ILLNESS OF DR. ALDERSON; HIS DAUGHTER’S ANXIETY; PRISCILLA
GURNEY; BIBLE AND ANTI-SLAVERY MEETINGS; “MADELINE;” LETTER FROM
SOUTHEY; “LYING;” LETTERS TO MRS. FRY; MRS. OPIE JOINS THE
SOCIETY OF FRIENDS; DR. ALDERSON’S DECLINE AND DEATH.
Dr. Alderson became seriously ill in December, 1820, and his daughter
accompanied him to London, for medical advice, on the 23rd January,
1821. On the 26th, they went to stay at the house of Mr. Hudson Gurney,
by whom the following particulars were communicated to the
writer;—“Davies Gilbert and a few friends dined with us; and Dr.
Alderson was, apparently cheerful and pretty comfortable; but, in a day
or two, he was seized with extreme depression of spirits, and went back
to Norwich on the 2nd of February. He never, I believe, or hardly ever,
left his house afterwards, till the time of his death. During the whole
time of his illness, Mrs. Opie most assiduously attended him; she had
latterly joined the Quakers; and read to him much in the Bible and other
religious books, and his views, on religious subjects, appear to have
undergone an entire change. Mr. J. J. Gurney was very frequently with
them both.”
On their journey home from town, after this visit, an alarming accident
occurred. The horses took fright, the coachman and passengers were
thrown off the coach, and the leaders broke the traces; by some means
the vehicle was stopped, but their lives had been endangered; and when
Dr. Alderson, who was not at first aware of the peril they had incurred,
was told, by his daughter, the particulars of the accident, he
exclaimed, as he thanked God that they had reached Norwich in safety, “I
have been mercifully spared, my dear child, and I wonder _why_?” His
daughter, speaking of the event, said—“afterwards, when his serious
impressions daily deepened, he said, ‘Oh! my dear child! I know _now_
why I was spared.’”
From this time the continued and increasing illness of her father
occupied her time, and engaged her constant thought, while numerous
friends gathered around them, desirous to cheer and soothe the invalid,
and to aid his daughter in her task of love. “I suffered much!” she
wrote, when the first symptoms of this “sickness unto death” appeared;
_how much_ we learn, in some degree, to estimate, by the grief of after
years, when the blow, she was then dreading, had fallen. But, if it be
true (and every Christian will set his seal to it) that “since the day
Jesus redeemed us on the cross, all that is great, powerful, and
salutary, partakes of a serious nature, and that all the seeds of life
and regeneration, are sown in sorrow and in death,” then we may
recognise, in this afflictive visitation, the “blessing in disguise,”
which was sent by her heavenly Father to wean her from the world and
call her to himself.
Two prayers, written at this time, were preserved among her papers, and
remain affecting testimonials of the “thoughts of her heart” within her.
A PRAYER.—25TH OF APRIL, 1821.
O gracious and long suffering God! now that those trials and
infirmities are come upon me, from which I have hitherto been
mercifully exempted, let me not, I beseech Thee, forget Thy past
mercies, in Thy present chastisements; but rather let me
consider those chastisements as _greater mercies still_, and as
designed to draw me, in humble supplication and heartfelt
thankfulness, to the foot of Thy throne, there to confess my
sins and my long forgetfulness of Thee; and to acknowledge, that
I have no hope of salvation, but through the merits of Jesus
Christ, my Lord and my Redeemer, who died the death of a sinner,
that I, and sinners like myself, might be forgiven and _live_.
A PRAYER.—26TH OF APRIL, 1821.
O Thou! “the God that hearest prayer,” and even amidst
innumerable choirs of angels for ever glorifying Thee and
hymning Thy praise, canst hearken to the softest breathings of a
supplicating and contrited heart, deign Lord to let the prayers
of a child, for a beloved parent, come up before Thee. In
grateful return for that life which he gave me here, and which,
under Thy good providence, he has tenderly watched over, and
tried to render happy, enable me, O Lord! to be the humble means
of leading him to Thee. O let us “thirst,” and come together “to
the waters, and buy the wine and milk without money and without
price;” and grant, O Lord! that before we go hence, and are no
more seen of men, our united voices may ascend to Thee in
praises and in blessings! grant that we may together call upon
the name of Him who has redeemed us by His most precious blood,
that in that blood our manifold sins may be washed away.
