CONSOLATION IN SORROW; LETTER TO A FRIEND; JOURNAL FOR THE YEAR
1827.
* * * * * *
In the months that followed her father’s death, Mrs. Opie, though
suffering deeply, was sustained by her faith in the promises of Him
whose voice she had heard and obeyed, and for whose service she had
renounced the approval and the pleasures of the world. In the kindness
and sympathy of her friends she found comfort, and thankfully
acknowledged that there is “good in friendship, and delight in holy
love,” and, in her turn, she sought to “bind up the heart that was
broken,” and to minister to the consolation of others—one of the surest
and best means of obtaining relief under the pressure of sorrow. It is
impossible to read her journals and letters of this time, without
recognizing in them a depth of piety, that could only spring from a
Divine source. Her tender compassion for the afflicted, and her labours
of love, in visiting the sick, the prisoner, and the necessitous, remind
one of Horace Walpole’s words to Hannah More, “Your heart is always
aching for others, and your head for yourself.”
The following letter is almost the only record of the year that followed
Dr. Alderson’s death; it was addressed to a lady to whom she was much
attached, and who afterwards came to live in Norwich. When she died,
Mrs. Opie’s letters to her were returned, and some of them will be found
occasionally in these pages.
Norwich, 3rd mo., 26th, 1826.
MY BELOVED FRIEND,
* * * I had thought that I could never feel anything again, but
thy news really affected me! I am, I own, uneasy at the idea of
thy suffering; but thy present sweet, spiritual, and submitted
state of mind, will, I doubt not, strew thy path with those
unfading flowers, which, blown here, will blossom to all
eternity, and sooth and cheer thy passage to the tomb.
For a year at least, my place of abode must be unfixed; it may
be London; in that case, I should be near thee: but when we meet
we will speculate on the earthly future, which is equally
uncertain to us both.
What a mercy it is, dear friend, that thou wast enabled, through
faith, to bear thy apparent sentence, so abruptly pronounced. In
nothing are the Lord’s dealings with us so wonderful and
gracious, as when he enables us to bear trials, which we should
once have expected to shrink from and to sink under. How I have
been permitted to experience this!
My health is quite restored, my recent journey having, I trust,
been beneficial. On my way home I was alone from Scole to
Norwich, with a young man apparently dying of decline, and I
felt it a duty to talk on serious subjects; and found him, I
trust, teachable, and I promised to send him J. J. Gurney’s
Letters and others. He was so delighted! but, poor thing, he was
full of hopes of recovery. I have been tolerably tranquil for
some days; and to-day I visited my dear father’s grave! he hoped
I would sometimes do so! I felt _peace_ both for him and myself,
while I looked on it, and looked forward with cheerfulness to
sleeping beside him! H. Girdlestone comforted me much, the other
day, by reminding me how often in _mercy_ the child was summoned
away soon after the parent! The idea brought closer the
prospects of eternity, and the necessity, therefore, of
preparation, as more urgent, that the day’s work may be done in
the day. May my attention be fixed on present duty, that my
remaining time may be usefully and well spent, and that I may be
ready when the summons shall come to call me hence.
J. J. Gurney is on a long and distant journey; when he returns,
and when we meet, which may not be for two months, if I can say
ought to him for thee, command me.
Farewell, write soon, thine affectionately,
A. OPIE.
In the autumn of this year, Mrs. Opie went on a visit to some friends
residing near the Lakes. The change of scene, and friendly intercourse,
were beneficial to her; and she returned refreshed to her now solitary
home.
From this time she kept an occasional diary, in which she noted the
events of each day; from these records we select some portions,
commencing with one headed,
_1827, My Journal, New Year’s Day._—Too unwell to venture to
the Sick Poor Committee to-day. Sorry to begin the year with the
omission of a duty. My aunt and other friends called; also the
dear Earlham children—welcome visitants! Day calm, on the
whole, but was not quite satisfied with myself; nay, was far
otherwise. Read the 46th psalm to the servants; felt the force
of “Peace, be still, and know that I am God,” and also the
comfort of “God is our refuge,” &c.
