CHAPTER XXIII.

London, March 15th.One thousand, eight hundred, and thirty-seven. Thanks dearest dear friend, for your cordial letter. Yes, thank God! 91 is quite well in health, and if my beloved friends enjoyed the same blessing, would be perfectly content in mind. Nephews and nieces whom you are not acquainted with, are suffering. They are folks whose virtues you must esteem, and some whose wit you would admire. Oh! why do you not come to town earlier in the season? Our dear Lady Frederick is not yet in town, but there are many of your playfellows. Yesterday dined with me, Rogers, Sydney Smith, Granby, and more wits and worthies, such as you would relish. * *The picture of Hannah More is by Gainsborough; I think it a little like her; when she was young she could not afford to have very fine,long, diamondear-rings; nor were they the fashion when I saw her flirting with Garrick; however, all the connoisseurs agree that it is an excellent painting. N.B. There is a ring on the wedding-finger, which does not resemble blessed Hannah.Poets are springing up like mushrooms, but the novels are sad trash. Lord Carnarvon’s new publication much admired.Yours more than words can express, says,Old M. Cork.

London, March 15th.

One thousand, eight hundred, and thirty-seven. Thanks dearest dear friend, for your cordial letter. Yes, thank God! 91 is quite well in health, and if my beloved friends enjoyed the same blessing, would be perfectly content in mind. Nephews and nieces whom you are not acquainted with, are suffering. They are folks whose virtues you must esteem, and some whose wit you would admire. Oh! why do you not come to town earlier in the season? Our dear Lady Frederick is not yet in town, but there are many of your playfellows. Yesterday dined with me, Rogers, Sydney Smith, Granby, and more wits and worthies, such as you would relish. * *

The picture of Hannah More is by Gainsborough; I think it a little like her; when she was young she could not afford to have very fine,long, diamondear-rings; nor were they the fashion when I saw her flirting with Garrick; however, all the connoisseurs agree that it is an excellent painting. N.B. There is a ring on the wedding-finger, which does not resemble blessed Hannah.

Poets are springing up like mushrooms, but the novels are sad trash. Lord Carnarvon’s new publication much admired.

Yours more than words can express, says,

Old M. Cork.

A short note in her pocket book written by Mrs. Opie about this time, so much illustrates one of her peculiar excellencies, that we venture to give it.

J’ai toujours attaché une importance extrême à ce qu’on appelle vulgairement les petites choses; des attentions delicates, quand elles sont persistantes, prouvent la constante occupation de la pensée.“Take care of the pence, and the pounds will take care of themselves,” says the proverb; and it is applicable to everything, I think, and particularly to human conduct, and the formation of character. Take care of indulging in little selfishnesses; learn to consider others in trifles; be careful to fulfil theminorsocial duties; and the mind, so disciplined, will find it easier to fulfil the greater duties, and the character will not exhibit that trying inconsistency which one sees in great, and often in pious, persons.

At the Spring Assizes (1838) Mrs. Opie was, as usual, in the Nisi Prius Court, she writes:—

Much did I enjoy it; one day I was there eleven hours, and all one cause, so that I could not leave it; the next day I was in from nine to seven again. Baron Parke was the judge, and an admirable one he is; and he was very kind to me, having a place saved for me, and I was admitted through the private room. I rememberedthe days of Judge Gould. Baron Bolland was equally civil, but to his court I could not get before the last day; and grandly beautiful does he still look, though he has had a paralytic stroke.

In July, writing from London, she says:—

I am here in perfect health, and much enjoying myself; yesterday we dined at S. Hoare’s. The other day I went to call on the Miss Berrys, the wits and beauties of former days, at their cottage at Richmond, and they made me stay dinner, tempting me with Lord Brougham. I had really a delightful day!

The autumn and winter, however, brought returns of her malady, and her medical attendants said that she must expect such attacks, in which she acquiesced, saying, “no doubt I must.” A confinement of some weeks to her bed-room, was found so irksome, that she gladly had recourse to an ottoman couch bed, on which she could recline, and receive her visitors, as she said, “in state.”

The “Memoirs of Sir Walter Scott” were published at this time, and with deepest interest did Mrs. Opie peruse these records of one whom she had so much honoured and admired. Among her papers is one containing some remarks upon them, written shortly after, from which we select a few passages.

No pages of fiction, not even his own, ever excited in me more deep interest than did the sixth and seventh volumes of the Memoirs. I knew he was aware while writing his journal, that it would one day meet the eye of the world, and that therefore it must have been written with caution and under some restraint; yet, it had to me the charm of unfettered ingenuousness. There is through the whole of it a mournful reality, which I could not read without intense sympathy. It is a remarkable circumstance that he should have begun it almost at the time when he first had reason to suspect that his commercial engagements might possibly involve him in difficulties.I own that in spite of the drollery, the bursts of jollity and mirth, the wit, the humour, and all its pleasing variety, the journal is rarely divested to me of the signs of secret suffering. It reminds me of the royal castle at Baden Baden, where all is splendour and gay decorations above, while beneath lie the deep dark dungeons, concealed from the eye of day, telling of the terrors of the secret tribunal.After that awful year, 1825, marked in the commercial world by the ruin of thousands, the diary becomes more a work of art, through which nature still forces itself. He writes gaily, but feels more and more joylessly. Never after 1826 and ’27, could any one fancy it, in my opinion at least, the journal of a happy man. Certainly he was not warmed by his own brilliancy, nor enlivened by his own pleasantries; and though it was a relief to him to write his journal, and it might be an accurate transcript of his own sad feelings, there was “a lower deep,” a deeper current still, which he did not allow any human eye to penetrate, that was bearing him on its fatal tide, to imbecility and death.I may be wrong, but I believe Sir Walter Scott’s horrible dread of the trials hanging over him and others, had an instantaneous effect on his mind, and that his judgment was impaired, and his power of self-control gone, while his imagination and invention remained in full vigour.Judgment is the quality which enables us “to decide on the propriety, or impropriety of an action,” and had not Sir Walter’s judgment been weakened, he never could have sinned so much against propriety, (to use the gentlest word,) as to pen down so many oaths in his diary; but had the irritation of the moment led him so to err, he would have effaced the offensive words, and regretted his want of self-government, if his power of judgment had not been obscured. It his said he never swore with histongue, but in his Journal he frequently swore with his pen, wounding alike the pious and the refined.But, as I attribute this fault to an impaired judgment and a weakened power of self command, the consequences of his bitter trials, my conviction of the depth of his religious feelings remains undiminished. He somewhere says, that such was his fear of “becoming an enthusiast,” that he was very careful over “the state of his mind,” (or words to that effect,) whenever, while in a time of affliction, he was in “communion with his God”—a proof that such communion was well known to him; and I humbly trust that “lower deep” to which I have alluded, was illumined and cheered by that blessed influence which devotion is permitted to shed over the broken and supplicating heart. The satisfaction with which he listened to the Scriptures, his strong desire to have them read to him in his last days, and his parting words to his son-in-law, are chiefly valuable as indications of previous religious convictions, surviving, though in a shattered state, the wreck of mind; and are precious as are the broken pieces of carving from off some fine marble column in ruins, because they give evidence of its perfection in former days.

I own that in spite of the drollery, the bursts of jollity and mirth, the wit, the humour, and all its pleasing variety, the journal is rarely divested to me of the signs of secret suffering. It reminds me of the royal castle at Baden Baden, where all is splendour and gay decorations above, while beneath lie the deep dark dungeons, concealed from the eye of day, telling of the terrors of the secret tribunal.

After that awful year, 1825, marked in the commercial world by the ruin of thousands, the diary becomes more a work of art, through which nature still forces itself. He writes gaily, but feels more and more joylessly. Never after 1826 and ’27, could any one fancy it, in my opinion at least, the journal of a happy man. Certainly he was not warmed by his own brilliancy, nor enlivened by his own pleasantries; and though it was a relief to him to write his journal, and it might be an accurate transcript of his own sad feelings, there was “a lower deep,” a deeper current still, which he did not allow any human eye to penetrate, that was bearing him on its fatal tide, to imbecility and death.

I may be wrong, but I believe Sir Walter Scott’s horrible dread of the trials hanging over him and others, had an instantaneous effect on his mind, and that his judgment was impaired, and his power of self-control gone, while his imagination and invention remained in full vigour.

Judgment is the quality which enables us “to decide on the propriety, or impropriety of an action,” and had not Sir Walter’s judgment been weakened, he never could have sinned so much against propriety, (to use the gentlest word,) as to pen down so many oaths in his diary; but had the irritation of the moment led him so to err, he would have effaced the offensive words, and regretted his want of self-government, if his power of judgment had not been obscured. It his said he never swore with histongue, but in his Journal he frequently swore with his pen, wounding alike the pious and the refined.