This year died her lovely friend, Priscilla Gurney. In the Memoirs of
Mrs. Fry (vol. 1, pp. 391, 399,) a most touching account is given, of
the closing scenes of her life. She must have been singularly pleasing,
for, notwithstanding her early death, her memory still remains sweet to
many, and she is yet spoken of with affectionate regret. Some lines (not
among her “Lays”) were written by Mrs. Opie in remembrance of this dear
friend; they are headed
“PRISCILLA’S GRAVE.”
There is a spot in Life’s vain scene,
Which oft, with willing feet, I tread;
It is yon still, sequester’d _green_,[24]
Where lowly sleep the nameless dead.
There, underneath that elm’s soft shade,
Now waving in the zephyr’s breath,
Belov’d Priscilla, thou art laid,
Within thy grassy home of Death!
I would not call thee back again
To this dark world, unworthy thee,
Faith bids my heart that wish restrain,
Yet oh; how vast thy loss to me!
I miss thy soothing _smile_ of love,
Thy _voice_, that could my fears control,
Thy _words_ that bade my doubts remove,
And breath’d conviction o’er my soul.
I miss thee, while with pilgrim feet
I now my course to Zion bend;
For _thou_, upon her way wouldst greet,
And fondly hail, thy fainting friend.
But thou art where each promise given
Is now fulfill’d, (thine, endless day,)
Then, full of gratitude to Heaven,
I’ll breathe a prayer, and turn away.
There was much passing in the religious world at this period, calculated
to engage the attention, and attract the warm sympathies, of Mrs. Opie.
The spirits of many highly gifted and eminent men were aroused to do
great things in the cause of religion and philanthropy. In 1811 the
first Meeting of the Norwich Bible Society was held in St. Andrew’s
Hall, and was noted as “a day indeed; one that might be called a mark of
the times.” Then were seen, for the first time, united for one great
object, in the spirit of christian union, Churchmen and Dissenters;
Bishop Bathurst presided, and Clergymen and Dissenting Ministers,
Lutheran, Independent, Baptist, Quaker, and Methodist, joined hand in
hand. On this occasion, the Hall at Earlham was made the head-quarters
of the deputation; and a numerous circle of friends gathered around, to
share in the pleasures of holy intercourse and christian fellowship.
These meetings were annually renewed, and year by year the honoured host
at Earlham opened his mansion, and greeted his friends and
fellow-workers, and cheered them with his generous hospitality. They who
were wont to meet on these occasions, have often felt their hearts burn
within them, as they “talked one with another” on the great things of
the heavenly kingdom, whose interests had gathered them together, and
united them as the heart of one man.
In 1820 the Anti-slavery Society was formed, and was brought before the
friends of the cause in Norwich, at a meeting, superintended by Mr.
Gurney, and largely attended. In both these Societies Mrs. Opie took a
deep interest, which (to use a favourite and constantly repeated
expression of her own) “grew with her growth and strengthened with her
strength.”
The pressure of domestic affliction did not interrupt Mrs. Opie’s
literary occupations, and perhaps she found (as many others have done) a
relief in such absorbing engagements. In 1822 she published “Madeline,”
the last of her Novels, (for though she commenced writing another, it
was never completed.) In the following year, she contributed to the
European Magazine, a series of poetical “Epistles from Mary Queen of
Scots to her Uncles,” prefacing them by saying, “Ever since I have been
able to compare the strength of opposing evidence, and to enter into the
probable motives of human actions, I have believed Mary Queen of
Scotland to be entirely innocent of the atrocious guilt of which she has
been accused—adultery and murder.” There are also some Tales and a
short memoir of Bishop Bathurst, from her pen, in the same volume.
