Chapter XX

RETURN TO NORWICH; EXTRACTS FROM HER DIARY; DR. CHALMERS AND
MRS. OPIE AT EARLHAM; LINES ADDRESSED BY MRS. OPIE TO DR.
CHALMERS; “LAYS FOR THE DEAD;” VISIT TO LONDON; JOURNEY TO
SCOTLAND; HER JOURNAL THERE; THE HIGHLANDS; HER VISIT TO
ABBOTSFORD.

After her long absence, Mrs. Opie, on her return to Norwich, took up her abode in lodgings, in St. Giles’ street. We find her note book with its daily entries, from which we give a few extracts:—

Arrived at 70, St. Giles’ street, on fourth day, 25th of the 6th
mo., 1833; having paid for my fare, (from London,) £2, and for
coachman and guard, 8s. 6d. Breakfasted and went to bed,
thankful for my safe arrival, and also that I did not feel _not_
coming to my own home and servants. At three, I rose, and went
to call on my aunt, whom I found drest to go out, and looking
well and happy; then went to the Sparshalls’ and E. Martineau’s,
thence to the Willetts’, and found them well; gave her the
handkerchief and bag, and left the dandy pocket handkerchief for
Joseph S.; then went to the burying-ground; found my dear
father’s grave well done, and the “Forget-me-not” on it, in full
bloom! thankful for that; next I went to my uncle’s; home tired,
and went to bed; on my way, I was kindly greeted by some poor
people, and welcomed home. I must call on poor Lizzy’s parents
as soon as I can—her death _me tient au cœur_: I know she was
well cared for in temporals, but more I know not. (5th day,
26th.) Went to meeting; a full attendance. Friends very kind
in their welcome home. R. Dix stood some time, and afterwards
was engaged in prayer. R. Holmes spoke a few words, and dear
Lucy Aggs, both in the meeting for worship and discipline, was
highly favoured indeed. Dined at the Grove. Sat by H. Birkbeck
at dinner, according to his request and my own inclination—a
pleasant day. Went home by the Ashs’, and learned there the
death of poor S. J.; how thankful I am that before I went away I
put her under the care of C. A. and M. G., so I know all was
done for her that she needed. She was a truly pious Methodist,
and needed not the preparation of a death-bed, I believe, to fit
her to meet the Lord. (3rd day evening.) Having dined, I went
out at seven, took tea at my own dear _ci-devant_ house! and saw
the improvements—it is now perfect. (28th, 7th day.) A letter
franked; a note from Lady Cork, enclosing one from Mrs. T. Read
M. Henry’s Life; drank tea at Dr. Ash’s; calling at S. Wilkin’s
and T. Brightwell’s _chemin faisant_; enjoyed my visit; to bed
thankful, but low. (1st day, 29th.) Rose after a restless
night; Meeting at the Gildencroft; felt favoured, still, and
encouraged. Went with S. Mackie to visit the graves; forbad the
culture of that yellow flower (name unknown to me) on them, in
future. After dinner called on A. Bevans, surprised and pleased
to find her so well in body; her mind is always well. He is the
great Physician of souls! Fire in my room; read again M. Henry’s
Life. (2nd day, 30th.) H. Girdlestone called; wrote to Paris;
room north and cold; I have a fire. Called on poor —— at her
desire; she thought I should do her good. I did my best, having
asked Divine assistance; sent her Wesley’s Hymns for all states,
and Worthington on “Self-resignation.” What a dreadful feeling
for any one to feel themselves spiritually deserted and unable
to pray! but then the case is one of physical, as well as moral
disease. May I be permitted to do her good, by leading her to
throw herself wholly on her Saviour. Called on my dear old
friends, the Rogers. (3rd day 1st of mo.) Went to the Infant
School, called on the Whites, the Candlers, and the Wagstaffes.
To tea at the Martineaus. (5th day, 3rd.) Came to the Grove
for a week. * * * *

The “Lays for the Dead,” many of which had been written during her stay in Cornwall, were now completed and prepared for publication. Among them are many which have reference to friends and events connected with the history of her life through successive years, and some are very touching tributes to the memory of those she had loved and lost. This little volume concludes with a series of “Sketches of St. Michael’s Mount,” inscribed to Lord de Dunstanville and Sir John St. Aubyn. When it was published, she wrote, “I have humbly endeavoured to school my mind against the trial of its failure, by meditation and prayer; sadly monotonous it must be; the St. Michael’s Mount Lays are less gloomy, but all are tinged.”