(2nd of 1st mo.) Rose better in health, after a peaceful
night, and felt calm and thankful. Walked to Bracondale and made
calls there, and attended the Infant School Committee. Was, in
the evening, at a party; the conversation not general, but
rather pleasant. I could have wished not to have left the
vicinity of ——, who always talks well, but was obliged,
through courtesy, to change my seat. I believe things and public
persons, not private individuals, were talked of; this is always
desirable, but rare. Had only time to read a psalm to the
servants, being so late, which I regret. On looking over the
day, I am not sure it was better spent; in one respect, I had,
indeed, more self-blame to undergo. Night peaceful and favoured,
when I awoke, which was not often; but my morning thoughts full
of painful recollections of little slights and trials. Oh! my
pride of heart! not subdued yet: “Oh! for a broken contrite
heart.”
(4th.) Had a sweet, sleepful, and favoured night; but have
passed a self-indulgent day. Read F. Hemans’ poetry; it is
unique and exquisite, and breathing always of salvation and
heaven. How have I thrown away my time to-day; done nothing of
my book, except writing the introduction to a fable for it; but
have written two necessary letters. Felt comfort while reading
A. L. Barbauld’s beautiful hymn on charity, “Behold where
breathing love divine!” I hoped I was not slow to kind offices;
but other convictions kept me full of counteracting humility.
Sent dear S. M. B. some pomegranates. How pleased I am when I
can shew her and dear A. G. any attention. How much were they to
me in my darkest hours; how true and tender their sympathy!
never to be forgotten. How can I help feeling for them who felt
so much for me?
(4th day.) Rose calm and comforted; had, on the whole, a good
and comforting meeting, though no ministry; called on my aunt
and the N. Whites. A very unprofitable day, meeting time
excepted; I grow worse, I fear, rather than better. I am so
dissatisfied with myself, that I dare hardly ask or expect a
blessing on my labours. How cold and dead in the spirit I feel
to-night; but I know “we have an Advocate with the Father, Jesus
Christ, the righteous,” and how I need one!
(5th.) A good and comfortable night, and rose in spirits, but
felt unwilling to work at my book. Dear friends called; had a
kind odd letter from H. T., and so characteristic! _Made_ myself
finish another fable for my work, and liked it. Just come from
dining at Neville W.’s with his mother and sisters—enjoyed my
visit. On the whole, more satisfied with this day than the
preceding one; but I am very lazy, and like in spirit to Festus,
of whom I have just been reading, when he said to Paul, that he
would send for him, and hear him, at a convenient season. Oh!
that deferring.
(6th.) Rose, refreshed by a good night, and willing to perform
my duties. Wrote some verses for a friend’s album, and improved
my fable of the Lapdog and the Ass. Went to the jail, and found
the woman in bed: read to and exhorted her. She _seemed_ in a
promising state of mind. Went next to visit a poor woman, but
felt she and her husband were not so much interested as when I
was there before. Called on my aunt: she gave a poor account of
my uncle. Poor M. B.! his interesting son Edward _worse_, and no
chance of aught but a protracted life of suffering, likely to
end in early death: may he be preserved in his day of trial.
Have passed this evening in alternate reading and writing, but
not of a profitable nature; however, I like my verses very well.
This day there has been some performance of duty, but, on the
whole, it marks no progress in grace. To-morrow is first day;
may I keep it holy.
(7th of the month, 1st day.) A quiet night, and very
satisfactory morning meeting. J. S. had to speak in rather long
quotations from the Scriptures, and spoke, I think, to
edification. No other ministry—felt no want of any. Afternoon
meeting still, but not long, like the morning one. Read dear S.
M. B. on the Sabbath; then read the first part of Mary Dudley’s
Life; felt true unity with her experience when first called to
the ministry. What a bright course was hers! Wrote a serious
letter, with Scripture quotations, to L. E., with two copies of
J. J. Gurney’s letter: may the gift be blessed to him! Read
about eighty pages of a book lent me by Dr. Ash, called “The
Grounds of a Holy Life.” Believe the author to be a Friend in
principle, if not in profession. Read Paul’s fine address to
Agrippa to the servants, and remarks on Paul’s letter to Titus,
by H. Tarford; hope they understood it; it explains the nature
of grace, and clearly. Cough very troublesome. Now to bed,
thankful for the mercies and favours of the day. The poor Duke
of York! would I knew what his death-bed feelings and hopes
were, and _on what grounded_.
(8th.) Rose unwell; but my mind was particularly calm.
