Chapter XV

YEARLY MEETINGS; LETTER FROM LONDON; LETTERS FROM LADIES CORK
AND CHARLEVILLE; “DETRACTION DISPLAYED;” LETTER FROM ARCHDEACON
WRANGHAM; CROMER; DIARY FOR 1829.

From the time Mrs. Opie joined the Friends, she regularly attended the Yearly Meetings of the Society, held in London during the month of May. At these seasons she met numerous friends and acquaintances, and had an opportunity of attending the meetings of various societies, in whose objects she sympathized, and of which the Bible, and the British and Foreign School, and Anti-Slavery Societies, were among the most valued. What cordial interest she always evinced on these occasions, and with how much animation and lively description, she loved to detail, afterwards, what she had heard and seen! Her eye kindled as she recalled the eloquent address of some friend of the wronged and helpless, and her delighted approval was a meed which a good man might well rejoice to have earned.

Shortly after the entry in her journal, with which the preceding chapter concluded, she went to London, for the purpose of attending the Yearly Meeting. Many painful regrets and memories of the past were unavoidable; but she bore up against them, and the effort was beneficial. Solitude, prolonged solitude, preyed upon her spirits, and her essentially social nature languished and pined under it. One letter to the friend before alluded to, contains some interesting particulars of her proceedings during this visit.

Bradpole, Bridport, Dorsetshire,
6th mo., 29th, 1827.
MY VERY DEAR FRIEND,

* * * Pray excuse my long silence. I know nothing of N. since I
left it. I have had a feeling which has made me indifferent, not
only to writing letters, but to receiving them. It was so
different once; and my life, during the last three weeks in
London, has realized my loss to me more than ever. I have had
pleasing and gratifying things to relate; but, alas! he, to whom
the relation would have given such pleasure, is gone; and even
on the instant my pleasure has been swallowed up in pain;—but
this is weak and earthly, and I will forbear. My life in London,
during and after the Meeting, has been very happily spent. My
lodgings were too far from Devonshire House; but I always got
there in time, and when meeting was over, T. R. generally came
home with me. Yearly Meeting was peculiarly sweet to me this
year, and satisfactory to Friends. I attended the African
Meeting at the Freemason’s Tavern: it was this year quite thin.
Spring Rice, Chas. Barclay, and the Duke of Gloucester, were
among the speakers. I saw Lady S. and her daughter, and gladly
acceded to their request that I would sit by them. The Duke of
Gloucester spoke to them, coming and going; but though he bowed
to me, I was sure he did not know me; so on his returning, I
begged Lady S. to name me, and he seemed so glad to see me, and
talked some time, retaining my hand in his. (I hope friends
behind were not scandalized.) There was an American lady who
came up and introduced herself to me, and begged me to call on
her, adding that Sir W. Scott’s niece was staying with her;
accordingly, I called on them at Ellis’s Hotel, St. James’
Street, when my new friend (sweet food for vanity, and I hope
also for some better feeling) told me that my “Odd-tempered Man”
had reformed a dear friend of hers, and she seemed to remember
far more of it than I do. * *

I promised to call at Lady Cork’s and ask leave to introduce the
two ladies to her: and I did so, their footman attending me, to
hear Lady C.’s reply. She sent a gracious message back, and
accordingly they came, just as Lady C. Lamb had arrived, so they
saw _her_; but so changed! I should hardly have known her.

On 6th day morning, I went to Lord Roden’s, to hear him read and
expound the Scriptures. At two o’clock every Friday he had this
meeting, during his stay in London. The company was numerous,
and several persons of quality among them. He is, indeed, a
highly gifted man; but, my dear, I have since been at a meeting
which will interest thee more. Since I came to London I have
heard of many whom I left in the world, being come _out_ of it;
amongst the rest, Thos. Erskine and his wife. At a bazaar for
the schools in St. Giles’, held at the Hanover Square Rooms, (at
which many of the sellers were Irish nobility,) I saw some
friends, who prevailed on me to go and dine with them, and there
I met Caroline Fry, with whom I talked of thee. At dinner they
spoke of Mrs. Stephens, who, they said, was to expound that
evening, at a friend’s house near, and I consented to go with
them to hear her. It was a large assembly, and I found there
many of my bazaar friends. I was warmly welcomed, especially by
the fair expounder. Sir James Mackintosh’s daughter (the widow
of M. Rich) introduced me to Lady G. Wolff. Her spouse did not
come till late. Though tired with the bazaar, &c., and as sleepy
as possible, that extraordinary and gifted being kept my
attention fixed an hour and a half. How eloquent and touching
were her words!