She appears to have made some application to Mr. Southey, with reference
to a Review of her “Madeline,” which drew from him the following
letter:—
Keswick, 11th April, 1822.
MY DEAR MADAM,
Your Madeline is a great favourite here, and well deserves to be
so. The tale is beautifully told, and everywhere true to nature;
if there be a little of that ideal colouring, which belongs to
this species of composition, as much as to poetry, it is in your
_hero_ rather than your heroine. The tragic catastrophe would,
as you say, have made the story more perfect, but it would have
made the book painful, instead of pleasing, in recollection. I
am sure that I should not have looked at it a second time,
compared one part with another, and dwelt upon particular
scenes, if there had been death at the end; and this, I think,
is not so much the weakness of my individual temper, as it is a
natural feeling. The theatres shew it to be so, by the
preference which is given to comedy; they who have borne a part
in the tragedies of real life (who is there that can go through
the world without?) shrink, even from the sorrow which is
produced by fiction.
The Quarterly Review will be much better employed in
recommending Madeline to notice, than in pointing out in the
Pirate, beauties which everybody must have seen, and defects
which nobody can have overlooked. The part which I bear in that
journal is greatly overrated, and the influence which I possess
there, quite as much so. For two years I have been vainly
endeavouring to get a book by Sir Howard Douglas reviewed there,
though the subject is of great importance, and national
interest, as well as national credit, concerned in it. I could
not do it myself, because it required scientific knowledge,
which I do not possess.
To convince you, however, that your tale has really interested
me, I will write to Mr. Gifford, and ask him to admit an article
upon it; most likely he will consent; I cannot be quite sure of
this, nor can I promise anything farther for the paper, than
that it will be written in right good will. As for my
prose—anybody’s prose is mistaken for mine; and what is far
more strange, anybody’s opinions! The guessing at anonymous
writings is almost as much a matter of haphazard, as the attempt
to discover any person, by his walk and figure, at a masquerade.
Mrs. S. desires me to present her compliments. Remember me to
William Taylor, when you happen to see him.
Farewell, my dear Madam,
And believe me yours truly,
ROBERT SOUTHEY.
Her next work was one of a widely different character; on “Lying, in all
its branches,” a subject affording ample scope for the moralist, and
handled in a manner at once novel and ingenious. It received the best of
all sanctions, that of _success_; and she had the exquisite satisfaction
of knowing that she attained the object at which she aimed. Some few
years afterwards, when Mrs. Opie was at Paris, she was introduced to
several American friends, who cordially greeted her, thanking her for
this book, which they assured her was universally acknowledged to have
done good in their country; and that it had found its way into the
cottages in _the interior_, and might be seen there, well thumbed by
frequent use. Shortly after the publication of this work, Mrs. Opie
wrote thus to Mrs. Fry:—
Norwich, 12th mo., 6th, 1823.
MY VERY DEAR FRIEND,
As it is possible that thou mayst have been told that a new
novel from my pen, called “_The Painter and his Wife_,” is in
the press, I wish to tell thee this is a falsehood: that my
publishers advertised this only _begun_ work, unknown to me, and
that I have written to say the said work is not written, _nor
ever will be_. I must own to thee, however, that as several
hundreds of it are already ordered by the trade, I have _felt_
the sacrifice, but I do not _repent_ of it.[25]
Joseph and Catherine are highly pleased with my new work, on
“Lying, in all its branches,” (each sort of lie illustrated by a
simple anecdote, or tale,) and they think it must do good. We go
on as usual; my dear father I think better on the whole, in
body, and, I hope, not gone back in mind. I am at times very
low, but there is safety in lowness for some people, and I am
one of them. I know a tortoise pace is a safe pace, but still I
am dissatisfied with my slow progress. Farewell! dearest Betsy!
I remember thy visit with true and grateful pleasure; with kind
love to all thy circle,
I am, thy affectionate Friend,
A. OPIE.
To Elizabeth Fry, Plashet, Essex.
