In August 1842, her eldest sister, Mary Ann, became the wife of the Rev. Thomas Brumwell, a Wesleyan minister, and it was arranged that Eliza should spend a few months with the newly wedded pair at Melton Mowbray. On reviewing this period, three years after, she writes: “I have sat poring over works of history, and more frequently of fiction, till my aching eye-balls have refused their office; the solemn tones of the midnight bell, and occasionally, the light chimes of the third hour of morning have warned me to my little couch, while strange visions of enchanted castles, rocking images, ominous sounds, and wild apparitions, have disturbed my feverish repose, and unfitted me for the active duties of life. Oh, these are painful reminiscences!” She remained at Melton Mowbray about ten months, and after having benefited by the educational advantages at Tadcaster, entered Miss Rinders’ boarding-school at Leeds, in January, 1845. That lady relates this portion of Eliza’s school-days thus:—“I remember distinctly the morning she was introduced into the school-room. Little did I then think what an influence the new comer would acquire over my own mind and heart. She was shy and reserved at first, but susceptible of any advance towards friendliness, and eager to reciprocate the least kindness. It was not long before her position amongst us became clearly defined. Being one of the tallest girls, a degree of freedom was at once awarded her, but her mind soon asserted a superior claim. She was a most earnest and successful student; and it became a privilege to be admitted into her little coterie of inquirers after knowledge. At her suggestion, three or four of us rose at five o’clock every morning, and met in the library to read. The books chosen were generally such as aided in our after-studies. Sometimes they yielded more pleasure than profit, but the recollection of those morning meetings is very pleasant. During our walks, too, we read together, or when books were forbidden, Eliza was never at a loss for some topic of discussion. A flower, or an insect, often supplied us with a theme. Anything in nature called forth her deepest sympathies, and made her eloquent. She told me what a wild delight she used to feel, when a mere child, amidst the scenes of nature, rambling at her own sweet will for hours together with no companions but the bee and butterfly. The love of the beautiful became more intense as she grew older, and you will not wonder that she had also a decided tinge of the romantic at this time. Her young muse sung of deeds of daring, and the achievements of fame. She bowed at the shrine of genius, and made it almost her god.”
She had a strong ambition to excel, and when the monthly budget of anonymous maiden compositions were read, a smile of recognition might have been seen passing round the school-room, as Eliza’s pieces betrayed their authorship. In a letter to Miss Rinders, she says, “I will tell you, dear Sarah, what were my reflections the first day I was at school. In the evening I sat down, and asked myself, ‘What have I learnt to-day?’ The answer my heart gave somewhat startled me. It was this: I have to-day learnt the most important lesson I ever did learn; that is, that I know nothing at all.’”
Whilst Miss Hessel was basking in the sunshine at Leeds, a dark cloud was gathering on the domestic horizon. Consumption had seized her sister, Mrs. Brumwell. Fatal symptoms rapidly developed, and with the words, “Victory, victory, through the blood of the Lamb,” upon her lips, she winged her way to the realms of the blessed. Two motherless boys, one only seven months old, and the other but two years, were now committed to the trust of Miss Hessel. Mr. Brumwell resided at Burton-on-Trent, and thither, early in 1846, she repaired. Though she did not hide her repugnance to domestic duties, the dawnings of “a horror of undomesticated literary women” were already felt, and she determined to excel in this as in other departments. Apprehensions soon began to be entertained by Miss Hessel, that the disease which had already cut off a brother and a sister had marked her as its prey. Her lungs were pronounced free from disease, but sea air was recommended. She visited Scarborough, and after three weeks returned home with improved health.
Her father’s health had been for some time declining, and in the autumn of 1847 the family left Catterton and removed to Boston Spa. Regret was naturally felt at quitting the old house, but in every respect the change was beneficial.