When it was over, I went up to her; and, as I could not express
my feelings, I gave her a kiss, and she afterwards embraced me,
and we promised to meet if ever we came near each other’s
habitation. I then stole away. It is certainly an extraordinary
power, and many of the clergy who disapprove of woman’s
ministry, have been brought round to approve; but I do not call
hers _ministry_, except in prayer. She has done this twenty-two
years, and still she does not seem old. How I wish thou hadst
been there!

I came here, quite knocked up; but this green flowery
sequestered nest, amongst hills, and the sweet society of dear
friends, will, I trust, soon restore me. Pray write to thy
attached friend,

A. OPIE.

In this letter Mrs. Opie mentions having called on Lady Cork; their friendship had been of long standing, and not even the great change in Mrs. O.’s habits and opinions could estrange from her this early friend. Soon after she joined the Friends, Lady Cork wrote to her thus:—

“_Si vous êtes heureuse, je ne suis pas malheureuse_,” used to
be my motto to you. I must be glad that you are happy; but I
must confess I have too much _self_, not to feel it a tug at my
heart, the _no-chance_ I have of enjoying your society again.
Will your primitive cap never dine with me, and enjoy a quiet
society? but really, am I never to see you again? Your
parliament friend does not wear a broad-brimmed hat; so pray,
pray, _pray_ do not put on the bonnet. So come to me and be my
love, in a dove-coloured garb, and a simple head-dress. Teach us
your pure morals, and your friend of the lower House shall join
us, and approve of your compliance. He will agree with me, that
good people, mixing with the world, are of infinitely more use
than when they confine themselves to one set. Pray treat me with
a letter sometimes; and when you do write, (if you happen to
think of it,) say whether your Norwich goods are cheaper upon
the spot than I can get them in town—this is of no consequence.
Cannot you give me one of your 200 pictures? you’re welcome to
my phiz, if you will come and paint it, or shall I step to you?
I could fill a paper with fun, but the cold water of your last
makes me end my letter. God bless you! Adieu.

Yours ever, sinner or saint,
M. CORK AND ORRERY.

What! do you give up Holkham, your singing and music, and do you
really see harm in singing? Now F. sings all day long, and
thinks it her duty.

Her friend Lady Charleville, too, wrote kindly and feelingly:—

London, le 10me Avril, 1828.

Pour avoir le plaisir de te tutoyer, je t’écris, ma chère, en
François, ou l’on tutoye naturellement celles que l’on aime. * *
*

Et je te jure que, quand tu te ferois Bramine, cela me seroit
égale, tant que tu conserverais pour moi la même bonté que
jadis! Le prince C. m’a parlé de la mort de ton cher père, mais
il m’a assuré que je ne devois point t’écrire à ce sujet, pour
te rappeller l’abîme de douleur où tu étois dans le premier
temps.

Ma chère Madame Opie, j’ai partagée la douleur, et je sais ce
que c’est d’être privée de l’objet qui nous est cher.

* * Pour la secte dont tu fais partie,—je la respecte au-de-là
de toutes les autres. Je ne vois rien d’outré dans leur façons
de penser, et je voudrais être assez bonne pour me conduire
comme eux.

Viens nous voir—j’en serai trop enchantée; ton cœur n’est point
changé, et je suis sure que ta costume ne te rendra pas moins
intéressante pour tes amis. Comptez, ma chère, que le temps ne
fait nul effet sur moi, pour changer à l’intérêt que je prendrai
toute ma vie à toi.

E. M. CHARLEVILLE.

There is something in the evident truthfulness and genuine feeling of these letters, which convinces one that there were many sacrifices of feeling, and poignant regrets to be felt, in parting from the companions and sympathies of the past.

In 1828 “Detraction Displayed” was published. Among the many acknowledgments Mrs. O. received from her friends on this occasion, was a letter from Archdeacon Wrangham, to whom she had alluded in this work. He writes:—

September 10th, 1828.
DEAR MRS. OPIE,

Having now read by snatches, as my little leisure has permitted,
“Detraction Displayed,” I hasten to acknowledge the pleasure
(and I trust I may also add profit) which I have derived from
it. It is the conscientious work of a very gifted writer, and
cannot be read without producing, by God’s accompanying
blessing, excellent effects. The subtilty of the spirit, which
you have endeavoured to lay, is such, that even the worthy, in
many cases, inhale and exhale it, almost unawares;—persons who
require only putting upon their guard, to avoid it scrupulously
for the future. I don’t believe the Greek Alphabet, if such be
the probable result of your volume, and its Alphas and Betas,
&c., ever accomplished a more valuable service, since the days
of Cadmus, its reputed inventor. So far do morals outgo mere
literature.