Dr. Alderson attained the age of four-score, in the spring of this year;
and his daughter thus greeted him on the return of his birthday.
TO MY FATHER.
7th April, 1823.
And thou art eighty; ’tis thy natal day!
Then oh! forgive me that I dare to pray
(Since from so dear a tie ’tis hard to part,
A tie, sole treasure of this lonely heart)
That many a year thou yet may’st with me stay,
Resign’d in pain, and cheerful in decay!
While the bright hopes redeeming love has taught,
Prompting each pious, purifying thought,
Live in thy soul, to tell of sins forgiven,
And plume its pinions for its flight to heaven.
Some years had now passed since Mrs. Opie first attended the religious
services of the Friends; and it will have been apparent to the reader,
that she had, during that time, been approaching more and more nearly,
in her religious sentiments, to their principles. Another letter which
she wrote to Mrs. Fry shortly after the above, speaks of the
difficulties she felt on some points; and mentions that “many of her
relations, on the mother’s side, had been united for generations past to
the Wesleyan Methodists,” which consideration had sometimes disposed her
to incline towards “a union with that sect of worshippers.”
It was not without considerable anxiety, and after long deliberation,
that the decisive step was taken, and she applied for membership with
the Society of Friends. On looking back to that period, she always
rejoiced in that decision, and expressed, on her bed of death, her
satisfaction in it.
Of the perplexities and anxieties of her mind at this time, her letters
to Mrs. Fry give sufficient proof. In January, 1824, she again wrote to
her, and, after stating the great difficulty which she experienced in
adopting “the plain language,” and her earnest desire to be guided
aright in this matter, she proceeds:—
* * * It is indeed true that I never feel so comforted, as when
I feel humbled, and experience a deep sense of my own
sinfulness; when I rise from my knees, or leave meeting with an
arrow striking in my heart, as it were, I feel a sort of
pleasure, which I now would not exchange for aught the world can
give. I hope this will not seem to thee unreal or fantastical:
but no, I think thou wilt understand it. * * * * To say the
truth, much as I should like to belong to a religious society,
and much as I see, or think I see, the hand of my gracious Lord
in leading _me_, to whom have been given so many ties to a
worldly life, in the various gifts bestowed on me, (I mean
_accomplishments_, as they are called,) to communion with a sect
which requires the sacrifice of them almost _in toto_, thereby
trying my faith to the uttermost, still I feel no necessity for
haste in doing so. It is by no means clear to me, that, though
generally strong, I am not locally infirm. I have lately had
severe colds, and coughs, and have queer feelings in my heart,
which may be merely nervous, and may be not so. Be this as it
may, I am never without the consciousness now, that this may be
for me “no continuing city.” In the next place, should I survive
my father, and be in a condition of body and mind favourable to
travelling, it has long been the desire of my heart to visit
foreign countries; my wishes, I own, extending even to
Palestine; and it might be far better for me to travel,
unfettered by any ties. * * * Meantime, I feel my reliance on my
Saviour grow stronger every day, and a sort of loathing of
worldly society, which I must strive against. But no one, but
that wise and merciful and _just_ Being who has tried, and is
now trying me, knows, or ever will know, what I have to endure
from the many unseen peculiarities of my situation. However, I
take comfort and encouragement from my difficulties; I know that
I am most vile, and that I ought to be for ever striving to show
my gratitude to my blessed Redeemer, by devoting myself entirely
to his service; and I feel a repose and peace, in spite of my
conscious sins, which the world cannot give nor take away, and
which I humbly hope will continue to bear me up unto the end.
Above all, I am conscious of a daily increasing spirit of
prayer, and a desire of constant communion with the Bestower of
it. What a letter of egotism! But I know thy mind will be
interested in the “dealings” with mine, and I wish thee, dearest
Betsy, always to know whereabouts I am. Dear Joseph is come back
well, and looking well. With kind love to you all,
I am, thy affectionate Friend,
A. OPIE.
To Elizabeth Fry,
Plashet, East Ham, Essex.
