CHAPTER XII.

FRIENDSHIP WITH THE GURNEY FAMILY; TWO LETTERS FROM MR. J. J. GURNEY; DEATH OF HIS BROTHER; MRS. OPIE’S RETURN FROM LONDON; EARLY RELIGIOUS OPINIONS; MRS. ROBERTS; RECOLLECTIONS OF SIR W. SCOTT; VISIT TO EDINBURGH; “VALENTINE’S EVE;” VISIT TO MR. HAYLEY; “TALES OF THE HEART;” LETTER TO MR. HAYLEY; LETTER FROM MRS. INCHBALD; HER DEATH.

From the gay and brilliant scenes depicted in the preceding letters, Mrs. Opie was suddenly and painfully called away, by an event which excited deep feeling in her heart, and which must have been rendered more peculiarly distressing, by the contrast in which it stood with all that had been occupying her thoughts, during the months of her absence from home.

Preserved with her letters of this date, there were found two, of a very different character from her own, addressed to her by a friend who was destined, in after years, to exercise great influence over her opinions and subsequent course; we speak of Mr. J. J. Gurney, that highly honoured and admirable man, whose friendship, thus early commenced, she retained, with ever-growing satisfaction, until his deeply-lamented death.

It may be remembered that Mrs. Opie, in one of her early letters, speaks of “Elizabeth Fry,” to whom she had been paying a visit on occasion of her marriage. They had been acquaintances in youth; and, in the life of Mrs. Fry, there are occasional allusions to visits paid by Dr. Alderson to Earlham, the home of the Gurney family, when Elizabeth was a gay and lively girl.[[20]] Shortly after Mrs. Opie’s marriage, Miss E. Gurney visited London, and in her diary she records a day spent with “Amelia Opie,” and says: “I had a pleasant time of it; I called on Mrs. Siddons, and on Dr. Batty, then on Mrs. Twiss; and, in the evening, Mr. Opie, Amelia, and I, went to the concert,” &c.

After Mrs. Fry’s marriage she was brought into the society, almost exclusively, of strict “Friends,” and there does not appear to have been much intercourse between her and her early friend; but when Mrs. Opie returned to Norwich, on the death of her husband, she resumed her former habits of intimacy with the family at Earlham; and found, among the large and happy circle there, friends whose influence had a beneficial effect upon her. The youngest sister, Priscilla, who was a most lovely creature, and who died in 1821, seems to have been especially endeared to her; and Mr. J. J. Gurney said, that her friendship with this sister and himself, appeared to be the principal means of producing that gradual change of sentiment, which eventually led to her joining the Society of Friends.

We are, however, anticipating the progress of events.—To return to the letters of which we have spoken; we find, in the first of them, allusions to the illness of Mr. Gurney’s brother, whose death, which followed a few weeks subsequently, was the cause of Mrs. Opie’s hasty return.

Norwich, 6th mo., 4th, 1814.

I have a mind, my dear friend, to write thee a letter; this is all the apology I offer for the intrusion. There are two or three things I wish to say to thee; the first is, that I remember, with true pleasure, thy affectionate conduct to us all, during the last few months of affliction. It has been like that of a sister, and has been prized by us, I trust, as it ought to be; however thou mayest be engaged in the gay whirlpool of London life, rest assured, therefore, thou art not forgotten by thy retired friends at Earlham. I thank thee for thy last note, which is an instructive inmate of my pocket-book, since it bespeaks a tender conscience. Wilt thou pardon thy friend if he tell thee, that he greatly admires this tenderness of conscience with regard to all thou sayest of others? It appears to him that thy mind is particularly alive to the duties of Christian charity; and he now wishes to express his desire that the same fear, (shall he call it “godly fear?”) may attend thee in all thy communications with the world.

To leave the third person; I will refer to two texts, “Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father is this—to keep one’s self unspotted from the world,” and again, “Be ye not conformed to this world, but be ye transformed by the renewing of your minds, that he may know what is the good, acceptable, and perfect will of God.” Now, what wilt thou say to me? perhaps thou wilt say that thy countrified, drab-coated, methodistical friend, knows nothing of the “world,” misinterprets the meaning of the apostle, and is frightened by the bugbear of a name, as a child is by a ghost.

There may be some truth in these observations of thine, and I must allow that the world is not idolatrous now, as it was then; and again, that we all alike are citizens of the world, and there is no department of it which is not tinctured with evil; but I refer particularly to the “fashionable world,” of which I am apt to entertain two notions—the first, that there is much in it of real evil; the second, that there is much also in it, which, though not evil in itself, yet has a decided tendency to produce forgetfulness of God, and thus to generate evil indirectly. On the other hand, there is little in it, perhaps, which is positively good.

