LIFE'S EARNEST PURPOSE.
There was no sharp dividing-line between worldliness and consecration of
life in Elizabeth Gurney's case. The work was very gradually
accomplished; once started into earnest living, she discerned, what was
all unseen before, a path to higher destinies. Standing on the ruins of
her former dead self, she strove to attain to higher things. The
instrument in this change was a travelling Friend from America--William
Savery.
These travelling Friends are deputed, by the Quarterly Meetings to which
they belong, to visit and minister among their own body. Their
commission is endorsed by the Yearly Meeting of the Ministers and Elders
of the Society, before the Friend can extend the journey beyond his own
country. The objects of these visits are generally relating to
benevolent and philanthropic works, or to the increase of religion among
the members of the Society. Joseph John Gurney himself visited America
and the Continent upon similar missions, and in some of his journeys
was accompanied by his illustrious sister.
William Savery was expected to address the Meeting of Friends at
Norwich, and most, if not all, of the Gurney family were present.
Elizabeth had been very remiss in her attendance at meeting; any and
every excuse, in addition to her, at times, really delicate health,
served to hinder attendance, until her uncle gently but firmly urged the
duty upon her. Thenceforward she went a little more frequently, but
still was far from being a pattern worshipper; and it will be conceded
that few, save spiritual worshippers, could with profit join in the
grave silence, or enjoy the equally grave utterances of ordinary
meeting. But William Savery was no ordinary man, and the young people at
Earlham prepared to listen to him, in case he "felt moved" to speak,
with no ordinary attention. Giving an account of this visit, Richenda
Gurney admitted that they liked having Yearly Meeting Friends come to
preach, for it produced a little change; from the same vivacious pen we
have an account of that memorable service. Memorable it was, in that it
became the starting-point of a new career to Elizabeth Gurney.
The seven sisters of the Earlham household all sat together during that
eventful morning, in a row, under the gallery. Elizabeth was restless
as a rule when at meeting, but something in the tone of William Savery's
voice arrested her attention, and before he had proceeded very far she
began to weep. She continued to be agitated until the close of the
meeting, when, making her way to her father, at the men's side of the
house, she requested his permission to dine at her uncle's. William
Savery was a guest there that day, and, although somewhat surprised at
his daughter's desire, Mr. Gurney consented to the request. To the
surprise of all her friends Elizabeth attended meeting again in the
afternoon, and on her return home in the carriage her pent-up feelings
found vent. Describing this scene, Richenda Gurney says: "Betsey sat in
the middle and astonished us all by the great feelings she showed. She
wept most of the way home. The next morning William Savery came to
breakfast, and preached to our dear sister after breakfast, prophesying
of the high and important calling she would be led into. What she went
through in her own mind I cannot say, but the results were most powerful
and most evident. From that day her love of the world and of pleasure
seemed gone."
Her own account of the impressions made upon her reads just a little
quaintly, possibly because of the unfamiliar Quaker phraseology.
"To-day I have felt that _there is a God!_ I have been devotional, and
my mind has been led away from the follies that it is mostly wrapped up
in. We had much serious conversation; in short, what he said, and what I
felt, was like a refreshing shower falling upon earth that had been
dried for ages. It has not made me unhappy; I have felt ever since
_humble_. I have longed for virtue: I hope to be truly virtuous; to let
sophistry fly from my mind; not to be enthusiastic and foolish but only
to be so far religious as will lead to virtue. There seems nothing so
little understood as religion."
Good resolutions followed, and determined amendment of life, as far as
she conceived this amendment to be in accordance with the Bible. While
in this awakened state of mind, a journey to London was projected. Mr.
Gurney took her to the metropolis and left her in charge of a
trustworthy attendant, in order that she might make full trial of "the
world" which she would have to renounce so fully if she embraced plain
Quakerism. Among the good resolutions made in view of this journey to
London, we find that she determined not to be vain or silly, to be
independent of the opinion of others, not to make dress a study, and to
read the Bible at all available opportunities. It was perhaps wise in
her father to permit this reasoning, philosophical daughter of his to
see the gayeties of London life before coming to a final decision
respecting taking up the cross of plain Quakerism; but had her mind been
less finely balanced, her judgment less trained, and her principles less
formed, the result might have been disastrous.
She went, and mingled somewhat freely with the popular life of the great
city. She was taken to Drury Lane, the Covent Garden theatres, and to
other places of amusement, but she could not "like plays." She saw some
good actors; witnessed "Hamlet," "Bluebeard," and other dramas, but
confesses that she "cannot like or enjoy them"; they seemed "so
artificial." Then she somewhat oddly says that when her hair was dressed
"she felt like a monkey," and finally concluded that "London was not the
place for heartful pleasure." With her natural, sound common sense, her
discernment, her intelligence and purity of mind, these amusements
seemed far below the level of those fitted to satisfy a rational
being--so far that she almost looked down on them with contempt. The
truth was, that having tasted a little of the purer joy of religion, all
other substitutes were stale and flat, and this although she scarcely
knew enough of the matter to be able correctly to analyze her own
feelings.
Among the persons Elizabeth encountered in the metropolis, are found
mentioned Amelia Opie, Mrs. Siddons, Mrs. Inchbold, "Peter Pindar," and
last, but by no means least, the Prince of Wales. Not that she really
talked with royalty, but she saw the Prince at the opera; and she tells
us that she admired him very much. Indeed, she did not mind owning that
she loved grand company, and she certainly enjoyed clever company, for
she much relished and appreciated the society of both Mrs. Opie and Mrs.