But, as I attribute this fault to an impaired judgment and a weakened power of self command, the consequences of his bitter trials, my conviction of the depth of his religious feelings remains undiminished. He somewhere says, that such was his fear of “becoming an enthusiast,” that he was very careful over “the state of his mind,” (or words to that effect,) whenever, while in a time of affliction, he was in “communion with his God”—a proof that such communion was well known to him; and I humbly trust that “lower deep” to which I have alluded, was illumined and cheered by that blessed influence which devotion is permitted to shed over the broken and supplicating heart. The satisfaction with which he listened to the Scriptures, his strong desire to have them read to him in his last days, and his parting words to his son-in-law, are chiefly valuable as indications of previous religious convictions, surviving, though in a shattered state, the wreck of mind; and are precious as are the broken pieces of carving from off some fine marble column in ruins, because they give evidence of its perfection in former days.

Early in 1839 Mrs. Opie visited her beloved friends at Northrepps, and on her return wrote:—

I had a pleasant journey home; found my page waiting with a fly, a fire in my chamber, and a “Sally-Lunn” cake and tea ready, and the last number of Nickleby, such a treat! besides theEvening Chronicle, full of amusing speeches. I have much enjoyed my visit to you;A circle may be still completeAlthough it be but small!

A circle may be still completeAlthough it be but small!

A circle may be still complete

Although it be but small!

That summer, one of these friends, Miss Buxton, died; and long and lovingly was she remembered. This event was followed by the death of her cousin, Mrs. Briggs, which occurred in the month of September, of the same year. Mrs. Opie was with her during her last hours, and her distress and grief at this painful loss were very great. She says;—“these are the trials which make lengthened life, or long life, so undesirable; but it is the Lord, let him do that which seemeth him good.”

In the spring of 1840, writing to Miss Gurney, who was at that time in Rome, she says:—

My mind ever since your departure, has been dwelling on Peter and Paul; till I have quite convinced myself that, were I to go to Rome, my first desire would be to see the house where Peter lived, the place where he was crucified with hishead downwards, and then the house where Paul lived with the soldier, and the rest of hislocale: they both suffered in 66. I love Peter better than I do Paul; and I cannot read without tears those words of our Saviour, where He foretells his having to undergo a violent death. Peter, by his occasional lapses, seems to me to be the David of the disciples. * * * I am reading with delightful interest and edification a new “Memoir of George Fox,” the introduction to it is said to be written by Samuel Tuke.

The month of June, in this year, was the time appointed for the Meeting of the Anti-Slavery Convention in London; the announcement of this proposed Meeting had excited great interest in the friends of Abolition, and more than four hundred delegates assembled on the occasion. Mrs. Opie was present, and among her papers is one giving an account of the proceedings in the first day’s sitting, in which she enters at considerable length into the addresses of the various speakers, and the measures they proposed, and ends by saying:—

Thus concluded the first day’s meeting, and if the benefits resulting from it be in any proportion to the intense interest which (as I believe) it excited in all who were present, thenMillions yet unborn may blessThe meeting of that day.

Thus concluded the first day’s meeting, and if the benefits resulting from it be in any proportion to the intense interest which (as I believe) it excited in all who were present, then

Millions yet unborn may blessThe meeting of that day.

Millions yet unborn may bless

The meeting of that day.

The introductory remarks prefixed to her account of the second day’s sitting of the Convention are interesting, as they contain her own personal impressions of some of the actors in the scene, in short and graphic sketches, she writes thus:—

I entered the Hall of the Convention at so early an hour this morning, that I was able to obtain the same advantageous situation as on the preceding day.By arriving so early, I was enabled to see each delegate take his seat, and I observed the entrance of some of the Americans with more interest than I did the preceding day, because I had learnt more of their personal history.To Henry Grew my attention had been particularly drawn on the first day of the meeting, even before he had addressed the chairman; because the arrangement of his hair, and the expression of his countenance, realized my idea of the Covenanters of old, and his speech did not weaken this impression; therefore I was not surprised when I was assured, by a countryman of his, that he not only resembled in appearance one of those pious men, but that, under similar circumstances, he would probably have acted and died as they did.But, till this second morning, I did not know, that in Wendell Phillips, the young Secretary with the pale golden hair parted on his open forehead, I beheld “the very young speaker” mentioned in the “Martyr Age” of America, “on whose lips hung, for the space of three minutes, the fate of the Abolitionists in Boston.” The dark eyed, dark bearded, intelligent looking young Secretary opposite to him, was pointed out to me as being one of the fifty young men, students in the Lane Seminary at Cincinnati, in Ohio, who left that College, because the president and professors thought proper to prohibit all free inquiry among the students in their leisure hours, and had more particularly forbidden them to discuss the question of Slavery.In J. G. Birney, the American gentleman sitting to the left hand of the President’s chair, with the thoughtful brow, the dignified and manly bearing, and with an expression of calm deliberate firmness in his countenance, I now knew that I beheld one of whom his country might indeed be proud. He was once a slave-holder; but, being convinced, at an early age, that the religion of Jesus forbade him to remain so, he emancipated his slaves and had them educated; and when, on the death of his father, he became entitled to half of the paternal inheritance, he chose to take that half in the slaves his father had left; and when they became his, he emancipated them also.“But who is that,” said a friend to me, “with the dark, thick, curly hair, and a plain brown frock coat, who, though he looks somewhat like a Quaker cannot be one, because he answers to the title of Colonel?” “That is,” replied I, “Colonel Jonathan Miller, from Vermont, who, though he looks like a man of peace, in some measure is, or has been, a man of war, as he fought for the Greeks at Missolonghi, and has in his possession the sword of Lord Byron. That broad, brown beaver hat of his, might be worn by a plain Friend; still, I must say that I have seen him wear it on one side, in a manner rather unusual in our meetings; but I have looked upon that hat with much respect, as well as on himself, since I have been informed that he wears it in order that a runaway slave in his own country may know, if he sees it, that he has a friend, and protector nigh.”It were tedious to enumerate all those whom I was now able to point out to others, and was interested in observing myself; among these, however, I must name the learned Professors Deane and Adam, and J. C. Fuller, an Englishman by birth, but now an American citizen; a delegate, whose short, but shrewd and pithy speeches often amused the hearers. Nor can I omit to mention, with more especial notice, Captain Charles Stuart, one of the delegates from Jamaica, with his fine picturesque head, covered with clustering curls of iron grey, and his deep toned powerful voice, sounding like a minute gun, when he rose from his distant seat, and said, “No,” or “Chair;” but when he spoke at some length, his voice seemed to be a sort of musical thunder. He is honourably distinguished as being one of the most devoted friends of the oppressed. There was, sitting near this gentleman, one from Ohio, whom I had long known and esteemed; a tall, mild looking man, with finely chiselled features, and an expression which, in that convention at least, seemed often to denote he had less communion with earthly things, than “with things above.” He, and the serious, sensible looking man beside him, a minister, and his colleague, came over to England more than a year ago, to plead in behalf of the Oberlin Institute: a blessing has attended their labours; and humble as their demeanour is, there were no men in that meeting more worthy to be welcomed by their oppressed countrymen, as friends and benefactors, than William Dawes and John Keep.

I entered the Hall of the Convention at so early an hour this morning, that I was able to obtain the same advantageous situation as on the preceding day.

By arriving so early, I was enabled to see each delegate take his seat, and I observed the entrance of some of the Americans with more interest than I did the preceding day, because I had learnt more of their personal history.

To Henry Grew my attention had been particularly drawn on the first day of the meeting, even before he had addressed the chairman; because the arrangement of his hair, and the expression of his countenance, realized my idea of the Covenanters of old, and his speech did not weaken this impression; therefore I was not surprised when I was assured, by a countryman of his, that he not only resembled in appearance one of those pious men, but that, under similar circumstances, he would probably have acted and died as they did.

But, till this second morning, I did not know, that in Wendell Phillips, the young Secretary with the pale golden hair parted on his open forehead, I beheld “the very young speaker” mentioned in the “Martyr Age” of America, “on whose lips hung, for the space of three minutes, the fate of the Abolitionists in Boston.” The dark eyed, dark bearded, intelligent looking young Secretary opposite to him, was pointed out to me as being one of the fifty young men, students in the Lane Seminary at Cincinnati, in Ohio, who left that College, because the president and professors thought proper to prohibit all free inquiry among the students in their leisure hours, and had more particularly forbidden them to discuss the question of Slavery.