With regard to the apostolic precepts; perhaps they intimate that there are two spirits or dispositions, moving amongst mankind; the one celestial, leading to good; the other terrestrial, tending to evil; perhaps they are meant to warn us, not literally against the world, but against a worldly spirit. Now I will close my grave remarks, by saying, that it is my earnest desire, both for thee and myself, that we may be redeemed from a worldly spirit, and that in our communications with the world, whether fashionable, commercial, or common-place, we may be enabled simply to follow an unerring guide within us, which will assuredly inform us, if we will but wait for direction, what to touch and what to shrink from—what to follow, and what to eschew.

I returned home with Pris, last fourth day, and found my dear brother considerably more feeble than when I left him; I think this may be owing, principally, to his having fallen and hurt his knee, and to the confinement which the accident has rendered necessary. Upon the whole we are much at ease about him, and ought to be thankful whether we are so or no.

Do not be angry with me; write me a letter; and farewell, in every sense of the word.

I remain, thy affectionate friend,

J. J. Gurney.

The second letter (dated Earlham, 7th mo., 22nd, 1814) is much longer, and as a large part of it will be found inserted in the Life of Mr. Gurney, we shall content ourselves with a few extracts taken from it. After apologizing for “addressing something in the shape of advice, to one so much older and more experienced than himself,” he says:—

My chief desire is, that thou mayst be willing to give up everything which the light of truth may point out as inconsistent with the holy will of God. True happiness, here or hereafter, can consist in nothing, but in conformity to that will. The world has, undoubtedly, many pleasures to bestow, perhaps none so great as that of being universally liked, admired, and flattered; but it is not in the world we are to find that “peace which passeth understanding.” It is striking to observe the essential difference which exists between the pleasures of the world, and the religious happiness of the soul. The temporality of the former seems to be proved, by their all being conveyed to us through our natural senses; but “eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, nor hath it entered into the heart of man to conceive the things which God hath prepared for those who love Him.” How clearly one sees, all the way through, that the one belongs to our mortal, the other, to our immortal part.

Thou wilt observe, my dear friend, that I have underscored the words, “liked, flattered, and admired.” It is because I know thou art so; and, unless thou art of a very different composition to thy friend, I am satisfied it must afford no small temptations to thee, and require, on thy part, the utmost stretch of watchfulness. I really should like to know how thy mind was affected by Lady B.’s day-masquerade. Because, I am sure, that if I could sing and converse in that way, and procured all manner of favour and applause, from innumerable lords and ladies, I should be vain as a peacock thereupon. Now, I confess, if thou art vain, thy vanity[[21]] does not show itself; but it may be there is some lurking particle of it in the bottom of thy heart, which may put thee to some trouble. But mind, I do not want to draw thee to confession.

My dear brother has been a good deal weaker, especially in mind, during the last fortnight; but he continues full of peace, and, I think I may add, of Christian love. Again and again farewell, saith thy sincere and affectionate friend,

J. J. Gurney.

This brother, Mr. John Gurney, declined rapidly, and early in September his death took place. In the Life of Mrs. Fry this event is recorded; and she mentions in a letter dated from Earlham, whither she had gone to take her leave of him, that on the last morning of his life, Dr. Alderson had called and seen him, and that he desired his love to Amelia Opie.

The second of her Lays for the Dead is addressed to this “departed friend,” and was written (as the title to it informs us) after attending his funeral, in the Friend’s burying-ground at Norwich, having travelled all night, in order to arrive in time.

It commences thus:—

“Friend, long beloved! on thy untimely bier

I came to drop the sympathizing tear;

I came to join the long funereal train,

And heave the bitter sigh which mourns in vain.”

From this period Mrs. Opie attended the religious services of the Friends, and continued to do so until she united herself to their communion, eleven years after; and in a note written the year of Mr. Gurney’s death, to the writer of these memoirs, she says, “in 1814 I left the Unitarians.”

It does not, indeed, appear, from any record of her early days, nor from the recollections of her friends is it ascertainable, that she, at any time, was in actual communion with the Unitarian body. She was, in her youth, in the habit of attending at the Octagon chapel, where, during the ministry of Mr. Pendlebury Houghton, Dr. Sayers, and Mr. William Taylor, and others of similar opinions, attended, and highly eulogised the sermons of that eloquent, though by no means evangelical, preacher. When in London, it is evident, from her letters, that Mrs. Opie went to church, and did not act as a conscientious Unitarian would, under the circumstances, have done; and we can hardly avoid the inference, that she had no very fixed opinions on religious subjects, and that the mere circumstances of her birth and education had occasioned her connexion with the Unitarians. From the time, however, at which we have now arrived, she ceased to attend the Octagon chapel; and although she did not at once embrace the religious opinions of the Friends, nor sever herself from her former associates and pursuits, she gradually, but surely, yielded to an influence to which she had hitherto been a stranger, and experienced a progressive change in her religious views.

