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.