Inchbald. This predilection for high circles and illustrious people was
afterwards to bear noble fruit, seeing that she preached often to
crowned heads, and princes. But just then she had little idea of the
wonderful future which awaited her. She was only trying the experiment
as to whether the world, or Christ, were the better master. Deliberately
she examined and proved the truth, and with equal deliberation she came
to the decision--a decision most remarkable in a girl so young, and so
dangerously situated.
Her own review of this period of her life, written thirty years later,
sums up the matter more forcibly and calmly than any utterance of a
biographer can do. She wrote:--
Here ended this important and interesting visit to London, where I
learned much, and had much to digest. I saw and entered many
scenes of gaiety, many of our first public places, attended balls
and other places of amusement. I saw many interesting characters in
the world, some of considerable eminence in that day. I was also
cast among the great variety of persons of different descriptions.
I had the high advantage of attending several most interesting
meetings of William Savery, and having at times his company and
that of a few other friends. It was like the casting die of my
life, however. I believe it was in the ordering of Providence for
me, and that the lessons then learnt are to this day valuable to
me. I consider one of the important results was the conviction of
those things being wrong, from seeing them and feeling their
effects. I wholly gave up, on my own ground, attending all public
places of amusement. I saw they tended to promote evil; therefore,
even if I could attend them without being hurt myself, I felt in
entering them I lent my aid to promote that which I was sure, from
what I saw, hurt others, led them from the paths of rectitude, and
brought them into much sin. I felt the vanity and folly of what are
called the pleasures of this life, of which the tendency is not to
satisfy, but eventually to enervate and injure the mind. Those only
are real pleasures which are of an innocent nature, and are used as
recreations, subjected to the Cross of Christ. I was in my judgment
much confirmed in the infinite importance of religion as the only
real stay, guide, help, comfort in this life, and the only means of
having a hope of partaking of a better. My understanding was
increasingly opened to receive its truths, although the glad
tidings of the Gospel were very little, if at all, understood by
me. I was like the blind man, although I could hardly be said to
have attained the state of seeing men as trees. I obtained in this
expedition a valuable knowledge of human nature from the variety I
met with; this, I think, was useful to me, though some were very
dangerous associates for so young a person, and the way in which I
was protected among them is in my remembrance very striking, and
leads me to acknowledge that at this most critical period of my
life the tender mercy of my God was marvelously displayed towards
me, and that His all-powerful--though to me then almost unseen and
unknown--hand held me up and protected me.
Self-abnegation and austerity were now to take the place of pleasant
frivolities and fashionable amusements. Her conviction was that her mind
required the ties and bonds of Quakerism to fit it for immortality. Not
that she, in any way, trusted in her own righteousness; for she gives it
as her opinion that, while principles of one's own making are useless in
the elevation and refinement of character, true religion, on the
contrary, does exalt and purify the character. Still the struggle was
not over. Long and bitter as it had been, it became still more bitter;
and the nightly recurrence of a dream at this period will serve to show
how agitated was her mental and spiritual nature. Just emancipated from
sceptical principles, accustomed to independent research, and deciding
to study the New Testament rather than good books, when on the
border-land of indecision and gloomy doubt, yet not wholly convinced or
comforted, her sleeping hours reflected the bitter, restless doubt of
her waking thoughts. A curious dream followed her almost nightly, and
filled her with terror. She imagined herself to be in danger of being
washed away by the sea, and as the waves approached her, she experienced
all the horror of being drowned. But after she came to the deciding
point, or, as she expressed it, "felt that she had really and truly got
real faith," she was lifted up in her dream above the waves. Secure upon
a rock, above their reach, she watched the water as it tossed and
roared, but powerless to hurt her. The dream no more recurred; the
struggle was ended, and thankful calm became her portion. She accepted
this dream as a lesson that she should not be drowned in the ocean of
this world, but should mount above its influence, and remain a faithful
and steady servant of God.
Elizabeth's mind turned towards the strict practices of the Friends, as
being those most likely to be helpful to her newly-adopted life. A visit
paid to some members of the Society at Colebrook Dale, intensified and
confirmed those feelings. She says in her journal that it was a dreadful
cross to say "thee," and "thou," instead of speaking like other people,
and also to adopt the close cap and plain kerchief of the Quakeress;
but, in her opinion, it had to be done, or she could not fully renounce
the world and serve God. Neither could she hope for thorough
appreciation of these things in her beloved home-circle. To be a "plain
Quaker," she must in many things be far in advance of father, sisters,
and brothers; while in others she must tacitly condemn them. But she was
equal to the demand; she counted the cost, and accepted the
difficulties. At this time she was about nineteen years of age.
As a beginning, she left off many pleasures such as might have
reasonably been considered innocent. For instance, she abandoned her
"scarlet riding-habit," she laid aside all personal ornament, and
occupied her leisure time in teaching poor children. She commenced a
small school for the benefit of the poor children of the city, and in a
short time had as many as seventy scholars under her care. How she
managed to control and keep quiet so many unruly specimens of humanity,
was a standing problem to all who knew her; but it seems not unlikely
that those qualities of organization and method which afterwards
distinguished her were being trained and developed. Added to these, must
be taken into account the power which a strong will always has over
weaker minds--an important factor in the matter. Still more must be
taken into account the strong, earnest longing of an enthusiastic young
soul to benefit those who were living around her. Earnest souls make
history. History has great things to tell of men and women of faith; and
Elizabeth Gurney's life-work colored the history of that age. A brief
sentence from her journal at this time explains the attitude of her mind
towards the outcast, poor, and neglected: "I don't remember ever being
at any time with one who was not extremely disgusting, but I felt a sort
of love for them, and I do hope I would sacrifice my life for the good
of mankind." Very evidently, William Savery's prophesy was coming to
pass in the determination of the young Quakeress to do good in her
generation.