In the month of July, of this year, Mrs. Opie enjoyed the great pleasure of meeting Dr. Chalmers, who was then on a visit to Mr. J. J. Gurney. In his Journal, Dr. C. gives a pleasing account of this occurrence, from which we select an extract.[39]

“Friday, July 26th. * * * Last of all, I must mention another
lady, who dined and spent the night—one who, in early life, was
one of the most distinguished of our literary women, whose
works, thirty years ago, I read with great delight—no less a
person than the celebrated Mrs. Opie, authoress of the most
exquisite feminine tales, and for which I used to place her by
the side of Miss Edgeworth. It was curious to myself, that
though told by Mr. Gurney in the morning, of her being to dine,
I had forgot the circumstance; and the idea of the accomplished
novelist and poet was never once suggested by the image of this
plain-looking Quakeress, till it rushed upon me after dinner,
when it suddenly and inconceivably augmented the interest I felt
in her. We had much conversation, and drew greatly together,
walking and talking with each other on the beautiful lawn after
dinner. She has had access into all kinds of society, and her
conversation is all the more rich and interesting. I complained
to her of one thing in Quakerism, and that is the mode of their
introductions: that I could have recognised in _Mrs. Opie_ an
acquaintance of thirty years’ standing, but that I did not and
could not feel the charm of any such reminiscence, when _Joseph
John_ simply bade me lead out _Amelia_ from his drawing-room to
his dining-room. I felt, however, my new acquaintance with this
said Amelia to be one of the great acquisitions of my present
journey; and this union of rank, and opulence, and literature,
and polish of mind, with plainness of manners, forms one of the
great charms of the society in this house. Had much and cordial
talk all the evening; a family exposition before supper, and at
length a general breaking up, somewhere about eleven o’clock,
terminated this day at once of delightful recreation and needful
repose.

“Saturday, July 27th. Mrs. Opie left us early, and we parted
from each other most cordially.”

Mrs. Opie was much gratified with this meeting, and afterwards addressed these lines

TO DR. CHALMERS.
On reading his description of Dr. Brown, in his Chapter on the connexion
between the Intellect and the Will.

When Eve (by Milton’s magic muse pourtray’d)
In the clear stream her new-born self survey’d,
Surpriz’d she gaz’d, with admiration fir’d,
Nor knew she _was_ the being she admired;
And while describing what had charm’d her view,
Suspected not, she her own portrait drew.
Chalmers, however strange the thought may be,
To our first mother I resemble _thee_!
In what, with all thy generous warmth of praise,
Thy pen lamented Brown’s vast powers displays;—
Paints him, diffusing Fancy’s genial hue
O’er the cold paths philosophers pursue;
Intent to bid round Reason’s thoughtful brow
Imagination’s varying garlands glow,
Till “Intellectual Power” attention lends,
And from its “awful throne” soft “smiling bends;”
Paints him, on mind’s most “arduous” summit plac’d,
The scene still decking with the flowers of taste
As if, call’d forth by wand of fairy elf,—
Then, trust me, Chalmers, thou describ’st _thyself_;
And all the charms which in Brown’s picture shine,
By thy unconscious hand pourtray’d, are _thine_.

Mrs. Opie’s health was already impaired, and she suffered from attacks of the disorder which afflicted her throughout the remainder of life. She walked _lame_, and was under medical treatment; but still her spirit was buoyant, and she wrote, “I am full of hope; and after all, it is no bad thing for any of us to feel the time for positive preparation come. Life, indeed, ought to be a constant state of preparation for death; but few make it so, and I feel I have not so done.”

In the spring of 1834, she went to London.

I do love home better than any other place, and also solitude,
(she says,) which is indeed a mercy, considering my lone
condition; and I almost dread the idea of London, but “such is
the sweet pliability of woman’s spirit,” that I dare say, when I
get there, I shall be pleased. * * * This winter has been one of
much physical trial, but I believe I can say, without
affectation, it has been one of the happiest and most beneficial
of my life.