In another letter, dated Norwich, 3rd mo., 2nd, 1824, addressed to Mrs.
Fry, after thanking her for her reply to the former letter, she tells
her that on the 14th of the preceding month, she had, after much anxious
consideration and indecision, decided to act without delay, according to
the dictates of her conscience; and that a gentleman, a stranger,
chancing to come and call on her that morning, she spoke the “plain
language” to him, and had continued to do so ever since; and she says,
“Nor have I had a misgiving, but feel so calm and satisfied, that I am
convinced _I have done right_; and I feel now utterly cast for comfort,
support, and guidance, on the Searcher of hearts, and the great
Shepherd, the merciful Redeemer.”
In the following year Mrs. Opie addressed this letter to the Friends of
the Monthly Meeting.
RESPECTED FRIENDS,
Having attended your place of worship for more than eleven
years, and being now fully convinced of the truth of Friends’
principles, I can no longer be easy without expressing my
earnest desire to be admitted into membership with your Society.
My former opinions and habits, were, I own, at variance with
yours; but having, through Divine mercy, been convinced of the
error of my early belief, and of the emptiness of worldly
pleasures, I trust that the same mercy has led me to desire to
“walk in the narrow way” that seems to lie before me, and to
promise me “that peace which the world cannot give.”
I am, yours, with respect and esteem,
A. O.
As the result of this application, she was received into membership on
the 11th of August, 1825.
Dr. Alderson expressed his warm approval of the step his daughter had
taken. He had, during the lengthened period of his gradual decline, been
much comforted and assisted by the attentions and religious counsels of
Mr. J. J. Gurney, and had become attached to those friends whose society
she so much esteemed. He wished also to be permitted to find his last
resting-place in the Friends’ burial ground; and it was evident that he
was destined soon to occupy the “abode appointed for all living.”
There exists an affecting record of the last two years of his life, in a
ledger-like book, into which he entered all his medical cases, day by
day. The first entry is dated January 25th, 1824, and the last,
September 7th, 1825, little more than a month before his death! In this
book, he has, every now and then, in the midst of his professional
notes, made an entry of some personal feeling or event. Thus, under date
27th January, 1824, he writes, “Southey came—his portrait taken—his
hair grey.” 4th March, 1825, “_Miserere mei, Domine, precor_;” and
again, August 16th, “Never felt so like dying, as I have just now done;
the sensation was indescribably bad.” At length, on the closing page of
the book, he writes:—“I never thought I should live to finish this
book. If I live till to-morrow, I shall begin a new one. My pain, at
this moment, is bad, my intellects clear, and I look forward to my being
saved for happiness hereafter. How much I long for my last end! but in
this I act wrongly; for a man ought to wait patiently till his end
comes; for I can live no longer than God pleases, let a man talk to me
ever so long about curing my legs.”
On the cover of this book Dr. A. has written the following verse of Dr.
Watts:—
“Let all the heathen writers join,
To form one perfect book,
Great God! when once compared with Thine,
How mean their writings look.”
During his illness, Mrs. Opie used to play on the piano, and sing the
hymns and psalms of Dr. Watts to her father, at his request; he appeared
to find great consolation in listening as she sung, and often called to
have the hymn repeated; and that music was like a medicine that soothed
him to rest, when any other might have been administered in vain.
Shortly before his death, he was visited by Mr. Gurney, and, in reply to
an observation made by him, expressed, with great feeling, his humble
confidence in the atoning work of the Lord Jesus Christ.
So died the father of Amelia Opie. As she gazed upon his lifeless
countenance, she was able to entertain a hope that supported her soul,
and preserved her from sinking under the blow. How deeply and enduringly
she lamented him, and how tenderly she cherished his memory, was evident
in every day of her after life. Dr. Alderson’s record was written upon
his daughter’s heart. And is not Carlyle right when he says, “Oh! great,
or little one, according as thou art loveable, those thou livest with
will love thee?”
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[24] The Friends have no tombstones, and the field for the graves is
usually green.—A. O.
[25] The unfinished MS. was found among her papers.