Selina A. Bower

Norwich has been called "The City of Gardens;" for behind the large houses belonging to professional men, and business men, which front the narrow irregular streets, there are sweet lawns and well-cared-for flower borders, with trees and shrubs planted so thickly round the walls, or the walls themselves so covered with the trailing tendrils of fresh creepers, that imagination might fancy the scene one of pure country loveliness.

The beautiful taper spire of the rather small, but very elegant Cathedral, appears above the verdure-covered walls, its stone notches resting softly in attractive clearness upon the cloudless blue sky; or, perhaps the battlements of the square, massive block of the Castle, rise quietly above the grave old buildings of the city, the slopes of the castle moat, gaily draped with innumerable lilacs in the spring, resting in drowsy dignity below.

Another feature of the fine old city of Norwich is the quaint churchyard, with blackish stone walls around and sometimes intersected diagonally with a narrow paved walk, or perhaps surrounded by a roughly-paved street, with posts to guard each entrance, and with the dignified name of "Church Alley."

In a house which stood in one of these churchyards—St. Clement's—a physician, named Dr. Alderson, lived rather more than a hundred years ago. He had only one child, who was born on the 12th of November, 1769. This little girl was christened Amelia, after her mother, who taught and trained her both wisely and well.

To this, probably, the success of Amelia Alderson, afterwards Mrs. Opie, as a writer, was mainly due, although the great care of the parent did not altogether enable the daughter to conquer all faults, for Sydney Smith once plainly told her that "Tenderness is your forte, and carelessness your fault."

Amelia was a bright, cheerful, golden-haired girl, with lively fancy and strong imaginative powers, decidedly talented and capable of high cultivation.

When a very tiny thing, she would lie quietly in bed to listen to the church bells which had awakened her, and, looking up to the sapphire sky at early dawn, she gazed and listened, as her mistaken ideas suggested that the chaste chime was the music of the angels hidden in the depths of the blue!

But her thoughts were not always thus happy, for the child invested other objects with attributes of terror, and black beetles were a source of inconceivable dread and horror.

She was also extremely timid about deranged people, perhaps the more so because the large "Bethel" in Norwich is a conspicuous building, and forms a home for poor lunatics, and possibly her father was interested in the restless patients who were located there.

Negroes also appear to have produced the same amount of fear in the little girl as the black beetles.

Mrs. Alderson was too wise and sensible to allow these nervous fancies uncontrolled play, and most earnestly applied herself to teaching and helping Amelia to overcome them.

Both teacher and taught were indeed successful; for before long the child would shake hands with an imbecile whom she sometimes met, speak kindly to her, and at last even begged to be taken over the "Bethel" itself, where the sorrowful sights and sounds moved the warm heart to a deep and sincere pity for trials which no human love can mitigate.

This judicious mother died when Amelia Alderson was about fifteen years old, and from that time until she was eight-and-twenty, household cares and superintendence occupied her largely, for she entirely managed her father's home and presided at his table.

The literary and poetical career of this reputedly pleasant woman commenced after her marriage with Mr. Opie, the celebrated portrait painter, which marriage took place at Marylebone Church in London, on the 8th of May, 1798.

Much later still in life, and after even the earlier years of widowhood had passed, her far higher career as a Christian character was ushered in by Mrs. Opie becoming a member of the Society of Friends, and for more than twenty-five years, consistency, peace, and quiet, marked her calm course. Ere joining the "Friends," she had been induced to give up, not only writing fiction, but reading it also.

Mrs. Opie died on the 2nd of December, 1853. Just as the day passed away, the dawning of her eternal day began—a day that we cannot measure with our present ideas, it is so long, so bright, so cloudless. The day of grace closed, and the day of glory opened, for Mrs. Opie loved and served Jesus on earth, so that she was taken to serve Him in Heaven.

The early teaching of the mother appears to have been blessed to the child in later life, even as its influence also preserved her amidst some difficulties during younger days, for Mrs. Opie writes very sweetly of her mother's care thus:—

The truths of God's most Holy Word will always brighten each day of this life, not only cheering, but sufficiently lighting it for the safety of those who seek also the help and guidance of the Holy Spirit. The long, long day with Jesus, by-and-bye will have no snares, no dangers, no regrets to cast their sorrowful shadows across its pure, sweet sky, for His presence will be everlasting light, and He has taken away all the sins of His people who believe in Him, and as there is no sin in Heaven, there is no suffering, and no shade of pain.