Finished M. R. Mitford’s pretty book, and wrote out my new
fable. After tea wrote two sheets of my new book. Heard of poor
Lady H.’s death. How I feel for her childless, fond mother! and
how thankful that I was permitted to live to cheer my dear
father’s age, and attend his dying bed, much as I have suffered,
and still suffer, for his loss.
(9th.) Wrote a good deal in the morning. Lady H. _not_ dead;
how glad I am! Too hoarse at night to read much to the servants.
On the whole went to bed rather pleased with my day, but
expecting to cough.
(11th.) Meeting a very satisfactory one. C. came and sat an
hour or two. Got, alas! on religious subjects; a most painful
conversation; but I was made, I hope, beneficially sensible, how
poor a pleader I am, as yet, in the best of causes; but I tried
to do it justice. Went to my uncle’s at nine; passed a pleasant
evening, but was detained by a dangerous accident to H. P.’s
coachman, and I waited to hear how he was. Did not get home till
half-past eleven. Read to the servants, and sent them to bed.
Sat up in my own room and read the second volume of A.’s, that
it might not encroach on the business of the morrow. Read a
psalm and went to bed, not dissatisfied with my day; but feeling
how wrong it is to let a day pass without employing it really
well. Mem. made a resolution not to speak slightingly again of
—— if I can _help it_. (12th.) Had a bad night, but rose
with a thankful spirit, I trust. Staid at home all the morning,
and wrote some of my book. Had the joy of hearing of E. P.’s
safe confinement. Went to Lady J. W.’s, met several friends, and
had a pleasant evening; E. M. played admirably. Read as usual,
and to bed, thankful that I had passed so favoured a day.
(13th.) Rose late, and was the better for my morning sleep.
Wrote to several friends, and in the evening had a small party.
Made two good likenesses, as they said.[26]
(14th.) A night of cough, but of comfort; and rose in spirits;
a painfully windy walk to meeting; an agreeable surprise there.
J. J. G. returned this morning unexpectedly from London. He was
much favoured in his ministry to-day, morning and evening.
Called on poor old B., and read the 43rd of Isaiah to him.
Called on poor P. U., found her very low indeed, and no wonder;
these are early times with her yet, poor bereaved being! The
sight of such upsetting and destroying grief is very affecting,
and I have only too much sympathy with her. We have both lost
our earthly all! Was prevented, by the weather, from calling on
the M.s, and it was fortunate, as the wind had brought down
their chimnies in a most destructive manner, though
providentially no lives were lost, as they had taken alarm and
removed the children. “His tender mercies are over all his
works!” A quiet evening; read to the servants; hope they
understood. (15th.) Coughed all night, and unable, alas! to go
to E., but when I had recovered the disappointment, passed some
tranquil and agreeable hours. I read “Galt’s Life of Wolsey”
with interest. To bed thankful, and rather better; could only
read a psalm to the servants. (16th.) Rose rather better, but
not well enough to go to E.; wrote a great deal of my book, to
carry to-morrow, if well enough to go. Read through my own
“Temper,” never saw so many faults in it before; still I like
some of the remarks on detraction so well, that I think of
inserting them in my new book. Shall lay my head on my pillow
with less self-blame for the faults of the day than usual.
(17th.) Rose refreshed, and better than for many days; went to
E., and enjoyed being with my dear friends again. I had a long
_tête à tête_ with J. J. G., and read my MS. to him, he did not
approve it as a whole; thought the tone too low generally, but
liked parts of it; I shall leave out and amend much. Read a
psalm in my own room to my maid, and went to bed full of good
resolutions, and ardent desires and prayers to be satisfied in
them. (18th.) Rose refreshed, not _gay_, but very peaceful;
went to meeting, very still and solemn; a time of precious,
conscious favour to me. J. J. G. spoke quite to my state, the
first time he rose; and I felt the force of the admonition the
second time; but _I_ had had _no work to do_, and left meeting,
so far, with a clean conscience. I called on friends, and sat
some time with my aunt, E. A.; to bed with much comfort and
thankfulness. (19th.) To Earlham with J. J. G., and read my
MS. to him and the sisters; they were all very encouraging; with
what a thankful heart I am going to rest! (21st.) Left Earlham
grateful for many happy hours spent there. Came to meeting; J.