In J. G. Birney, the American gentleman sitting to the left hand of the President’s chair, with the thoughtful brow, the dignified and manly bearing, and with an expression of calm deliberate firmness in his countenance, I now knew that I beheld one of whom his country might indeed be proud. He was once a slave-holder; but, being convinced, at an early age, that the religion of Jesus forbade him to remain so, he emancipated his slaves and had them educated; and when, on the death of his father, he became entitled to half of the paternal inheritance, he chose to take that half in the slaves his father had left; and when they became his, he emancipated them also.

“But who is that,” said a friend to me, “with the dark, thick, curly hair, and a plain brown frock coat, who, though he looks somewhat like a Quaker cannot be one, because he answers to the title of Colonel?” “That is,” replied I, “Colonel Jonathan Miller, from Vermont, who, though he looks like a man of peace, in some measure is, or has been, a man of war, as he fought for the Greeks at Missolonghi, and has in his possession the sword of Lord Byron. That broad, brown beaver hat of his, might be worn by a plain Friend; still, I must say that I have seen him wear it on one side, in a manner rather unusual in our meetings; but I have looked upon that hat with much respect, as well as on himself, since I have been informed that he wears it in order that a runaway slave in his own country may know, if he sees it, that he has a friend, and protector nigh.”

It were tedious to enumerate all those whom I was now able to point out to others, and was interested in observing myself; among these, however, I must name the learned Professors Deane and Adam, and J. C. Fuller, an Englishman by birth, but now an American citizen; a delegate, whose short, but shrewd and pithy speeches often amused the hearers. Nor can I omit to mention, with more especial notice, Captain Charles Stuart, one of the delegates from Jamaica, with his fine picturesque head, covered with clustering curls of iron grey, and his deep toned powerful voice, sounding like a minute gun, when he rose from his distant seat, and said, “No,” or “Chair;” but when he spoke at some length, his voice seemed to be a sort of musical thunder. He is honourably distinguished as being one of the most devoted friends of the oppressed. There was, sitting near this gentleman, one from Ohio, whom I had long known and esteemed; a tall, mild looking man, with finely chiselled features, and an expression which, in that convention at least, seemed often to denote he had less communion with earthly things, than “with things above.” He, and the serious, sensible looking man beside him, a minister, and his colleague, came over to England more than a year ago, to plead in behalf of the Oberlin Institute: a blessing has attended their labours; and humble as their demeanour is, there were no men in that meeting more worthy to be welcomed by their oppressed countrymen, as friends and benefactors, than William Dawes and John Keep.

Mrs. Opie afterwards sat to Haydon, who was then painting his picture of the Convention. In the life of the painter we find the following entries in his diary:—

“(July 31st.) A. Opie sat, and a very pleasant hour and a half we had. (Again, the following day,) A. O. sat, a delightful creature; she told me she heard Fuseli say of Northcote, ‘he looks like a rat who has seen a cat.’”

Mr. Haydon, as he looked at the assemblage of portraits in this picture, pronounced it to be his opinion that “such a number of honest heads were never seen together before.”

The winter and spring were passed by Mrs. Opie much as usual. While suffering from occasional attacks of pain, nevertheless her constant thought and care were exerted in behalf of others. That she sometimes felt these claims too much, is evident from many of her notes. In one of them dated 3rd mo., 1841, she says:—

I am weary of having to give the little time I may have yet to live, to the business of others; it saddens me. (And again.) Two letters, involving me in writing and trouble; but be it so! it is a favour to be made useful to others, and my life here seems passing away in writing letters on others’ business; well, the time may soon come, when I cannot work.

That this was not imaginary pressure, was abundantly evident to those who saw her day by day; and among her papers, after her decease, were found an inconceivable multitude of applications for charity, or acknowledgments of favours received, &c., &c.

During her customary visit to London this year, she wrote home:—

33, Bruton Street, Berkeley Square,5th mo., 14th, 1841, night.My dear C. L.,* * * * * * We had such a charming meeting at Exeter Hall last second day, (Monday,) Lord John Russell in the chair! it was the British and Foreign School Meeting. I never saw or heard Lord John to such advantage, and all the speakers (except Clay, the M.P. for the Tower Hamlets) spoke exceedingly well; indeed Lord John was excessively applauded, and he felt it at his heart, I am sure. Even Burnet, the witty and sarcastic, was courteous on this occasion; and, with tact and courtesy, contrived, while returning thanks to the Duke of Bedford for his annual £100, and eulogizing the late Duke for the same, and the House of Russell generally, to let the audience know that the Duchess of Bedford was present, in one of the galleries; on which she was cheered and applauded, and had to rise and curtsey, and she was cheered again when she went away.I have dined with Sydney Smith at the Bishop of Durham’s, and breakfasted with him at Miss Rogers’, (breakfasts are thetonnow,) and he, Rogers, and Babbage kept up a pleasant running fire. I sat between S. S. and his more charming brother, and wished to hear the latter, but in vain. At my cousin Edward’s, I sat by Lockhart, who is always charming in my eyes, and was then, particularly agreeable. To-day was the Anti-Slavery meeting, to which I looked forward with interest, mixed with dread; and not without reason, for Chartists were there, and some climbed upon the platform, and one was allowed to speak. The last speaker had to be silenced by a policeman; at length, generally called for, rose O’Connell, in his might and majesty, and the magical music of his voice hushed the jarring elements to peace. He is a marvellous person! But how I took myself in; I had a ticket for a side gallery, and I chose the one nearest to that side of the platform where O’Connell usually sits. Alas! when thethunderproclaimed his approach, I saw him come in at the other side. He never sat there before; and he had a lady with him, his own dear daughter. However, when he spoke, he came near the middle of the platform; but, had I been in my usual place, I should have always seen him and heard every word, which I could not do to-day. He certainly must have been ill, though he looks blooming; for he is excessively shrunk: but he looks all the better for it. He spoke admirably, but I thought his voice less powerful than usual. To-night he holds, at the Crown and Anchor, a meeting for Repeal. He said several unguarded things, but still the charm predominated.I found a friend at the door when I went out, who took me to see the Reform Club House, that splendid erection, which will cost £70,000, and the first person I saw there was O’Connell! To be sure we had a cordial meeting and shaking of hands. He said he had seen me at the meeting, and I had heard him, as well as seen him. By the bye, Lucy, he would have made such a fine drawing! He had wrapt a cloak round his manly form; and his loss of flesh (of which he had far too much) makes his neck look longer; and his cheeks being less round, his face appears less flat; the nose is much handsomer than I thought it was. I reckon on hearing him again on the 17th, at the Aborigines’ Protection Society.On the 18th I dine at Lord Stanley’s, (of Alderley,) and on the 19th Yearly Meeting begins, and will probably last nine days or ten. I have now been well some days. I threw physic to the dogs last week, and felt my lassitude go with it; and now, I trust, the fatigues of our Holy Week will prove none to me; but that it will be as reviving and welcome as the Holy Week, at Rome and Edinburgh, to those who keep it holy, and are, during its term, devoted to their duties.Farewell! Please, Miss, to answer this.Affectionately thine,A. Opie.

33, Bruton Street, Berkeley Square,

5th mo., 14th, 1841, night.

My dear C. L.,

* * * * * * We had such a charming meeting at Exeter Hall last second day, (Monday,) Lord John Russell in the chair! it was the British and Foreign School Meeting. I never saw or heard Lord John to such advantage, and all the speakers (except Clay, the M.P. for the Tower Hamlets) spoke exceedingly well; indeed Lord John was excessively applauded, and he felt it at his heart, I am sure. Even Burnet, the witty and sarcastic, was courteous on this occasion; and, with tact and courtesy, contrived, while returning thanks to the Duke of Bedford for his annual £100, and eulogizing the late Duke for the same, and the House of Russell generally, to let the audience know that the Duchess of Bedford was present, in one of the galleries; on which she was cheered and applauded, and had to rise and curtsey, and she was cheered again when she went away.