Sir B. Brodie’s opinion, that there was no radical disease, relieved “her mind of its burden;” although she still suffered from pain. “But, (she says,) Yearly Meeting is an excellent cordial; I forget all my ailments there, and could almost wish life itself were one Yearly Meeting!”

The month of August found her on her way to Scotland. Eighteen years had past since she was there, and it had been a long-anticipated purpose some day to revisit it, and to see the Highlands. On the 9th inst. she went on board the “Monarch” steamer; her Journal gives an amusing account of the scene she witnessed when she woke up during the night, and of the inconveniences of the crowded vessel. The next day was the sabbath, and service was performed by a clergyman on board. “Afterwards, (she says,) I read some psalms, and have been in spirit with my afflicted friends the Candlers, at their mother’s interment, and have thought of them and other friends there; I hope I too have been thought of and remembered before the throne of grace.” The terror of sea-sickness was upon her, but a quiet and refreshing night restored her; and in the afternoon of the day the Scottish coast was visible. On arriving at Edinburgh, she established herself in lodgings, and writes thus in her note book:—

Deeply thankful do I feel for the mercy that has hitherto
attended and watched over me! Oh, that beautiful and sublime
castle and rock, on which I gaze from my sitting-room window,
how I delight to see them again!

On the 14th she left Edinburgh to attend a General Meeting of Friends, at Aberdeen.

Seven miles from Edinburgh we took boat and steamed over the
beautiful Forth into Fifeshire; the sky blue, the water calm,
the hills fine, and the corn golden. Before we reached Dundee,
we had to cross another water; it was the Firth of Tay; one of
my fellow travellers, who had lived many years in India, said it
reminded her of the Ganges. (16th.) Had a beautiful drive to
Aberdeen, through corn fields sloping down to the sea; their
golden hue finely contrasting with the deep blue waters. The
approach to Montrose very lovely—a succession of pretty
cottages on one side, standing in gardens full of flowers, and
the blue waters behind them. As we passed along we saw many
gentlemen’s seats; the distant hills formed a fine back ground.
The Dee was now the river in sight, when we lost the Firth of
Tay.

After attending General Meeting at Aberdeen, Mrs. Opie proceeded to Stonehaven, from whence she says:—

I walked to Ury, a long two miles, but the walk is beautiful,
and Ury is a lovely place. M. B. drove me to S. to take a boat
and go to see the ruins of Dunotta Castle, but we sailed past
it, and went out to sea to tack, in order to view a most
magnificent ridge of rocks, where the sea fowl live. I was wrapt
in a sort of devout astonishment at the size and height of the
rocks—the highest on the coast—and pleased with the novel
sight of the countless sea anemones, just under the waves, like
a varied flower garden, pink, lilac, purple, white, yellow,
orange, and variegated. Nor was the sound of the birds, as they
winged their flight over our heads, without its appropriate
charm in such a scene. I was too tired to visit the Castle that
day; Captain Barclay dined with us, and was kind and agreeable.
(21st.) The Laird with us. Saw the Apologist’s study; and
leaned on his cane. Drove to Dunotta Castle. The ruins grand and
vast, and the rock, of which they form a part, sublime.

Returning to Aberdeen, our traveller started again, by the “Highlander” coach, for Braemar.

Words _can’t_ do any justice to the magnificence of the drive by
the Dee all the way after the first fifteen miles. The
Grampians, and “their dark Lognegan,” sung by Lord Byron in his
first poems, defy description.

(24th, 1st day.) Went to kirk; interesting to see the groups
of men and women in the highland costume, and children also. I
was impressed and pleased with the whole scene. The lords and
ladies sat in the gallery—I below. The sermon was excellent,
the preacher evidently zealous—it was a keeping holy the
sabbath day. Next morning I set off again, after giving good
advice to the Scotch girl, Agnes Mackay, who waited on me.

