Memoir of Mary L. Ware, Wife of Henry Ware, Jr.Hall, Edward B. (Edward Brooks)
Religion
Memoir of Mary L. Ware, Wife of Henry Ware, Jr.
Hall, Edward B. (Edward Brooks)
Unitarians -- United States -- Biography; Ware, Mary L. (Mary Lovell), 1798-1849
"This whole family gave me a most hearty welcome, and I found
that it would be my own fault if I was not loved by them, and
happy with them. Jane has, indeed, a remarkably fine family, of
steady principles and habits, and sufficiently accomplished to
be agreeable and well fitted for society. This is a very
retired spot, and except a call from Lord and Lady Pembroke
when they are in the neighborhood, or a visit from some
travelling acquaintance, scarcely any one enters the house
except the family.
"... The state of the poor in this country is so very different
from any thing we see at home, that I can scarcely give you any
idea of the striking difference everywhere observable in their
manners and habits. The immense sum which is collected for
their support, under the form of poor rates, must lessen their
exertion for themselves, and the very dependence which is thus
created makes them servile. Some great man owns the village and
lands about it, his steward lets them to farmers, and of course
it depends upon sundry contingencies whether they retain
possession even during life; and how can they feel as much
interest as if it were their own freehold, and they knew their
children would reap the benefit of their improvements upon it?"
* * * * *
"_Burcombe House, December 31, 1824, Half past Eleven._
"MY DEAR FRIEND:--
"This hour has for so many years found me at my desk pouring
forth to you, that, although in a new hemisphere and under new
influences, I instinctively turn to the pen and ink, with a
feeling that something remains to be done before the old year
can be allowed to take its departure. I am not, as I was wont
to be, seated quietly alone by my 'ain fireside,' cogitating
upon the past, and, for the only time in the twelve months,
daring to look forward and hope for the future. It is the
custom here for all the family to sit out the old year, and I
am in the parlor, surrounded by the whole tribe. On one side is
my cousin's eldest daughter, playing 'God save the King' as if
all possibility of ever doing it again was going with the year;
on the other, an animated Miss C----, acting the old-maid aunt,
giving her nephews and nieces sage advice upon the occasion,
who are all laughing most heartily. In fact, the whole house is
in a bustle; so you need not expect a very connected epistle,
as I am obliged to turn to one or the other, every other word,
to join in the merriment.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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