I have dined with Sydney Smith at the Bishop of Durham’s, and breakfasted with him at Miss Rogers’, (breakfasts are thetonnow,) and he, Rogers, and Babbage kept up a pleasant running fire. I sat between S. S. and his more charming brother, and wished to hear the latter, but in vain. At my cousin Edward’s, I sat by Lockhart, who is always charming in my eyes, and was then, particularly agreeable. To-day was the Anti-Slavery meeting, to which I looked forward with interest, mixed with dread; and not without reason, for Chartists were there, and some climbed upon the platform, and one was allowed to speak. The last speaker had to be silenced by a policeman; at length, generally called for, rose O’Connell, in his might and majesty, and the magical music of his voice hushed the jarring elements to peace. He is a marvellous person! But how I took myself in; I had a ticket for a side gallery, and I chose the one nearest to that side of the platform where O’Connell usually sits. Alas! when thethunderproclaimed his approach, I saw him come in at the other side. He never sat there before; and he had a lady with him, his own dear daughter. However, when he spoke, he came near the middle of the platform; but, had I been in my usual place, I should have always seen him and heard every word, which I could not do to-day. He certainly must have been ill, though he looks blooming; for he is excessively shrunk: but he looks all the better for it. He spoke admirably, but I thought his voice less powerful than usual. To-night he holds, at the Crown and Anchor, a meeting for Repeal. He said several unguarded things, but still the charm predominated.

I found a friend at the door when I went out, who took me to see the Reform Club House, that splendid erection, which will cost £70,000, and the first person I saw there was O’Connell! To be sure we had a cordial meeting and shaking of hands. He said he had seen me at the meeting, and I had heard him, as well as seen him. By the bye, Lucy, he would have made such a fine drawing! He had wrapt a cloak round his manly form; and his loss of flesh (of which he had far too much) makes his neck look longer; and his cheeks being less round, his face appears less flat; the nose is much handsomer than I thought it was. I reckon on hearing him again on the 17th, at the Aborigines’ Protection Society.

On the 18th I dine at Lord Stanley’s, (of Alderley,) and on the 19th Yearly Meeting begins, and will probably last nine days or ten. I have now been well some days. I threw physic to the dogs last week, and felt my lassitude go with it; and now, I trust, the fatigues of our Holy Week will prove none to me; but that it will be as reviving and welcome as the Holy Week, at Rome and Edinburgh, to those who keep it holy, and are, during its term, devoted to their duties.

Farewell! Please, Miss, to answer this.

Affectionately thine,

A. Opie.

Again, June 26th, she wrote:—

* * * I was at the House of Lords. The Queen’s reading was more perfect than ever, and her quiet, self-possession, her grace and dignity, are beyond praise. She wore a circlet of diamonds only, no crown, and she looked so well! It was pretty to see Prince Albert hand her up and down the Throne, and lead her in and out. There were seventy-six Peeresses. It was a fine sight altogether.

In the spring of 1842 Mrs. Opie was again in London. Her notes give a lively record of the two months she spent there. Yearly Meeting she attended as usual; and on the 10th May she writes:—

I dined to-day in company with Lord Brougham, and sat between him and my cousin Edward; he was in high spirits, and talked incessantly and well, and was very entertaining and interesting: I never saw him pleasanter. We were, indeed, evidently so merry and happy at the bottom of the table, that those at the top sat silent, and endeavouring to catch the words that fell from the eloquent man’s lips. Again. (6th mo., 11th.) Every night this week I shall have dined out, and in parties of a most agreeable description; of my visit to the Duke of Sussex, and our interestingtête à tête, I can’t write. The Duchess shewed me all over the Palace, and the long row of Bibles. The room is fifty feet long, and the Bibles are in all languages.

Shortly after (June 24th) she wrote, referring to the general state of want and suffering then prevalent:—

Appeals to national generosity, for aught but national distress and starving populations, in our three countries, ought, in my opinion, to be now suspended, and speculations, however benevolent, also; we are, I think, accountable to our distressed countrymen for expenditures of the sort. The accounts from Ireland, which I read the other day, brought tears into my eyes.

This summer Mrs. Opie paid her usual visits to the coast, and, after her return home, we find in one of her notes the following entry:—

The weather seems so hot here! I pine almost for the fresh sea breezes. I like the book I borrowed, (Lives of Physicians,) it delights me to read how generous those great physicians were; how patriotic, and full of care for others! I feel proud of the faculty!

This is quite a characteristic touch. She was almost jealous for the credit and good name of the medical profession; and very anxious that its members should be held in high esteem, and their services liberally remunerated.

The winter of this, and the early spring of the following year, found Mrs. Opie occasionally suffering from her disorder; but enjoying the supports and consolations of christian faith and trust.

In one of her notes she says:—

My trials are afflictive to nature; but I have long known and experienced that there is support in entire submission to God’s will, in little as well as in great trials; and, when I can buckle on that armour, I feel as if I could walk erect and securely.

In May she was, as usual, in London; and, writing thence, says:—

Yearly Meeting has engrossed me as much as ever, for I never missedonesitting since I obtained the great privilege of belonging to it; one which I feel more and more every year, is the last thing increasing age will cause me to forego.

In a note, dated July 12th, she says:—

I have struck up a friendship with “Sam Slick,” alias Judge Haliburton; but, alas! one of the American delegates carries away with him a large piece of my heart! It is grievous to make acquaintances with people, learn to love and admire them, and then bid them farewell for ever! Almost all the American delegates, and their wives, came to me on the 10th, to tea and supper. I had Colonel Thompson, and Serjeant Thompson, and an Andalusian traveller to meet them, and willing to be pleased, they were so.

This summer seems to have been a very happy and busy one; the following extract, from a note, gives a peep at one of her mornings:—

(8th mo., 16th.) I have seemed lately to want for many necessary and proper purposes, the most precious of all things—time. Other people’s business, and my own pleasures have prevented my writing before. At ten I must be out shopping; at eleven to the Magdalen; at two I must drive to see my aunt and say farewell! and then I am off to Ketteringham, to a five o’clock dinner, as E. Sidney lectures at seven.

At the close of the year, she suffered again from an attack of her old disorder. One of her latest notes, (12mo., 11th,) says:—

Alas! I am in my room still, forbidden to leave it. Dr. Hull attributes my relapse to my efforts of last week; I had hoped I was out of the wood, but no such thing. Long live Don Jorge! he is my delight both night and morning, and my happiest hours are spent in his society.[41]

The following letter of “Reminiscences” was written to her friend at Northrepps at this time:—

Norwich, 12th mo., 16th, 1843.My dearest A.,* * * * I will begin, if I do not finish my account of poor Thomas Hogg, in whose christian end I rejoice. I think it was in 1816, ’17 or ’18, that Lady Cork was full of a sort of holy man, a poet, whom she had picked up in a ditch, a poor, half-starved man, whom she and Mrs. B. invited to their houses, and fed and clothed; and Lady C. prevailed on him to come to London, and she made up a bed for him in her stables.He did come, and his arrival was made known to me. He had written a poem on Hope, in heroic verse, and I was to see it. I think he was a hedger and ditcher, and made verses while he worked. I had, then, the worldly custom of receiving company on a first day morning, after I returned from church; and a fulllevéeI had, consisting of persons on their way to the parks and gardens, whither, on that day, I never went myself. Well, my friends were beginning to come, on first day, when my astonished footman (a better sort of butler) came up to me, and said, “Ma’am, here is Lady C. has sent her footman with a man in a slop, who is, she says, to come up and see you.” Quite right, (said I,) shew him up; and I told my wondering guests who was coming.The poor man entered; he was a short, thick, middle-aged, ruddy looking man, clad in a very handsome slop of unbleached linen, very handsomely worked round the neck and at the wrists; and I received him very kindly, and seated him by me. Perry, of theMorning Chronicle, was one of my visitors, and some half dozen ladies and one or two gentlemen, who seemed inclined to laugh. Perry and Hogg nodded at each other, and P. said, “I have just been seeing Mr. Hogg at Lady Cork’s; and Mr. H., I find has a kind of divining power—he knows who persons are, by their countenances. On the Countess of Mornington’s (Duke of W.’s mother) asking him what he thought she was, he said she was, he saw, a woman of great courage. ‘I am the mother of aHero,’ was her reply.” Still I saw Hogg did not like Perry, and he soon interrupted him, saying to me, “I am come to read you a poem of mine, for I hear you are a poet—a poem on Hop.” (I ought to say his dialect was quite new to me.) “Oh! by all means,” I replied, “ah! a poem onhops; you are a Kentish man perhaps.” “No,” he thundered out, “on Hop, Hop.”—and I had then wit enough to understand he meantHope. “Better and better, (said I,) where is your poem?” “I will go fetch it—it is outside the door;” and he went for it. When he was gone, Perry took his seat, by me, and we were talking of this strange visitant, when he returned, and instantly exclaimed to P. “that’smyplace;—what do you mean by taking it? get up!” and really, had P. resisted, it seemed likely that a blow would have followed the words; but Perry obeyed, and while Hogg was reading his manuscript, I went to the chimney-piece and took down a large bottle of lavender water, which, as it was a hot day, I carried round to the company, and then offered it to him also, to smell at. “No, no,” said he, “if I took any it would be in a glass;” evidently taking it for a dram: and I had difficulty in keeping my guests from indecorous mirth; at last the poor man (in whose bright eye I thought I read more than incipient insanity) began to read; but with such difficulty, (for it was not in his own hand-writing,) that I humbly requested to be allowed to read it for him, and he consented; and I did read it, and really was surprised to find how good many of the lines were; and I own, I did improve some of them, when the measure halted, by adding words. He seemed much pleased, poor man, and we got through the whole. Some of the guests who were there at the first, stole away, ’ere I had done; and others coming in, I pointed them to a chair, while they listened, and looked, in utter astonishment! It was a scene indeed! When the MS. was returned, my servant came up to tell Mr. H. that Lady Cork had sent her servant to see him back to her house; “tell the fellow I will not go yet, and I can go alone;” and he re-seated himself. Not long after, came in my cousin T. A. The servant had told him Lady C. had sent a poor crazy man to me, and I could not get rid of him; so he hastened up, to rid me of the guest he supposed to be forced on me, by the Countess; but when I met him smiling, and told him Mr. H. had come to read me a pretty poem, he with difficulty suppressed a laugh, and sat down meekly. But soon after came up another message, “Madam, Lady C. has sent another servant for Mr. H.; and says he must come directly!” “Must! I won’t come; I know my way,” was Hogg’s reply; and the bard of Hope had almost thrown me into Despair—the despair of getting rid of him,—when I bethought me to try to convince him civility obliged him to go to Lady C., as I was sure she wished much to introduce him and his poem to others of her friends; and, at last, I prevailed on him to go, my cousin most politely seeing him downstairs. I saw him no more; and, I think, two days afterwards, the poor man, sick to death of London, and of being made a show of, took French leave, one morning early; and I believe he took with him both Lady C.’s gifts, theblanketand theblouse.It was a pleasure to me, in after years, to read an account of the poor wanderer’s having found pious friends in the last days of his life, and that he died the death of a Christian.[42]