The most remarkable objects on my way were the immense rocks and
mountains around; the Grampians in all their magnificence! Oh!
it was at times a fearful pass! the road wound round the edge of
a precipice spirally, and there was no fence! (at least at the
worst part there was none.) They were, however, so sublime, that
I was sorry to part with them for tamer scenery. The Spittal of
Glenshee is a desolate, wild, savage looking place indeed!
nothing could make me like to abide there, except the wish to do
good to some one. (26th.) Rose cheerful, and thankful, and
hopeful. Drove to Craig Hall. The scenery is just what I like
beyond all other. Steep, rocky banks, wooded by the hand of
nature, enclose a clear, rapid stream, breaking over rocky
masses as it rolls, and forming tiny cataracts. The walk is a
mile long, and ends in a semicircle of rocks, shutting the
valley in. It moved my envy more than anything I ever saw. I was
sorry to come away.

* * * * From Blair Gowrie I went on to Dunkeld. At length the
Grampians reappeared, and at first in _bare_ grandeur, but ere
we reached D., which lies sweetly at their feet, they became
feathered with trees up to the top. * * What an agreeable
surprise! Sir Charles Lemon is here—he tells me the Lord
Chancellor will be here to-morrow; I hope to see him too; he
also is on his way to Taymouth. It _is_ a refreshment to see
well-known faces anywhere—especially when alone, and far from
home—but two such men! That is a treat. To bed, pleased and
thankful. (27th.) Set off on my return to D.; next day left
for Perth, rest and fire welcome, when I arrived—landlady a
Norfolk woman, glad to see me for my _county’s_ sake and my
_own_, as she knows my works. (29th.) Went to see Scone in a
gig. The _Old Cross_ to be seen where the kings were proclaimed.
Only a doorway remains of the old Palace; but the furniture and
bed and cabinets _all_ used in the new one, which is built of
pinky granite, beautiful to my eye. I saw a bed and a screen
worked by poor Mary when a prisoner at Lochleven, and her odious
son’s bed, &c. Went next to Kinfauns, a beautiful place built of
a white and better granite; but I prefer the other. There is a
terrace here, and beautiful and grand wooded rocks to be seen
from it, and from the windows, and the Tay glides through the
vale beneath. The house too is evidently built and furnished by
a man of taste and virtu. I am sure I remember Lord Gray, by his
_picture_, an officer at N. when I was quite young—_not out_. I
saw, and lifted with great difficulty, the sword of W. Wallace.
My landlady sent me in, a Norfolk paper; I have cut out S.
Wilkin’s affecting letter to show John Sheppard, if I see him at
Edinburgh. (30th, 1st day.) Heard, from one of the waiters,
that there were Friends opposite; wrote a note to invite myself
to sit with them, as the man said they met privately. They
received me, and we sat an hour and more, in silence; I think
they expected I had a religious concern to visit them.

This has been a ruinous week! shocked at the amount of my bill,
and I so abstemious too!

The next day I committed the great imprudence of going in an
open carriage to Crieff, and got wet through; but I was a little
comforted by seeing the paragraph in the paper on _myself_! * *
* Thence I posted to Loch Earne Head, the most beautiful of
drives—thence to Callander, but could not get taken in there.
(3rd day, 1st Sept.) Embarked on Loch Katrine, and after
visiting the Isle resumed our boat, and soon landed at a point
whence we had a walk of about four miles, returning very wet and
weary, but _delighted_.

At this point Mrs. Opie became really ill; the cold she had taken was succeeded by fever, and her night was one of “pain, choking, and distress.” Happily some benevolent strangers (Dr. now Sir J. Richardson, the well known arctic traveller, and his lady) came to her assistance, and rendered her all necessary succour. She mentions that Professor Whewell walked ten miles, giving her his seat in a carriage, and at length she reached Callander again; “deeply thankful for the aid received.” Her Journal continues:—

Off, on the fourth, at six, for Stirling; in the coach were some
Americans, who overwhelmed me with thanks and praises for the
good derived from my works. I was fool enough to be pleased!
Stirling Castle on the whole disappointed me. Took boat for
Edinburgh at twelve.

She remained at Edinburgh about three weeks, and records in her note book many events of interest; visiting Dr. Chalmers, pleasing meetings with numerous friends, &c. On the 22nd of September she departed, to carry into effect her proposed journey to the Highlands. A few extracts from her note book will enable the reader to trace her route.