Mrs. Opie, shortly after this time, edited a little book, entitled “Duty,” written by her friend Mrs. Roberts, to which she prefixed a sketch of the character of the authoress. This sketch was published separately in the “Gentlemen’s Magazine,” for 1815. It is a pleasing tribute of affectionate regret, to the memory of one whose friendship, she said, would always be among the most pleasing recollections of her life, and to have lost her so soon, one of her most lasting regrets.

In the spring of the year 1816, Mrs. Opie paid her usual annual visit to London; and in her note book has recorded her “recollections of Sir W. Scott,” whom she then, for the first time, saw, or rather heard. She had seen him on two or three previous occasions—first, shortly after the publication of the “Lay of the Last Minstrel,” at the assembly of a widow lady, in London; but the crowd was so great that she caught a very imperfect glimpse of him, merely sufficient to tell her that “he wore powder and his hair tied behind.” The next time she saw the great man was at a picture gallery, somewhere in London, when, as he passed near and was pointed out to her, she observed that he was lame, but there was a freshness in his complexion and an air of robust health about his whole contour. At length, in 1816, she met him, and she says,

It was the last time I ever saw him, and I might say the first, according to the idea of him, who said on the introduction of a stranger, “speak, that I may see thee!” for certainly the face of W. Scott, when speaking and animated, and the same face in a quiescent state, were two different things. And what a seeing that was! It was at breakfast, at the house of Sir George Phillips, in Mount Street; I had been invited to meet Sir Walter, and I went with the anticipation of no common pleasure, arriving precisely at the time specified. Sir W., however, was there before me; and for some time, to my great satisfaction, we, with the master and mistress of the house, continued uninterrupted by other guests. I know not what led to the subject; but he gave us a most animated description of a cockney’s hunting in the Highlands; I think the person was a militia officer, and his terror, when he found himself going full gallop up and down crags, steeps, and declivities of which he had before no idea, was pictured with a living spirit which I cannot do justice to. This narrative was interrupted by the arrival of other guests, and Sir W., to my great joy, was desired to hand me downstairs; consequently I sat beside him; the company was too large for much general conversation, though there was also present another whose conversational powers were first-rate—Wordsworth, who came late, being one of the party. I did not, however, regret this, as I was enabled to keep the conversation of my right-hand neighbour to myself. One subject succeeded another, and the gifted man condescended to speak to me of my “Father and Daughter,” and told me he had cried over it more than he ever cried over such things. I felt emboldened to speak of his own writings, and ventured to ask him why, with such dramatic power, he had never tried the drama? he said many reasons had prevented him; amongst others, he was, he said, a proud man, and his pride would never have allowed him to dance attendance on the managers, and consult the varied tastes of actors and others—or words to that effect. But he owned that he had once serious thoughts of writing a tragedy, on the same subject as had been so ably treated by his friend, Joanna Baillie; meaning the “Family Legend”—founded, as I need not say, on a true story. Sir W. said, had he gone on with his tragedy, (I think he had begun it,) he should have had no love in it. His hero should have been the uncle of the heroine, a sort of misanthrope, with only one affection in his heart, love for his niece, like a solitary gleam of sunshine, gilding the dark tower of some ruined and lonely dwelling! Never shall I—never can I, forget the fine expression of his lifted eye, as he uttered this! The whole face became elevated in its character, and even the features acquired a dignity and grace from the power of genius! How fortunate did I consider myself in having that morning been favoured with a specimen of his two manners, if I may so express myself.

In the autumn of this year Mrs. Opie went to Edinburgh; and she has given a short account of this visit, in connexion with her reminiscences of Sir Walter Scott.

From my earliest days (she says) I was such an admirer of Scotch literature and Scotch music, and I was so prepossessed in favour of Scotland, that I have often run eagerly to the window of my own house, only to see a Scotch drover pass by, in his blue bonnet and plaid; and it was with gladness of heart that in the autumn of the year I had met Sir Walter, I found myself at liberty to visit Edinburgh! “Tell me, (said I to the postillion,) when we reach the Tweed,” and as soon as I saw its silver waters sparkling in the summer sun, I hailed it with delight, and warmly congratulated myself on being, at last, in Scotland. That day we went to Dryburgh; I had seen the Earl of Buchan at my own house, in London, when he was in England; and, having promised to return his call at the first opportunity, I went, at the end of sixteen years, to perform my promise, and was most kindly received. Before dinner was served, we went to see the grounds and the beautiful ruins of the abbey, where was pointed out to us the part of the ruin apportioned off for the place of interment of Sir W. Scott and his descendants.

