visionary, he might have passed for a sage of
the first order. But this delightful silence, which alone
conveys the best feelings of the soul, is too sacred to
be profaned by vulgar use.
"My dearest friend, I have not written very long,
but the girls think quite long enough. Adieu, then.
Most affectionately,
Mary."
From my mother: [285]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1807
" Concord, March 13th, 1807.
"I know my dearest friend would not have dis
appointed me this morning, had not necessity com
pelled him to it. He knows the anxieties of an affec
tion ever sohcitous for the health and happiness of
its object. By reposing on the perfections of Deity,
I endeavour to resign myself to all possible events,
but there are sorrows from which my soul recoils, and
which, I feel, nothing but divine grace can enable me
to sustain."
From my father: "Newbury Port, March 13th, 1807.
"My dear Mary's letter reached me yesterday, and
greatly delighted my heart, as her letters cannot fail
to do. This morning's mail I fully intended should
carry you a few lines, but a severe head-ache caused
by a shght cold and unusual fatigue, kept me in du
ress until it was too late. For several days, I have
been obliged to confine myself in a close room at an
arbitration with such a clan of the 'sovereign people,"
that I could scarcely breathe with any pleasure to
myself. Last evening I was released, and to-day I
choose to confine myself at home, not doubting but
a little penance at water-gruel wiU restore me."
From my mother: "Concord, March 16th, 1807.
"Your letter of this morning, dearest friend, re
heved me from the most painful apprehensions,
[286]

1807] ENGAGEMENT
though it informed me of your indisposition. You
must bear with me, when I am thus unreasonable;
were my heart less interested, I could more calmly
see the expected post arrive without a letter. Your
health is certainly delicate, and requires constant at
tention. Pay that attention, I entreat you, for your
Mary's sake, whose happiness is most intimately con
nected with it. You say colds are the only illness to
which you are subject. Dr. Ratcliffe used to say to
his patients, when they told him they had only a
cold — 'What, in the name of conscience, would you
have?' — considering them the foundation of every
other disorder."
How often I have heard my father attribute my
mother's early death to the ignorance that then pre-
vaUed, even among the medical faculty, with regard
to the laws of health. It is evident that, from this or
some other cause, his health was at this time inter
rupted almost as frequently as her own.
From my father: "Newbury Port, March 17th, 1807.
"My imagination has been feasting itself in view
ing my beloved in her 'attire of health,' and Queen
Esther in afl her 'royal apparel' appeared not half so
lovely." Again : "Newbury Port, March 18th, 1807.
"I think you cannot make the sitting-room at
present, your place of stated residence, without be-
[287]

MARY WILDER WHITE [isot
ing insensibly led to make exertions which may re
tard your progress to perfect health, which, surely,
nothing you could do in the way of politeness and
civihty would atone for. Silence, as you most justly
observe, cannot be resorted to for relief in the com
pany of such friends as you would be exposed to;
and, if it could, I should think that sort of silence
which in your presence could alone be sustained,
too sacred, not only for vulgar, but for any general
use. I could not feel wflling to have any, even of
your friends, participate with me in the exquisite
pleasures of social silence, which are, pecuharly, the
heart's, and which a stranger intermeddleth not with.
Lavater 's maxim shows he had a heart as wefl as
head, and would alone rank him among first-rate
sages in the science of human nature."
From my mother: "Concord, March 19th, 1807.
"Dearest friend, a serious lecture by good Mr.
Ripley, approbated by Papa, restrains me to one
page. Most affectionately I thank you for the kind
pages by which my heart has been daily cheered this
week. I wiU not dispute the point of obhgation with
you at this time, and at no time may a point less en
dearing be contested by us.
"My Parents think I gain strength and health as
fast as I ought to expect. Do not, however, come
with an idea that I am perfectly weU. The truth is,
my lungs are stiU very much debihtated. Papa is
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1807] ENGAGEMENT
very unweU, — we fear a lung-fever. Much love to
our exceUent Mary, affectionate sympathy to Mrs.
and Miss Bromfield, and for yourself everything
your heart can ask from your Mary."
From my father: "Newbury Port, March 20th, 1807.
"Notwithstanding aU I have said, and intimated,
to my beloved Mary about writing, and its injurious
effects to herself, which I confess almost amounts
to a prohibition to write at aU, yet I cannot possibly
be disappointed of a letter, when I only hope, and
have no particular reason to expect one, as was the
case yesterday, without feeling my heart sink with
in me, as if a blow of sudden misfortune came upon
me ; and it takes some time and many efforts to raise
it, and rightly restore aU its circulations. You wiU
think me inconsistent or capricious, but I hope I
shaU be neither ; or may suppose that I wish to en
joy aU the happiness your letters give, and, should any
evil accrue to you, on you to leave aU the responsibil
ity, but this, I am sure, is not in my thoughts. My
dear Mary's candour and affection wifl, I hope, ever
take away afl difficulty in interpreting the feelings
and wishes of my heart. Frankly, my dearest love,
I must say, you cannot omit writing to me without
exposing my heart to much suffering; yet I must,
in reason, add that I would rather encounter this
suffering than your health should stiffer any incon
venience." [289]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1807
From my father:
"Newbury Port, March 21st, 1807.
"One sentence only of my beloved Mary's ' page'
would have charmed my heart. I care not how much
her kind friends restrain her, when her health requires
it, sure I am she cannot be so restrained as to fail of
delighting me, if she takes her pen at aU."
My mother to my father:
"Concord, March 21st, 1807.
"I have only ten minutes to say aU my heart
would dictate to my best beloved friend, — and what
time would suffice for that purpose ? You know some
thing of your Mary, and may judge if she would, or
would not, submit to any mere inconvenience, rather
than subject her most cherished friend to pain. Alas!
to how much pain and anxiety have I already sub
jected you ! — when my most fervent wish and prayer
has been to be only the source of happiness to you."
Again : "Concord, March 23rd.
"Monday morning. Harriet entered my chamber
this moming with a kiss, and ' Cousin, did you hear the
stage pass ?' ' Yes.' 'And do you expect a letter?' 'Not
much.' She drew from her bosom your precious let
ter, the most welcome visitant I could possibly have
received, the writer excepted. Beloved friend, for your
attention to yourself, I thank you a thousand times.
Be not anxious, but fafl not to implore of Him who
[290]

1807] ENGAGEMENT
healeth, the exercise of His power, — if it consist with
His will, and our ultimate happiness. For I confess
I desire not life — to be less than a blessing to my
heart's dearest friend ; and He who knoweth afl things,
to whom the future is present, alone knows if I should
prove such."
My father in reply:
"Newbury Port, March 27th, 1807.
"I have almost thirty minutes this morning to
write to my dearest Mary, and could I say as much
to charm her heart as she did mine in ten, I should
feel perfectly happy. How can my dearest love
speak of subjecting me to 'pain and anxiety,' which
she must know I experience only so far as it is in
separable from the affection which is, indeed, the
source of all that my heart deigns to caU happiness
here below. You are therefore just what your prayer
has been, — 'only the source of happiness to me.' You
have taught me what happiness is, you have inspired
my heart with feelings which a whole life of pain
would not counterbalance. I cannot express by
words, nor even by actions, the pure love and ten
derness which fiU, and constitute the happiness of
my heart. Oh, could I but daily and hourly enjoy
your sweet society, and bestow my exertions in im
proving your health, and promoting your happiness,
what a constant cause of gratitude to Heaven should
I have!" [291]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1807
Again :
"Newbury Port, March 28th, 1807.
"From what I have written to you about our dear
Mrs. Farnham, you will not be surprised to learn
that she continued through the day, yesterday, tran
quil and easy, resigned and happy, and in the eve
ning, breathed her last, in perfect composure, and
free from pain and distress."
Again : "Ipswich, March 31st, 1807.
"Though I have made a pubhc and most solemn
profession of my faith, and dedication of myself to
God, yet I feel full of imperfections, and hable con
tinually to deviate from the standard of elevated love,
devotion, and purity which the Gospel enjoins. Oh,
may my sincerity make my heart an offering accept
able to a holy and merciful God ; and may my hfe
prove such as I now humbly hope and resolve to
render it! Then, dearest love, we shall be happy here,
and supremely blest forever in the presence of our
Heavenly Father."
The foUowing is her reply:
"Concord, April 1st, 1807.
" Could I give language to the feelings your letter
of this morning inspired, you would receive pages
more expressive of the tenderness which fills your
Mary's heart, than you ever have done. Dearest of
human beings, you have a new claim on my tender-
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1807] ENGAGEMENT
ness, my esteem, and confidence. Most gladly, most
affectionately, does my heart acknowledge it. And
the Almighty Parent to whom you are devoted, the
God with whom you have entered into covenant,
will most surely direct, preserve, and bless you.
Eternal Truth is pledged, and 'the mountains shaU
depart, and the hiUs be removed ' ere you shall be for
saken by Him, who is 'Omnipotent to bless.' May
He, in His infinite goodness, grant that we may be
permitted to tread the path of hfe together ; that we
may mutuaUy encourage, strengthen, and console
each other ; and, when His wiU shaU terminate our
present state of existence, may He decree that we
'Together sink in social sleep.
Together, freed, our happy spirits fly
To realms where love and bliss immortal reign.'"
From my father:
"Ipswich, April 3rd, 1807.
"You cannot easily conceive what dehght my heart
enjoys from the contemplation of my dear Mary, even
amid the jargon and htigation of the bar. It is indeed,
if possible, more inexpressibly delightful from this
very contrast. To turn from scenes of human deprav
ity to view and contemplate all that is lovely and
endearing in human nature, to retire from the agita
tion of noisy and angry passions, to indulge the pure
and sweet sensations of love and joy — Oh, my Mary,
this is pleasure I cannot describe, but do this mo
ment richly enjoy. How blest am I to possess such
[293]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1807
a friend! I fear you will think I almost ought to
apologize for fiUing my pages in this way. I know my
Mary is not desirous of it, but I really have not time
to say anything but what the moment pours forth.
I must now return to aU the aforesaid jargon, litiga
tion, etc., but hope to quit them entirely, and reach
home in course of to-day."
From my father: "Newbury Port, April 4th.
"Most devoutly do I sympathize and concur with
you in your prayers that we may be kindly preserved
to "encourage, strengthen, and console each other,'
and be made mutual and everlasting blessings. I feel
most sensibly how much I shall need your gentle
guidance, your mild corrections, your stimulating
influence in treading with you the path of life ; and
becoming prepared with you, and hke you, for ' realms
where love and bliss immortal reign.' My hope rests
in what I trust is the sincerity of my heart, and in
the goodness of the Father of lights and God of love.
"The minute has come for me to close. Before I
see you next week, I hope to have decided as to a
house. This I find more difficult than I expected;
something or other very material is wanting in almost
every situation I have viewed."
From my mother: "Concord, April 9th, 1807.
"You mentioned your intention to decide respect
ing a house ere we met. In fixing, you wifl recollect
[294]

1807] ENGAGEMENT
that closets are very convenient, though not abso
lutely indispensable ; a painted kitchen floor is much
preferable to one unpainted, — when washed, it is
soon dry, — this, however, is not very important ; but
a good wefl, and accommodations for wood, may be
considered. "This is an unusual exercise for Fast Day; I hope
not a transgression of duty."
From my father :
"Newbury Port, April 10th, 1807.
"I hope to find you have taken the softened air
with advantage and pleasure. Indeed, it has almost
been my hope that, should this delightful weather
be indulged us next week, you might be able to ride
with me to Charlestown. I cannot remove from
my mind an inexpressible sohcitude tiU Heaven has
blessed me with the most exquisite and exalted hap
piness I can conceive of in this hfe. The perfect re-
establishment of your health is, I am induced to be
heve, as aU your friends do, connected with this my
happiness. They aU assure me the air of Concord is
not propitious to you as would be that of this place.
And, at length, I have engaged the southwesterly
half of a very weU-built new house, in a fine situa
tion for enjoying the gentle and health-inspiring
breezes of this season, with the mild and cheering
rays of the sun. I cannot but think your health would
improve better in such a situation than where you
are, and cannot but hope your happiness would not
[295]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1807
be diminished. Any personal inconvenience or delay
I am sure I would cheerfuUy submit to, that you
might take the time most agreeable to yourself, but
should that time very soon arrive, how greatly re
heved, and how unspeakably happy, should I be."
After a visit from my father, my mother writes
as foUows: "Concord, April 15th, 1807.
"'Surely the hght is sweet, and it is a pleasant
thing to behold the sun.' But never do his rays so
gladden the heart as when the dear idea of a beloved
object is blended with them. On opening my eyes
on this fine morning, gratitude to the Giver of aU
good, united with and increased by the tender rec
ollection of my friend, filled my heart. Emotions
the most dehghtful were, however, blended with a
sense of my own unworthiness, — and 'what shaU I
render for aU these mercies,' was the involuntary
language of my soul. Oh, may I never lose the Giver
in His gifts ! Singularly blest as I am, may my grat
itude and devotion be proportionably ardent and ac
tive! To you, dearest and best, I vn-ite and speak
the first thoughts and feelings which arise: to each
other, we can never be egotists, — we can, at least,
never disgust by egotism.
"How much I feel your absence! I busy myself
with imagining your occupations, your pleasures,
your companions, the subjects of conversation, your
tone of voice, and expression of countenance, but this
[296]

1807] ENGAGEMENT
does not equal reality ; and, to say truth, I had rather
hear and see you one hour, than spend a fortnight
in imagining how you might look, and what you
might say.
"My chamber grows rather cool, — you will not,
therefore, regret an early adieu. Generous, tender,
best beloved friend, you know that you possess the
heart of your _ Mary."
To Ann Bromfield: "Concord, April 16th, 1807.
"My ever dear Ann requires no written assurance
of my tenderest sympathy, she knows how sincerely
I have participated her sorrows. Dear Ann, I have
felt — have felt! can the bosom ever forget to feel, —
the poignancy of the pang inflicted by the sudden
departure of an object idolized from infancy! And
I know the affhcted can receive consolation from no
other source than the immutable perfections of Deity.
Those perfections are aU engaged to promote the
ultimate happiness of His children, and not one of
them can be lost.
"My heart would long commune with yours, but
a more than usual pain in the side warns me to
close." From my father: "Newbury Port, April 17th, 1807.
"Dearest love, I had not thought it possible I
could reahze in your absence such exquisite happi-
[297]

MARY WILDER WHITE [I807
ness, as your letter gave me yesterday. Never is my
heart more softened in tenderness and love, than
when I have journeyed home with the dear image
of my Mary, after enjoying the sweet charms of her
society and affection. How I thank you for your
most noble, generous, frank, and tender affection!
How does my heart ascend in pure and ardent grati
tude to the Father of mercies, the ever beneficent
God of light and love, 'whom we both adore!'
"The chairs we spoke of are already painted, but,
instead of dark, as I mentioned, what they caU bam
boo colour was thought best for us. If you prefer the
dark coloured, just say so in your letter to-morrow.
Would you like a little settee with them, for the sit
ting-room ? Such an one, and very pretty, may be had.
The white chairs for the best chamber are ready, with
the rest, to be taken to the house to-day."
My mother's reply: "Concord, April 18th, 1807.
"I have been engaged with company till it is al
most time to send my letter to the post-office. How
much rather, dearest and best beloved friend, should
I have passed the morning in the only kind of con
versation now permitted me to enjoy with you.
"Yesterday, I rode four miles with our friend
Sarah, without fatigue. I think, should it be conve
nient for you to be here on Monday or Tuesday, I
shall probably be able to accompany you to Charles
town with advantage on Wednesday.
[298]

1807] ENGAGEMENT
"The chairs you mention wifl, I am sure, please
me. As the sitting-room is smaU, a settee would be
better dispensed with. Have the goodness to take
the size of the v^andows, that curtains may be fitted
to the chambers. Also, to inquire if mirrors can be
procured reasonably at Newburyport. The risk in
transporting them would be considerable.
"My heart breathes ten thousand affectionate
wishes for your fehcity. Let me rather say, for ours,
— for there can be no separate happiness or misery
with my dearest friend or his Mary."
From my father: "Newbury Port, April 18th, 1807.
"I have nearly a half hour this morning, before
the mail closes, which I cannot turn to better account
than by conversing with my beloved Mary. She is
now the object of my tenderest cares and solicitudes,
as wefl as the source of my sweetest joys, and why
should I not yield to the impulse of my best affec
tions, which chng to her dear image in my mind, and
constantly direct afl my thoughts to her. Every morn
ing, after reverencing the ' ever present, ever benefi
cent Being whom we both adore,' I should wish to
dedicate my first sentiments and feelings to the best
and dearest friend of my heart, to my ever lovely and
beloved Mary.
" We can ever converse together without reserve
or restraint, and give to each other our first thoughts,
as they arise, for we know each other's hearts, and
[299]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1807
that the dearest happiness of each consists in giving
happiness to the other. Certainly, the most exquisite
joy of my heart arises from its power of giving joy
to yours, and feeling itself the object, and in some de
gree worthy, of your affection. Indeed, here is aU my
earthly happiness, — nothing else merits the name.
I cannot cease to feel that I am most highly blest,
or to express my feelings to you. They are the feel
ings which are ever first in my heart, and therefore
must be expressed to you. And, I trust, dearest love,
we are both of us infinitely above the necessity of
disguise, or even of what is called policy."
My mother, a few days later, went to Charlestown,
from which the foUowing letter is dated :
"April 27th, Monday morning.
"Notwithstanding the remarkably unpleasant
weather, your Mary continues as well as when she
parted with the friend who is all the world to her.
To say any object is capable of bestowing complete
pleasure in your absence would be an untruth. I do
indeed feel from home, without the kind, sustaining
arm of affection, without the soothing voice of sym
pathy, or the eye beaming tenderness and truth. But,
if I can know you are in health, and depend on the
happiness of seeing you in the course of a few days,
I shall be content, and, I hope, grateful. We are go
ing to be very notable this week. Don't apprehend
anything however from my industry, — I am, and
[300]

1807] ENGAGEMENT
shall be, very prudent. Adieu, dearest and best of
friends. "With unalterable fidehty and tenderness, your
Mary."
From my father: "Ipswich, April 29th, 1807.
"I cannot deny myself the pleasure of retiring a
few moments to converse with my beloved Mary
this morning, before I shaU be debarred the privilege.
We must soon have good weather, when you may
freely receive and enjoy the smiles of blooming na
ture as well as of your friends. These smiles of nature,
I delight to behold. But one smile from my Mary
more penetrates and charms my heart, than all that
nature ever gave or can give.
"It wiU give you pleasure to learn that I am at
Swasey's, very commodiously and agreeably situated
with a number of choice companions, superintended
by the Judge."
Again: "Ipswich, May 1st, 1807.
"Agreeably as I am situated here, I cannot feel at
home, nor enjoy any of its genuine pleasures, for
these are pleasures of the heart, and cannot be found
where the heart is not. Nothing, therefore, but the
dear society of my Mary can be home to me. I hope
I shaU find a few lines, to-day, from you. Not a word
have I heard since your dear letter of Monday morn
ing, — and what effect this damp and heavy air has
[301]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1807
had on your lungs I cannot but fear. Don't consider
me, dearest love, as complaining that you have not
written. You had reason to expect I should not be
here so long, and I had hopes by this day to have
visited you. I cannot now do it, till after Monday,
as a cause is assigned for that day, which requires
my presence. I wifl, however, repress anxiety, and
humbly trust in the goodness of that Providence
whereby we have ever been preserved and blest."
From my mother: "Charlestown, May 3rd, 1807.
"Many months, I beheve I may say years, have
elapsed since I wrote a letter on the Sabbath. Yet,
on this Sabbath, so interesting to your feelings, dear
est and best beloved friend ; this Sabbath, which, like
the first, presents Nature in the morning of beauty,
and on which the Lord of Nature invites us to re
joice in His beneficence, I feel not that I can greatly
err in addressing you. Though detained from pubhc
worship, and surrounded by friends, I have not failed
to derive a precious joy from the hope that my best
beloved friend was enjoying the sacred privilege of
communing with his compassionate Redeemer.
"Your heart wiU unite with mine in gratitude to
the Being who has so far restored my health. If life
and health be dear, it is principally owing to that
attachment which has bound us so firmly to each
other; and, if I welcome the strength and ease which
evince a freedom from disease, with greater rapture
[302]