Norwich, 12th mo., 16th, 1843.

My dearest A.,

* * * * I will begin, if I do not finish my account of poor Thomas Hogg, in whose christian end I rejoice. I think it was in 1816, ’17 or ’18, that Lady Cork was full of a sort of holy man, a poet, whom she had picked up in a ditch, a poor, half-starved man, whom she and Mrs. B. invited to their houses, and fed and clothed; and Lady C. prevailed on him to come to London, and she made up a bed for him in her stables.

He did come, and his arrival was made known to me. He had written a poem on Hope, in heroic verse, and I was to see it. I think he was a hedger and ditcher, and made verses while he worked. I had, then, the worldly custom of receiving company on a first day morning, after I returned from church; and a fulllevéeI had, consisting of persons on their way to the parks and gardens, whither, on that day, I never went myself. Well, my friends were beginning to come, on first day, when my astonished footman (a better sort of butler) came up to me, and said, “Ma’am, here is Lady C. has sent her footman with a man in a slop, who is, she says, to come up and see you.” Quite right, (said I,) shew him up; and I told my wondering guests who was coming.

The poor man entered; he was a short, thick, middle-aged, ruddy looking man, clad in a very handsome slop of unbleached linen, very handsomely worked round the neck and at the wrists; and I received him very kindly, and seated him by me. Perry, of theMorning Chronicle, was one of my visitors, and some half dozen ladies and one or two gentlemen, who seemed inclined to laugh. Perry and Hogg nodded at each other, and P. said, “I have just been seeing Mr. Hogg at Lady Cork’s; and Mr. H., I find has a kind of divining power—he knows who persons are, by their countenances. On the Countess of Mornington’s (Duke of W.’s mother) asking him what he thought she was, he said she was, he saw, a woman of great courage. ‘I am the mother of aHero,’ was her reply.” Still I saw Hogg did not like Perry, and he soon interrupted him, saying to me, “I am come to read you a poem of mine, for I hear you are a poet—a poem on Hop.” (I ought to say his dialect was quite new to me.) “Oh! by all means,” I replied, “ah! a poem onhops; you are a Kentish man perhaps.” “No,” he thundered out, “on Hop, Hop.”—and I had then wit enough to understand he meantHope. “Better and better, (said I,) where is your poem?” “I will go fetch it—it is outside the door;” and he went for it. When he was gone, Perry took his seat, by me, and we were talking of this strange visitant, when he returned, and instantly exclaimed to P. “that’smyplace;—what do you mean by taking it? get up!” and really, had P. resisted, it seemed likely that a blow would have followed the words; but Perry obeyed, and while Hogg was reading his manuscript, I went to the chimney-piece and took down a large bottle of lavender water, which, as it was a hot day, I carried round to the company, and then offered it to him also, to smell at. “No, no,” said he, “if I took any it would be in a glass;” evidently taking it for a dram: and I had difficulty in keeping my guests from indecorous mirth; at last the poor man (in whose bright eye I thought I read more than incipient insanity) began to read; but with such difficulty, (for it was not in his own hand-writing,) that I humbly requested to be allowed to read it for him, and he consented; and I did read it, and really was surprised to find how good many of the lines were; and I own, I did improve some of them, when the measure halted, by adding words. He seemed much pleased, poor man, and we got through the whole. Some of the guests who were there at the first, stole away, ’ere I had done; and others coming in, I pointed them to a chair, while they listened, and looked, in utter astonishment! It was a scene indeed! When the MS. was returned, my servant came up to tell Mr. H. that Lady Cork had sent her servant to see him back to her house; “tell the fellow I will not go yet, and I can go alone;” and he re-seated himself. Not long after, came in my cousin T. A. The servant had told him Lady C. had sent a poor crazy man to me, and I could not get rid of him; so he hastened up, to rid me of the guest he supposed to be forced on me, by the Countess; but when I met him smiling, and told him Mr. H. had come to read me a pretty poem, he with difficulty suppressed a laugh, and sat down meekly. But soon after came up another message, “Madam, Lady C. has sent another servant for Mr. H.; and says he must come directly!” “Must! I won’t come; I know my way,” was Hogg’s reply; and the bard of Hope had almost thrown me into Despair—the despair of getting rid of him,—when I bethought me to try to convince him civility obliged him to go to Lady C., as I was sure she wished much to introduce him and his poem to others of her friends; and, at last, I prevailed on him to go, my cousin most politely seeing him downstairs. I saw him no more; and, I think, two days afterwards, the poor man, sick to death of London, and of being made a show of, took French leave, one morning early; and I believe he took with him both Lady C.’s gifts, theblanketand theblouse.

It was a pleasure to me, in after years, to read an account of the poor wanderer’s having found pious friends in the last days of his life, and that he died the death of a Christian.[42]

[41]

The “Bible in Spain” was published this year.

[42]

In the 23rd volume of the “Christian Observer,” No. 1, there is a “Brief Memoir of Thomas Hogg,” giving an affecting account of this poor and pious man’s end: he died in great want, but full of christian hope and peace in believing. That he was no common man, is apparent from the few details there recorded. One remark he made may, perhaps, be deemed worthy of record here. The divisions unhappily prevalent in the Church of Christ, being lamented in his hearing, he said, in his native sprightly manner, “No matter, there are two sides to the river.” Some parts of his Poem are given in the article from which we quote. He died at the age of 65, in 1818.—E.

DEATH OF MR. BRIGGS; SUMMER ASSIZES, 1844; “REMINISCENCES OF JUDGES’ COURTS;” “REMINISCENCES OF GEORGE CANNING.”

The spring of the year 1844 was overclouded by domestic affliction. Mr. Briggs, the much esteemed relative of Mrs. Opie, had, for some time past, been suffering from pulmonary disorder; and as he expressed a desire to see her, she was prepared to expect the summons, which was not long delayed. On the 9th of January she wrote:—

I do so enjoy my home. In a morning I am only too full of company; but when at nightfall I draw my sofa round, for a long evening to myself, I have such a feeling of thankfulness!—and so I ought. It is well to see how the burden is fitted to the back by our merciful Father. I have been a lone woman through life; an only child! a childless widow! All my nearest ties engrossed by nearer ones of their own. If I did not love to be alone, and enjoy the privileges leisure gives, what would have become of me!—but I love my lot, and every year it grows dearer still—though parting with beloved friends throws, for a while, a deep shadow over my path. * * *

And even now the shadow was upon her. Six days after she writes:—

I go on my melancholy journey to-morrow, scarcely expecting to see my poor cousin alive; but he wishes to see me, and it is therefore my duty to go.