During the nine days I remained in Edinburgh, Sir W. did not come thither; so that I had no opportunity of seeing him; but I had the pleasure of sitting opposite Raeburn’s picture of him every day, at the house of my kind host Constable, whose guest I was. Eagerly did I tell every body who would listen to me, of my meeting him in London, and of the impression which he made on me: but I was mortified when, on my praising the beauty of his countenance, under strong excitement, and the fire of his blue grey eye, Dr. Brown, the celebrated professor, interrupted me with, “Nay, nay, Mrs. Opie, do not go on with these flights of fancy; the face is nothing but a roast-beef and plum-pudding face, say what you will!” Whatever that face was, would I had had the happiness of seeing it again! However, the remembrance of the enjoyment which that morning at Mount street gave me, I treasure as one of the greatest which was ever afforded me, by worldly intercourse.

This year was published “Valentine’s Eve,” a tale in three volumes, interesting as shewing the state of her religious feelings at the time it was written. The lesson it inculcates is the superiority of religious principle as a rule of action, and as a support under affliction and unmerited calumny. The heroine of the story, pronouncing her conviction that “moral virtues are only durable and precious as they are derived from religious belief and the consequence of it,” says,

Some suppose that morality can stand alone without the aid of religion, and even fancy that republican firmness will enable us to bear affliction; but I feel that the only refuge in sorrow and in trial, is the Rock of Ages, and the promises of the gospel.

In 1817 Mrs. Opie made an excursion into Sussex, and among other friends, visited Mr. Hayley. In consequence, she says, of this gentleman’s flattering mention of her in the twelfth edition of his “Triumphs of Temper,” she went on a visit to his house, in the year 1814; and in his “Life,” by Dr. Johnson, there is a short sketch, from her pen, of the manner in which they passed their time, during that and subsequent visits she paid him. “In 1816,” (writes Mrs. O.) “I went to Scotland, and did not see Eartham till 1817. I then found Mr. Hayley was become fond of seeing occasional visitors; but, for the most part, our life was as unvaried as it had been in my former visits to him.” She corresponded with him after leaving him, and fulfilled the promise she had made, to send him her portrait. He acknowledged the receipt of this picture, in a letter, from which we give an extract.

* * * * I rejoice that a petty incident prevented my letter from beginning its travels yesterday; for, in the evening, the eagerly expected portrait arrived: a fine head nobly painted in the gusto grande!

After assigning to it, this early morn, its proper station, in an excellent light, your paternal hermit burst into the following extempore benedictions, in contemplating his carissima figlia.

Thy portrait, dear Amelia, in my sight,

My eyes are charmed with beauty’s blooming flower;

But when thy books my sympathy excite,

I feel thy genius, the sublimer power;

Pleased, of thy various charms to bless the whole,

I praise thy form, and idolize thy soul;

Such worship’s thine, from “threescore and eleven,”

Whose higher adoration mounts to heaven.

I can devise no better mode of expressing my gratitude to you for this delightful proof of your filial regard, than by putting into the case, which conveyed you to my cell, that sweet picture[[22]] of Virgil’s Tomb, by my friend of Derby, which I had long intended as a legacy for you; yet some time must elapse before the picture can arrive at Norwich, because it is to halt on its transit through London, at the house of a very amiable young artist, who is to execute for me a diminutive copy of it, as a companion to another small picture. And now I must hastily say addio carissima! not to lose the post of to-day. Addio.

In October of this year Mr. Hayley wrote:—[[23]]

“I have much enjoyed a social visit of several weeks, from our admirable Amelia Opie, who, after having kindly devoted some pleasant months to various friends, in her excursion, is just settling herself at home again, with a mind well prepared to exert its powers in several projected works, that will, I trust, in due time, afford a copious supply of pleasure and instruction to the literary world.”

In 1818 Mrs. Opie published her “Tales of the Heart,” probably one of the works alluded to in this letter. In the first volume of this series there are two, entitled, “The Odd Tempered Man,” and “White Lies.” The former of these, is an original picture of an eccentric phase of the infirmities of temper; to the latter Mrs. O. evidently refers in the following letter to Mr. Hayley:—

Norwich, 24th Jan., 1819.