1807] ENGAGEMENT
than I ever yet did, it is because I love my dearest
friend with inexpressible tenderness.
" My kind cousins have been constantly occupied
with our concerns, and much has been accomplished
by them and sister Sally, without caUing forth the
smallest exertion of my powers.
" I rejoice in your pleasant accommodations at Ips
wich. An agreeable home is universally, and justly,
regarded of the first importance; and I know not
why a temporary home should not be considered im
portant in a high degree. Of our short life, how great
a part is passed in these temporary homes. When,
therefore, I can know you happily situated, though
but for a week, I shall experience an expansion of
heart which fervent devotion, or genuine affection,
alone can create."
After receiving a visit from my father my mother
writes : "Charlestown, May 7th, 1807.
" Thursday afternoon. Never did the rain beat more
tempestuously, never, at least, in the opinion of your
Mary, than during the two hours aUotted for your
ride to Salem. How you supported it, what are your
feelings, and what the state of your health to-day, I
am yet to learn. Oh, may you continue very, very
many years to be blest with the health you have, of
late, enjoyed! I cannot suppress the tender anxiety
which constantly agitates my heart when you are
absent; an anxiety certainly unworthy a Christian;
[303]

MARY WILDER WHITE [I807
but I hope that He who created the human heart
susceptible of the strong, mysterious attachment
which forms of two beings one, wiU pardon what is
weak and erroneous in us both. And, surely, dearest
friend, we shaU not less sincerely adore, or endeavour
to imitate Him, for the affection we bear each other.
That affection may sometimes render us insensible
to aU else ; but, generally, wiU it not animate devo
tion, and shed a benign influence on our hearts and
hves? "You know my whole heart; it expands with
grateful joy to Him who formed you what you are,
with nobleness of soul to bear a knowledge of your
influence over the heart of another, and with tender
ness to love 'as the world loves not!'"
My father, on reaching Newburyport:
"Newbury Port, May 8th, 1807.
"Here I am, dearest beloved, in good health, and
happy. I reached Salem the evening I parted with
you, seasonably, — rode to Ipswich yesterday morn
ing before breakfast, attended to what business called
me there and arrived at this place, (I can't say home,)
last evening, without having suffered from the vi
olence of the storm, though I manfuUy faced it aU
the way. To be sure, I had not a very gay ride, but
it was by no means an unhappy one. The winds and
rains rushed upon me rather furiously, but the ten
der, the ever precious, recollection of the dearest and
loveliest of friends kept ahve within my heart a
[304]

1807] ENGAGEMENT
serene and sweet joy. And, on my arrival at Ipswich,
I found in your heavenly letter everything to elevate
and cheer my heart. Hesitate not, dearest love, thus
to improve your time on the Sabbath. To write thus
must be a holy exercise, worthy of such a day, and
calculated to produce in the heart which is devoted
to you, and aspires to be devoted to Heaven, the
heavenly sentiments and feelings that exalt your
own. "During the interesting Sabbath you mention,
while enjoying 'the sacred privilege of communing
with our compassionate Redeemer,' I thought much
of you. The tenderest recollections of my best and
dearest friend could not fail to mingle with the feel
ings which the affecting occasion inspired, and to
give my heart a deep impression of the holy and
subhme joy, which this sacred privilege can never
fail to inspire us with, in the presence of each other.
Heaven grant that we may often enjoy together this
sacred privilege here, and enjoy forever hereafter the
blessedness to which it leads and tends to prepare
our hearts ! "
My mother in reply: "Charlestown, May 9th, 1807.
"How joyfuUy I received your letter from the
hand of cousin Joseph yesterday afternoon, I need
not say. Heaven be praised you escaped injury on
the tempestuous evening, when I fancied everything
terrible would assail you! Don't pride yourself on
[305]

MARY WILDER WHITE [I807
superior courage and fortitude. Your Mary, too, has
met real evils and dangers, and, when they menaced
herself only, she has not shrunk from them ; but you
know exactly when, and where, and to what degree,
she is a coward.
" I am wefl pleased the coaster cannot be here tfll
Thursday or Friday. There are so many last things
to think of and to do, that I doubt if all would have
been in readiness had it come early in the week. I
have been writing to Concord this morning, and feel
somewhat fatigued. Adieu, therefore, ever dear, ever
precious to the heart of your affectionate Mary."
From my father: "Newbury Port, May 9th, 1807.
"Your charming letter, dearest love, rejoiced my
heart last evening. It was a new thing to possess such
a blessing as a letter of my best friend cannot fafl to
be, on the very day it came from her hand. Whether
this idea, or some other cause, produced the effect,
I know not, but my heart expanded with uncommon
emotions of joy. I am almost as unable to express
the feehngs your letters inspire, as I ever have been
the sweet magic of your presence. They are ines
timable treasures to my heart, and my tender and
best beloved Mary will, I know, bestow them upon
me as freely as it is proper she should make the ex
ertion. She knows that nothing has such power to
increase the ardour of my affection, as the manifes-
[306]

1807] ENGAGEMENT
tation of her own. Indeed, I could not love, as my
Mary knows I now do, had not this manifestation
been so frankly made. To know I entirely possess
the heart I adore, perfects the happiness I feel —
the happiness resulting from 'that strong and myste
rious attachment which forms of two beings one.'
Without such knowledge this happiness, the only
happiness I expect on earth, must be imperfect. Our
affection, I firmly trust, will ever receive the approv
ing smiles of our Heavenly Father, 'who is love, and
dweUeth in love.' If, at times, this affection 'renders
us insensible to aU else,' He will pardon the excess
of it, since His goodness has inspired it, and since,
generaUy, it wiU, I am sure, 'animate our devotion,
and shed a benign influence over our hearts and
Uves.'" From my father: "Newbury Port, May llth, 1807.
"My anxiety, constantly alive and tender, is
alarmed more easfly than is rational or manly. Im
agination, if I have not continual assurances of your
safety and health, is too fond of acting an unfriendly
part with my feelings. Such apprehensions, I confess,
ought not to find place in a mind resolved to trust it
self and all its dearest interests to the good and wise
Providence of God. But, with my best and loveliest
friend, I hope to be forgiven if my heart is too ten
derly and anxiously devoted to one whom His own
goodness has formed so exceUent and so lovely. I feel
[307]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1807
that it can never be possible for me less sincerely to
adore, or endeavour to imitate Him, for the affection
which devotes me to such a heavenly friend. Let us
endeavour, dearest love, to repose in His goodness
with entire confidence.
"Nothing, I hope, will occur to retard the time
when I shafl be entirely blest. Mr. Toppan, who is the
most careful coaster, and has a new sloop, will set
out on Wednesday, and return here on Saturday, un
less unexpectedly prevented, and can take anything
we wish to have him bring. I intend coming to see
you on Wednesday, and hope to be able to attend to
every command of my dearest love, — aU her wishes
are commands. The stage is just departing, and I
must bid you adieu, leaving to your own heart to
understand the tender and constant prayers for your
health and happiness, which are offered up by the
heart of your affectionate D. A. W."
My mother in reply: "Charlestown, May 12th, 1807.
"What would have induced me to believe I should
have requested my beloved friend to delay, even for
an hour, an intended visit ? But I have come to this.
Be not alarmed, however, no rival has supplanted
you, no discovery has shaken my confidence in you,
nothing terrible has occurred. The truth is, — I am
engaged with a mantua-maker, and, unless you can
remain in Charlestown tiU Friday, I must request
you to delay your visit till Thursday. I do most cor-
[308]

1807] ENGAGEM.ENT
dially wish to see you, — that, too, is another truth,
— and no mantua-maker can detain any portion of
my heart, nor any great proportion of my attention
from you.
" I enclose the measure of the cornice, which you
wiU have the goodness to direct to be made imme
diately, and painted white. My dear friend, can you
pardon this incoherent scrawl? Could you see my
situation, I know you would. The variety of voices
sounding in my ears, the variety of questions asked,
and observations made, distract my attention, but
have no power to withdraw my heart from you.
"Adieu, and remember, if you can be absent from
Newbury Port till Saturday, I entreat you to be
here to-morrow ; otherwise, Thursday wifl, I hope,
bring you to your most affectionate Mary."
From my father to my mother, addressed to Con
cord: "Newbury Port, May 19th, 1807.
"After enjoying so much the sweet society of my
dearest and lovehest friend, it is not wonderful if,
to-day, I feel in unusual solitude. Human beings do
indeed surround me on every side, but in vain may
I look for the charm of society, without my Mary.
Her kind, endearing voice and smile, warm from
the purest of hearts, impart a fulness of feeling and
fehcity which all the world would not purchase from
me, or for me. But why should I attempt to express
what I have so often found inexpressible ? I need not
doit. [309]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1807
"The coaster on which I depended has not yet
gone to Boston. He still says he shall, if possible, go
so as to return the first of next week. I have written
to Jno. Hurd, to send the things by the coaster now
at Boston, if he can ; if he does not, I presume we
can do without them for a few days. I hope you wiU
not find it necessary to make a postponement of the
time contemplated. I have engaged a hack to come
up on Saturday, [May 23rd]. If you should wish to
return by any other route than the direct one through
Andover, be so good as to mention your wishes. We
might return so as to dine with some of your friends,
if you should think it best." [310]

CHAPTER XI
May-December, 1 807
MARRIAGE TO DANIEL APPLETON WHITE, LIFE IN
NEWBURYPORT
I]Sr the Columbian Centinel of Wednesday, May
27th, 1807, we find the following notice: "Mar
ried — In Concord, on Sunday evening last, by the
Revd. Mr. Ripley, Daniel White, Esqr. of Newbury
Port, to Mrs. Mary W. Van Schalkwyck, of the for
mer place."
We cannot but wish that her letters from her new
home had been preserved as carefully as those which
were written from the West Indies. But not one
have we of the many she must have written to her
mother from Newburyport.
As it is, we get our first glimpse of her through
a note addressed to her by Miss Bromfield, the
kind "Cousin Ann" of my childhood. One of the
greatest pleasures to which my mother looked for
ward in Newburyport was the companionship of Mrs.
and Miss Bromfield. These friends had suffered re
peated bereavements during the winter preceding
my mother's marriage. It is to the recent loss of a
beloved brother that Miss Bromfield refers in the
following note, which we may suppose was written
soon after my mother's arrival in Newburyport.
[311]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1807
"Monday morning.
"My very dear Mary, — So entirely have I en
tered into your feehngs, that the sorrows of my own
heart have been silent, without an effort, when I have
seen, or even thought of you ; so much have you oc
cupied me that I decided, without hesitation, to save
you what I could of the awkwardness of sitting up
to receive company, by my presence, and volubility
of course ; but, as the time approaches, my foolish
heart misgives me, and, as Mr. White wifl be with
you, and is more extensively acquainted with the in
habitants than myself, I shaU decline being with you.
You wiU fuUy enter into my feelings when I teU you
that, until I visited you, I have not voluntarily seen
any one for the last three months, save Mr. White,
and Grandmother's' family. To the ladies who are
with you, and to your honoured lord and master,
present us suitably. If the day is good to-morrow,
I wifl come early after dinner, and escort you aU to
our little parlour, where I hope you will consent to
pass a social afternoon, without the addition of any
other company."
It appears, from a letter addressed to my mother
by her cousin Ruth, that the day to which Miss
Bromfield's note relates was not the only one given
by my mother to the reception of her friends. She
says: "I hear the good people of Newbury Port
'The venerable Madam Atkins.
[312]

1807] NEWBURYPORT
availed themselves of the appropriated days to mani
fest their respect and civihty."
From these papers it is seen that the custom in
Newbur)rport at this time was the same with that
of Boston twenty years before. Mrs. Ticknor, in
writing of her mother, the beautiful and admired
Mrs. Ehot, a bride in 1786, says: "At that time,
as in many succeeding years, newly married ladies
'sat up for company' for several days. These visits
were not returned in the present brief, cool, fashion,
by bits of pasteboard, but by liberal tributes of time,
— a half-hour in the morning, an hour in the after
noon, or a volunteered tea-drinking, according to
the degree of intimacy enjoyed or wished for."
Miss Bromfield's note illustrates the informal so
ciability of 1807, and we may suppose that my mother
received, as weU as made, many visits like that pro
posed to her by Miss Bromfield, in her own "little
parlour." Indeed, we are not obliged to draw alto
gether on our imagination for this picture. Not many
days since, I had the good fortune to meet one who
had had experience of my mother's hospitahty, — a
granddaughter of the beloved "Grandmother At
kins" mentioned in Miss Bromfield's note. I had
known her in childhood and youth as " Cousin Susan
Tyng." From the number of people unrelated to us
whom my sister and I were bidden, at that early pe
riod, to call "Aunt," and " Cousin," I think it must
have been the fashion of the age seventy years ago.
Susan Tyng married, late in life, Mr. Newton, of
[313]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1807
Pittsfield. She is now a widow, more than fourscore
years of age. Half a century had elapsed since we
met, but being in this neighbourhood for a few days,
she sent me word, by a mutual friend, that she should
like to see me, adding that she had often held me
on her knee. She was a charming old lady, made the
more so to me, doubtless, that she spoke with such
enthusiasm of what she had enjoyed, when a girl,
in visiting my mother in Newburyport.
" I was very young," said she, "not more than fif
teen; your mother used to ask me, and the young
cousins with whom I stayed, over to tea, — they hved
in the same street, right opposite her. She talked
with us as if we had been of her own age. We thought
we were in Elysium when we took tea with her. She
was beautiful, you know, with something angehc
about her appearance."
Among the warmest friends made by my father
in Newburyport, before his marriage, who received
my mother to their hearts and homes, were the two
families of "Grandmother Atkins" and of her eldest
daughter, Mrs. Searle. Madam Atkins was always
called "Grandmother" by my father and mother,
as she was by a large circle of friends, and the un
married daughter, who hved with her, was almost
as widely known as "Aunt Becky." My sister and
I received our first impressions of the beautiful in
nature from Aunt Becky's garden. To us it was par
adise primeval, and, to this day, it hes in my memory
as more delightful than the most charming gardens
[314]

1807] NEWBURYPORT
I have known in later years. Indeed, as was said by
one of the granddaughters, "both house and garden
seemed the centre of everything qualified to dehght
or improve." Grandmother Atkins full of years, and
of "that which should accompany old age," died be
fore I was old enough to remember her. Aunt Becky,
however, hved to bestow upon the children of my
mother a kindness which wiU never be forgotten by
me. Most of aU, however, did we love dear Aunt
Searle, and her daughters. They took in the mother
less children after my mother's death, and watched
over them for months with aU a mother's care. One
of the most dehghtful recoUections of my childhood
is that of sitting on a footstool at Aunt Searle's feet,
and hstening to the stories of olden time, with which
it was her wont to give us instruction as well as
amusement. Nothing could exceed the devotion of her daugh
ters to my mother. They were the cousins with whom
Susan Tyng stayed when they hved opposite my
mother, and with whom she shared the visits upon
which she looked back with so much interest in her
conversation with me. Often have I heard from their
lips enthusiastic accounts of the charm my mother
had for them. EspeciaUy did dear Cousin Fanny en
dear herself to us by her affection for my mother,
which was unbounded, seeming to glow as warmly
during the closing hours of her own long life on earth
as it did during the four brief years of their intimate
friendship. [315]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1807
The following letter was written by her, in 1818,
to the httle daughter who was only six months old
when left motherless. It was written on her eighth
birthday, and gives a graphic description of the
mother whose memory was so fondly loved by the
children so early bereft, as well as by her friends.
"Brookline, December 12th, 1818.
"Yes, my dear Mary, I will, with pleasure, write
you a letter on the anniversary of your birth-day. It
was a very interesting day to me, as it gave to your
dear parents another darling, and, I might hope, to
the world a blessing, in the little being who was to
inherit the name, and perhaps the virtues, of a most
excellent mother, whom I dearly loved. I wish I could
distinctly paint to you one who came so near perfec
tion. She was beautiful, her person small and delicate,
a profusion of beautiful dark hair adorned her head,
her eyes were blue and had a sweet expression, her
teeth were white and regular, her smile most lovely,
— but of this beauty she seemed unconscious; her
thoughts were not given to her own charms of mind
or person, but to the merits or the wants of others.
Wherever she could do good or give pleasure, there
were her thoughts and affections occupied. She was
ever ready to sympathize with the afflicted, and to
rejoice with the happy, to inform the ignorant, or
listen to the wise. Her powers of mind, and infor
mation on all subjects worthy of attention, were as
uncommon as the beauty of her person, and a modest
[316]

1807] NEWBURYPORT
sweetness gave a charm to everything she said or did.
Her natural disposition was gay, and this gaiety of
heart survived many afflictions, and animated the
social and domestic circle. Her piety was ardent and
sincere, rational and enlightened. She was, for a
time, placed among a people destitute of rehgion ;
this shocked her feehngs, and led her to study the
subject closely, and be able to say why she beheved
in God and Christ. My dear httle friend, it wiU make
you sad on this day to reflect that you have lost, and
could not have known, such a parent, but you wifl
make a good use of the day, if you resolve to imi
tate the exceUences you hear of her possessing. It
wiU not be expected of you to be as beautiful, but
you may be as good, and as much beloved."
Mrs. Searle was left a widow in 1796, with a fam
fly of two sons and six daughters.
Our next record is from the pen of her daughter
Margaret, afterwards Mrs. Curson. She grew up un
der the roof, and in the garden, of her Grandmother
Atkins and her Aunt Becky, herself the fairest flower,
whose uncommon lovehness lasted throughout a life
time of more than fourscore years and ten, and stifl
hngers in the fragrance of a beautiful memory. The
letter now before us is addressed to her cousin Mary
Eliot, afterwards Mrs. Edmund Dwight. It bears
evidence of having been written in the year 1807,
consequently but a few weeks after my mother's
marriage. It was given to me by Mrs. Dwight's
[317]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1807
daughter Mary, on account of the pleasant picture
it contains of my father, at this bright season of his
happiness. I copy other portions of it as illustrating
the beloved writer's character and manner of life in
her youth. "Monday evening, July 27th.
"My dear Mary, — I have just returned from a
walk to our favourite glen, where I beheve I have not
been before since last summer, when you and Harriot
Spence were with me. Our names still remain as we
left them on the birch tree, and have altered less than
those who inscribed them. My feehngs have altered
as little, I beheve, as either of the three, but I have
felt more hght and free from care than I did this
evening. Indeed, I hardly think I was right to leave
Aunt Becky without an auxiliary, but these httle
walks gratify Caty and Lucy [her elder and younger
sister], very much, and I always fancy that a beau
tiful prospect, and a fresh gale from the river, dissi
pate a few clouds from my head, though I always
have more remaining than I wish for.
"The weather yesterday and to-day has been very
dehghtful to me. I had time yesterday to enjoy it;
I spent an hour or two yesterday in the garden in
the moming, and read Thomson with much pleasure.
We had no company in the evening, and I again en
joyed the garden, and sat up late, reading Beattie,
without feeling that I did wrong, as Grandmother
wanted some attention. I don't know whether you
have ever read this life of Beattie. We admired his
[318]

