This visit was made just before her summons to Mr. Ware's bedside at Concord. After their return to Cambridge, they took possession of a new house just built for them; and one of the first events that occurred in that house was the _death_ of Mrs. Ware's first-born, Robert, then three and a half years of age. It was a sore trial, and well do we remember the spirit in which it was met; for it was our privilege to be staying with them at the time, and to be present at the parting. The little sufferer had endeared himself to us all by his patience and sweetness of disposition. Separated from his parents in early infancy, and remaining apart until he was two years old, they had taken him back, when they returned, as a fresh gift from God; and though another had been granted them, there was a peculiar feeling connected with _him_, which every parent will understand. Movingly now does the scene return to us, of the mother sitting silently and reverently at the side of her expiring boy; and when the gentle breathing wholly ceased, asking--still silently--the husband and father, who knelt by her, to _pray_. Faintly, tremulously, more and more distinctly, and then most fervently, did that voice of submission and supplication fall upon our ears, and fill our eyes, and lift the heart into a region which death never enters! As the voice ceased, the mother fainted; but soon she rose, stronger rather than weaker, and ready for every duty. In referring to this bereavement afterward, she says, in the thought of her husband's constant danger: "Having had so long the greatest possible trial hanging over my head, every thing else seems comparatively easy to bear; and I sometimes doubt, whether any thing but that _one_ will ever wean me from the world, as I think a Christian should be." How much she felt, and how much she trusted, may be seen in her first letter after this trial.
"Again does this anniversary find us inhabitants of this world, and again, as usual, does it present in my lot something of solemn and interesting import, upon which we may dwell with profit for a time. It is a privileged hour, and I shall use it as I have been wont to do, in the full indulgence of selfish egotism, trusting that some good may result to us both from it. What does the retrospect of the year present to me? My husband and myself have been again raised from the bed of sickness and threatened death, and I have been called upon to restore to Him who gave one of the dearest treasures which His providence had bestowed upon me. These are great events for one short year, designed to produce great effects, involving great responsibility, bestowing great privileges. My own sickness brought with it many pleasures, many pure and elevating views and feelings; and although it did not bring me to that cheerful willingness to resign my life after which I strove and hoped to attain, it thereby threw light upon the weakness of my religious character, calculated to subdue presumptuous self-dependence, and teach a lesson of humility which may perhaps be of more importance and advantage to my growth in holiness. My husband's danger renewed the so oft repeated testimony that strength is ever at hand for those who need it, gave me another exercise of trust in that mighty arm which can save to the uttermost, and in its result is a new cause for gratitude to Him who has so abundantly blessed me all the days of my life.