My dear Friend,

You are too just to expect that the author of “White Lies,” the tale, should be guilty of “White Lies,” the fault—therefore though I can, en toute sureté de conscience say, that I was very glad to hear from you again, yet I must own that I did not feel your excuses for not having written at all satisfactory. * * * I am going to send you (perhaps to-morrow) some dried apples, apples being once more plentiful here; and the box will also contain an etching of my dear father, from a drawing by my husband: it is like, but too full about the jawbone, and my father’s hair must have been by accident rough, when my husband drew him; now it is close to his head, and his head is well shaped. However, on the whole, it is very like, and the etching does credit to the artist, a lady, the wife of Dawson Turner, and a most admirable person she is. * * * My father is now, blessed be God! quite well, in all respects; but soon after my return home in July he sprained his ancle, and was lame, unwell, dispirited, and broken down in mind and body for weeks, nay months, and I suffered much, but he now walks well, and is well, and enjoys himself. Farewell!

Believe me ever affectionately yours,

A. Opie.

William Hayley, Esq., near Chichester.

Shortly after the date of this letter, Mrs. Opie was alarmed by tidings of the severe illness of her aged friend; she says, (in the sketch given in Hayley’s life before referred to,) “I went down to Bognor, not certain that I should not arrive too late to see him; but I found him out of danger, and had the happiness of returning to London at the end of the week, leaving him recovering. But I saw him no more. He died in November of the following year.”

Another of her old friends (Mrs. Inchbald) wrote to her this year, under the pressure of a malady beneath which she speedily succumbed. She wrote again, for the last time, at the Christmas of the following year, thus:—

Kensington House, 19th Dec., 1820.

My dear Mrs. Opie,

Your kind Christmas-box arrived safe, and temptingly beautiful, yesterday evening; many thanks.

We are, even in these dark and short days, as brilliant on the high road, and in open air, as during the long and bright days of summer and autumn. I think I never saw a more gaudy, yet numerous and sober procession, (processions, I should say, for they lasted from morning till night,) than passed the house yesterday. I think myself particularly fortunate in the place of my abode, on this account. The present world is such a fine subject to excite intense reflection.

Mr. Kemble called on me, during the short time he was in England; he looked remarkably well in the face, but as he walked through the court-yard, to step into his carriage, I was astonished to perceive him bend down his person, like a man of eighty. How, I wonder, does she support her banishment from England? He has sense and taste to find “books in the running brooks, and good in everything.”

By the bye, your books are lying on the table of our drawing room most days, and I hear great praise of them; and yet I do not feel the slightest curiosity to open one of them. The reason is, there are also a hundred of Sir Walter Scott’s in the same place, and as it is impossible to read all, I have no wish to read any; for to read without judging, is to read without amusement; and how can I judge without comparing, detecting likenesses, or admiring originality? Besides, I have so many reflections concerning a future world, as well as concerning the present, and there are, on that awful subject, so many books still unread, that I think every moment lost, which impedes my gaining information from holy and learned authors.

It rains, and I fear I cannot send my letter to the post by a safe hand, till fine weather. My best compliments to Dr. Alderson, and believe me,

Yours most sincerely,

E. Inchbald.

She died in 1821. Mrs. Opie had not been aware of her illness, and wrote on the 9th of August to Mr. Phillips, thus:—

Dear Sir,

The paper of to-day contains an account of the funeral of Mrs. Inchbald, and I had heard neither of her illness, nor her death! I need not say how shocked and sorry I am; and I take the liberty of requesting that you will be so kind as to give me some account of her illness, last moments, &c.

I have not seen her this year, because I now never leave my father, and have been in Norwich almost ever since I saw her last, which was last September. Pray excuse, &c.

Yours respectfully,

A. Opie.

G. Phillips, Esq.,

Surgeon to his Majesty, Carlton Palace.

[20] The friendship between Dr. Alderson and the Gurney family was indeed of very early date; for when Mr. John Gurney, senior, first hired Earlham, he invited Mr. and Miss Alderson to go and see the place, which they did; Mr. A. on horseback, and Miss, on her little pony, by his side. They drank tea with Mr. G. in a room afterwards known as the ante-room, the only place where there was a seat to be had.
[21] Mrs. Opie has marked a large (!) against these words.
[22] This picture Mrs. Opie in her will bequeathed to “her friend Thos. Brightwell.” It is by Wright, of Derby, and is curious, as attempting to give the three effects of moonlight, fire-light, and twilight, in the same piece.
[23] See Memoirs of Wm. Hayley, vol. 2, p. 191.