1807] NEWBURYPORT
'Minstrel' together, and I think you would feel in
terested as I do, in anything connected with its au
thor. I have extracted one or two passages which
struck my fancy, and will send them to you.
"I was delighted with White this afternoon, —
where is there such another man? I fear I 'ne'er
shafl look upon his like again.' He was riding on
horseback, and stopped at the door to ask how
Grandmother did to-day. I asked him if he would
not come in. He hesitated, — he had been dining with
a company of Salem gentlemen at the bridge, and
could not leave them, — but he jumped from his horse,
and said he would just go into the garden, and get
a bouquet for Mrs. White, ' as a remembrance from
you,' he added. I ran into the garden, and gathered
as good a collection of carnations as I could, some
myrtle, and a pea-blossom, — they were very hand
some. He said something of my taste in arranging
them, of his Mary's fondness for such things, put
them in his bosom, that the gentlemen need not
think he was a 'goose,' and rode off to join them. I
believe there never was any human being more per
fectly happy, and never one that more deserved to
be so."
Since I began to prepare this record I have re
ceived many gratifying expressions of the high es
timation in which my dear father was held by aU
the members of Mrs. Searle's family, which give some
idea of his charm as a companion at the age of thirty,
[319]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1807
when he first met my mother, and, added to our own
recoUections of him, lead us to the conclusion that
his presence and discourse had no smaU share in mak
ing his home in Newburyport the "Elysium "of which
Mrs. Newton, after an interval of more than three
score years and ten, retains so dehghtful a memory.
My grandmother writes :
"Concord, August 18th, 1807.
"I ardently long to see you. It is more hke three
years than three months since you left us. The por
traits of your grandparents and Uncle James I have
taken down to make way for some pictures which
Isaac brought, and I wish I could convey them to
you. If you know of any means, I wfll endeavour to
secure them from injury, but think it not probable
tiU the snow falls. ' Tis eleven o'clock, my eyes begin
to fail, therefore I wish you peaceful slumbers, and
retire myself.
" ' The morning dawns, and heavily, in clouds, rofls
on the day,' as it has done of late. The very great rains
impede, and almost destroy, the labours and hopes
of the husbandman. Mr. Ripley says it is in judg
ment, and calls on us to reform, as it is for our mani
fold transgressions."
From my father, written while he was attending
court in Salem: "Salem, Nov. 4th, 1807.
" I have a few moments allowed me to drop a few
hnes to my dearest wife. We have a very interesting
[320]

1807] NEWBURYPORT
and dignified Court, — Parsons, Sedgwick, Sewall,
and Parker. I have never before seen the Chief Jus
tice on the bench. He is a wonderful union of dig
nity and pleasantry — full of the oracles of law, and
the charms of wit. I have an agreeable time here, and
am in good health, but my heart knows not happi
ness in the absence of my most tenderly, most dearly
loved Mary. How much I experience of sweet recol
lection, and tender sohcitude, I need not, I cannot
say. [321]

F

CHAPTER XII
1808
NEWBURYPORT
ROM my mother to Ruth Hurd:

"Newbury Port, Feb. 3rd, 1808.
"Mr. White is indifferently weU. The vicissitudes
of heat and cold have somewhat affected his health,
— to say nothing of his heavy sighs for our degraded,
involved, unhappy country."
In the following letter from my grandmother, we
see that her political views were in sympathy with
my father. To those of us whose inherited prejudice
against Jefferson has yielded to the attractive pic
tures given of him by his honoured descendants, the
utter despair of the country under his administration
may seem, to say the least, excessive. It is interest
ing, however, as showing us the spirit of the times.
"Concord, February 13th, 1808.
"In the zenith of political perturbation, I assume
the pen to tell you what is going forward to rouse
the feelings of every rational being. Almost four
hundred Democrats have passed by us, preceded by
a very large band of music, to the Court-house, where
they expect to judge the people. What will be the
result of such measures we cannot tell, but may eas-
[322]

1808] NEWBURYPORT
ily conceive, if they make the progress in this county
they have of late. I may not live to see the devasta
tion, but you, my dear children, are my greatest anx
iety. Did we not hope for the protection of Divine
Providence, I know I should immediately give up
all ideas of better times. I hope the measures you
have adopted will excite more tranquil sensations
in your breast than mine can, at present, possess.
You wifl say, as SaUy does, 'Mamma always antic
ipates evil.' If it is an error, I am, this moment,
guilty, for I can not see any good. S. Dana was more
erect than ever in the procession. We are to have
twice the number on the Fourth of March."
The first child of my father and mother, a daughter
named Mary Elizabeth, for her two grandmothers,
was born on March 27, 1808.
In writing to Miss Susan LoweU, my mother says,
some years before her marriage to my father:
" Among the fairest portraits of felicity sketched
by a youthful imagination, that of a parent sur
rounded by many beings attached to each other by
the tenderest ties of nature and affection, ties which
herself contributed to form, — was most cherished.
But, alas ! how numerous the unseen thorns that en
twine with the wreath of love, and wound as surely
as its fragrance delights ! Separation, sickness, death,
are inevitable, — all how insupportably dreadful, un
less considered in connection with another and a
better world," [323]

MARY WILDER WHITE [18O8
My mother found in the maternal relation the
happiness of which, in earlier days, she cherished the
imagination. Cousin Fanny Searle has often spoken
to me of my mother's pecuhar charm in that relation,
and of the look of love and tenderness she used to
see upon her face when her eye rested upon her
chfld. Our next record is in the following extract from
a letter addressed by Margaret Searle to her cousin
Mary Eliot: "April 22nd, 1808.
" Spent half an hour with Nancy, and then went
to see Mrs. White. I found our celestial friend more
hke an angel than ever. Her eyes have regained all
their lustre, and beamed on me surcharged with af
fection." And again: "June 16th, 1808.
"Sunday morning we had a charming visit from
Mr. White and his Mary, who never looked more
beautiful, or appeared more lovely."
My mother wrote as follows to my father, who
was in Salem: "Newbury Port, June 28th, 1808.
" Convinced the storm of last night awakened the
sohcitude of the Husband and Father, I write, dear
est beloved, to assure you we are in safety and in
[324]

//////' //////^ 7 ///////

1808] NEWBURYPORT
health. Nothing of the kind equaUy severe has been
known here for many years, but I have not heard
of any worse consequence than the destruction of a
large elm back of Mr. Farnham's, by which the roof
of the house was considerably injured, and the family
extremely terrified. The tempest was preceded by a
perfect calm, and a close, intense heat ; at sunset, the
lightning commenced, and for an hour and a half,
exceeded anything I ever witnessed ; the atmosphere
appeared on fire ; loud peals of thunder were rendered
more impressive by a hurricane of wind and hail. I
then experienced how true it is that we derive
strength from the weakness of others; being, not
withstanding my natural timidity, more composed
than any one, httle Mary excepted, who slept with
aU the tranquilhty of innocence in her mother's lap.
"You doubtless think I have written enough. For
my health I have, but finding it the sweetest occu
pation when absent from you, I am not disposed to
resign it ; for your sake, however, I wiU close with
an affectionate adieu."
A week later my mother was in Concord, for a
short visit. In a letter from my father, from Boston,
dated "July 5th, 1808," he says, "The day was
marked by the melancholy tidings of Mr. Ames'
death. The people of Boston have voted to have a
pubhc funeral here, and appointed Mr. Dexter to
deliver a eulogy to-morrow at the funeral."
My grandmother MTote after their return:
[325]

MARY WILDER WHITE [isos
"Concord, August 29th.
"I congratulate my dear children on the recovery
of their beloved child. None but a parent can ex
perience those tender sensations entwined around
the heart, when disease attacks our darling. May
she be spared, and crown your wishes in their full ex
tent, but may you be enabled to say ' All, aU is right,
by God ordained or done.' I have seen the dehght
of my eyes, and my fondest expectations, removed
by death and distance, but firmly beheve it is infinite
Love that directs and supports us. Why, then, should
I repine? I do not, nor ever will, but, while I am con
tinued, will endeavour to fulfil the duties assigned
me. " SaUy's cough is as bad as ever. She is abroad on
a horse every fine day, and longs to visit you, but I
know not when any of us wiU. If it is possible, I
determine to before the cold weather takes place.
"I perceive, by to-day's paper, you are not dis
posed to be submissive to higher powers. I beheve
there are many refractory in every town, but I dread
the consequences of opposition. The embargo has
had a serious effect on every class of men. It is im
possible to get cash for your labour or materials.
The only cash I have heard of for many months has
passed from Mrs. Paine to Stephen Minot for his
house, which is fifteen hundred dollars. So many
pence are scarcely in circulation in this town."
[326]

1808] NEWBURYPORT
We have no letters either to or from my mother
during the month of September, 1808, to show what
may have been her anxiety at that time for the
precious object of her hopes and fears.
My grandmother's next letter, however, of Octo
ber 3d, indicates the suffering of those unrecorded
weeks. I extract from it the following:
"The heart that cannot sympathize with those
who are in trouble must surely be a very depraved
one, but when, by experience, we feel every pang
for those whose hves are entwined with our own, it
is acute. Our dear httle babe has suffered much, but
your last letter has, again, revived our hopes."
These hopes, alas! were destined to disappoint
ment. The letter which must have been written con
taining the sad inteUigence of the dear child's death
was not preserved. From other records, we learn
that she died on the eighth of October, 1808, having
hved only six months and eleven days. I have often
heard my dear father speak of her as parents always
do speak of the early lost. I remember, too, his tell
ing my sister and myself, when we were quite young,
of the beautiful calmness with which my mother
met the event, performing the last sad offices her
self, and suffering no other hand to prepare the lovely
form for its last resting-place.
Our next date shows us that my mother left home
[327]

MARY WILDER WHITE [18O8
soon after her great loss, to visit her friends in Con
cord, whence she wrote to my father, as follows :
"Concord, October 24th, 1808.
" I write, not to commune with you, for that I do
sleeping and waking, at aU times ; not to assure you
of my tenderest love, for of no truth can you be more
persuaded than of that ; not to speak of my health,
for it is neither better nor worse ; not to charge you
to guard your own cautiously, for you cannot neg
lect that on which your Mary's happiness is so de
pendent. For what then ? For the pleasure of writ
ing to you, best beloved. If it were not for the shame
of childishness, I beheve I should ask to return home
next week. My friends here are very good and atten
tive, but nothing can compensate for the want of
my husband's society. RecoUect me, darling, to aU
our friends. Offer Mamma's best regards, with my
warm affection, to dear Mrs. Greenleaf, and ask her
to remember me when she looks at the flowers."
So far as I remember, this is the first mention I
have met, in my mother's correspondence, of "dear
Mrs. Greenleaf" "Aunt Greenleaf" she was to my sis
ter and myself, and no kinder nor better friend had
we during the dreary years of our motherless child
hood. She was a neighbour of my father and mother,
to whom she became warmly attached. I have been
told that after my mother's death my father was in
the habit of dining every Saturday at Col. Green-
leaf's, whose house was like home to him.
[328]

1808] NEWBURYPORT
From my mother to my father :
"Concord, October, 1808.
"Nothing less potent than the hope of improving
my health could reconcile me to this separation. I
am, indeed, almost home-sick. Far from finding the
remembrance of the httle girl fade from my mind,
she is present more constantly, and in more affect
ing forms, when her father is absent. But I trust I do
not repine, convinced that ' aU is right, by Him or
dained or done.'"
From my father to my mother:
"Newbury Port, October 29th, 1808.
" I find it more gloomy to enter our dweUing at
night than I had thought of — reaUy my sleep is slack
in coming to my eyes. Darkness, or some unknown
magic, impresses in a peculiar manner the tender rec
oUections of my absent wife, and dear little daughter.
A thousand httle incidents that occurred with me
and our precious httle darling are forcibly brought
to my feehngs, and I reahze more than ever the loss
we have sustained. Religion, alone, can supply us
consolation. She is immortal, and there is power to
restore us to her, if she cannot be restored to us.
May our hearts and hves be prepared for greater and
purer happiness than this world, with aU its affec
tions and blessings, can bestow."
Again : "October 31st.
" I am unhappy in your absence, and can entirely
[329]

MARY WILDER WHITE [I8O8
sympathize in your feehngs as to the dear httle girl,
for she is, too, to me, 'present more constantly, and
in more affecting forms,' in her mother's absence. I
feel a pecuhar melancholy over my feelings to-day,
and cannot feel at ease tiU I witness your state of
health and have the power of guarding you myself
Adieu, most tenderly beloved."
From my mother to my father:
"Concord, November 4th, 1808.
"My beloved friend, I cannot be happy in your
absence, and never again, unless compeUed by im
perious duty, can I consent to so long a separation.
I find I love you more deeply and tenderly than I
even imagined. You have bound me to you by ties
even stronger than those of love. How can I think
of your uniform tenderness, of your patience, can
dour, and generosity, without feehng your superior
ity to all the other beings I behold ! Yes, my dear
est friend, when we were united, I certainly loved
you, sincerely loved you, but the sentiment was
weak, compared with that I now feel. Do you think
many wives so happy, after eighteen months' mar
riage, as to place their hands on their hearts, and
affirm this?"
From my father: "Newbury Port, Nov. 6th, 1808.
"I find a melancholy sort of pleasure in suffering
my mind to revert to many httle incidents and
[330]

1808] NEWBURYPORT
scenes, which we have both witnessed with our dear
httle Mary. At times, I feel an almost inexpressible
regret for her loss, which nothing but your presence
can soothe. Dear love, we have lost much, — but we
have much to praise and bless God for. The child
of our love is immortal and happy."
[331]

CHAPTER XIII
1809
NEWBURYPORT
EARLY in 1809 my father and mother moved
from the house in Fruit Street, which was
their first home, to one in State Street opposite Mr.
Searle's. The foUowing letter was written by my mother to
Miss Mary Harrison Ehot, shortly before Miss Eliot's
marriage to Mr. Edmund Dwight, and removal to
Springfield. "April 16th, 1809.
"'Think of you — pray for you — and love you!'
Yes, sweetest Mary, the tear, the glow, which your
unexpected and most welcome letter caUed forth
last evening, witness for me that your remembrance
will ever be dear, and your happiness precious to me.
With less than your own feeling, you would not
have comprehended what I could not express at the
parting moment. Aware that ere we met again, an
event must have taken place so interesting, so im
portant, as to involve eternal consequences, I could
say but little of the many things that pressed for
utterance. Nor can I now teU you how warmly I
hope, and how firmly I believe that event wiU make
you wiser, better, happier, for it unites you with a
Christian, — with one who will not only be the be-
[332]

1809] NEWBURYPORT
loved companion of the present hfe, but who wiU
'allure to brighter worlds and lead the way.' It opens
to you new sources of fehcity, it enlarges the sphere
of your influence, and, in a mind and heart like yours,
wiU awaken the best and noblest energies. I wiU no
longer intrude at this interesting moment — but, it
may be, some weeks hence, when you are tranquiUy
estabhshed in your own sweet viUage, and your par
lour wears the smile of home, you wiU dehght me
by describing your situation and feehngs, and re
ceive, in return, more largely of mine.
"Adieu, sweet Mary, blessings attend you!"
To Miss Margaret Searle:
"Newbury Port, April 25th, 1809.
" Tuesday evening. I have been waiting, my dear
Peggy, for a bright moment to address you ; a mo
ment of health, of spirits, and of leisure. Such an
one has not arrived, and, as I know you have no
taste for insipidity, I have chosen the reverse — a
season of darkness, of sohtude, and silence.
"Wednesday. An unexpected and unwelcome
visitor, last evening, substituted his conversation for
the pleasure I anticipated in passing an hour alone
with you. Part of this moming has been passed
pleasantly at your Mamma's, where aU your friends
are weU, and happy in having Miss Jackson at pres
ent with them. She confirms the agreeable tidings
of Miss LoweU's restoration, which your letter gave
us reason to hope. Heaven certainly preserves her
[333]

MARY WILDER WHITE [I809
in pity to her friends, to whom her peculiar character
can never be restored in any probable combination
of genius, sensibility, and virtue, which the world
may in future admire.
"How much I have to say to you of our Mary,
and her interesting mother! How propitiously
Heaven smiled on our dear Mary's journey! Who
could have expected such a week in April! And
what fine moonlight evenings now give that peculiar
charm to the country — a charm which, almost be
yond any other, tranquillizes, softens, and elevates
the feeling soul. When you write to her, have the
goodness to recollect my affectionate remembrance,
and to her mother render my affectionate respects
acceptable. You know we aU feel for her, — I should
rather say, all but Mr. White. He affirms that, in
this degenerate age, to unite a daughter to a truly
deserving, exceUent man, who estimates her worth,
and wiU ever, from principle as well as feeling, exert
every power to shield her from evil, is an event al
together joyous.
" I would say something of our admiration of Mrs.
Grant, but half a page and five minutes are worse
than nothing, where such a wonderful union of tal
ents and virtues is the subject. We do admire her
as much as your heart can wish."
The foUowing letter from my grandmother was
written, evidently, on receiving the news of my birth,
which occurred May 4th, 1809.
[334]

1809] NEWBURYPORT
"Saturday, May 6th.
"My heart and soul are with you, my dear chil
dren. May the goodness of our merciful Father per
fect His work, tiU complete health is restored. Could
I expand my wings, gladly would I administer all
the assistance in my power. I have been a prisoner
since the last day of March. Sally's cough is invet
erate. I long to see the infant with my dear Mary,
but cannot tell when I shaU."
My grandmother's devotion to duty is illustrated
at this time. "Her heart and soul" are with her
daughter. She "longs" to go to her, but Sally re
quires her presence. She knows all is done for my
mother that the most thoughtful friendship can sug
gest, but no one can do for Sally what she does. For
herself, she asks only to do the duty assigned her by
the providence of God. From that duty she never
turns aside to "follow the devices and desires of her
own heart." WeU might her daughter write of her,
as she did on one occasion: "my revered mother."
From my mother to Fanny Searle, then in Mil-
" Newbury Port, July 9th, 1809.
"Dehghted as I was with your letter, dear Fanny,
I was almost ashamed that your generosity should
have preceded my fair promises. That you are blest
and blessing, enjoying and improving, gaining health,
and an acquaintance with the fair face of Nature, al
most reconcfles me to your absence, and this you
wifl receive as no inconsiderable proof of affection.
[335]

MARY WILDER WHITE [I809
" It seems you have discovered a secret which has
long been in my possession. And you reaUy begin
to suspect you have a taste for the simple and sub
lime beauties of Nature! I could have assured you
as much long since, and have often wished you might
realize the pure and exquisite pleasures of which you
were susceptible. I pretend not to understand why
the feelings are ennobled, why the heart swells, and
the eyes fiUed with tears turn to the Source of be
ing, on viewing material objects; but, sure it is, the
sun sinking behind distant mountains, gilding and
crimsoning the clouds of evening, enkindles a glow
of devotion, which would be fll exchanged for aU the
pleasures of earth. This devotion, this subhme feel
ing, does not arise from reflection ; here, I believe it
is true, 'when we begin to reason, we cease to feel;'
or, to speak more correctly, while the ecstasy of feel
ing exists, we are unable and unwiUing to analyze
its nature, or to trace its cause."
After a visit from my mother, my grandmother
writes : "Commencement Eve.
" Sally continues much the same as when you left
her. She is evidently dechning. It is a journey we aU
must take — how soon, or who goes first on the way,
we cannot tell ; but, to set out with a firm and joy
ful prospect of future happiness, I know not any
situation so enviable." [336]