She remained with him to the last, and touchingly describes the closing scenes. When all was over, she said:—

Going into his gallery of pictures, where so many, alas! are unfinished, reminds me so powerfully of bygone days, when I stood in myowngallery, where finished and unfinished pictures abounded!

This melancholy visit was the last Mrs. Opie paid to the metropolis for a long period. During the next four years she was closely engaged in attendance upon her aged aunt, Mrs. E. Alderson, and seldom left Norwich for more than a few days at a time.

After her return home she wrote to Miss Gurney:—

5th mo. 7th.My dearest A.,* * * I fear that I shall feel the loss of London and the Meeting, but at present I do not; for the duty and necessity of staying where I am, is more evident every day, because my aunt is become so dependent upon me, that I could trust no one to attend to her wants but myself. I have sent a large box full of repository purchases to M. G. to-day. I kept shop.[43]I have seen A. Hodgkin at Meeting and at the Grove; her husband had a public meeting last night, and has again to-morrow.Suchministry as J. H.’s last night is what israrelyheard, and never, I believe, but in a Friends’ Meeting! It was soul-searching; and I only wished hundreds could have heard it. * * *

5th mo. 7th.

My dearest A.,

* * * I fear that I shall feel the loss of London and the Meeting, but at present I do not; for the duty and necessity of staying where I am, is more evident every day, because my aunt is become so dependent upon me, that I could trust no one to attend to her wants but myself. I have sent a large box full of repository purchases to M. G. to-day. I kept shop.[43]I have seen A. Hodgkin at Meeting and at the Grove; her husband had a public meeting last night, and has again to-morrow.Suchministry as J. H.’s last night is what israrelyheard, and never, I believe, but in a Friends’ Meeting! It was soul-searching; and I only wished hundreds could have heard it. * * *

Mrs. Opie was present in court, during the summer assizes of this year. She writes:—

I heartily enjoyed the Courts, the Judges, and the High Sheriff, and every part of myentourage. I was more in the Nisi Prius Court than in the Criminal; but the last morning I found myself let in, to hear a woman tried for poisoning her baby with laudanum. I should have fled instantly, had I not been assured, by the chaplain of the jail, and others, that, on the plea of insanity, she would be found not guilty; and, to my speedy relief, the Judge would not allow the trial to go on. By the bye, he is a very pleasing and clever Judge, (Williams,) and cordially humane; and, though a little man, he has a remarkable degree of dignity in his appearance and manner on the Bench; his eye, too, is very fine in shape and expression. In the year ’20 I said to Sir G. Phillips, at a party at his house, “who is that little man in the window-seat, with those very fine eyes?” “That little man, it is expected, will prove himself a great man to-morrow; for he is the third counsel employed to defend the Queen, and his turn comes to-morrow morning.” I then little thought I should see him here so frequently as Judge.The other evening, while Baron Alderson and the High Sheriff and I were talking together, in the Judges’ room, (they waiting for the other Judge’s finishing a trial he was engaged upon,) Sir E. asked me how I was going home? on which the High Sheriff, seizing my hand, said, “Oh! she shall go with us, we will take her home.” I drew back, of course, not believing he could be in earnest! but the Judge said “yes! let us take her.” I still resisted, but Edward pulled me on, saying “come brother Opie!” as he tucked me under his arm; the High Sheriff led the way, and into the carriage I jumped, ashamed, but pleased; and I sat by my cousin, and the astonished chaplain sat opposite the Judge, wondering and laughing. We set the Judge down first, then the High Sheriff set me down, and went back for Justice Williams. Little did I think I should ever ride behind four horses, harnessed, and two outriders, with trumpets, &c.! But I must own that the Judge ordered the trumpets to remain behind, as they were not going in state, and to drive fast in order to come back soon. So much for the escapade of a grave Judge and High Sheriff.

The other evening, while Baron Alderson and the High Sheriff and I were talking together, in the Judges’ room, (they waiting for the other Judge’s finishing a trial he was engaged upon,) Sir E. asked me how I was going home? on which the High Sheriff, seizing my hand, said, “Oh! she shall go with us, we will take her home.” I drew back, of course, not believing he could be in earnest! but the Judge said “yes! let us take her.” I still resisted, but Edward pulled me on, saying “come brother Opie!” as he tucked me under his arm; the High Sheriff led the way, and into the carriage I jumped, ashamed, but pleased; and I sat by my cousin, and the astonished chaplain sat opposite the Judge, wondering and laughing. We set the Judge down first, then the High Sheriff set me down, and went back for Justice Williams. Little did I think I should ever ride behind four horses, harnessed, and two outriders, with trumpets, &c.! But I must own that the Judge ordered the trumpets to remain behind, as they were not going in state, and to drive fast in order to come back soon. So much for the escapade of a grave Judge and High Sheriff.

Here is a note in which Mrs. Opie invited the writer to accompany her to the scene she afterwards described.

My dear C. L.,The Judges always, as I believe, go to church first, and take the sacrament afterwards. But Ialwaysgo early, to be sure of a good seat, so I mean to call thee at nine, and we can talk there as well as here—and the time will soon fly! I went in a chariot-fly to see them come in. Farewell! little dear; I fear thou art a lazy-bones—butindeed—by ten I have often seen the best places filled. Often,howoften, both as a young and old woman, have I been in that court by half-past seven in the morning—was this time twelvemonth.A. O.

My dear C. L.,

The Judges always, as I believe, go to church first, and take the sacrament afterwards. But Ialwaysgo early, to be sure of a good seat, so I mean to call thee at nine, and we can talk there as well as here—and the time will soon fly! I went in a chariot-fly to see them come in. Farewell! little dear; I fear thou art a lazy-bones—butindeed—by ten I have often seen the best places filled. Often,howoften, both as a young and old woman, have I been in that court by half-past seven in the morning—was this time twelvemonth.

A. O.

Among Mrs. Opie’s papers left in an unfinished state, was one headed “Reminiscences of Judges’ Courts,” written in 1844. It was probably intended for publication, but never completed; in the following pages the reader will find the principal parts of it.