J. G. particularly favoured in his ministry; painful to me to
break up. Alone all the afternoon and evening; read in the
Italian Bible; am going to bed comforted and thankful; but had,
at morning meeting, one of my paroxysms of regret for
ill-fulfilled duties, and was brought very low; “but He helped
me,” and all is peace again, and I shall lie down in quiet.
(22nd.) An unsatisfactory day, except as I read in my Italian
Bible, and to the servants. (23rd.) Tranquil at rising, and
wrote all the morning, till I went to E., where I met Lady H.
G., D. G., and dear A. G.; a happy day! and am going to bed
thankful. (24th.) Obliged to leave E., preferred doing so; I
wanted to go home to draw U. M. for her dying lover; I succeeded
entirely, they thought; felt thankful to be so enabled. (25th.)
To meeting, a marriage there. I went a round of visiting
invalid friends, and a poor woman; in the afternoon, went out
again and visited another afflicted invalid. Felt my mind
tenderly impressed with pity, and with thankfulness for my own
health. Saw dear O. A. Woodhouse, glad to see him for _many_
sakes; evening, wrote, and to bed at eleven, most thankful and
peaceful. (26th.) Going to dine at E. with a crowd.—The party
tolerably agreeable, considering its size; a day, not entirely
lost, I trust. (27th.) Went to the jail, and had a
satisfactory meeting with the women there. To bed not satisfied
with myself. (28th.) Meeting a most favoured one; dear J. J.
G. very impressive and affecting, with a view to his departure
for Ireland; wrote to H. G., and received from him a most
satisfactory answer, authorizing me to draw on him for ——’s
wants; how kind! like him! thankful am I, that I have been the
means of serving her! to bed peaceful and thankful. (30th.)
Rose well and happy, and settled my weekly accounts; in the
evening wrote letters. I have been comforted all day through the
tender sorrowful remembrance of him who is gone; and the memory
of his deep and ever-enduring and _unselfish_ love, is
frequently recurring and _clinging_ to me; and death alone, I
believe, can ever banish him from my daily and fond, grateful
recollection; but, “it is well;” I can say so, from the bottom
of my heart, and though I remain, I murmur not—now to bed, with
thankfulness, though with tears.
(1st February, 2nd mo.) Not much sleep in the night; a
pleasant breakfast, and most refreshing sweet meeting. Tears
would flow, but was able to supplicate for our dear departing
friends, and to return thanks for being able to part with them
so cheerfully. _Two years ago_, how I should have felt it, on
mine and my dearest father’s account; but I feel indifferent
whether he be here when _I_ die, or not. * * Now to bed, calm
and thankful. An _idle_, I fear, and, so far, a sinful day; gave
£1 to a case that _touched_ me; was I fear, too much, but could
not help it. (2nd.) O. Woodhouse here; glad to feel that a son
of my beloved cousin, and bearing his name, is under my roof!
Our evening has been placid, part spent in talk, and part in
reading. Now to bed, rather depressed that I have done nothing
to-day to improve myself, except reading in the Bible—I begin
to feel that my time must be made profitable, or I cannot be
happy; my solitary evenings are my happiest time, and shortest,
because employed! Oh! that I had earlier thought thus. Then
would “my peace have been as a river, and my righteousness as
the waves of the sea”—perhaps—but I am, and was, vile. (3rd.)
Forced myself to go and see, and minister to the wants of,
some poor people. (4th.) Meeting, a mixed one of favoured and
wandering thoughts; L. A. very sweet in her ministry. (5th.)
Rose cheerful, went to visit various friends. To my dear
father’s grave, and the other graves of those dear to me; how I
wished he might see me, and read my heart. Went and read to the
poor widow B., and visited others. (6th.) Rose well, and
cheerful. Went to call on that wretched girl in the workhouse.
She cried, but I believe she wished to see me only to get money.
Mean to get the prayer-book I gave her out of pawn. The
committee of the new Magdalen met here to-day. I like the
matron.
On the 7th inst., Mrs. Opie went to visit her friends at Northrepps;
each day has its entry. She was evidently cheered, and her spirits
revived and braced by this visit. Returning home on the 23rd of the
month, her last entry there is—“I leave N. C. with a heart full of
grateful love to its dear possessors. Alas! to bed for the last time
here this year, and, perhaps, for ever! Peace be to this house!”
(Journal resumed at home.)