1809] NEWBURYPORT
The foUowing, from my grandmother, is of spe
cial interest, from the tribute it contains to her in
the relation she sustained to her stepchildren. "October 29th.
" I hope to hear, very soon, our dear infant is bet
ter than it has been. I wish I could say we were.
SaUy says, with Job, 'Wearisome days and nights
are appointed me,' but hopes she shaU be patient
under her trials, which are truly distressing. We sup
posed, last Sabbath evening, that she was dying. She
took a separate and affectionate leave of aU her sur
rounding friends; she then caUed me. 'Mamma, re
member me affectionately to Mr. White and Mary.
TeU them I love them, and wish them every bless
ing, here and hereafter. And now. Mamma, how very
pleasing your reflections must be. I never regretted
the loss of my own mother, and now thank you for
your tender care.' She continued talking for some
time, and appeared ready for her summons. Monday,
she revived, and is now a patient sufferer."
Again she writes: "Concord, November 29th, 1809.
"My dear Children, — This day, at three o'clock,
SaUy exchanged her abode here for a bhssful im
mortahty. She left us in ecstasy greater than I can
describe. Her uncommon suffering she bore with the
greatest patience. Her last expressions were: — 'My
[337]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1809
God, I love Thee, I adore and bless Thee. My Sa
viour has pled for me, and my sins are aU forgiven ;
I am sure of it, and, this glorious day, angels shaU
waft me to my Saviour, and He will present me to
my God.' She retained her senses to the last breath."
From my mother to my father:
"Newbury Port, December 13th, 1809.
" I know my dear Husband wiU consider the simple
intelhgence of our continued existence worth the
postage of a letter, however clumsily communicated.
The time of your absence, which appears very, very
long to me, has not been undiversified by company
and events. I suppose your apprehensions aU awake
at the mention of events; but as none of them have
been fatal, or even promise durable consequences,
good or evil, I shafl leave you to the amusing sug
gestions of your own imagination, till your much
wished return. Soon after you left town. Dr. Verg-
nies called, and expressed an opinion that Ehzabeth
had the measles ; time has not verified his predictions.
I endeavour to make her say, ' Papa, Papa,' but she
seems rather to prefer 'bubble, bubble;' which,
whether it be an omen of innate vanity, or of pro
found reflection on the emptiness of all things, I can
not determine.
" I have seen a letter from Ann Lowell, in which
she says the serious part of the Boston world are an
ticipating war with Great Britain. Alas ! "
[338]

1809] NEWBURYPORT
The year 1809 closes with the following letter
from my mother to Miss Fanny Searle, who was mak
ing a visit in Boston. Her friend Mrs. Lee, here men
tioned, was doubtless Mrs. Henry Lee, a sister of the
venerable Dr. Jackson, both of whom we, of later
generations, have known and loved.
"Newbury Port, Dec. 31st, 1809.
"The last evening of the year has ever been to me
pecuharly interesting. Mr. White is on a visit of
charity to Capt. Wyer, Elizabeth sweetly asleep, and
I cannot resist the wish to make you the companion
of the ensuing hour, my dear Fanny. And, first, let
me thank you, which I most affectionately do, for
the kind letter I received last evening. I feel your
absence sensibly; and the best substitute for your
self I find in your letters, and the belief that you are
surrounded by friendship, virtue, and genius. I know
you enjoy much, and dehght in thinking you will
not enjoy less in the retrospection of your present
pleasures. You do weU to prolong your visit. Your
charming friend, Mrs. Lee, wiU long bless you, I
trust ; but, on Miss LoweU's lustre the eye fixes more
fondly, from the conviction that it wiU soon cease to
irradiate our humble sphere.
"Mrs. Grant's letter has, indeed, dehghted me ; not
only because it is distinguished for her elegant sim
phcity of style, her piety, her sensibility, her domes
tic virtues, but because it assigns a reason for giving
to the world her private correspondence, which goes
[339]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1809
directly to the heart, and satisfies the most fastid
ious dehcacy. When we meet, we wiU say more of
her. " I now descend to a humbler subject, but one not
less interesting to you, I hope. Ehzabeth has gradu
ally thrown off her cold, which continued oppressive
several days after you left us ; she progresses finely,
and demonstrates the perfection of her organs of
speech. Kotzebue has said fine things about Nature's
three hohdays ; he should have made them three times
three. Her first perfect word can hardly afford me
more pleasure than her first feeble effort at articula
tion. Cate laughed at me the other evening for say
ing she articulated very weU, — it was true, neverthe
less. "See, my dear Fanny, I have prattled away two
pages. When I sat down, it was my intention to have
taken a serious retrospect of the past year, and to
have caUed on you to aid me in putting in practice
the good resolutions which humihating self-exami
nation inspires.
"The hour, the fire, and my paper, warn me to
close. Good-night, my dear Fanny. May the Father
of angels and of men protect and bless you."
[340]

CHAPTER XIV
1810
NEWBURYPORT

F

ROM my mother to Ruth Hurd, who was then
visiting in Portsmouth :

"Newbury Port, March 5th, 1810.
"I am sure your heart will not suffer you to ac
cuse me of neghgence, my dear Ruth, though your
affectionate letter is still unanswered. The truth is,
I am just recovering from one of the most unsocial,
obstinate, vile colds I ever entertained for so long a
time. And, though I endeavoured to soften its ob
duracy by the most attentive pohteness, it ceased not
to persecute me from room to room, till it finally
drove me to my chamber, where it held me a priso
ner two or three days. Not so has my dear Ruth been
abused. I have heard of her sparkhng in Assemblies,
'fairest where aU were fair,' — for it is a law of so
ciety, if not of nature, that aU ladies look well in
baU-rooms. AU do not, indeed, trip gracefully 'on
the hght, fantastic toe,' — but they teU me fashion
has pronounced agihty much better than grace, —
and that rope-dancers and wire-dancers would wrest
the palm from the fair Sisters, should they conde
scend to wind the mazes of a modem dance. This
account of the present state of things greatly dis-
[341]

MARY WILDER WHITE [isio
mayed me when I thought of you, — for, though I
have often marked in you the line of beauty, I never
yet witnessed the delectable jump.
" Our httle Elizabeth improves daily, — her golden
hair increases in quantity without diminishing in
lustre, and every week adds to the expression of her
true blue eyes. My husband is well, and was never
more agreeable, excepting that he is a little given to
reading political pamphlets, and to grieving over
the weakness or wickedness of our rulers."
From my mother to my father, who was then at
tending court at Ipswich, in the month of March.
" Wednesday morning.
"My dearest husband needs no additional proof
of my weakness, else could I give him such a picture
of the delight Mr. B.'s promise of his return, and the
disappointment his letter gave me, as it is better
to omit. I rejoice to know you are well, and submit
to wait for the pleasure of seeing you so long as duty
shall demand your absence. We too are weU. Ehza
beth never was more ahve and lovely.
"Our friends, Caty and Fanny Searle have passed
both the last evenings with me, and I have had the
Memoir of Miss Smith, and have more than reahzed
every expectation. She must, indeed, be considered
the wonder of the age. Her portrait is prefixed to
the volume. 'Tis the very face you would choose, —
'soft, modest, melancholy, female fair.'"
[342]

1810] NEWBURYPORT
My mother to Miss Bromfield :
"Newbury Port, March 5th, 1810.
"That you went to town at this time may be con
sidered truly Providential. To one whose mind and
heart are open to the truth, each day confirms this
most consoling and delightful doctrine of our Relig
ion. I know of nothing else which can console us un
der many sorrows, or enable us to 'possess our souls
in peace,' amidst the httle cares and crosses which
chequer the brightest hfe. But why say this to you,
whose faith, so much more constantly operative
than my own, produces the habitual 'joy of believ-
mg ?
From my grandmother to my mother:
"Concord, March 7th, 1810.
"I have made it my earnest prayer to bear with
resignation the many disappointments of life, pre
suming it will aU turn out right in the end, and must
wait with patience till our Almighty Parent permits
me to see you. I am almost sick with thinking I
cannot when I wish ; but when I view the other side,
and know that you are blest with one of the best of
husbands, and not so far off as you might have been,
and how much superior your lot is to many others,
I have the greatest reason to exert aU my powers
in gratitude, thanksgiving, and praise.
"I have not been a mile from home since June
last. Therefore I hope you wiU come, as soon as the
[343]

MARY WILDER WHITE [isio
roads permit, and make happy your affectionate
mother, P. H."
Again, from my grandmother: "Concord, April 3rd, 1810.
"Our Democrats rejoice in the new election.
They have carried their point so far, — we expect
to lose our Representative. Mr. and Mrs. Merrick
passed last evening with us. We were gloomy, as
the papers assured us we had lost our Governor.
This morning, our hopes are revived ; five hundred
majority. Laus Deo!" [Referring, doubtless, to the
state of the country, for my grandmother was no
less a patriot than she was a Christian, she now closes
her letter as follows] "Adieu, my dear children, —
may you hve to see better days ! ' There 's a Divinity
that shapes our ends, rough hew them how we wiU.'
Let us ever remember we are blest beyond our de
serts, and hope, in due time, we shaU reap the re
ward of a weU-spent hfe."
A week later, my grandmother writes :
"April 13th.
" Do you not think your mother very, very good,
my dear Mary, to drop her work which is almost
finished, to write an answer the very day she re
ceived yours ? I think you say, 'What could you do
better. Mamma?'" [After giving a piece of viUage
news, she says] "You know it is Court week, and
[344]

1810] NEWBURYPORT
a very fuU Court, by reason of some of the worst
crimes." [After detaihng some of them, my grand
mother exclaims] " It is dreadful to know the de
pravity of the times ; the state of our political affairs,
and the present degeneracy of the times are enough
to distract those who observe, and look forward to
the event which wiU take place soon ; 'dreadful post
of observation darkens every hour.' I feel for you, my
children. I shaU experience but a smaU part, as the
time draws nigh, according to the course of nature,
when I must depart.
"Mr. Merrick and I have our caucus, and settle
the nation sometimes ; at other times, we hear of so
many aggravating circumstances, it is our firm opin
ion we shaU have to bow the knee, if not the neck,
to Baal." [Referring to the Massachusetts Senate, to
which my father had been elected, she says] "I think
Mr. White wiU not have a very pleasant situation,
with such a wasp-nest round him, but I hope he will
convince and convert one-half of them, and take the
bandage from the eyes of the blind."
My mother to Mrs. Gorham :
"Newbury Port, April 26th.
"My Husband has been three days at Ipswich
Court, and I have no prospect of seeing him tiU Fri
day evening. This should serve as a preparative for
his longer absence, which I have hardly patriotism
or fortitude enough to enable me to think of with
[345]

MARY WILDER WHITE [I810
composure. No one can make a greater sacrifice of
feeling to a sense of duty than Mr. White does on
this occasion. A great many very good people, who
have no idea that a manly heart can ache at the pros
pect of a few weeks' separation from a family, think
they offer sufficient consolation, when they assure
him his interest wiU be ultimately benefited by this
temporary sacrifice."
Towards the end of May, my mother went to Con
cord to make a visit. In a letter to my father, who
was in Boston, she says : "Concord, June 1st.
"Have the kindness to give Cousin Mary two
dollars, and request her to procure me a green bon
net. I should prefer thick silk, which, if she cannot
obtain, I would thank her to get me a straw. A straw
bonnet wiU be three or four dollars."
My mother to Ann Bromfield:
"Newbury Port, August 28th.
" I must be brief, and can do httle more than grate
fuUy acknowledge kindness, and assure you of my
affection; for, since you left us, I have been quite
sick. A slight hemorrhage of the lungs reduced me
last week to a whisper ; digitalis, and milk, and Dr.
Vergnies, with the blessing of Heaven, have almost
restored me, but I fear to make any exertions yet,
[346]

1810] NEWBURYPORT
— therefore, say nothing of Channing, of your dis
appointment, and my disappointment. Your account
of Miss Lowell grieves me. May Heaven yet pre
serve her! A heart full of love to our dear Susan,
and prepare to teU me everything she says and looks
and does."
My grandmother to my mother:
"Concord, Sept. 3rd, 1810.
"Your letter and cambric reached me on Sat
urday, accompanied by three elegant volumes from
Thomas Hurd, (BosweU's 'Life of Johnson,') with a
bfllet, requesting your Papa's acceptance, as a token
of his gratitude for his advice. It was very pleasant
to me, as I have been entertained to-day.
" I am truly sorry when you suffer from iU-health.
Sarah wrote me a line that you were much better, —
my spirits were much elated. I opened your Aunt
Gould's letter. She wrote, ' Your amiable daughter
looks hke a drooping hly.' Down went the spirits
right into the shoes. I long to see you, but cannot
teU when I shaU. Providence wiU send me in the best
time and manner, I doubt not. I do not yet despair
of seeing you this faU.
" Our papers give us pompous accounts of the Em
press B — te. I hope she will do much good, but I can
not think she can perform miracles.
"Our Democrats are very silent respecting their
friend BidweU. We have heard P. Morton is to be
Attorney General, — hke unto like.
[347]

MARY WILDER WHITE [I810
"Thus far I have written by twihght. I wiU now
conclude with transcribing one of Dr. Johnson's let
ters to his mother, which exactly suits my present
thoughts, as applicable to you.
'"Your weakness afflicts me beyond what I am
wflling to communicate to you. I do not think you
unfit to face death, but I do not know how to bear
the thought of losing you. I pray often for you ; do
you pray often for me. I am, dear, dear mother, your
dutiful son, S. J,'
"Does not this portray an affectionate heart? I
cannot write more. At present, we have workmen
to provide for. Write soon, if but ten lines. Adieu,
God bless you aU,"
Again, from my grandmother: "Concord, Sept. 29th.
"My dear Mary, — Did I not endeavour to make
it a study to bear disappointments with some degree
of fortitude, I should, at the present moment, be al
most sick. In expectation of seeing you the last of
next week, I have been pleased as a child with a rattle.
The prospect is now cut off for some time. Isaac's
children are very sick. Their cough is so violent it
seems as if nature must give way. That is not the
whole cause. I cannot, on any consideration, procure
any one to take care of the house in my absence.
Your Papa has made every exertion, but there is no
prospect for a month or six weeks to come. It is un
doubtedly for the best. 'The smoothest course of
nature has its pains.'" [348]

¦ '/J. ¦_. ^/>/ /-// -1//1// r/,

1810] NEWBURYPORT
The desired visit was made in October. On De
cember 12th my mother's third daughter was born.
Again my dear grandmother is kept from her daugh
ter's sick-bed by her sense of duty to others. " Grand
mamma Thompson," the mother Qf Dr. Hurd's first
wife, to whom my grandmother was as a daughter,
died of lung-fever at this time, and she was obliged
to be with her. [349]

CHAPTER XV
1811
NEWBURYPORT: ILLNESS, DEATH, TRIBUTES
IT is with sadness which I cannot repress that I
enter upon the record of the year 1811, of which
my mother did not see the close. We have nothing
further from her pen except her letters to my father,
who, from January to the following June, was, most
of the time, separated from her by his duties in the
Massachusetts Senate. Their correspondence during
that period is of affecting interest to us, even when,
as in many cases, their letters contain little more than
buUetins of health, and expressions of tenderest so
Ucitude and affection.
The earliest date of the New Year is the foUow
ing from my father:
"Boston, Wednesday evening, Jan. 23rd.
" I have the happiness to assure my dearest love
that I am safe and snug at my lodgings, and accom
modated very much to my mind. I have a chamber
at Mrs. Vose's, in School St., with brother Nash,
two good beds and a fire-place.
"Now, my dearest Mary, I have to pray you to
be careful of yourself, and not to make any effort to
write. Above all, let your mind be as free from care
and anxiety as possible. Rest your confidence in that
[350]

1811] NEWBURYPORT
kind Providence which has so often, and so greatly,
blessed us. You are the constant object of my
thoughts and prayers, and may you reahze aU the
health and happiness we so ardently desire."
My mother to my father:
"Newbury Port, 23rd January, 1811.
" If possible, I wiU this morning commence my
journal, which, though it will contain nothing of the
wonderful, and httle of the wise, wifl not be uninter
esting to my dear, dear Husband.
"Thursday morning. Your thrice welcome letter,
beloved Husband, was a cordial of which I had need.
To know you are weU, and pleasantly situated, that
you have the best society, and the disposition and
power to enjoy and improve by it, are aU sources of
rich consolation. I rejoice too that you are not alone.
There is only one disadvantage in this arrangement,
— but the bed is an altar from which the purest in
cense often ascends to the throne of the Almighty.
There you wfll remember us. There you will sup
plicate pardon, strength, and patience for your most
imperfect Mary. I am well as usual this morning, and
have as many causes of gratitude and joy. Why fall
these tears ! Take care of yourself, dearest, and write
soon and minutely to her who sees but you in the
world, and who is for life, and she hopes forever.
Your affectionate Mary."
[351]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1811
My father to my mother:
"Senate Chamber, Jan. 24th, 1811.
"Yesterday, when we assembled, one of the Fed
eral Senators was found missing, and the Democratic
members seized on the opportunity to attempt an
alteration of the rules of the Senate, so as to deprive
the President of his power to vote, which would give
them, on aU occasions, a majority. This produced an
altercation that kept us together from morning tiU
near four o'clock in the afternoon, and the subject
was finaUy postponed till to-day, when our absent
member arrived, and put them to shame. They have,
therefore, gained nothing but to expose their mean
ness, and to put us more on our guard.
"I went last evening to see Cooke in lago, and
he fuUy equalled my expectation, — it was a person
ation of character entirely beyond anything I had
ever witnessed."
From my father: "Senate Chamber, Jan. 25th, 1811.
" Though I wrote yesterday, and though nothing
special presents for writing to-day, except acknowl
edging the precious letter of my most dearly beloved
wife, yet I cannot refrain conversing with you in the
only way at present permitted. I was alarmed, at
opening your letter, to find three pages, lest it should
have produced too much exertion for my dear Mary.
But I cannot say with how much tender sensibihty
I perused it. Absence, however short, makes me most
[352]

1811] NEWBURYPORT
sensibly feel my dependence on you for happiness.
And your expressions of love could never have given
my heart more exquisite dehght than I experienced
this morning, for never was this heart more entirely
and tenderly devoted to you than at this moment.
"Cousin Hazen White is now in town, and has
been very attentive in watching opportunities to see
me. I believe he feels really grateful to you for your
regard in the naming of our IsabeUa.
" We have had another very unpleasant day in the
Senate, in consequence of the sudden indisposition
of brother Ashmun, from Hampshire County. I hke
to caU him brother, for he is not only a lawyer, but a
most exceUent feUow, and a companion at my board
ing-house. We had to wrap him up, and bring him out,
in order to stop their mischief. But, after aU, they
produced a committee, to answer his ExceUency's
speech, of their own sort. The President had the nom
ination, but, there being a majority of Democrats in
the Senate without his vote, and as they voted
against every nomination of a Federal member, but
one, they have a majority of Democrats on the com
mittee. I, with Mr. Ashmun, had the honour to be
voted down by them. I, therefore, have not the trouble
of writing the answer. This, however, is a matter of
trifling consequence. The thing I most fear is the
turning out of Mr. Pickering, a Senator of the United
States, which we have hitherto had the good fortune
to prevent, and hope we shaU have during the ses
sion." [353]