Hark! the bells are ringing their loudest, merriest peal, and at intervals are heard the deep tones of trumpets! Those sounds proclaim that the Judges have entered the city, and are about to open their Commission in the Court of our ancient Castle, and that the next day they will begin their momentous task.Alas! I lament that the ringing of bells, which usually proclaims a wedding, and other joyful events, should be employed to welcome those who come to fulfil the painful office of sitting in judgment on their fellow creatures, and condemning many of them, perhaps, to long imprisonment, exile, or death.Would that this custom were always discontinued, and trumpets heard alone; because the sound of the latter isnotthat of rejoicing, but of solemn preparation. It isa call, a summons, and one sometimes of fearful augury.It is calculated also to excite in the minds of the prisoners salutary emotions, and prepare them for the scene that awaits them; while the joyful peal, which makes itself heard into their cell, drowning all other sounds, and seeming to insult their misery, calls forth in them feelings of indignant bitterness.Let me add, that while the higher orders seem to consider the assize week as a time for public amusements, though many of the lower classes are undergoing every variety of anxious suspense, and some perhaps awaiting the terrors of the Law, the consciousness of this painful truth may have a hardening effect on the surrounding population, whose sympathies are with their poorer brethren at the bar, not with those in the theatre or the ball-room; and whatever has a tendency to excite, among the former, a belief that their sufferings are forgotten, or viewed with indifference by their superiors, may lessen that love and confidence in the higher ranks, on which so much of the safety of society depends.That week has always possessed for me an attraction of an intellectual kind, which at present I still feel irresistible; I mean attendance in the Nisi Prius Court—a love for which has “grown with my growth, and strengthened with my strength;” and certainly it has not become weaker since I have had the gratification of seeing on the judgment seat a near and dear relative, and sometimes also a highly esteemed friend.The interest excited by the Criminal Court is often painfully strong, even though such a blessed change has taken place in the penal law.Horace Walpole (who hated capital punishments) says in one of his letters, that whenever he heard any one was being tried for his life, he always earnestly desired he might be acquitted; and so strongly do I compassionate the prisoner, that I never attend a trial for murder, and am only at my ease in the Civil Court. And there I am, at a very early hour, in order to secure my favorite place in it, and before any preparations for business are begun. Nor is it without interest that I look round the empty Hall, and at the large table covered with green cloth, where the barristers and attornies sit, and think that soon the vacant seats will be filled with busy, anxious life, and the stillness exchanged for the hum of many voices! and absorbed and amused in the contemplation of the coming scene, I find the time of waiting pass almost imperceptibly away. But at length the solitude ceases—the necessary preparations are made by the attendants, and soon the bells and trumpets announce the approach of the great functionaries. To greetings, and the hum of voices, succeeds the silence of expectation; for silent become the bells and trumpets; and, in another moment, the Judge is in the Court; the barristers rise, as he courteously salutes them, and the business begins.After a short process, twelve jurymen are sworn in—to me a most disagreeable ceremony—though the oath is repeated now with less rapidity than it used to be; still I always rejoice when it is over.The leaders now take their places—a cause comes on—the junior counsel employed in it reads aloud to the jury the particulars of the case. The leader then rises, explains and comments on its merits, artfully warning the jury against the eloquence and sophistical arguments which his learned brother will, he knows, bring forward for the defence; but which he is very certain of proving vain and nugatory by the witnesses whom he can, without fear, expose to the powerful battery of his learned brother’s cross-examination. After a long and often eloquent speech, the counsel for the plaintiff calls his witnesses; by each of them, when called into the witness box, the oath is taken, and each in his turn is subjected to the fiery ordeal of cross-examination. Then rises the counsel for the defendant, hoping, and sometimes very justly, that cross-examination has shaken the testimony of the plaintiff’s witnesses; he tells the jury that though his own eloquence has been so warmly lauded by his obliging and learned brother, he has himself too mean an opinion of it to presume to rest onthathis client’s cause; nor does he rest it on his arguments alone, though they are not sophistical, as his learned friend calls them. No! his only weapon will be the force of truth; for he shall bring forwardfacts; facts which he shall prove by witnesses, whose evidence not even his brother’s well-known power of cross-examination can shake; and he shall also prove that, whether from unintentional inaccuracy in their statements, from defective memory, or an utter disregard to truth, the plaintiff’s witnesses have borne testimony which was utterlyfalse; he issure, he says, to obtain a verdict for his client. Then comes “the tug of war,” and such a view of the case is presented, that it changes, no doubt, the opinion of many minds, (my own, for instance,) and of the probable result we form a very different expectation to what we previously entertained. But the first speaker, having left himself a right to reply, then rises again; after having opened on the defendant’s witnesses, the formidable field-piece of his cross-examination; and, that done, he is doubtless, not the less warm and powerful in argument, now that he feels his client’s cause is in more danger than when he opened the case, and that for the last time he fights for ultimate victory; at length he sits down, expressing his certainty of obtaining it!Oh! bloodless fights! would that we should never hear again of any battles but these!But now another interesting period has arrived—the judge is about to speak: he has not been silent during the proceedings; but has made many observations, and asked questions of the witnesses on both sides; and now, much to the refreshment of short memories, he sums up the whole proceedings, and delivers his charge to the jury; going over every tittle of the evidence with surprising accuracy. The Clerk of Arraigns then says, “Consider your verdict, gentlemen!” the jury then turn their faces to the wall, and form so peculiar a group, that were an artist to draw them, no one could imagine, I think, what they were meant to represent, unless well acquainted with courts of justice. * * *There are certain persons at the barristers’ table, whose position is calculated to excite the sympathy of observers, and who have often awakened mine on their behalf; namely, the young lawyers, who have, perhaps, gone circuit after circuit, and still remain briefless barristers. This must be a painful situation; and I have been much gratified, when it has occasionally happened to me to see a usually unemployed barrister, with flushed cheek, opening, it may be, his first brief in that court, and, with beating heart, preparing to enter the legal arena. Gratifying indeed must it be, to a young man of talent, when at length some fortunate circumstance gives him the long-desired opportunity to distinguish himself, which was all, perhaps, that he required to rise in a short time to the head of his profession; and how enviable must be his feelings, when he looks back to departed hours, passed in vain expectation of business, sitting unobserved at that crowded table, making to himself employment by nibbing his pen, or cutting his pencil to write notes to a brother barrister, at a distance; and then, contrasts with that trying period, his present position, when he has scarcely time to sit, except when his opponent in a cause is speaking. Now, he is the “observed of all observers,” and feels that on his skill in argument, and on his powers of elocution and persuasive appeal, depend, perhaps, the future well being and happiness of many of his fellow-creatures, who have entrusted to him the vindication of their rights, and sometimes of their reputation. Anxiety must indeed be felt by barristers on every circuit, even whether they have attained, or not, the greatest eminence; since it is as necessary for them to retain, as to gain, that eminence. The advocate, therefore, pleads for his own as well as his client’s cause, when he puts forth all the energies of his voice, his gesture, and his mind, on the legal stage; and could address his audience in the words of the poet: “Alas! I feel I am noactorhere!”One of the attractions in the Nisi Prius Court is the agreeable surprises which one experiences in it. I have known a cause, promising at the beginning, to be very dull and uninteresting, become, as it went on, one of great interest and entertainment; for instance, a horse case, where the warranty of the horse is the subject brought forward, and many amusing witnesses are examined; or a right of way cause, as I believe it is technically called.On such occasions I have seen the old, and even the infirm, put into the witness box to give evidence, neatly dressed in their Sunday clothes, and seeming to enjoy their temporary importance; and I have gazed with interest, which at length, perhaps, became painful, on the sharpened features, almost seeming prepared for death; and listened to the feeble voice striving in vain to perform the required task, and make the testimony it bore heard by the judge.I have often asked myself why it is that I, and many others, can sit from early morning till evening in a court of justice, with still increasing interest? and the answer has been, that it proceeds from that general and enduring passion, the love of excitement.Those courts are epitomes of human life, and their walls, within their bounded space, contain beings full of the passions, infirmities, resentments, self-deceits, self-interests, fears, hopes, triumphs, and defeats, incident to our common nature, and the proofs and results of which are there painfully brought before us.A court of justice may be likened to a stage, the principal performers on which are the barristers; and happiest are they who have the most frequent opportunities of moving the feelings, and influencing the convictions, of that respectable audience—a British jury.A Nisi Prius cause is a new drama, brought before the jury as the audience; but with this great difference between a play and a cause—the actors in it, on one side only, are interested in its success.One great advantage which assize courts possess over the theatre, is the certainty we have, that all the emotions we behold are real, not acted, and springing from the exigences of the moment; that the eloquent energy of the pleaders, the replies of the witnesses, and, alas! the fearful perjury sometimes elicited by cross-examination, together with every outbreak of tongue, are not only like the representations of great actors, “faithful to nature in the mimic scenes,” but are nature itself!There is another reason why, in my opinion, the interests in a Court of Justice come more forcibly to the heart than that of representations on the stage. It is that, while contemplating the dramas of real life, as exhibited in a Court of Law, we have an undefined consciousness that we are liable to be ourselves, one day, performers in similar scenes, and worried by the same difficulties, experiencing, either in our own person or that of those dear to us, the trials and anxieties we see there endured by others.My theories on this subject may be deemed fanciful and untrue, and the charge may be a just one; but, whatever be the cause of the pleasure which I take in attending Courts of Justice, I hope it is an innocent gratification, and no undue waste of time, as the opportunities occur only twice in the year, and rarely last longer than a week. It is also my conviction that whatever brings us acquainted with, and interested in the affairs and well being of our fellow creatures, in their varied stations and positions in society, may have a beneficial influence on our hearts, minds, and characters.

Alas! I lament that the ringing of bells, which usually proclaims a wedding, and other joyful events, should be employed to welcome those who come to fulfil the painful office of sitting in judgment on their fellow creatures, and condemning many of them, perhaps, to long imprisonment, exile, or death.

Would that this custom were always discontinued, and trumpets heard alone; because the sound of the latter isnotthat of rejoicing, but of solemn preparation. It isa call, a summons, and one sometimes of fearful augury.

It is calculated also to excite in the minds of the prisoners salutary emotions, and prepare them for the scene that awaits them; while the joyful peal, which makes itself heard into their cell, drowning all other sounds, and seeming to insult their misery, calls forth in them feelings of indignant bitterness.

Let me add, that while the higher orders seem to consider the assize week as a time for public amusements, though many of the lower classes are undergoing every variety of anxious suspense, and some perhaps awaiting the terrors of the Law, the consciousness of this painful truth may have a hardening effect on the surrounding population, whose sympathies are with their poorer brethren at the bar, not with those in the theatre or the ball-room; and whatever has a tendency to excite, among the former, a belief that their sufferings are forgotten, or viewed with indifference by their superiors, may lessen that love and confidence in the higher ranks, on which so much of the safety of society depends.