(Norwich, 24th.) Had, as usual, some paroxysms of agonizing
feeling, at missing the object once there to meet me, yet
grateful to find kind and affectionate friends here. All things
here, right and well; to bed, with a grateful heart for the
mercies shewn me, and the blessings that remain. (25th.) A
good night, and a thankful waking. Enjoyed meeting much, called
at the workhouse, &c. Afternoon meeting silent, but I trust
refreshing. Evening a comfortable reading to the servants.
(26th.) A good and favoured night, rose happy. * * * Wrote
letters. A time of storm and calm; one of my paroxysms of grief
for the dead, and self-blame for omitted duty, succeeded by calm
and peacefulness. (27th.) Paid three visits of charity. Went
to the workhouse; saw the child, and thought her, perhaps
obstinate, but quite an object of pity and interest; thought
her, too, going into a decline; carried her coquilles and
oranges. Saw P. C.; death was in her face, seemingly, and
seemingly contrite; but even then, I find, she told me _a lie_.
Not to be believed for a word’s speaking! Oh that workhouse!
“There’s something rotten in the state of Denmark!” Spent a
happy evening; good intentions, if not good deeds. (28th.) A
good night and bright awaking. * * Dined at Earlham. Next day
very pleasant. (2nd.) A good night, and much thankfulness on
waking. Wrote a “Tale of Truth.” To the workhouse. After a happy
evening _alone_, to bed, in great peace of mind. (4th.)
Meeting very still and refreshing; L. A. much favoured. Wrote
several verses to the memory of Bishop Heber. (5th of the 3rd
mo.) Had a good night, and peace of mind, when awake. Visited
poor B., and admired his thankfulness for living where he can
see the blue sky, and the birds, and a rainbow, as he lies in
bed! Went to Sick Poor Committee. Monthly Meeting, too low to
enjoy it. One of my sad, sad fits of regret for omitted filial
duties, and for things done and undone, said and unsaid; but
feel this ever recurring trial to be inflicted in mercy, and to
keep me lowly and humble before my Creator. Fear, however, that
the feeling increases, and that it may be a temptation. Find
what H. Girdlestone said to me once, the most comforting reply
to my fears of omitted duty, “You seem to have expected that a
sinful being should have performed a duty perfectly; but it was
not in nature to do it.” Well! I have only to hope that my
agonies and tears may be an accepted sacrifice, and that they
may keep me humble, as they spring from a sense of my own
vileness. To bed early, as I dare not risk a recurrence of my
lowness, and sleep may come soon. (6th.) A good night, rose
cheerful. Went to the Committee of Infant School, and took the
week’s visiting there. S. Rose with me in the evening. Calm and
thankful. (7th.) Infant School; thought the children improved,
but yet troublesome and disobedient. To the Magdalen
Committee—not quite satisfied. (8th.) Rose cheerful, and
eager for meeting. On the whole, satisfactory; Monthly Meeting,
though, rather long. Read some books from London in the
evening—did not like them; dissatisfied with _so_ employing my
time. (10th.) Rose early. Bought cakes for the children, and
went to Infant School. Thence to the jail: found two new women
there; read and talked to them seriously. Had tea alone. Cucchi
called in the evening; read two psalms aloud, in Italian, to
him, and translated them. (13th.) To the School: class
attentive and orderly; a cake each, to the children; sale of
work afterwards. Came home to dress. Both my friends looking
well and in high spirits; felt thankful to see them so; all good
be with them! Dined at my uncle’s at six. * * * Finished reading
the “Hedge of Thorns” to the servants. (14th.) To Earlham; a
most happy time there. (15th.) Ditto.
(Journal discontinued, till the 13th April.)
(April 14th.) Rose low and self-abased. At the jail, read
tracts to the women, and the Prodigal Son; was satisfied with
the manner of two of them; but have no faith in their amendment,
in one way, while the turnkeys are men, and men on business are
admitted, where women could do as well; but this is, I fear, a
thing which will never be remedied. * * (15th, 1st day.) A
sweet, favoured meeting. Silence, I trust, blest to me; the
ministry lively and touching. My Cousin R. to tea; went over his
sermon with him; time went unconsciously. (16th.) Letters and
calls. After dinner went to sit by poor E. D.’s bedside, read
several hymns to her; she bade me, I believe, what she thought,
a last farewell! She is on the Rock, and one ought not to regret
her. What a sweet letter Edward Irving has written to her! * * *
* To bed, thankful, instructed, I hope, and cheered. (19th.)