MARY WILDER WHITE [isii
In this letter my dear sister is spoken of by the
name her mother gave her, and that not the name
by which we knew her. "Cousin Hazen White" was
a son of my father's half-brother WiUiam. He mar
ried, in 1808, IsabeUa Frink. She was beautiful in
person, and interesting in mind and character, — a
favourite with my father. She died November 9th,
1810, a month before my sister's birth. My father
and mother were deeply affected by her death. It is
not surprising that my mother named her httle girl
Isabella Hazen. But she was not destined long to
bear the name. On the day of her mother's burial
she was named, in baptism, Mary Wilder.
From my mother to my father, without date:
"Newbury Port.
" I bear the extreme cold as weU as could be ex
pected. This is not the temperature I could wish,
but spring wiU come. How many anticipations do I
indulge! Oh, may our Heavenly Father grant that
we may tread the path of life together, supporting
each other in sickness and affliction, and enjoying
together the blessings with which He has crowned us!
May we see our dear children grow up, blessing so
ciety, and blessed themselves in life and death!
" How good you are ! Your letter of yesterday has
just gladdened me. I am glad you have seen one of
the master characters of Shakespeare, since your con
science did not forbid the pleasure."
[354]

1811] NEWBURYPORT
Again:
"Newbury Port, Jan. 26th, 1811.
"Most dearly beloved Husband, — Your letters are
such cordials as none but those who deeply love can
conceive of. May you be but half as happy in receiv
ing mine, and I shaU be almost content. I enter into
all your difficulties, and share in every feeling; I am
grateful for everything you tell me, but when you
teU me, dearest love, that I am so tenderly beloved,
my heart and eyes overflow."
My father to my mother :
"Boston, Jan. 27th, 1811.
"My dearest may, indeed, be 'almost content,' for
I am sure my letters cannot be more interesting to
her, than hers are to me. I have enjoyed a very de
lightful day, — a most charming sermon from your
beloved Channing, a most precious letter from my
beloved wife, between meetings, and a very excel
lent discourse from Dr. Kirkland, who preached for
Mr. Channing this afternoon. When engaged to
dine the other day at Mr. Lee's, I was prevented
by being kept, most of the afternoon, at the Senate
Chamber, and they were polite enough to invite me
to dine with them to-day, and attend their meeting.
Mr. Channing is, certainly, a most heavenly preacher,
and, if it wiU give you any satisfaction to hear it, I
can truly say that I received more dehght from him,
this morning, than from the celebrated Cooke. I
went to see him almost beyond the quiet of my con-
[355]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1811
science, but I was with such men as Judge Brigham,
and other 'grave and reverend seniors.' I saw him in
'Falstaff,' and 'King Richard,' but he did not im
press me so strongly with his excellence as in 'lago,'
He has now left Boston, and right glad am I.
"In the Senate, we expect a very disagreeable
week ; brother Ashmun remains seriously indisposed,
and, I am afraid, wiU not be out for some days, which
wiU give the Democrats ascendency. I reaUy pity
him, for he suffers, not only from sickness in a strange
place, but from solicitude on account of the partic
ular importance of his health at this time. But he has
every attention, medical and friendly. Dr. Warren
has been with him, and thinks he will soon be well.
My time is much occupied on committee business,
in passing on petitions, revising bills, laws, etc., and
I have little time for visiting. I heard at Mr. Lee's
that Mary Emerson was in town, and hope to see her
before she goes to Concord. I am told that Mr. Emer
son is too unwell to preach, and his friends are ap
prehensive about him. I have not seen him.
" How does my whole heart join in the prayer that
we may together tread the path of life, and enjoy the
rich blessings with which Heaven has crowned us !"
My mother to my father: "Newbury Port, Sabbath.
" I hope I am not wrong in devoting a part of the
Sabbath in writing to that beloved friend who is in
aU my thoughts, and is, even as myself, remembered
[356]

1811] NEWBURYPORT
in aU my devotions. Devotions! Ah, how little do
the wandering thoughts, the imperfect desires, the
feeble resolutions of such moments deserve to be
caUed devoted to an Omniscient, Almighty, and All
Wise Being! WeU may we, or, rather, well may I
say, — ' Forgive the sins of our holy things ! ' Yet, my
beloved will rejoice to know that tender sohcitude
for him has made me more earnest in my supplica
tions, and has produced some good to myself.
"Did you see Mary Emerson in town? She was
going to Concord the next day, but intended send
ing for you to her brother's, whose state of health is
considered almost desperate.
"Please to remember my chocolate when you come
on Saturday."
Again: "Newbury Port, Jan. 29th, 1811.
"Your letter, dearest friend, reached me last eve
ning. I rejoiced in your Sabbath, and almost feel that
I ought not to lament your absence while you enjoy
the precious privilege of listening to Channing. I, too,
am right glad Cooke has left town, — not that I ap
prehended danger to my Husband from frequenting
the Theatre. I know he only saw the ideas of Shake
speare brought into action by genius. But, how great
is the danger to young men whose principles are un-.
formed! I am in the humour for sermonizing, but you
can weU dispense with all I would say, and I have
other things to write. You wiU caU at Mrs. Ehot's
[357]

MARY WILDER WHITE [isii
and see Margaret Searle, Eliza [afterwards Mrs.
Guild], and Mary Dwight of Springfield [afterwards
Mrs. John Howard], — a sweet girl, and warm Fed
eralist, who knows and admires Mr. Ashmun and
his wife.
"Heaven grant us the happiness of meeting on
Saturday. Should anything necessary prevent, do not
fear the disappointment will make me sick. I shall
submit, and, while you are in health, submit with
tolerable cheerfulness."
From my father to my mother: "Boston, Jan. 30th.
"No, dearest Mary, it is not wrong to devote a
portion of the Sabbath in writing what awakens so
much devotion and tender affection in the heart of
your husband. With all my imperfections, I can most
truly sympathize in your good feelings and senti
ments, and I pray that I may be made better by such
sympathy. "Mr. Ashmun is much better, and, if fair weather,
may probably be out to-morrow. The enemy have
gained no advantage from his absence, but a siUy and
Democratic answer to the Governor's speech. I know
nothing to prevent my being with you on Saturday
evening." From my mother to my father :
"Newbury Port, Thursday, February 1st.
" If your indulgence has spoiled me, whose is the
[358]

1811] NEWBURYPORT
blame? I had no reason to expect a letter yesterday,
yet I was a httle disappointed to receive 'no' from
the post-office. I know and grieve for your constant
confinement and employment, this painful week. I
hope I shall learn aU about yourself, and hear of Mr.
Ashmun 's recovery, from your own dear hps, day
after to-morrow. But make no effort to come. I would
not have you ride late, or in any way risk your pre
cious health, even for the pleasure of seeing you. I
can do without you another week, though there is
no pleasure on earth I desire half so much as that
of embracing you.
" We are aU weU as usual, and so are our friends.
Ann passed the day yesterday. In the morning, I had
Channing's incomparable sermon [on the death of
Ann Lowell]; in the afternoon, Nancy read us Miss
LoweU's pious, feehng, and poetical version of many
Psalms. The httle book is a treasure. ' Being dead,
she yet speaketh.'
"Now teU me as much about your own dear self,
and continue to love as you are beloved by your
Mary."
From my mother to my father, after his proposed
visit : "Newbury Port, 3rd February, 1811.
"Monday morning. My best beloved, may God
preserve you ! my heart is oppressed with anxiety. I
should so rejoice to know that you reached the Hotel
in safety last evening, and that you determine, this
[359]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1811
morning, to wait for the stage. I wiU not suffer my
mind to dweU on any of the dreadful possibihties
that may have befallen you in this tremendous storm.
I have had some moments of extreme suffering, but
I fly to our common Protector, and, while I sup-
phcate mercy, I feel almost certain you wiU be pre
served. Do not trouble yourself a moment on our
account. Mr. Stewart kindly made paths for us this
morning, and we have wood enough in the house to
last two or three days. I am sitting by a fine fire,
and, could I know you safe in Boston this evening,
I think I should be happy. I do not ask a long let
ter, — but a hne, a word, as soon as you arrive in
town. Oh, may you be preserved and blessed, dear
est, dearest friend! I feel how weak and helpless I
am without you. I think I could bear almost any
thing while sustained by your presence and affection,
and I shaU be strong and weU again, if I know you
are safe and weU again in Boston. Adieu, Beloved."
Again, from my mother:
"Newbury Port, 5th of February.
" Tuesday evening. Beloved Husband, where are
you? What would I not give to have that question
answered as I wish! I am not sick, but I am most
unhappy. Could I only know you safe and well,
though StiU at the Byfield Hotel, I should be con
tent, but a turnpike-road, very deep snow, — not
even the mail has been in from Boston from Sunday
tiU this afternoon, and it was brought on horseback!
[360]

1811] NEWBURYPORT
My dear, dear Husband! may Almighty Power and
Infinite Goodness protect you, for the sake of our
babes, for there is a grief which I fear I could not
bear. "We are aU well, if we could only know you were
so — Adieu, — ever tenderly your Mary."
From my father: "Boston, Feb. 5th, Tuesday.
" Scarcely ever in my life, dearest Mary, had I
more reason to thank God for any personal favour,
than I now have for my safe arrival here. You may
easily conceive of my anxieties on the way. Indeed,
I felt them before I started from home more than I
was vnlling to disclose to you. I feared I might be pre
vented reaching here in season to take my place at the
Senate board, but, had I been inclined, I did not feel
quite weU enough to come away on Sunday morn
ing, I reached Topsfield very weU, and in good sea
son on Sunday evening, and had a very good night's
sleep. There I found a man with a sleigh, bound to
Boston. On Monday moming, the inn-keeper, with
four or five stout men and horses turned out to help
us on our way, but, after proceeding about two miles,
they gave it up as impracticable, and we returned
to the Hotel and dined, — when two other men with
sleighs arrived, bound to Boston; so, after dinner,
we aU set out again, with shovels as weU as horses
and men, and made out to proceed about seven
[861]

MARY WILDER WHITE [isii
miles, when we were compeUed to take shelter for
the night in a not very comfortable habitation. This
morning, we set out again, and succeeded in reach
ing Boston this afternoon. You told me not to ven
ture on horseback, but I had no other way, but to
come on foot; and, as the other men were good
enough to precede me with their sleighs, I was en
abled to ride almost the whole of the way, whereas
they walked behind their sleighs a great part of it.
The snow was, in some places, drifted extremely,
some banks from twelve to twenty feet deep. But I
am safe at my lodgings, and feel very well ; I beheve
I have taken no cold.
" The Democrats have acted like the very old one,
and have given the Federal members of the Senate
great trouble and vexation. Brother Nash and Pick-
man, as well as myself, were absent yesterday, and
so were two Democratic members, which gave them
only a majority of one. They have, however, been
able to do no essential mischief, but, had I not come
in before to-morrow, they would have had an op
portunity to choose their Senator for Congress, and
oust Mr. Pickering. We are now all on the spot, and
Mr. Ashmun is quite recovered."
From my father: "Boston, Feb. 6th, 1811.
" I find our good and excellent President had his
feelings put to a severe test by our absence. They
attempted an alteration of the rules of the Senate,
[362]

1811] NEWBURYPORT
and obliged him to resist them, and they threatened
to put him out of the chair, and other abusive threats,
etc. Our friends met on Monday afternoon, deter
mined and expecting to continue in session aU night,
in order to prevent mischief; but, very accidentaUy,
had the power to effect an adjournment; and, next
morning, before the Democrats could effect much,
Mr. Pickman and Nash came in. Two expresses
were sent on for them on Monday, by Colonel Thorn-
dike and others. My friends suffered so much by
our absence that I think I shall not expose them
to it again, if possible to avoid it. I did not before
know that I had the power to lay the devil, — but,
had I been here, aU their base attempts would have
been at once hushed.
"Don't think, however, my beloved, that I had
not full compensation, in visiting you, for aU my fa
tigue and sufferings. The delight my heart received
in embracing my dear wife and children, and witness
ing their improvement, cannot easily be balanced by
anything in the opposite scale."
Again: "Boston, Feb. 7th, 1811.
"I feel now quite as wefl as before my journey,
which does indeed impress my heart with rehgious
gratitude. I beheve, from the manner in which I have
sustained this fatigue, my constitution possesses more
vigour than my appearance indicates.
"Last evening, Jacob Bigelow called to see me;
[363]

MARY WILDER WHITE [isu
he says he has formed a connection in business with
Dr. Jackson ; so that he occasionally visits Dr. Jack
son's patients, and takes charge of aU the applications
which Dr. J. cannot attend to. In this way, he wiU
become acquainted with the best people in town,
and be soon introduced to respectable practice. He
appears to be much engaged, and, I have no doubt,
will have very good success."
From my father, again: "Boston, Feb. 8th, 1811.
" We have had a very pleasant time at Mr. Brooks.'
Col. Thatcher was there, who was from Monday morn
ing to Wednesday evening in getting from Newbury
Port to Boston. Last evening, in caucus, Mr. Gore
and Mr. William PhiUips of this town were agreed
on as the candidates for Governor and Lieutenant-
Governor. It is expected they wiU both consent;
though it is probably very unexpected to Deacon
Phillips. He is a very modest man, but greatly dis
tinguished for wealth, benevolence and piety, and
said to be a very sensible and weU-informed man. I
hope he wiU not decline being a candidate, as I be
lieve him to be the best man we can select to oppose
the opposite candidate. I have expressed my deter
mination not to be a candidate for the Senate an
other year, but my friends here beset me with every
argument to shake my resolution. Colonel Thorn-
dike, after many flattering things, took the liberty
to say that the people in Essex would not be recon-
[364]

1811] NEWBURYPORT
ciled to it, that they would curse me, and say that
I ought not to have come for one year only, merely
to gratify my curiosity or vanity, etc. Now, if you
think it best, I shall resolutely persevere in my deter
mination, whatever may be said or suffered, though,
on some accounts, it would be pleasant to be here a
second year, were not the sacrifice too great. Absence
from you and the children I feel more than incon
venience as to business, though, on aU accounts, I
ought to be at home, I shaU get off if I well can,
even should you leave me entirely to myself"
Again : "Boston, February llth, 1811.
" Having been disappointed, by the storm, in din
ing with Richard SuUivan last Monday, he was po
lite enough to renew the invitation for to-day. Mr.
and Mrs. Fay, and John SuUivan were alone pres
ent. Mrs. SuUivan is a very sweet and lovely woman.
This afternoon, I have been engaged on a Commit
tee to consider the subject of a Hospital to be es
tabhshed for lunatics, and other poor and disabled
patients. It is contemplated to grant the old State
or Province House, worth about forty thousand dol
lars, for this purpose, provided that individuals can
be found to contribute a hundred thousand dollars.
You will not doubt what my opinion on the subject
wfll be. Dr. Warren appeared before the Commit
tee, and entered into a very interesting discussion.
He stated instances and described scenes of suffer-
[365]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1811
ing, that the world thinks little of, and which, he
said, were known to but few except physicians. I
hope we shall be able to get the sanction of the
Legislature to the contemplated institution. Dea
con Phillips stands ready to advance twenty thou
sand doUars to it, and many others will foUow his
example in proportion to their abihty."
My grandmother writes at this time :
"Concord, Feb. llth, 1811.
"After an absence of twelve days, the dehghtful
sun has again revisited us, — the hearts of many are
made glad by its appearance.
" I long to hear how you do in the absence of your
husband. Miss Emerson did not give me any satis
faction. She said if you were not sick, you would
be, by excluding the light and air. I do not want
anything to make me more anxious than I have
been." It would seem that Miss Emerson was in advance
of the age, or, at least, in advance of good Dr. Verg
nies, and his adherents, on the subject of the laws
of health.
The following letter from my father was evidently
written after receiving, from some other hand than
my mother's, an account of her increased fllness.
"Boston, Feb. 12th, 1811.
"The anxiety I feel, dearest wife, is inexpressible.
What would I not give to be able to fly to you,
[366]

1811] NEWBURYPORT
and take upon myself all your pains and sufferings!
But I can do nothing, — not even contribute to re-
heve or soothe them. My mind is wholly occupied
about you, and I am little fitted for anything else.
But I would not add to your suffering by any con
cern about me. I should be perfectly well, could my
heart be at ease. Its best consolation is in suppli
cating the Father of all mercies for you and me. At
present, I feel nothing akin to happiness but in pray
ing for you. I wiU cherish the hope that our prayers
wfll be heard."
Again: "Boston, Feb. 13th, Wednesday evening.
"I called the other evening at Mr. Gorham's, by
his invitation. He had a small party of gentlemen,
composing a law-club, as Mr. Lowell, Prescott,
Jackson, Dutton, etc., and the evening was very
pleasant." Again : "Boston, Feb. 15th, Friday evening.
"Dearest and loveliest of human beings, you know
not how inestimably precious you are to me. I must
see you to-morrow evening, if possible, yet do not
expect me, for it may not be in my power to come.
How much I suffer in this absence from you, I need
not, cannot, express, — but, dearest love, you have a
friend Almighty, who is ever present with you, and
will sustain and comfort you."
[367]

MARY WILDER WHITE [isii
From my mother to my father, on his return to
Boston, after a visit to his home :
"Feb. 20th, Wednesday afternoon.
"Let us bless God, dearest friend, that the term
of your public duty has almost expired. Ah, how
much have I sacrificed to it! I rejoiced to know you
reached town in safety."
From my father: "Boston, Feb. 21st, 1811.
"Your letter of yesterday, dearest love, greatly
relieved my heart. Your hand- writing distressed me,
as it carried evidence of painful exertion for my
sake. How ardently does my prayer respond to yours
that I may soon be at liberty to return to you. But,
to my sorrow, the prospect now is that we shaU be
kept here into next week. The business of the Sen
ate crowds upon us. We have been in session to-day,
from a httle after nine o'clock in the morning, till
about eight this evening, excepting an adjournment
to dine. It is now about ten, and I write in the midst
of chit-chat, and cannot write you as I should wish;
but incoherencies, etc., you will excuse, and will not
try to read to your injury. If it can give you com
fort, I am determined to come to you on Saturday
again, if I must return on Monday.
"I received a letter of yesterday from your
mother, and wrote her an answer immediately to
day, as well as I could in the midst of business. She
had heard, through Mary Emerson, of your illness,
[368]

1811] NEWBURYPORT
and I endeavoured to give her all the information
about you in my power."
Miss Emerson seems to have been but a Job's
comforter to my grandmother, who, always in de
mand at her own home, was never at liberty, it ap
pears, to follow her heart's promptings and go to
my mother when most needed by her.
From my mother:
"Newbury Port, Saturday, Feb. 23rd, 1811.
"Your letters were cordials, my dear Husband,
They were given me together at a moment when
my anxiety was painfuUy excited. I have continued
to improve in strength, notwithstanding the extreme
cold, to which I have not been insensible, though my
chamber has been kept warm by Fanny's care. When
can you return ? I ask myself the question often, and
as often sigh, but I beheve it wfll be in the best time."
From my father: "Boston, Feb. 25th, 1811.
"Dearest Wife, — We are now in session full of
business. To-morrow has been talked of for the Leg
islature to rise, but it wiU probably be later — per
haps Thursday or Friday. I shaU probably be with
you the day after we rise. I am very impatient un
der confinement, but you will, as I do, bear it bet
ter when you know that I have made, and commu
nicated to my friends, my final resolution not to be
: subjected to such confinement again."
[369]