That week has always possessed for me an attraction of an intellectual kind, which at present I still feel irresistible; I mean attendance in the Nisi Prius Court—a love for which has “grown with my growth, and strengthened with my strength;” and certainly it has not become weaker since I have had the gratification of seeing on the judgment seat a near and dear relative, and sometimes also a highly esteemed friend.

The interest excited by the Criminal Court is often painfully strong, even though such a blessed change has taken place in the penal law.

Horace Walpole (who hated capital punishments) says in one of his letters, that whenever he heard any one was being tried for his life, he always earnestly desired he might be acquitted; and so strongly do I compassionate the prisoner, that I never attend a trial for murder, and am only at my ease in the Civil Court. And there I am, at a very early hour, in order to secure my favorite place in it, and before any preparations for business are begun. Nor is it without interest that I look round the empty Hall, and at the large table covered with green cloth, where the barristers and attornies sit, and think that soon the vacant seats will be filled with busy, anxious life, and the stillness exchanged for the hum of many voices! and absorbed and amused in the contemplation of the coming scene, I find the time of waiting pass almost imperceptibly away. But at length the solitude ceases—the necessary preparations are made by the attendants, and soon the bells and trumpets announce the approach of the great functionaries. To greetings, and the hum of voices, succeeds the silence of expectation; for silent become the bells and trumpets; and, in another moment, the Judge is in the Court; the barristers rise, as he courteously salutes them, and the business begins.

After a short process, twelve jurymen are sworn in—to me a most disagreeable ceremony—though the oath is repeated now with less rapidity than it used to be; still I always rejoice when it is over.

The leaders now take their places—a cause comes on—the junior counsel employed in it reads aloud to the jury the particulars of the case. The leader then rises, explains and comments on its merits, artfully warning the jury against the eloquence and sophistical arguments which his learned brother will, he knows, bring forward for the defence; but which he is very certain of proving vain and nugatory by the witnesses whom he can, without fear, expose to the powerful battery of his learned brother’s cross-examination. After a long and often eloquent speech, the counsel for the plaintiff calls his witnesses; by each of them, when called into the witness box, the oath is taken, and each in his turn is subjected to the fiery ordeal of cross-examination. Then rises the counsel for the defendant, hoping, and sometimes very justly, that cross-examination has shaken the testimony of the plaintiff’s witnesses; he tells the jury that though his own eloquence has been so warmly lauded by his obliging and learned brother, he has himself too mean an opinion of it to presume to rest onthathis client’s cause; nor does he rest it on his arguments alone, though they are not sophistical, as his learned friend calls them. No! his only weapon will be the force of truth; for he shall bring forwardfacts; facts which he shall prove by witnesses, whose evidence not even his brother’s well-known power of cross-examination can shake; and he shall also prove that, whether from unintentional inaccuracy in their statements, from defective memory, or an utter disregard to truth, the plaintiff’s witnesses have borne testimony which was utterlyfalse; he issure, he says, to obtain a verdict for his client. Then comes “the tug of war,” and such a view of the case is presented, that it changes, no doubt, the opinion of many minds, (my own, for instance,) and of the probable result we form a very different expectation to what we previously entertained. But the first speaker, having left himself a right to reply, then rises again; after having opened on the defendant’s witnesses, the formidable field-piece of his cross-examination; and, that done, he is doubtless, not the less warm and powerful in argument, now that he feels his client’s cause is in more danger than when he opened the case, and that for the last time he fights for ultimate victory; at length he sits down, expressing his certainty of obtaining it!

Oh! bloodless fights! would that we should never hear again of any battles but these!

But now another interesting period has arrived—the judge is about to speak: he has not been silent during the proceedings; but has made many observations, and asked questions of the witnesses on both sides; and now, much to the refreshment of short memories, he sums up the whole proceedings, and delivers his charge to the jury; going over every tittle of the evidence with surprising accuracy. The Clerk of Arraigns then says, “Consider your verdict, gentlemen!” the jury then turn their faces to the wall, and form so peculiar a group, that were an artist to draw them, no one could imagine, I think, what they were meant to represent, unless well acquainted with courts of justice. * * *

There are certain persons at the barristers’ table, whose position is calculated to excite the sympathy of observers, and who have often awakened mine on their behalf; namely, the young lawyers, who have, perhaps, gone circuit after circuit, and still remain briefless barristers. This must be a painful situation; and I have been much gratified, when it has occasionally happened to me to see a usually unemployed barrister, with flushed cheek, opening, it may be, his first brief in that court, and, with beating heart, preparing to enter the legal arena. Gratifying indeed must it be, to a young man of talent, when at length some fortunate circumstance gives him the long-desired opportunity to distinguish himself, which was all, perhaps, that he required to rise in a short time to the head of his profession; and how enviable must be his feelings, when he looks back to departed hours, passed in vain expectation of business, sitting unobserved at that crowded table, making to himself employment by nibbing his pen, or cutting his pencil to write notes to a brother barrister, at a distance; and then, contrasts with that trying period, his present position, when he has scarcely time to sit, except when his opponent in a cause is speaking. Now, he is the “observed of all observers,” and feels that on his skill in argument, and on his powers of elocution and persuasive appeal, depend, perhaps, the future well being and happiness of many of his fellow-creatures, who have entrusted to him the vindication of their rights, and sometimes of their reputation. Anxiety must indeed be felt by barristers on every circuit, even whether they have attained, or not, the greatest eminence; since it is as necessary for them to retain, as to gain, that eminence. The advocate, therefore, pleads for his own as well as his client’s cause, when he puts forth all the energies of his voice, his gesture, and his mind, on the legal stage; and could address his audience in the words of the poet: “Alas! I feel I am noactorhere!”

One of the attractions in the Nisi Prius Court is the agreeable surprises which one experiences in it. I have known a cause, promising at the beginning, to be very dull and uninteresting, become, as it went on, one of great interest and entertainment; for instance, a horse case, where the warranty of the horse is the subject brought forward, and many amusing witnesses are examined; or a right of way cause, as I believe it is technically called.

On such occasions I have seen the old, and even the infirm, put into the witness box to give evidence, neatly dressed in their Sunday clothes, and seeming to enjoy their temporary importance; and I have gazed with interest, which at length, perhaps, became painful, on the sharpened features, almost seeming prepared for death; and listened to the feeble voice striving in vain to perform the required task, and make the testimony it bore heard by the judge.

I have often asked myself why it is that I, and many others, can sit from early morning till evening in a court of justice, with still increasing interest? and the answer has been, that it proceeds from that general and enduring passion, the love of excitement.

Those courts are epitomes of human life, and their walls, within their bounded space, contain beings full of the passions, infirmities, resentments, self-deceits, self-interests, fears, hopes, triumphs, and defeats, incident to our common nature, and the proofs and results of which are there painfully brought before us.

A court of justice may be likened to a stage, the principal performers on which are the barristers; and happiest are they who have the most frequent opportunities of moving the feelings, and influencing the convictions, of that respectable audience—a British jury.

A Nisi Prius cause is a new drama, brought before the jury as the audience; but with this great difference between a play and a cause—the actors in it, on one side only, are interested in its success.

One great advantage which assize courts possess over the theatre, is the certainty we have, that all the emotions we behold are real, not acted, and springing from the exigences of the moment; that the eloquent energy of the pleaders, the replies of the witnesses, and, alas! the fearful perjury sometimes elicited by cross-examination, together with every outbreak of tongue, are not only like the representations of great actors, “faithful to nature in the mimic scenes,” but are nature itself!

There is another reason why, in my opinion, the interests in a Court of Justice come more forcibly to the heart than that of representations on the stage. It is that, while contemplating the dramas of real life, as exhibited in a Court of Law, we have an undefined consciousness that we are liable to be ourselves, one day, performers in similar scenes, and worried by the same difficulties, experiencing, either in our own person or that of those dear to us, the trials and anxieties we see there endured by others.

My theories on this subject may be deemed fanciful and untrue, and the charge may be a just one; but, whatever be the cause of the pleasure which I take in attending Courts of Justice, I hope it is an innocent gratification, and no undue waste of time, as the opportunities occur only twice in the year, and rarely last longer than a week. It is also my conviction that whatever brings us acquainted with, and interested in the affairs and well being of our fellow creatures, in their varied stations and positions in society, may have a beneficial influence on our hearts, minds, and characters.

Another short “Reminiscence,” which was written about this time, will show how her thoughts went back to the days of her youth, and with what tenacity her memory retained the most minute details of bygone scenes and events.

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