Rose before seven, and lighted my fire; wrote till half-past
eight. Meeting a favoured one.—“The fire on the altar.” Called
on A. B., an interesting woman, and wish I could do more for
her. She has been used to such excellent society, and an object
of interest and kindness to so many. She talks rapidly, and
raises her voice sometimes, as all nervous people do; I wonder
whether checking her, and saying “do not talk so fast!” would do
her good. Not intimate enough yet to _risk_ it. Lost a great
deal of time to-day reading an old favourite—displeased and
shocked even, at my waste of time, and my life so far spent!
“God be merciful to me a sinner!” my constant and necessary
close of every day’s and night’s prayer. (21st.) Went out on
H. G.’s business. How pleasant to have to give pleasure, whether
with my own or others’ money! Poor —— might indeed be grateful
to him. Went after a poor man, but could not find him; probably
only a street beggar. Went to poor A. B.; what a sufferer! but
resigned. Called on my aunt, sorry I could not stay with her. To
bed, with many pleasing feelings, thankful for unmerited
mercies. What a generous Master we serve!
(6th of the 5th mo.) What indolence and neglect! from 21st of
last mo. not a line written in my journal! Oh for power to be
more diligent in future; but how soon, through life, have I been
weary in well doing! To-day, felt solemnly and deeply engaged,
in secret prayer, at meeting. Yesterday —— and —— to dinner;
how little either of them, poor things, seemed to think of their
great change! though one is 76, the other 73. Dress, cards, the
world! But let me look to my own blindness and worldliness, and
not censure theirs; and to me the voice has spoken, “Come,” and
how have I obeyed it? Alas! Visited a sick friend and a poor
_lost_ girl, just released from jail; read Rutherford’s letters
all the afternoon: wrote for votes for a charity-boy; read to
the servants, and to bed, not so dissatisfied as usual with my
day’s work; may I be humbled, and enabled to rise early to my
work to-morrow, and may the labours of my pen be blest!
(3rd day, 7th.) Rose early; to Infant School; little boys idle
and ignorant in my class! _one_, however, good and diligent;
then called on A. B., found her low for her dear sister’s death,
but enjoyed my call. Went to the jail, have hopes of one woman;
the other is sorry for detection, not for sin; but these are
early times yet; her temper seems bad, _i.e._ if _expression_ is
to be trusted; two calls on my way home. Tired, but not
displeased with my day. * * *
The Journal here breaks off, not to be renewed (as a note, added at the
close, tells us) until 1829, “in another book.” We shall close this
chapter with an extract from a letter written in the autumn of this
year, to her friends at Northrepps Cottage.
* * * How every day teems with eventful changes; F. and C., dear
ones, have to inhabit a new abode; but death, _death_ is the
change of changes! How trumpery, how unimportant, seem all
changes compared to _that_; and how _that_ changes even the very
look of existence to many of us! Sometimes it is almost
unbearable to me; and I could run into the next room to look for
what I cannot find, and cannot see again, and which yet seems
blooming beside me, and cheerful, and living, and likely to
live! and then I think how little I prized him while I had him
with me! Oh! you know some of these feelings, and can deeply
sympathize with me in what a child alone can feel. How deeply
have I entered into the feelings of my estimable friend T. R.,
(an only child,) on the loss of his mother, who lived with him;
I expressed my feelings as follows:—
At length, then, the tenderest of mothers is gone!
Her smile, her love-accents, can glad thee no more;
That once cheerful chamber is silent and lone,
And, for thee, all a child’s precious duties are o’er.
Her welcome at morning, her blessing at night,
No longer the crown of thy comforts can be;
And the friend seen and lov’d, since thine eyes first saw
light,
Thou can’st ne’er see again! thou art orphan’d like me.
O change! from which nature must shrink overpower’d,
Till faith shall the anguish remove and condemn,
For the change to those blest ones “who die in the Lord,”
Though to us it brings sorrow, gives glory to them.
9th mo., 1827.
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[26] Mrs. Opie is constantly mentioning the likenesses she takes of her
various friends. It was her custom, from a very early period, to take
profile likenesses, in pencil, of those who visited her. Several
hundreds of these sketches were preserved in books and folios.