MARY WILDER WHITE [isii
From my mother, in reply: "Tuesday evening.
"My dearest Friend, — I am out of spirits. The dis
appointment of this evening is almost too much for
me. I almost feel as if it was determined we should
not meet. I calculated on this day or to-morrow —
wefl, be it so ! I am not worse. Dr. Vergnies says ;
on the contrary, he told me to assure you I am do
ing wefl. I had better not write, than send so sad a
letter — but I told you, in the beginning, I was out
of spirits,
"Why don't you speak of yourself? No subject is
half so interesting. You have been indisposed, and
you say nothing of your present health."
From my father, in reply: "Boston, Feb. 27th, 1811.
"Your letter of last evening, dearest Mary, would
quicken my speed to you, were it possible to get my
liberty. I hope and trust we are to meet, and meet
under the smiles of Providence, notwithstanding this
bitterness of disappointment. I feel it most sensibly,
and pray it may not be repeated. To-morrow, we
confidently expect to rise ; in which case, I shall hope
to be with you on Friday. But I shall fly to you the
first moment in my power, and I pray God to have
you in His holy keeping. Your letter is written in
lower spirits than I could wish, but I wiU indulge
the hope that you are really better."
[370]

1811] NEWBURYPORT
Miss Emerson, in writing to my mother some
weeks earlier, says, " Somehow, I do not connect the
idea of illness in you with unhappiness. It rather
seems hke renewing an opportunity for your forti
tude, and your husband's unaffected and interesting
tenderness." But those of us who are less sublimated
than Miss Emerson can hardly read this record of
"fortitude," and " tenderness," without a painful sym
pathy, to which there is no relief till the husband and
wife are together again.
I have often heard my father speak of what he suf
fered in these repeated separations from my mother
during her prolonged fllness, especially in their latest
separation of this kind, which we have yet to record,
and which was attended by pecuharly distressing cir
cumstances. But my mother was no less patriotic
than my grandmother. She felt that my father's duty
to his country was one to which even her comfort
must yield, and it was doubtless with her sanction
that he changed his determination not to leave her
again for public hfe.
We have nothing more from my mother's pen.
We have only my grandmother's letters, and two
or three from my father and other friends, to give
us an intimation of what they endured during the
remaining months of my mother's hfe, from "sus
pense between a weak hope and a great fear," of
which Fenelon says, "nothing is a greater trial to hu
man nature."
At this time, the Rev. WiUiam Emerson, father
[371]

MARY WILDER WHITE [isii
of Ralph Waldo Emerson, and minister of Chauncy
Place Church, was seriously ill, and his sister. Miss
Mary Emerson, writes to my father and mother:
"Boston, March 14th, 1811.
"Dear Friends, — I have been here a fortnight or
less, and once heard from Concord, but not from you.
Will you let me have that satisfaction? By this time,
it is probable, you are altogether better, dear Mary,
But, whether that is the case or otherwise, you are
resigning yourself and enjoyments into the hands of
a kind and tender Parent. Your health, dear Sir, I
hope, did not suffer any injury from the fatigues and
storms to which your duties exposed you. Your chil
dren are well, it is hoped. This weather is unfavour
able to invahds, — for, how is it possible they should
gain health, while deprived of the vital and life-giv
ing source of inhaling hourly the fresh air ? My brother
remains in a critical and feeble state. But, tfll he can
journey, we can form no decided opinion. Many think
he will not recover. If the cause originates in the at
tack he had two or three years since, probably he wiU
not. This between ourselves. It is painful to exhaust
the sympathy of one's acquaintance, or to disappoint
them of something new. How little does the com
monplace regret soothe the heart, and how depres
sing the run of constant inquiry!"
My grandmother went to visit and nurse her
daughter late in March, but became so ill herself
that she was obliged to return to Concord. Early in
[372]

1811] NEWBURYPORT
April hopes were revived of my mother's recovery.
Miss Mary Emerson wrote to my father and mother:
"Apiil 13th, 1811.
"My dear Friends, — You are afflicted still. But
you are recovering, Mary. My brother recovers no
more. God is taking him away, and blessed be His
name! How much better. Oh, infinitely better than
to outhve his mind, his exertions, his friends ! Should
it not be the prayer of every Christian that they may
not survive any of these, but especially his moral im
provement? And, unhappy must the one be who is
so wedded to hfe as to lose a desire to depart when
their improvements stagnate. But I feel not much
of these great things, — an unaccountable heaviness
weighs down my spirit, — pray for me that a visita
tion so painful and admonishing may be improved.
I long to see you; do, if possible, write."
My grandmother made my mother a brief visit
late in April. After her return she writes :
"Concord, April 25th, 1811.
"After much rain and heavy wind, my dear chil
dren wiU be glad we reached home on Monday. Do
not think it unkind I did not stay longer. It is ab
solutely necessary to be at home."
And again : "Concord, May 4th, 1811.
"It seems a little age since I left you. I do not
[373]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1811
feel very well, and every sombre shade is displayed.
I ever remember with gratitude the mercies shown
in restoring you to your friends, and, had it been
best, should have rejoiced to have your habitation
nigher, when I could have seen you and yours often,
and watched the progress you made in health and
strength. Do not, for a moment, doubt I would sac
rifice my own, to give you health and vigour."
It may strike some of my grandmother's de
scendants who shaU read these pages as almost un
natural on her part that she should have left my
mother, when she was so iU and her hfe so near its
close, to the care of "Aunt Bromfield" and "Aunt
Greenleaf," instead of giving her the comfort of her
own presence. But those who knew Dr. Hurd would
understand the case. The arrangements of his home,
as well as his own personal exactions, were such as
not only compelled her presence there, but also made
her life so laborious as to awaken the sympathy of
her friends, especially of her husband's brothers and
their families, by whom she was most intimately
known and most warmly beloved.
My grandmother again writes :
"May 30th, Election Day.
"They are well as usual at Mr. Ripley's. Mr. Em
erson's death was truly affecting, but they, one and
all, bear it, as Christians ought to, with becoming
fortitude and resignation.
"When I shaU see you is only known to the Su-
[374]

1811] NEWBURYPORT
preme Being. I long to kiss you and the little ones,
and sincerely hope you wiU, once more, realize a
portion of health. ]\Ir. White, I fear, will not have
many more pleasant companions than he had last
year. The opposite party are numerous, they
'Fill every rank, in each profession blend.
Power all their aim, and ruin all their end.' "
The foUowing, from my father, who was again in
the Senate at Boston, is the last letter we have from
him addressed to my mother.
"Boston, Friday morn.. May 31st, 1811.
"My dearest Wife, — I feel an inexpressible solic
itude and desire to be with you. I have not received
a hne from home since I have been here, but hope
to this moming, and pray that it may bring me good
tidings about you. I shaU endeavour to be at home
this evening, if I can find a passage after the choice
of counseUors ; if not, to-morrow. I hope not to be
under the necessity of being here many days to
gether, after this week. AU I can now do, my dear
est love, is to commend you to the Father of all
mercies. Oh, may He support, comfort, and bless
you with health! — is the constant prayer of
Your affectionate D. A. White."
Could my father have foreseen the events of that
night, no business, however weighty or pressing,
would have kept him from his home. It was the
[375]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1811
night of the great Newburyport fire of 1811. The
record in the Salem Gazette of that period is that
"the fire broke out on Friday, May 31st, at half-
past nine in the evening, in a stable, near the mar
ket. At two o'clock, Saturday morning, the fire was
raging in every direction, with irresistible fury. About
four, the danger diminished, and, at six, the fire had,
in a great measure, spent its fury. The number of
buildings destroyed was about two hundred and fifty ;
property destroyed, one million. No life was lost.
Seventy-six families were deprived of their homes.
The streets ravaged were State, Market Square, Me
chanics' Row, Pleasant, Middle, Water, Centre, and
Liberty Streets." My father's home was on State
Street. I must have been very young when I was first
told the story of the fire, for I can hardly look back
upon the time when my mind did not contain a pic
ture of my angelic mother, as, according to the rep
resentations given me, she passed unmoved through
that night of terror. My dear father was the great
est sufferer. What language can depict his agony
as he drove from Boston to Newburyport the next
morning, under the impression, received from ex
aggerated accounts, that not a house was left stand
ing in State Street. He could never speak of it with
out emotion, and never so far recovered from it as
to be able to hear the bell rung for fire without
change of colour and evident recurrence to the pain
ful memory. More than once, under such circum-
[376]

1811] NEWBURYPORT
stances, he has spoken to me of the subject in his
thoughts, and dwelt upon the scene, to him of un
equalled subhmity, which my mother's chamber pre
sented when, on his arrival at home, he entered it.
"There she lay," he said, "just as I had left her, —
with nothing in her look or manner to remind me
that anything unusual had occurred."
By those who were with her through the night, I
have been told of the presence of mind, calmness, and
self-control with which she quieted those around her.
Every one in the house, and others who came in to
offer their aid, were agitated by distressing appre
hension for her. Too feeble to move herself, what
should they do for her, was the question. To move
her might cost her her hfe ; yet, if she remained where
she was, death seemed inevitable. She decided, her
self, what to do. She said, " I wiU stay where I am
until the flames reach the next house. Meantime, have
a carriage in readiness for my removal when that shaU
occur." The fire stopped at the next house, and she
was safe.
Dear Aunt Smith used to say, "Your mother was
quite calm, and told us just how to pack the china,
and glass, and clothing so that they should be all
ready to be moved when the time came." Cousin
Fanny Searle, whose mother hved in State Street,
happened, at the time the fire occurred, to be stay
ing at Aunt Becky's, in the upper part of the town.
So great was her anxiety for my mother that she
walked alone, a mile and a half at midnight, passing
[377]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1811
by her own mother's house to go to her. She said
she was, herself, greatly alarmed and agitated, and
she described, much as my father had done,. the con
trast presented by my mother's aspect of serenity and
peace. My mother's cousin Benjamin F. Gould was
staying in Newburyport at the time. He went im
mediately to my mother, to serve her in any way he
could. He has often told me that he should never
forget my mother's appearance that night. "She
seemed to me," he said, "more than ever, to belong
to another world." Doubtless, she had then let go
her hold on this.
The noise and confusion in State Street, created
by preparations for rebuilding, made it necessary to
remove my mother to a more quiet part of the town.
It is to this removal that my grandmother refers in
the foUowing letter: "Concord, June 21st.
"This morning we received your letter, my dear
son, which brings such intelligence as I expected,
that Mary would suffer after the fire, from the fa
tigue, anxiety, and distress that must surround her.
I cannot afford you any assistance ; my heart is with
you, but it is so poor an one, it can do no good. I am
very glad you have moved, and hope the air wiU be
salutary, and long to have her able to ride here. My
love to her, and, if I could fly to her, would run any
venture. "Your Papa, although he is out aU the day, has a
very tedious time with his broken rib. It has not yet
[378]

1811] NEWBURYPORT
perfectly united, — he has not dressed or undressed
without the assistance of one, and often two of us.
He could not rise alone if we were surrounded by
fire. He has now five hundred under his care in vac
cination. We shaU have Isaac and his family with us
about a fortnight, tiU they move into their house."
This letter from my grandmother shows how lit
tle she was prepared for my mother's death, which
occurred only one week after this last date. While
she "had faith to beheve" that my mother "would
enjoy better health," and was looking forward to her
being "able to ride to Concord," "the silver cord was
loosed." My father thought my mother's life was shortened
by the fire, and the removal that followed it. I have
no record from his pen of the closing scene. He often
talked to my sister and myself of the faith and peace
of our mother's last hours ; and among my earliest
recollections is his telling us that he read to her the
fourteenth chapter of John only fifteen minutes be
fore she ceased to breathe.
Nearly half a century later, the only words spoken
by her upon her death-bed, which were written down
at the time, came to us hke a voice from the eternal
world. This invaluable record was made by my
mother's dear friend, Ann Bromfield. I copy it as
follows :
"June 28th, 1811. Evening, Friday. Day before
yesterday, the 26th instant, I passed some hours with
[379]

MARY WILDER WHITE [isii
my precious Mary White. This almost sainted mor
tal is now, perhaps, passing the 'dark valley of the
shadow of death.' Perhaps, the silver cord is broken,
and she is now a spirit among the blessed, — wel
comed by those objects of affection who had gone
before, and on wing towards the vision of God and
of the Lamb. Why do I not feel greater joy at this
subhmely cheering thought, why not glorify the Be
ing who has emancipated her? My faith is weak, —
not so, hers. She told me her hopes in a few emphatic
sentences, the last time I sat by her, ' In my Father's
house are many mansions,' she said, with distinctness ;
and, after a long pause, added: — 'I am thinking of
my Saviour. He is the good Shepherd, and I am His
sick lamb. He will carry me in His bosom.' After a
long pause, she added, that she had always thought
that passage which says, ' I go to prepare a place for
you,' and, 'not for you only, but for all those who,
through you, shall beheve on my name,' worth aU the
rest of the Bible. I could mention more, but my
strength fails me.
"I pray. Oh, my Heavenly Father, for her, her
husband, and aU of us, that this communion here be
low, may have helped to fit us for nearer communion
with Thee.
"30th, Morning. We were prevented from going
to meeting this morning, by the carriage disappoint
ing us, and I shaU use the time with more satisfac
tion to myself than in going out. Yesterday morn
ing, at haU-past seven, my beloved friend breathed
[380]

1811] NEWBURYPORT
her last, desirous to be gone, and full of hope and
trust in her blessed Saviour. I have lost, in her, an
invaluable friend. Her strong, and vigorous, and
highly cultivated mind was a resource when I needed
advice; the pure and animated devotion of her af
fectionate heart, always kindhng with sympathy —
from its keen, and refined, and regulated sensibihty
^at every sorrow of its beloved objects, was my
consolation and support. It has pleased the infinitely
wise and good God, in the course of six months and
a few days, to deprive me of two ' friends who were
equaUy distinguished for their genius and piety. Oh,
that the warning voice may not be sounded in vain ! "
Twenty years after making the record quoted
above, this dear friend, with whom my mother's
memory seemed always fresh, wrote to Mrs. Curson
as foUows, of a religious service in which she had
been greatly interested : " The text chosen was that
beautiful and affecting passage which my beloved
Mary White told me, only a few hours before she
passed from earth to heaven, was more precious to
her than any other: — 'I pray not for these alone, —
but for aU those who, through them, shaU believe
on my word.'"
This passage of Scripture has been associated with
my mother in my mind aU my life, for although I
learned first from Miss Bromfield's journal of its hav
ing been upon her hps during her last hours, I was
' Miss Ann LoweU died in December, 1810.
[381]

MARY WILDER WHITE [isii
early told that it was her favourite. Of the Epis
tles, that to the Ephesians was her preference.
I have now before me papers left by my mother's
devoted friend Fanny Searle, marked by her, "Writ
ten at the time of Mrs. White's death." This heart
felt tribute of affection deserves a place here.
"Sunday, June 30th, 1811. Why have I omitted
to write so long when I have had so many subjects
of interest ? Why have I not, in this way, aided my
memory during the illness of my dear friend ? I have
witnessed her gradual decay till, from horror at the
thought of her death, I became reconciled to, and
even wished it. I have listened to and looked at her
with admiration and love, yet I have not preserved,
as I might, the recollection of all she has said, — and
when shaU I see any one like her? — never, I be
lieve, in this world. Oh, that I may so pass through
this life that I may meet her in a future! If any one
is fitted on earth to join the spirits of the blessed,
it is herself. Her piety, her purity, her delicacy, re
finement, and elevation of mind, have fitted her for
a far more perfect and exalted state of being. Through
the merits of her Redeemer, she joyfully committed
herself into the hands of her Heavenly Father. How
consoling such a death!"
"July llth.
"Spirit of Resignation! cheer my soul.
And teach me through life's pilgrimage to rove
With cheerfulness and animated joy,
[382]

1811] NEWBURYPORT
Such as the Christian, social, state demands.
Oh, that no selfish, no excessive grief.
May steel my heart to others' joy or woe.
Make me unmindful of remaining good.
Or useless to my friends ! May the vain thought
That no one, now, has such sweet love for me,
That none has power now to charm like her.
Never too far enthrall and hold my mind !
The hour of solitude alone may claim
These recoUections, these dear thoughts of thee.
Then may I think thy virtues o'er and o'er,
How pure, angelic, and heaven-taught thy mind.
How full of grace and loveliness thy life.
How every look and action, like thyself
With winning sweetness, drew our hearts to thee !
Who, like thee, in the bold defence of truth.
Feared not to argue in its sacred cause.
Convincing the gainsayer! — Who like thee.
Still timid and distrustful of thyself.
When no such cause aroused thee ! Who, like thee.
So meek, yet eloquent, so fiirm though mild.
So ardent in another's interests.
Yet, in thine own so patient, so resigned !
No ! thine ethereal spirit here on earth
We shall not see again. In memory's eye.
May thy still cherished image lead us on
(Those who were favoured with its transient view)
To emulate, and, distant, follow thee !
May solitary musings on thy worth
Fit me to act my destined part on earth.
And train me for that heaven where thou art gone !
Oh, that my trials here may end in that,
A blessed union, an eternal rest.
Through that Redeemer to whose saving love
Thou didst commend thyself and slept in Him ! "
[383]

MARY WILDER WHITE [isii
Some years since, my dear friend. Cousin Sarah
Searle, who was specially devoted to my sister and
myself when, soon after our mother's death, we were
under her mother's roof, at my request sent me the
foUowing recoUections of my mother.
"You ask me to embody in language my recol
lections of your beautiful mother, and I will try to
do it. I was a timid young girl, perhaps twelve years
of age, when she came to reside in Newburyport.
My elder sisters, who were companions of your fa
ther, were very glad of the addition to their society
which her marriage gave them. They met frequently,
and I often saw them together. I remember dis
tinctly her person and countenance, their extreme
dehcacy and refinement; only a thin veil of the spirit
they presented to the eye, conveying a sense of the
most gentle dignity, exciting respect, delight, and
love. Her voice was charming to me, affecting me
like sweet and tender strains of music. When I went
of errands for my sisters to her house, she would
make me come in, and sit down with her, and she
would talk with me, which seemed great honour con
ferred upon me. I remember her saying that she
thought the sense of smeU more aUied to the spirit
ual than the other senses. She was, at the time, offer
ing me a honeysuckle from a vine which grew at her
door. She spoke to me of Rogers' 'Pleasures of Mem-
ory,'and read to me some extracts she had taken from
it. She tried to elicit and feed any love of the beau-
[384]

1811] NEWBURYPORT
tiful she might find in me. She seemed to me hke
my then idea of an angelic being."
Margaret Searle wrote at that time to her cousin,
Mrs. Edmund Dwight, as follows :
" I cannot speak of Mrs. White as I ought. I have
ever thought her as much like an angel as any spirit
clothed in flesh could be."

