Mr. Ware was able to remain in office the rest of the theological term, and to carry through the graduating class, with whom his last exercises were deeply affecting. Very soon after this, in the summer of 1842, the family left Cambridge; having fixed upon Framingham, Mass., as their place of retreat, after looking at many places, and weighing all considerations of position and expense. Of the last days in Cambridge, we have obtained the recollections of their oldest son, himself a member of the class just spoken of, as the last that enjoyed the instruction and benediction of his father. We give the account in his own unstudied words. "That last summer was a very pleasant one, as I remember it. Things were very much as ever; if any thing, the little social gatherings of neighbors were more frequent, as all felt they must be few. The drives with father to find a place, the selection of Framingham, the pilgrimages there, occupied a good deal of the time, as also the gradual preparation, and the many adieus. The 'breaking up' was one of the gravest trials of mother's life. Thoroughly convinced of its necessity, looking forward to it as a relief in all ways, yet the whole summer was tinged by the thought of it. I remember long talks; one in particular, in which she drew nearer to me and I to her. I think that, feeling obliged to keep up before father, she yearned to confide in us. When it came to the last, it was hard. The children and all were gone. Mother, father, and I were left, and I was to be left, for I was just going into the world myself. The wagon was at the door. Father got in, merely wringing my hand, but most deeply moved. I could see it and feel it. If he had spoken, it would have been more than he could bear. I never till that moment imagined, so feverish had been his desire to get away, how much his heart was in that spot. Mother was behind, and had got down one step, when she turned round and threw her arms about my neck, and there we stood. It was one of the _moments_ of life. 'God bless you, my child!' I have heard her say it many times, but it never meant more. Father could not bear it. He urged her away; the horse started at his quick word; I was alone,--and that chapter of life was ended! We never all three of us entered Cambridge together again, until the night that mother and I brought with us from Framingham 'the last of earth.' "Since writing this, I have chanced upon father's first letter afterward. He says: 'The struggle at the last moment was a hard one; but we got composed after a while, and then found ourselves excessively overcome with weariness.'" XII. LIFE IN FRAMINGHAM.