October, 1849, brought a fatal domestic affliction. Mr. Hessel was suddenly seized with an illness which excluded all hope of recovery, and died November 10th, aged sixty-seven years. This great loss was made up, as far as possible, by the filial and fraternal affection of her brother. He had been three years in the ministry, was now located in the Isle of Wight, and before the end of November his widowed mother and eldest sister were comfortably settled at Percy Cottage, Ventnor. Having visited Carisbrook Castle, the church of St. Lawrence (the smallest church in England,) the grave of “the Dairyman’s Daughter,” and other interesting places, Miss Hessel returned to Boston Spa the following spring. Her brother had been delicate, and it was deemed desirable to try the effect of his native air.
We now arrive at the period of Miss Hessel’s conversion. The instruments were ministers in various parts of Scotland, who were persuaded they had received “new light” on several vital doctrines. Renouncing the limited views in which they had been trained, they vigorously advocated the impartially benignant and strictly universal love of the Father, atonement of the Son, and influence of the Spirit. In the spring of 1850, a number of these zealous men visited several northern counties of England. One of them, the Rev. George Dunn, preached at Boston Spa. By that sermon, together with a subsequent conversation, Miss Hessel came to a knowledge of the truth as it is in Jesus.
On the 12th March, 1851, her brother consummated an interesting engagement with a lady resident in Bristol, the new sphere of his ministerial duty, and early in May Miss Hessel visited the bridal pair. How greatly she enjoyed that sojournment two brief sentences attest. They were written on September 13th, a few days before she left. “I have much to tell you of dear old Bristol, the city of the west, and its noble children. God bless them for the love and heart-warm kindness they have shown to a stranger and sojourner within their walls.”
Miss Hessel had not much time for the acquisition of knowledge. Her large circle of friends entailed a large correspondence. The value placed upon her society involved the consumption of much time. She gave a large amount of service to her own religious community, and often assisted efforts in distant places to promote the general welfare of humanity. Nevertheless, being possessed of strong intellectual tastes, and lively poetical sensibility, her mental powers were seldom at rest. We find her holding communion with Martin’s celebrated pictures, “The Last Judgment,” “The Plains of Heaven,” and “The Great Day of Wrath,” admiring the early spring flowers, and the glowing tints of the autumnal trees. Her poetical compositions were numerous, some of them of considerable merit, and her reading was multifarious. Every department of literature was laid under tribute. She could discover the gems, and point out the heterodox opinions in Alexander Smith’s “Life Drama;” revel beyond measure in the “Life of Dr. Chalmers;” grow sad over “Talfourd’s Final Memorials of Charles Lamb;” wonder at Coleridge’s “Aids to Reflection;” derive benefit from the prodigious vigour of Carlyle and the lofty sentiment of Channing.
During the summer of 1853, her health improved so greatly that a hope of protracted life began to dawn; but early in 1856 she began to feel that life was fading. About this time, a beloved relative died at Howden, and Miss Hessel’s health received a blow, from which it never fully rallied. She had a premonition at Mary’s grave that she should soon follow her. On the 27th August, 1857, she wrote—“My strength is very much reduced, my appetite poor, and my cough no better. I feel now that I hold life by a very slender tenure.” Early in January, 1858, she said, “All my wishes are now fulfilled. I wished to live over the new year’s tea-meeting, because my death would have cast a gloom over the rejoicings. I desire also to receive one more letter from William. The Australian mail has arrived, and here is my brother’s letter. How kind my heavenly Father is!” On Wednesday, the 27th, she entered the dark valley, the atonement her only hope. Seeing her mother weep, she said, in a tone of deep affection, “Mother, don’t cry; I am going home.” When life was well-nigh gone, with great distinctness she said, slowly, “Salvation is by faith.” A period of unconsciousness ensued, then one bright momentary gleam, and Miss Hessel was no more.
Crowds of mournful people followed her remains to the cemetery adjoining the Wesleyan church at Boston Spa. “Is not that a peaceful resting-place?” she said, a few months before. “I have chosen my grave there. Our family vault is in the churchyard, but I have a wish to be buried among my own people—the people with whom I have worked and worshipped.” In her last letter to her much-loved brother, she said, “Do not think sorrowfully of me when I am gone. Let this be my epitaph in your memory:—