These memorials of my mother, written when her
presence was but just withdrawn, by those who were
with her during her life on earth, are of great value.
The following notice of my mother was written
for the " Port-Foho," a magazine of that period, and
appeared in the Newburyport newspaper on the day
of her burial. I have never been told by whom it was
written. "OBITUARY FOR THE 'PORT-FOLIO'
"Died in Newburjrport, Mrs. Mary White, wife
of the Hon^i^ Daniel Appleton White, aged 30 years.
'" Oh, 't is well with her.
But who knows what the coming hour,
Veiled in thick darkness, brings to us.'
"It is the solace and support of Christians, amid
the gloom and the depravities of life, that their Divine
Master has, indeed, never left Himself without a wit
ness. His blessed promise, 'Lo, I am with you al-
[385]

MARY WILDER WHITE [isii
way,' is never forgotten; and some pure and spotless
spirit has stiU been permitted to hover on earth, to
remind us of our relation to Heaven, to instruct us
by its virtues how to act, to teach us, by its sorrows,
how we should suffer, and, at length, entwining round
our hearts the golden and silken cords of piety and
love, to draw us, in the still 'lingering light of its
upward track,' to its own blissful mansions of virtue
and repose!
"When such an one goes before us, it is impos
sible to speak what we feel; to describe our own
sense of the loss, or to give others an idea of its
poignancy. Yet is it proper and fit, that those who
loved Mrs. White as fondly as ourselves, should share
our sympathy; and that those who knew her not
should be told of the inspired talents, the refined
and trembling sensibility, the mild, silent, and ele
vated virtues which bless and embalm her memory.
"A mind of brilliant and commanding genius
united its expression in her features with that of
feelings ardent, chastened, and subhme. Her coun
tenance, indeed, discovered something so unobtru
sively interesting, so unearthly, so spiritual, that we
could only regard it as an image of the impress of
God on the soul, when it first came forth on the
morning of creation, lovely, meek, and amiable, from
the hands of its Maker. Her society and her writings
breathed the purest spirit of piety, of benevolence,
and religion. These, indeed, were her Muses. They
inspired her conversation as they animated her life ;
[386]

1811] NEWBURYPORT
and she never approached the sacred ground on
which they dwelt, without an expansion of mind,
and an elevation of language. I knew her once when
her spirit was buoyant as the breath of summer, joy
ous, animated, and sportive as the visions of youth
ful fancy ; when light and happiness were scattered
in her path; when she appeared only to cheer, to
console, and to bless; when her hfe was a constant
scene of active usefulness; when her gentle spirit
flew out to meet the mourner, and her 'bountiful
hand scattered food to the hungry, and raiment to
the naked.' I knew her, too, when, as if to show
that the heart is sometimes permitted, even here,
to shine forth in aU its moral sublimity and grandeur,
the hand of God was laid heavily upon her, and her
languishing body seemed sinking to earth, as it were
to exhibit, in broader and fairer light, the purged
sanctity of her soaring and celestial spirit. Her eyes,
beaming with that haUow^ed splendour which some
times irradiates them before they are to close for
ever, seemed fixed on the smiles of her Saviour, and
her soul bending before the footstool of her God.
One would almost have thought her shadowy form
that 'incorruptible body which is destined to be the
soul's last covering.'
"May that gracious Being who is the Wisdom of
God, and the Power of God, who was Himself once
on earth to bear our sorrows, and expiate our sins,
support the heart-broken mourners under the dispen
sation which has taken her to Himself. May He bind
[387]

MARY WILDER WHITE [1811
up where He has bruised, may He heal where He
has smitten, and pour balm where He has wounded !
' Oh, from her sorrows may we leam to live.
Oh, from her triumphs may we learn to die!'"
My mother's grave is in the Newburyport Cem
etery. On her gravestone are inscribed the follow
ing words: "The charm of genius, taste, tenderness,
And sweetest piety, — all was thine."
I find this inscription written on a page in my
father's handwriting of that period, foUowed by lines
which are so appropriate that I copy them here.
"Farewell, pure spirit! Vain the praise we give, —
The praise you sought from lips angelic flows;
Farewell ! the virtues which deserve to live
Deserve an ampler bliss than life bestows."
"Each pensive hour shall thee restore.
For thee the tear be duly shed ;
Beloved till life can charm no more.
And mourned till pity's self be dead.'
My mother's many friends mourned, as long as
they lived, her early departure. To my grandmother,
that event "left a void in the affections which could
only be filled by reunion with her in another world."
Mrs. RapaUo, in writing to me, says: "I saw your
grandmother only once after your mother's death.
She was at your father's in Newburyport. She had
[388]

1811] NEWBURYPORT
long been accustomed to sorrow. She seemed calm
and tranquil. She said the last tie that bound her to
earth was now broken, and she had only to wait."
Ten years she waited, — her days a fulfilment of Fa-
ber's prayer:
"O Lord! that I could waste my life for others.
With no ends of my own ! "
She died November 26th, 1821, aged seventy-one
years. She knew " labour and sorrow," but, with her
firm religious belief, "earthly care was heavenly
disciphne," and "chastening," however "grievous,"
yielded, at once, "the peaceable fruits of righteous
ness." Thus was a hfe ennobled which, in many of
its details, seemed to her friends unsuited to one of
her refined and inteUectual tastes.
I now close this record, as I began it, with the feel
ing that her memory, and that of her gifted daugh
ter, deserve to be held in affectionate reverence by
their descendants to the latest generation,
[389]

APPENDIX
THE WILDER GENEALOGY
DR. JOSIAH WILDER was fourth in descent from Thomas
Wilder, who came from England in 1638, and settled first
in Hingham, Massachusetts, where he was made freeman in 1641,
was living in Charlestown in l651, removed to Lancaster, Mas
sachusetts, in 1 654, and died in 1 667. He had three sons, Thomas,
John, and Nathaniel. His son Thomas was born in 1 644, and died
in 1717. He married Mary Houghton, June 20, 1668. His oldest
child, as far as known, was born in l680. It is not improbable
that he lost children in the Indian massacres ; the troublous times
prevented the preservation of town records until the beginning
of the next century. Very little is known of him during or after
the war. There are indications that he fortified his house, and
made it a place of protection from the Indians for other families.
He had two sons, James and Joseph. The former. Colonel James
Wilder, married Abigail Gardner, daughter of Andrew Gardner,
Esq., of Lancaster, October 20, 1709, and died in 1739. He had
two sons, James and Gardner. James (also a colonel) was born in
1711, married Martha Broughton, and died in 1774. He had three
sons, James, Josiah, and Asaph, and a daughter, who married
Dr. Prescott, of Keene. Josiah, bom in 1744, married Mary, or
Polly, Flagg, August 28, 1 774, and was the father of Mary Wilder.
THE FLAGG GENEALOGY
IN the "History of Augusta, Maine," by Hon. James W. North,
a genealogy of the Flagg family is given, from which the fol
lowing details are taken. The name was spelled Flegg in Eng
land, and for eighty years after they came to America.
The earliest English ancestor who is known with certainty,
William Flegg, died in 1426. His son Thomas, who died in 1471,
had a son William Flegg, of Swafield, Norfolk County, who was
[391]

MARY WILDER WHITE
living in 1521 ; he had a son Richard, of Shipdham, whose will
was proved in 1587. Richard's son John, of Whinbergh and Ed-
ling's Close in Yaxham, died in 1617, and his will was proved in
Norwich. His son Bartholomew, of Whinbergh and Shipdham, Nor
folk County, had a son Thomas, baptized at Whinbergh in 1615,
who came to America in 1637 with Richard Carver, on the Rose,
or the John and Dorothy, and settled at Watertown, Massachu
setts. He is said to have come from Scratby, in the Hundred of
East Flegg, Norfolk County. His son. Lieutenant Gershom Flagg,
was born April 6, 1641, lived in Woburn, and married Hannah
Leppingwell, or Lepenwell, April 5, 1 668. He was killed by In
dians at Lamprey River, July 6, l690. His third son, John, was
born May 27, 1673. He married Abiah Kornic, and died in 1732.
In 1717 he owned an estate on Hanover Street, Boston, where
the American House now stands, which he bequeathed to his son
Gershom, who was born in 1705, and married Hannah Pitson in
1737. (She was the daughter of James and Hannah Pitson, was
bom in 171 1 in England, and came to this country with her par
ents in 1714. There were Pitsons in Guilford, County Surrey, and
they may have come from that town. James Pitson, born in 1683,
died April 10, 1739. His wife, born in I688, died February 28,
1749. They were buried in the old Granary Burying-ground.)
Gershom and Hannah Flagg had seven children, of whom Mary,
or Polly, was the sixth. She married Dr. Josiah Wilder in 1774,
and their daughter Mary, born in 1780, married Daniel Appleton
White, May 24, 1807. THE WHITE GENEALOGY
DANIEL APPLETON WHITE was born in Methuen, Mas
sachusetts, June 7, 1 776, and died in Salem, March 30, 186I.
His ancestor, William White, born in I6IO, came to this country
from Haverhill, Norfolk County, England, in 1635. He settled
first in Ipswich, then in Newbury, and finally in Haverhill, all
in Massachusetts, and died September 28, 1690. John White, hia
only son, married Hannah French, of Salem, November 25, 1662,
[392]

APPENDIX
and died in 1668, at the age of twenty-nine years. His only son.
Captain John White, was bom in 1663-4. He married Lydia Gil-
man, of Exeter, New Hampshire, October 26, 1687, and died
November 20, 1727. He had fourteen children, one of whom,
Timothy, graduated at Harvard College in 1720. His fourth child.
Deacon William White (also a captain), was born January 18,
1693-4; he married in Boston, June 12, 1716, Sarah, daughter
of Samuel and Mary (Emerson) Phillips, of Salem, and great-
granddaughter of Rev. George Phillips, of Watertown ; he died
December 11, 1737. His son John was born February 7, 1719-20;
he removed to Methuen about 1772, where he had a farm of
three hundred acres, between the Spicket and Merrimac rivers,
now in the centre of the city of Lawrence, and died July 11,
1800. He was twice married: first to Mrs. Miriam Hazen, by
whom he had six children; and on February 18, 1767, to Eliza
beth Haynes, herself one of a family of twenty-one children. She
had eleven children, of whom Daniel was the fifth.
Five of his ancestors, Samuel Appleton, Thomas Emerson, Ed
ward GUman, Samuel Symonds, and William White, were among
the first settlers of Ipswich.

LIST OF BOOKS FOUND AMONG THE PAPERS OF THE
SUBJECT OF THIS MEMORIAL
SHERLOCK, — Enlightens and convinces the reason. Massil-
lon, — Penetrates the heart, and elevates the affections. S.
Clarke, — Elucidates the obscurities of Scripture. F^nelon's dem
onstration of the existence and attributes of God delightfully sat
isfactory to the reason and the heart. His reflexions useful to
every Christian. Witherspoon, Watson, Wilberforce, Fuller, Watts,
Baxter, Doddridge, Necker, Lyttelton, Miss More, Mrs. Cha-
pone, Gisbome, Mrs. Rowe, Paley, Johnson, Blair, Hervey, Bar
bauld, Clarke, Gilpin's "Exposition,'' Pascal's "Thoughts," Sau
rin, Mason. Two treatises on the Sacrament of the Supper, "The
Practice of Piety," John Newton's Letters, misceUaneous ser-
[393]

MARY WILDER WHITE
mons, and small tracts of divinity, Fordyce, Wilkes, "The Gos
pel Its Own Witness," Francis Xavier, Hunter's "Sacred Biog
raphy," in part.
Millot's "Elements of General History," Robertson's "History
of Charles Fifth," Hume's " History of England," in part. Gold
smith's "History of England," "Peter the Great," "Charles
Twelfth," by Voltaire, Echard's "Roman History," "History of
France," H. Adams' "History of New England," Hutchinson's
"History of Massachusetts," Robertson's "History of South
America," "American Revolution."
Moore's "Travels through France, Germany, etc.," Brydone's
"Travels in Sicily and Malta," Smollett's "Travels through France
and Italy," Montagu's "Travels in the East," Bruce's "Travels
in Africa," Denon's "Travels in Egypt," Mariette's "Travels
through Syria and Palestine," Moritz' "Travels through England
and Wales," Akenside's "Tour to the Lakes," Ratcliffe's Travels,
Brissot's "Travels through America," Cook's Voyages, La F6-
rouse's Voyages.
"Rambler," "Spectator," "Guardian," "Tatler," "Idler,"'
"Lounger," "Mirror," "Adventurer," "World."
Buffbn's "Natural History, Abridged," Goldsmith's "Animated
Nature," in part, Steele's Works, Cicero's Orations and Epistles,
Pliny's Epistles, Mrs. Barbauld's Poems and H3rmns, Miss Sew
ard's Poems, Ossian, Johnson's Poems on various subjects. Prior's
Poems, etc., Dryden's Poems, Armstrong, Somerville, Milton's
"Paradise Lost" and "Paradise Regained," "Comus," "Samson,"
and smaller poems, Shakespeare's Plays, Young's "Night
Thoughts," Tragedies, and Poems, Pope's Works, Thomson's
"Seasons" and Tragedies, Cowper's "Task," Poems, and Letters.
In French, — Voltaire's and Racine's Tragedies, Boileau's Sat
ires, Moliere's Plays, Helvetius' Poems and Epistles, Poems of
De Lisle, Works of Florian, F^nelon's "T616maque" and Dia
logues, etc., Rousseau's "Emilius," and "Eloisa" (also in English),
Works of Madame de Genlis (also in English), Saint- Pierre.
Akenside's "Pleasures of Imagination," Rogers' "Pleasures of
[394]

APPENDIX
Memory," Campbell's "Pleasures of Hope," Merry's "Pains of
Memory," the Works of Addison, Knox, Gray, and Swift, the
Poems of Churchill, Chatterton, Collins, Cowley, and Spenser.
This list is evidently incomplete, no Enghsh novels or biographies be
ing included in it, but is of interest as showing, to some extent, what
books were accessible to women at that period, and read by them. Miss
Austen's £uid Sir Walter Scott's novels were not pubhshed till after her
death.
[395]

INDEX

Affection, fraternal, 107, 209
Amazons, women neither babies
nor, 123
Ames, Fisher, death of, 325
Andre, quotation from, 183
Angels, guardian, doctrine of,
172
Anthology, the Monthly, 1 86 ;
contributions to, 187-191;
references to, 254, 256
Arminius, doctrines of, 169, 170
Army, English, in Egypt, 162
Ashmun, Mr., 353, 356, 358,
359, 362
Atherton, SaUa, 73, 125, 153,
154, 181; letter to, 74
Atkins, Becky, 314, 315, 317,
318, 377
Atkins, Madam, 312, 314, 315,
317, 318
Augusta, North's History of,
246, 391
Augustine, St., quotation from,
156
Authoress, difficulties of, 203
Autunm, beauty of, 127, 197,
199

Bainbridge, battle of, 87
Balls, 2.5, 1 61, 193, 341
Bancroft, Dr., 20

Barbary, powers of, 42
Barbauld, Mrs., Life of Richard
son by, 211
Basset, Captain, 47
Beattie, Life of, 318
Belisarius, song about, 19
Bermudas, dangerous, 47
Bernard, style of acting of, l63
Bethlehem, Penn. (see Moravi
ans, the), 97, 152, 210, 269
Bible, value of the, 174, 175
BidweU, Mr., 347
Bigelow, Eliza, letter to, 24
Bigelow, Mrs. Elizabeth, 6, 35
Bigelow, Dr. Jacob, 6, 23, 24,
3.5, 36, 363, 364
Bigelow, Rev. Jacob, 6
Blanchet, Dureste, 26, 27;
letters from, 36, 37; letters
to, 32, 33
Blanchet, M., 87
Boisaubin, Baron Van Schalk
wyck de, 27; letter from, 28
B — te. Empress, 347
Bonaparte, Napoleon, 213
Bonnet, book by, 214
Bonnet, a green, 346
Books, list of, 393
Boswell, 347
Botany, religious influence of,
189
[397]

MARY WILDER WHITE

Boyd, Mark, "Reminiscences"
of, 96
Bromfield, Ann, description of,
98, 99; letter from, 312;
letters to, 100, 124, 127,
138, 143,146, 147, 148,161,
164,176,179,196,199,208,
211, 218, 219, 225, 233, 235,
248, 256, 262, 297, 343, 346 ;
mention of, 195, 311; ac
count of Mrs. White's last
hours, 379-381
Bromfield, Henry, house of, 7,
98
Bromfield, John, 100
Bromfield, Mrs. John, 99, 147,
311, 374
Brooks, Mr., 364
Bruce, poem by, 233
Buckminster, Rev. Joseph Ste
vens, 200, 201
BurreU, Miss, 20
Burying-ground, old Granary,
7, 392

Callender, Lydia, 5
Calvin, John, doctrines of, 169
Campbell, "Travels" by, 217
Centinel, the Columbian, 39,
83, 84, 311
Chadwick, Captain, 75

Channing, Rev. William EUery,
182, 218, 347, 355, 357, 359
Charity, woman's duty concern
ing, 231
Chapone, Mrs., letters of, 14
Cheverus, M. De, 38, 39
Choate, Captain, 70, 79, 81
Chocolate, bring, 357
Church, Chauncy Place, 115
Church, First, 115
Church, ruins of, in Guadeloupe,
91
Clark, Samuel, letter to, 52
Coaster, send furniture by, 306,
308, 310
Company, the Plymouth, 7
Communion, Holy, 123, 150,
178, 217, 302, 305
Conversation, value of, 145
Cooke, George Frederick, act
ing of, 352, 355, 356, 357
Cooper, acting of, 212, 220
Correspondence, advantages of,
134, 165, 183; with men,
109, 149
Courcelle, Madame Sophie, 44,
62, 65, 68, 72, 91 ; letter
from, 39
Courcelle, M., 38, 40, 41, 44,
46, 50, 61, 62, 63, 65, 66,
68, 70, 71
Coutoute, MUe., 62, 68, 91

Channing, Francis, 1 82, 230, Cowper, Wm., on his mother's
231 picture, 139; on winter, 160;
Channing, Miss, 206 175; Life of, 191
[398]

INDEX

Criticism, Kames' essay on, 122
Cruiselly, Madame, 50
Curson, Mrs. Margaret (see
Searle, Margaret), 317, 318,
381; letters from, 318, 319,
324, 385

Dana, Mr. S., in procession,
323
Dancing, modern, agility not
grace, 341
Darwin, Dr. Erasmus, poem of,
225
Dead, prayer for the, 170
Death, on, 100, 101, 102, 116,
117,126,169,187,188,191,192, 235, 237, 241, 255
Delgres, mulatto leader, 85, 87
Democrats, the, 322, 344, 345,
347, 352, 353, 356, 362, 363
Denon, tour in Egypt by, 162
Desbordes-Valmore, Madame,
95
Desert, passage of English army
over, 162
Dexter, Mr., 177, 325
Drew, philosophy of, 223
Driving, on the art of, 126
Duties, Gisborne's Female, 122
Dutton, Mr., 367
Dwight, Mrs. Edmund (see
Eliot, M. H.), 317, 334;
letters to, 318, 324, 332, 385
Dwight, Mary (see Howard,
Mrs. John), 358
[399]

Egypt, Denon's tour in Upper,
162
Eliot, Eliza (see Guild, Mrs.
EUza), 358
Eliot, Mary Harrison (see
Dwight, Mrs. Edmund), 317,
334; letters to, 318, 324,
332, 385
Eliot, Mrs. Samuel, 313, 334,
357
Elm, a golden, 219
Embargo, Guadeloupe, 5 1 ;
Massachusetts, 326
Emerson, Charles, 118
Emerson, Mary Moody, de
scription of, 113; mention of,
112, 113,165,186,208,209,
21 1, 212, 232, 242, 243, 244,
245, 249, 258, 262, 269, 274,
278, 356, 366, 369, 371;
sketch of life, 114-117; says
of herself, 117; letters from,
245, 279, 372, 373 ; letters
to, 120, 128, 158, 223
Emerson, Ralph Waldo, 114,
115, 117
Emerson, Rev. William, 114,
185, 186, 356, 371, 372, 373,
374; letter to, 186
England, anticipated war with,
338
England, Goldsmith's History
of, 172
England, Moritz' Travels
through, 179

MARY WILDER WHITE

"Estelle," Florian's, 135
Eugenia, signature of, 121
Euler, the ideas of, 213

Faith, on, 232, 245, 256, 257,
277, 286, 329, 331
Falstaff, Cooke acting, 356
Farnham, Louisa, 263
Farnham, Mrs., 237, 238, 242,
243, 244, 255, 256, 263, 281,
292
Farrar, Mr., 283
Fashion, follies of, 136
Fast-day, writing on, 295
Fay, Mr. and Mrs., 365
Federalists, the, 352, 353, 358
Feke, Robert, portraits by, 8
Fenelon, 201; quotation from,
371
Fever, yeUow, 53, 67, 95, 96
Fires, incendiary, in Guade
loupe, 86, 90, 91
Fire, the Newburyport, 376-
378
Fisher, Dr., 275
Flagg, Elizabeth (see Bigelow,
Mrs. Elizabeth), 6, 35
Flagg, Gershom, 7, 8, 36 ; por
trait of, 320
Flagg, Grizzel Apthorp (see
Gould, Mrs. G. A. F.), 2, 6,
7, 347; letters from, 2, 10
Flagg, Hannah (Pitson), 8, 9,
10; letter from, 9