On the 22nd of September I left Edinburgh for Glasgow, and dined
at the house of Sir W. Hooker, with whom I had the pleasure of
renewing acquaintance at the Scientific Meeting at Edinburgh, a
short time previously. My day at Glasgow is dear to my
recollection. Next morning I set off, per steam boat along the
Clyde, to Dumbarton; from thence, by coach, to Loch Lomond. How
glad was I to find myself at last gliding up that “Lake full of
Islands.” One of these is appropriated to the use of harmless
insane people, who are permitted to wander about it at will: had
I known this at the time, my interest would have been greatly
enhanced. * * * It was a lovely afternoon, the sky was blue, and
the clouds floated in silvery brightness above the mountains,
and even the lofty head of Ben Lomond was unveiled! As I gazed
upon his grandeur, and listened to the gentle ripplings of the
waters of the lake as they broke against the shore, I felt a
soothing calm and a devotional enjoyment.

When a girl, I had delighted to read “Gilpin on Picturesque
Scenery,” and particularly had admired the coloured print of the
Castle of Inverary, with the sun setting behind it: now I had
come to see it! As we rowed over the clear and lovely waters,
skirting the proud domains of the house of Argyle, how busy was
my memory! The waters were so transparent that I could see to
the bottom, which in the mid-day sun, seemed paved with
emeralds, and I could also see shells and seaweed of varied
sorts.

* * * * The morrow came, and what a lovely scene did I gaze upon
when I entered my sitting room. The sea was so smooth that the
vessels on it, though all the sails were up, appeared quite
motionless, when first beheld. The top of Mull was cloudless,
but the mists of night were slowly and gracefully unwinding
themselves from the verdant sides of Morven, and I was indeed
gazing on the Western Isles, so often imaged to my fancy, so
full to me of Ossian and poetical associations. But regret
mingled with my pleasure, as I knew I was come too late in the
year to visit Staffa and Iona. Still it was satisfaction to look
at them, and I could not long keep away from the window.

* * * As we steamed past “rocky Morven” it was clothed in
lights, shadows, and tints which no pencil could paint, nor pen
describe. I gazed, almost spell bound, as I floated by. There
was an unearthly hue over the western side of the scene, which
would soon have assisted the fancy to trace on it the forms of
the heroes of Ossian. The declining sun, while scattering over
surrounding objects the brightest tints, threw, at the same
time, over the Western Isles, and their lofty boundary of rocks,
a mysterious, faintly coloured mantle of ever vanishing, yet
ever renewed, vapour; the rippling waves were bright with gold
and silver; the black shadows of the rocks of Morven were
reflected in the glassy bosom of the sea; and the magic
colouring of the western vales, mountains, and waters, rendered
me insensible to the attractions of the eastern shore, till
there was pointed out to me the land of “Selma and of song.”

* * * * It was a bright, blue, and nearly cloudless day, and the
waters of Lochleven, though motionless, glistened in places,
with the rays of the early morning, as I approached the darkly
frowning entrance of Glencoe, which reminded me of that of
Borrowdale; but Glencoe is formed of higher rocks, and shapes
more strangely fantastic. How congenial to such scenes are the
deep solitude and stillness that reigns here! In the Glen of the
massacre especially, the ruined walls, and cottages destroyed,
and the absence of the once cheerful population, tell, without
language, a tale of death and destruction, on which silence and
desolation are the heart-touching comments! I could apply to
Glencoe, with justice, the description “beauty in the lap of
horror!” I was in the midst of precipitous and bare mounts, and
of peaked rocks, some of which shewed indelible marks of
mountain torrents; while below them were gracefully swelling
hillocks, which appeared to smile away the gloom of the awful
creations above them. The recollection of the horrible crime
committed here, thrilled through my heart. Why is it one
lingers, as if reluctant to leave a scene of powerful and even
painful emotion? It must be from the love of excitement; a love
which few outgrow.

* * * From Dalmally I retraced my steps to Strongmachran. My way
lay up a very steep, high hill, called the “hill of surprise,”
from whence I beheld Loch Awe, with its twenty-four islands,
lying in its watery grandeur before me. It _was_ a surprise, and
I was sorry that I was unable to stop, and visit some of the
ruins on the Islands: I was on the wrong side, too, for seeing
the magnificent pass of Awe.

