P.S. Sir R. Peel’s heart has stolen mine; that exquisite self-oblivion, and that prompt sympathy with poor Haydon’s sorrows, even only four days before his death: and then the feeling and immediate reply to the hopes of the poor suicide in his letter in his dying moments; and the prompt help, and the promised succour of his purse and influence at a future time, and when he (Sir Robert) was not himself lying on a bed of roses! Oh! he is a good, as well as a great man, and God’s blessing must rest on him.
On the 4th of January, 1847, died Mr. J. J. Gurney. Three weeks before, he had been thrown from his pony, while crossing Orford Hill. At first he appeared not to have sustained much injury; and, with thoughtful love, he hastened to Lady’s Lane to inform his dear friend of the accident, saying that he could not bear she should hear of it from any other but himself, that he might assure her with his own lips of his safety. Alas! how little did either of them imagine that ere that moon had waned he would be sleeping the sleep of death! but so it was. This was indeed a heart-blow; and, shortly after, his beloved daughter, Anna Backhouse, followed him to the grave. It was an entire breaking-up of the much and long-loved circle at Earlham. Mrs. Opie attended the funeral of her friend. She saw him laid low in the midst of his usefulness; cut down while there was, as yet, no shadow o’er his path to tell of coming night. Honoured and beloved he was, and a blessing to thousands. Doubtless in her heart she said, “would God I had died for thee!” but she remembered her favourite text, “shall not the judge of all the earth do right;” and bowed, and worshipped in silence and submission.
There is no dwelling on these things. Each one, as he passes along on the road of life, experiences like sorrows, and learns from his own trials to realize the feelings of his fellow sufferers.
The following note, written shortly after this event, shews her state of mind.
Norwich, 1st mo., 29th, 1847.
My dear C. L.,
* * * * Thanks for thy kind inquiries, and still more for thy graphic description of the Cambridge show; it made me long to have been there! thy account of the behaviour of the students carried me back to 1810, when I was at Oxford, at Lord Grenville’s installation, and was excessively amused by the thundering and hissing of the students for some time; but the third day I grew tired of the noise. The Proctors there were treated, one excepted, with great indignity. How I did rejoice in the first wrangler’s success; when I found he was a boy of obscure birth, educated by a benevolent individual on whom he had no claims, and that he had been enabled to repay his benefactor!
The dear Bishop came yesterday afternoon, and was so kind and sympathizing! I could see him, for I was in my drawing-room again. My doctors are just gone. I hope I am improving, and expect to be allowed to get out next week to see my aunt; but I shall be slow in returning my calls, and slower still in paying any visits. I do so dread the convincing myself, when I go out, that there is one whom if I look for him, I shall never, never find! But no more of that, I can’t bear it.
Believe me, thy ever attached friend,
A. Opie.