Flagg, James, 5 ; portrait of,
320
Flagg, Mary or Polly (see
Hurd, Mrs. Polly)
Florian, works of, 135, 136
Foote, Mrs. Mary Wilder (see
White, Mary W.), 57, 153,
349, 354
Foote, Rev. Henry Wilder, 57
Fortune, on a friend's accession
of, 224
France, troops from, expected,
63 ; arrived, 69, 76
French, traits of the, 72, 75, 76,
77, 214
French, translations from the,
121
Friend, defence of an absent,
131
Friends, reunion of, 171, 176,
216, 268
Friendship, on, 120, 129, 130,
132, 153, 171, 176,192,248
Frink, Isabella (see White, Mrs.
Hazen), 354
Frisbie, Professor Levi, 103-
106, 145, 146, 222, 226,228,
232, 268; character of, 104-
106; letter from, 269; letter
to, 106
Garden, the Atkins, 314, 317,
319
Gazette, the Salem, 376
Genealogy, Flagg, 391

[400 ]

INDEX

Genealogy, White, 392
Genealogy, Wilder, 391
Generosity, mistaken, 137
Gessner, Salomon, 1 33
Gift, the Mother's, 14
Gisborne, "Female Duties " by,
122
Godwin, the novelist, 122
Goldsmith, History by, 172
Gore, Mr., 267, 364
Gorham, Mrs. Susan C. L. (see
LoweU, Susan Cabot)
Gorham, Mr., 367
Gospel, St. John's, 171, 172,
173, 174
Gould, Captain Benjamin, 6
Gould, Benjamin Apthorp, 6,
378
Gould, E., visit from, 185
Gould, Mrs. Grizzel Apthorp
Flagg, 2, 6, 7, 347 ; letters
from, 2, 10
Gould, Hannah Flagg, 7,
Governor, speech of, 358
Grammar, Martin's Philosophi
cal, 217
Grant, Mrs. Anne (of Laggan),
334, 339
Greenleaf, Colonel, 328
Greenleaf, Mrs., 328, 374
Guadeloupe, 29; voyage to, 45-
49; insurrection, 45, 50-52;
plot of negroes, 62, 63, 64;
struggles between French
troops and negroes, 85-87 ;

return from, 94, 97 ; Histoire
de, 50, 87
Guild, Mrs. Eliza (see Eliot,
EUza), 358
H., Miss, 148
Hamlet, Cooper as, 220
Happiness, rare but wholesome,
279
Harrington, Rev. Mr., baptized
by, 13
Harris, Rev. Thaddeus Mason,
151
Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 125
Hayley, Life of Cowper by, 191
Health, value of, 142, 273, 295
Helvetius, 171, 183
Higginson, Miss, l68
Hill, Elm, 73, 126, 159
Hoar, Elizabeth, 108, 1 12, 114,
118
Hoar, Samuel, 108, 220, 225
Holidays, nature's three, 340
Holland, Captain, 92
Hospital, a Boston, 365
Hospital, Val de GrSce, 95
Hotel, Byfield, 360
Hotel, Topsfield, 361
House-fumishing, 298, 299,
309
House, State or Province, 365
Howard, Mrs. John (see
Dwight, Mary), 358
Howard, Rev. Dr., 112
Hurd, Benjamin, 17, 233, 235;

[401]

MARY WILDER WHITE

iUness, 248, 249; death, 252,
255-257; letters to, 213, 215
Hurd, Betsy, l6; illness, 229-
234; death, 234-237
Hurd, Grace, 171, 247; letter
to, 101
Hurd, Dr. Isaac, 15, 17, 18,
36, 97, 159, 208, 240, 288,
374, 378
Hurd, Isaac, 17, 34, 36, 46, 82,
348
Hurd, Jno., 3 1 0
Hurd, Joseph, 18
Hurd, Joseph, 305
Hurd, Mrs. Polly, birth, 5,
youth, 1 1 ; poems by, 11-13;
marriage to Dr. Wilder, 1 ;
children, 1 ; marriage to Dr.
Hurd, 15; character, 2, 15-
18, 335; prayer by, 157;
death of, 389; letters from,
13, 79, 159, 240, 247, 276,
320, 322, 326, 327, 335, 336,
337, 343, 344, 347, 348, 366,
373, 374; letters to, 14, 45,
47, 51, 60, 64, 66, 69, 71,
75, 76, 84, 90, 91
Hurd, Ruth, 18, 19; engage
ment, 239; letter from, 200;
letters to, 21, 31, 134, 144,
148, 176, 180, 194, 201, 207,
222, 227, 230, 234, 246, 257,
322, 341
Hurd, SaUy, 16, 323, 335; last

illness, 336; death, 337;
letters from, 44, 163, 247
Hurd, Thomas, 347
Hurd, Thompson, l6
Iago, Cooke as, 352
Ignace, mulatto leader, 84, 87
Imagination, dangers of the,
189, 230
Immortality, 100, 176, 187,
192, 216, 221, 222, 223, 234,
236, 241, 261, 268, 293, 329,
331, 336, 382, 383
Introduction, xvii-xx.
"Italian," novel called the, 141
Jackson, Dr. James, 339, 364
Jackson, Miss, 333
Jackson, Mr., 367
Jefferson, President, 82
Jenks, Miss, message to blue-
eyed, 185
Jones, Mrs., ingenuous simplic
ity of, 227
Johnson, BosweU's Life of, 280,
347
Johnson, Dr. Samuel, 159, 191,
266; his "Rasselas," 265;
letter to his mother, 348
Journal, is it well to keep a, 173
Journals, 154-156, 168-174,
204, 217, 218, 241, 242, 244,
249, 250, 251, 258, 259

[402]

INDEX

Kames, essay on Criticism by,
122
King Richard, Cooper as, 220;
Cooke as, 356
Klopstock, Mrs., 211
Klopstock, 147, 211
Knapp, Mr., 145
Knight, Betty, 17, 284
Kotzebue, quotation from, 340
Lacour, "Histoire de Guade
loupe" by, 50, 87
Lacrosse, General, 40, 46, 50,
69, 76
Lambert, Madame (see Marci
lius, Madame Lambert), 76,
217
Lancaster, charms of, 183
LandeviUe, M. and Madame,
51, 52
Lavater, quotation from, 285,
288
Lawrence, Miss, praise of, 184;
mention of, 269
Lee, Captain, message to, 151
Lee, Mrs. Elizabeth, 128, 131,
138, 143; letters from, 133,
on society, 139, 213; letters
to, 132, 135, 137, 142, 143,
150, 162, 181, 198, 206, 213,
224
Lee, Mrs. Henry, 339
Lee, Mr., 356
Xee, Thomas, 143, 144

Leighton, Miss (see Lee, Mrs.
Elizabeth), 128
Letter-writing, 134, 149, 183
Library, the Boston, 147
Life, uniformity of, 207
Lounger, the, 147, 150
LoweU, Anna Cabot, l67, 168,
177, 203, 209, 333, 338, 339,
347, 359, 381; poems by,
359
Lowell, Judge, 167
LoweU, Mr., 367
Lowell, Susan Cabot (see Gor
ham, Mrs. Susan C. Lowell),
147,150,166,167, 195,197,
199, 347; letters to, l66,
197, 203, 207, 209, 212, 216,
218, 220, 226, 227, 229, 232,
233, 234, 236, 237, 238, 239,
244, 245, 248, 252, 257, 323
Lowell, Mrs. Susan Cabot, l67
Lyman, Mr., 41
Lyttelton, Lord, book by, 214

Mahomet, on the sense of
smell, 184
Maitland, General Frederic, 96
Manse, the Old, 125
Marcilius, Madame Lambert
(see Madame Lambert), 76,
217
Martin, "Philosophical Gram
mar" by, 217
MassiUon, quotation from, 155

[403]

MARY WILDER WHITE

Mead, Rev. Mr., 14
Medici, Lorenzo di, Roscoe's
Life of, 141
Melancholy, on the fault of
indulging, 106, 146, 221
Memory, Rpgers' Pleasures of,
384
Merrick, Mr., 344, 345
Merrick, Mrs., 344
"Messiah," Klopstock's, 147
Metaphysics, Miss Emerson's
love of, 119, 223
Milton, John, "Paradise Lost"
by, 114; religious teaching
of, 174, 175
Minot, Stephen, house sold by,
326
"Minstrel," Beattie's, 319
Minstrel, Lay of the Last,
praise of, 248
Money, on love of, l60
Montesquieu, words on sensibil
ity by, 226
Moonlight evening, 139, 141
Montgomery, James, poems by,
254, 256
Moravians, on the, 97, 152, 210
Morning, on the early, 180, 183
Morton,, P., to be Attorney-
General, 347
N., accusation of, 131
Nash, Mr., 350, 362, 363
Nature, love of, 127, 134, 189,
190, 197

Nature, Studies of, 247
Navigateur, Gessner's Prenuer,
133
Newton, Letters of John, 172
Newton, Mrs. Susan (Tyng),
313, 314, 320
New Year, resolutions for the,
161
Niagara, Miss Emerson's letter
about, 245
North, James W., History of
Augusta by, 246, 291
North, Mrs. Hannah (Flagg),
5, 245, 246
North, General William, 246
Norton, Professor Andrews,
letter to, by D. A. White,
104
Ossian, on the beauties of, 1 38,
139
Othello, Cooper as, 220
P., Mary, improvement in, 227
P., Mr., different opinions con
cerning, 195
Paine, Mrs., house bought by,
326
Parker, Mr., 321
Parsons, Mr., 321
"Paradise Lost" read by Miss
Emerson, 114
Pelage, Magloire, 46, 50, 51,
62, 64, 78, 88
Phillips, Madam, 283

[404]

INDEX

PhUlips, William, 364, 366
Pickering, Mr., 269
Pickering, Senator, 353, 362
Pickman, Mr., 362, 363
Pitson, Hannah, 8, 392
Pitson, Hannah (see Flagg,
Hannah Pitson), 8, 9, 10,
392
Pitson, James, 8, 392
Poets, devotional influence of
the, 175
Poets, Johnson's Lives of the,
159
Politeness, benevolence allied
with, 228
Popkin, Rev. John Snelling,
264, 273
Port-Folio, obituary of Mrs.
White in the, 385-388
Portraits, the Flagg, 8, 1 1, 320
Poverty, on relief of, 231
Pownal, Governor, 7
Prayer, l69, 229, 257, 351
Prayer for the dead, 1 70
Prayer, intercessory, 229
Prayers, 58, 156, 204, 250,
259; by Mrs. Hurd, 157
Prayer-book, Church of Eng
land, use of, 172
Prescott, Mr., 367
Providence, a directing, 172,
173, 343; a protecting, 32,
192, 280, 323
Pythagoras, system of, 206

Radcliffe, Mrs., novels of, 23,
141
Rapallo, Mrs., reminiscences by,
4,5,7, 10, 15,26, 38,43,94,
388
"Rasselas," the beauties and
merits of, 265, 266
Ratcliffe, Dr., his opinion of
colds, 287
Red-breast, to protect the, 180
Renard, M., hospitality of, 68
Repertory, the, 150
Richardson, Mrs. Barbauld's
Life of, 211
Richebois, M., 6l, 71
Richepance, General, 77, 84,
85, 86, 96
Rio Janiero, yellow fever at, 82
Ripley, Daniel, 115, 209
Ripley, Rev. Ezra, 11.5, 125,
170, 171, 288, 320, 374;
letter to, 53-55
Ripley, Rev. Lincoln, 115
Ripley, Rev. Samuel, 115
Ripley, Mrs. Samuel, letters
from, 118, 119
Ripley, Sarah, 90, 115, 125,
208, 209, 263, 269, 277, 298,
347 ; letter from, to M. Emer
son, 243 ; letters to, 126, 183,
232
Rising, on the evils of late, 1 69
Roads, on travelling over bad,
165

[405]

MARY WILDER WHITE

Roche, Madame De La, 38
Rockwood, Ebenezer, 107; let
ters to, 109, 136, 151, 159,
193, 195
Rogers, Abner, 220, 230, 239 ;
letter to, 221
Romance, the Sicilian, 141
Romane, Madame, visit to, 71
Roscoe, Life of Lorenzo di
Medici by, 141
Russell, James Russell, l67
S., Mrs., 207

Searle, Fanny, 315, 324, 342,
377 ; letter from, describing
Mrs. White, 316; letters to,
335, 339, 382 ; poem by, 382,
383
Searle, Lucy, 318
Searle, Margaret (see Curson,
Mrs. Margaret), 317, 318,
381; letter to, 333; letters
from, 318, 324, 384, 385
Searle, Mrs., 314, 315, 317
Sedgwick, Mr., 321
Selfridge, trial of, 267

Sabbath, writing letters on the. Senate, Massachusetts, a wasp's

302, 356, 358
Saints, communion of, 201, 202
Saurin, Rev. Jacques, sermon
on transient devotion, 261 ;
on the fear of God, 267
Schalkwyck, Antoine Van, 25,
26, 27, 28, 37, 38, 39, 80;
letters from Mary Wilder,
29; Madame Courcelle, 39;

nest, 345
Senate, President of Massachu
setts, 352, 353, 362
Sensibility, on the value of, 22,
124
Seriziat, G6n6ral, 76, 78, 85,
86,96
Sevign6, Madame de, quotation
from, 31

Henry Wilder, 41 ; to Henry Sewall, Mr., 321

Wilder, 42; marriage, 39;
death, 60-63 ; obituary, 84
Schalkwyck, Baron Van, 27;
letter from, 28
Schalkwyck, Mrs. Mary Van
(see White, Mrs. Mary
Wilder)
Scott, Sir Walter, "Lay of the
Last Minstrel," 248
Searle, Catherine (Caty), 318,
340, 342

Shakespeare, characters of, 220,
354, 357 ; quotations from,
151, 177
Sherlock, sermon by, 171
Shroud, Mary Emerson's, 117
Silence, charm of social, 285,
288
Simmons, letter to Rev. George
Frederick, 118
Simple, David, 183
Smell, the sense of, 184, 384

[406]

INDEX

Smith, Miss, Memoir of, 342
Snow-storm, heavy, 359-362
Society, follies and defects of,
136, 139; in Salem, l60;
Portsmouth, 200
Socinian, 175, 200
Soley, Miss, 128, 138
Solitude, on the advantages of,
127, 154, 165
Sorrow, sympathy and, 254
Spence, Harriot, 318
Spring, the charms of, 1 62, 180,
197, 212
Spy, the British, quotation from,
150
Stage-coach, journeys in, 165,
206, 218
Stepmother, Mrs. Hurd a
model, 15, 16, 337
"St. Leon," Godwin's, 122
Stuart, Mrs. Bromfield's portrait
by, 99
SuUivan, John, 365
SuUivan, Mr. and Mrs. Richard,
365
SnUy, great qualities of, 137
Sunsets, beautiful, 127, 143,
190, 197, 219, 336

Territory, beautiful Western,
151
Thacher, Mrs. S., good sense of,
227
Thatcher, Colonel, 364

Theatre, on attending the, 1 63,
220, 354, 357
Thompson, Mr., death of, 239
Thompson, Mrs., loneliness of,
239; death of, 349
Thomson, James, poems of, 1 60,
175,318
Thoreau, Mrs., 172
Thorndike, Colonel, 363, 364
Ticknor, Mrs. George, about
sitting up for company, 313
Time, improvement of, 156,
182, 188
Times, a Tale of the, 158
Toppan, Mr., coaster, 308
Topsfield, night in, 36 1
Tracy, Mrs. Thomas, 99 (see
Bromfield, Ann)
Tree, balm-of-Gilead, 102
Tronquier, M. and Madame, 49,
51
Tyng, Susan (see Newton, Mrs.
Susan), 313, 314, 320
Udolpho, Mysteries of, 24,
141

Vaccination, five hundred cases
of, 379
Vale, Bromley, 167
Vale, Elm, 116
Vergnies, Dr., 338, 346, 366,
370
Vibert, Captain, 63

[407]

MARY WILDER WHITE

Voltaire, reference to letter by,
171
Vose, Mrs., 350
W^aite, Mrs., 114
Walker, Mrs. Martha, 26
Wall-flower, merits of the, 1 80
Warren, Dr., 356, 365
Washington, George, 82, 212
Waterford, Emerson home in,
115, 116
Watson, works of, 214
Weather, influences of the, 1 42,
163
West, Mrs., novel by, 158
Whip-poor-will, the, 141
White, Daniel Appleton, 220,
242-244, 246, 247, 250, 251,
253, 258, 319, 320, 322, 324,
345 ; genealogy of, 392 ; en
gagement, 251; marriage,
311; letters from, 253, 259,
264, 267, 269, 272, 274, 277,
279, 281, 283, 286, 287, 289,
290, 291, 292, 293, 294, 295,
297, 299, 301, 304, 306, 307,
309, 320, 325, 329, 330, 350,
352, 355, 358, 36l, 362, 363,
364, 365, 366, 367, 368, 369,
370, 375; letters to, 251,
255, 260, 271, 274, 276, 280,
282, 284, 286, 288, 290, 292,
294, 296, 298, 300, 302, 303,
305, 308, 324, 328, 329, 330,
338, 342, 346, 351, 354, 355,

356, 357, 358, 359, 360, 368,
369, 370
White, Harriet, patient sweet
ness of, 202
White, Hazen, 353, 354
White, Mrs. Hazen (see Frink,
Isabella), 354
White, Mrs. Mary Wilder,
birth, 13; chUdhood, 13-15,
18-20; youth, 23-26; en
gagement, 26, and marriage
to Mr. Van Schalkwyck, 39;
voyage to Guadeloupe, 45;
loss of brother, 53; loss of
husband, 61 ; fevers, 67, 69,
91, 198, 274; engagement to
Daniel Appleton White, 251 ;
marriage, 311; children, 323,
334, 349; loss of child, 327;
illness, 346, etc; death, 380;
descriptions of, and tributes
to, 5, 19, 28, 154, 316, 324,
381-388
White, Elizabeth Amelia, born,
334; 338, 340, 342
White, Mary Elizabeth, birth,
323; death, 327
White, Mary Wilder (see Foote,
Mrs. Mary Wilder), 57, 153,
349, 354
Whiting, Mr., 20
Wilder, Henry, 4, 35, 102, 103,
107 ; letters from, 34, 35, 41,
45,52; death, 53; obituary,
83; tributes, 55-59

[408]

INDEX

Wilder, Dr. Josiah, birth, 1 ;
marriage, 1 ; death, 2 ; char
acter of, 2, 3 ; death of, 3,
126; genealogy of, 391
Wilder, Mrs. Josiah (see Hurd,
Mrs. Polly)
Wilder, Mary (see White, Mrs.
Mary Wilder)
Winter, severity of, 159, l6l
WoUstonecraft, Mary, 111, 123

Women, neither Amazons nor
bafiies, 123
Woods, lost in Concord, 238
Woods, walks in Sudbury, 198
Year, resolutions for the New,
161
Year, the Old, l62, 340
Young, Rev. Edward, "Night
Thoughts" of, 114, 175

[409]

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