The notes of this Journal are closed with the following lines:—

How congenial to the Highlands are solitude and silence! We may
deplore the present desolateness and depopulation of those most
interesting scenes, but they certainly increase their beauty and
solemnity. I always admire the ocean most when there are no
vessels whatever on its waves; and the solitude, stillness, and
depopulation of the Highlands, were to me, heighteners of their
charms.

Mrs. Opie also visited Abbotsford, and thus describes what she saw and felt:—

Eighteen years had passed since I first crossed the Tweed; and
Abbotsford, an entirely new creation since that time, was
already without inhabitants, and the burial-place of the Scotts,
already tenanted! “Well, (said I to myself,) I will see the
wonderful man’s house in life, and his house in death.” And at
length, at six o’clock on a misty wintry morning, I reluctantly
bade farewell to the kindest of friends, and set off for
Melrose, where, as soon as I arrived, I ordered a post-chaise
and drove to Abbotsford.

It was with considerable emotion that I beheld the gates of this
far famed, but now untenanted, house!—but the mind of Walter
Scott still seemed to pervade everything around. All the
objects, all the furniture, spoke of him, and realized, as it
were, all the creations of his pen—nay, evidently had helped to
create them. It was action and reaction. He began to write with
warlike weapons, and things of auld lang syne about him, and
these stores, accumulating, impressed themselves powerfully on
his imagination, and his imagination in turn stamped them upon
his paper, till his pages resembled his rooms, and his rooms
resembled his pages.

How much was I interested in examining the varied curiosities
which the rooms contained—the beauty of the apartments
themselves—the pictures—the gate of the Tolbooth and its massy
keys—the silver vase, the gift of Lord Byron, containing the
ashes of the Greeks, found under the walls of the Acropolis—and
the various other objects around me!

But the sight of all these things did not tend to elevate my
spirits, and I quitted the place with feelings suited to a scene
more melancholy still. As I drove past Melrose Abbey, the rain
prevented me from stopping to see those picturesque ruins again;
but they seemed changed since I saw them in 1816, and less in
size—nor was I mistaken, for part of the ruin had fallen down.
I also thought that the red colour of the stone was faded; but
then, when I saw them before, they were lighted up by a summer
sun, and now I beheld them through a thick-falling rain in
winter.

The fatigue of my journey from Edinburgh had disposed me to
sleep, but I was aroused from my slumbers by a strange
sensation, like that produced by the motion of a steam vessel.
We were fording the Tweed, and going against a very strong
current, and, in spite of my admiration of that river, I did not
relish the idea of being drowned, even in its classic waters;
not that there was any real danger, but the tide rolled darkly
and powerfully along, and I was tired and depressed.

I soon found a guide to the ruins,[40] and followed her along a
narrow path covered with fallen leaves, the emblems of decay; a
fitting carpet for the road to the abode of death, which now met
my view in unmitigated dreariness. For though the carved roof of
the crypt remained entire in its beauty, the sides of the ruin
were open to every wind that blew. The graves of Sir Walter and
Lady Scott, raised several feet from the ground, were placed
immediately beneath the arch of the building, and therefore, in
a degree, sheltered from the weather. But not one blade of grass
grew on those graves of clay; and, giving the unconscious dead
my own feelings, I was weak enough to wish, while the rain fell
and the wind whistled around, that their last dwelling had been
warmed, at least, by a covering of vegetation. To my judgment,
this seemed indeed an idle desire, but feeling, or rather folly
perhaps, was predominant. It was with many affecting
associations that I gazed on the grave nearest me, that of Sir
Walter Scott, and it was some minutes before I could prevail on
myself to quit the spot, and go to the burying-ground of Lord
and Lady Buchan, where I experienced an absurd feeling of
satisfaction in finding that their remains were deposited under
stones of memorial, and in a building covered in from the
weather. But the sight of these tombs did not call forth in me
either regret or emotion. Their inhabitants had died at a good
old age, surviving even the usual term of man’s existence; but
their far-famed neighbour, in the abode of death, had fallen a
victim to premature decay! * * * *

-----

[39] See “Memoirs of Dr. Chalmers.”

[40] Dryburgh Abbey.