Memorials of the Life of Amelia Opie. Amelia Opie

      And, led by Gaiety, I joy’d to rove,

      ’Ere in my breast Care fix’d her ebon throne,

      And her pale rue, with Fancy’s roses wove.

      No more, alas! your wonted charms I view,

      Ye speak of comforts I can know no more;

      The faded tints of Memory ye renew,

      And wake of fond regret the tearful power.

      But would ye bid me still the beauties prize

      That on your cliff-crowned shores in state abide,

      Bid, aim’d in awful pomp, yon billows rise

      And seek the realms where Night and Death reside;

      Unusual empire bid them there assume,

      And force departed goodness from the tomb!

      Many years after, among her “Lays for the Dead,” appeared some further lines dedicated to her mother, and, as they have several references to the recollections she retained of her, and are in themselves very sweet and full of earnest tenderness of regret, they are reprinted here:—

      IN MEMORY OF MY MOTHER.

      An orphan’d babe, from India’s plain

      She came, a faithful slave her guide!

      Then, after years of patient pain,

      That tender wife and mother died.

      Where gothic windows dimly throw

      O’er the long aisles a dubious day,

      Within the time-worn vaults below

      Her relics join their kindred clay—

      And I, in long departed days,

      Those dear though solemn precincts sought,

      When evening shed her parting rays,

      And twilight lengthening shadows brought—

      There long I knelt beside the stone

      Which veils thy clay, lamented shade!

      While memory, years for ever gone,

      And all the distant past pourtray’d!

      I saw thy glance of tender love!

      Thy check of suffering’s sickly hue!

      Thine eye, where gentle sweetness strove

      To look the ease it rarely knew.

      I heard thee speak in accents kind,

      And promptly praise, or firmly chide;

      Again admir’d that vigorous mind

      Of power to charm, reprove, and guide.

      Hark! clearer still thy voice I hear!

      Again reproof, in accents mild,

      Seems whispering in my conscious ear,

      And pains, yet soothes, thy kneeling child!

      Then, while my eyes I weeping raise,

      Again thy shadowy form appears;

      I see the smile of other days,

      The frown that melted soon in tears!

      Again I’m exiled from thy sight,

      Alone my rebel will to mourn;

      Again I feel the dear delight

      When told I may to thee return!

      But oh! too soon the vision fled,

      With all of grief and joy it brought;

      And as I slowly left the dead,

      And gayer scenes, still musing sought,

      Oh! how I mourn’d my heedless youth

      Thy watchful care repaid so ill,

      Yet joy’d to think some words of truth

      Sunk in my soul, and teach me still;

      Like lamps along life’s fearful way

      To me, at times, those truths have shone,

      And oft, when snares around me lay,

      That light has made the danger known.

      Then, how thy grateful child has blest

      Each wise reproof thy accents bore!

      And now she longs, in worlds of rest,

      To dwell with thee for evermore!

      * * * * * *

      Mrs. Opie evidently designed, at one time, to write a record of the most interesting events of her life; she commenced the task, but abruptly broke off when she reached the age of early youth. This interesting fragment was clearly written at a late period of her life, it commences thus:—

      “Ce n’est que le premier pas qui coûte,” says the proverb, and when I have once begun to put down my recollections of days that are gone, with a view to their meeting other eyes besides my own, the difficulty of the task will, I trust, gradually disappear.

      But I should be afraid that my garrulities, as I may call them, would not be so interesting to others as I have thought they might be, had I not observed such a hunger and thirst in the world in general for anecdotes, whether biographical or otherwise, and had I not experienced, and seen others evince, such interest and amusement while reading of persons and things; and I am thus encouraged to record my recollections of those distinguished persons with whom I have had the privilege of associating, from my youth upwards, to the present day. Therefore, without further delay or apology, I mean to relate a few “passages” in my very early days, in order to make my readers acquainted with the preparation for my future life and occupations, which these days so evidently afforded.

      One of my earliest recollections is of gazing on the bright blue sky as I lay in my little bed, before my hour of rising came, and listening with delighted attention to the ringing of a peal of bells. I had heard that heaven was beyond those blue skies, and I had been taught that there was the home of the good, and I fancied that those sweet bells were ringing in heaven. What a happy error! Neither illusion nor reality, at any subsequent period of my life, ever gave me such a sensation of pure, heartfelt delight, as I experienced when morning after morning I looked on that blue sky, and listened to those bells, and fancied that I heard the music of the home of the blest, pealing from the dwelling of the most high. Well do I remember the excessive mortification I felt when I was told the truth, and had the nature of bells explained to me; and, though I have since had to awake often from illusions that were dear to my heart, I am sure that I never woke from one with more pain than I experienced when forced to forego this sweet illusion of my imaginative childhood.

      I believe I was naturally a fearful child, perhaps more so than other children; but I was not allowed to remain so. Well do I remember the fears, which I used to indulge and prove by tears and screams, whenever I saw the objects that called forth my alarm. The first was terror of black beetles, the second of frogs, the third of skeletons, the fourth of a black man, and the fifth of madmen.

      My mother, who was as firm from principle, as she was gentle in disposition, in order to cure me of my first fear, made me take a beetle in my hand, and so convince myself it would not hurt me. As her word was law, I obeyed her, though with a shrinking frame; but the point was carried, and when, as frequently happened, I was told to take up a beetle and put it out of the way of being trodden upon, I learnt to forget even my former fear.

      She pursued the same course in order to cure me of screaming at sight of a frog; I was forced to hold one in my hand, and thence I became, perhaps, proud of my courage to handle what my playfellows dared not touch.

      The skeleton of which I was afraid was that of a girl, black, probably, from the preparation it had undergone;