I cannot be insensible to your kind compliment in p. 231, and I
am happy to be able to say, that none of my epigrams have had
malice as their motive, though some, perhaps, a little
_méchanceté_ in their composition. I rejoice to see your
compliment to Mrs. Hemans, who is indeed a “charming writer,”
and I would send you my Latin version of the two epigrams of pp.
227, 228, as, having been made some years ago, (the latter
upwards of thirty,) they prove that my taste on the subject
concurs with your own,—if I did not fear that it might look
like pedantry. * * *

Yours, dear Mrs. Opie, most faithfully,
JOHN WRANGHAM.

In the month of June Mrs. Opie, writing from Upton, to Miss Buxton and Miss Gurney, gave them an account of her proceedings during her sojourn in town; and thus records her impressions of a scene which greatly interested her:—

* * * I wished for you both, the other evening, when I had the
inexpressible delight of hearing and seeing some of the very
first men in the country, assembled to celebrate the Repeal of
the Sacramental Test. One of the select committee, (Henry
Waymouth,) kindly saved a ticket for me; which admitted me into
a gallery just over the table where they sat; a private gallery,
holding only twelve. We entered our box at half-past four,
before the company came, having to go through the room to it.
However, the time did not seem long, although the tables were
not covered till half-past six. When the company was assembled,
the Duke of Sussex arrived, and many with him. Previously,
however, the clapping of hands had announced some one of
consequence, and this was Sir F. Burdett, who took his seat
under us, and so near, that we saw him always. I never heard
acclamations and applause before this evening, (I may say.) The
sounds were deafening. When the Duke was seated, the gallant
band and true was arranged, beside and around him. Lord J.
Russell on the right hand; Lord Holland on the left. Brougham,
announced by loud clapping, sat where we saw him always and
perfectly; but I wished him nearer. I suppose my friend Gurney
told him I was to be there, for he put his hand to his cheek,
and looking up at me, gave me one of his comical looks of
recognition. * * * I was disappointed at F. Buxton’s not being
there; however, I heard admirable speaking from Lord Holland
particularly, and Brougham, Burdett, Lord Carnarvon, and every
one, indeed, did well. Brougham, however, deservedly, my
favourite speaker. Sir Francis spoke well, and gracefully, but
with a tone. Brougham has such a voice! and his action is
_perfect_, I think. In common speaking his voice is not very
sweet; but in haranguing it is exquisite. Durham, fine also; and
deep. Oh! it was one of the greatest treats I ever had; and in
proportion was my sadness when I remembered that I had no one to
relate it to, who would, as formerly, have doubled my pleasure
by reflecting it perfectly. It was _one_ in the morning before
the Duke departed, having well performed his duty. I had been so
absorbed in attending, that I did not suppose it was eleven
o’clock! I could have sat all night. We had ice, fruit,
champaign, hock, tea, and coffee sent up to us; and in the lady
behind me I found a most pleasant companion, and every minute
told.

In the autumn of this year, Mrs. Opie repaired to her much-loved Cromer; her notes contain some poetical pieces, written during this visit, from which we select the following lines,

WRITTEN ON THE SEA SHORE.
11th mo., 1828.

Above, lo! cloud to cloud succeeds,
Below, the waves in surges roll,
Bounding and white as Grecian steeds,
That bore their monarch to the goal.

Now, his swift wings the sea bird lowers,
For well he reads the angry skies,
And ere the storm its fury pours,
For shelter to the rock he flies.

Bird of the wave! when dangers threat,
When life looks dark and conflicts roar,
Should deep remorse and vain regret
Rouse in my heart desponding fear;

May I for shelter seek, like thee,—
Shelter, which can all fears remove,
And to my rook of refuge flee;
A dying Saviour’s pardoning love!

From Cromer Mrs. Opie went to Northrepps, on a visit to her friends at the Cottage, and, while there, she resumed the Journal which had for a time been discontinued.

_New Year’s day_, 1829. Rose at seven o’clock, after a good
night; feeling thankful for being once more under the hospitable
roof of friends, so very dear, and so very kind. * *

At the close of the day went to my room, grateful for the
enjoyment I have had; but, as far as Christian duty goes, I fear
it has been a day of selfish enjoyment only,—a day for time,
but what for eternity? however, if I have not performed one good
action, I trust I have not committed any great offence; but
then, are not sins of omission as bad as sins of commission? If
so, alas for me and myriads of others!

(3rd.) Rose very thankful for a refreshing night. But my
dreams were affecting in the retrospect; they carried me back to
the second house I ever lived in, and where my mother died. I
saw her, and my dear father, and the room so plainly! and all
the past came rushing over me;—both gone! What a comfort to
remember what my father said to me, when he announced her death
to me: “she is gone! and may you, Amelia, never have cause to
blush when you see her again!” How often, during my succeeding
years, did those words of parental warning recur to me, and
pleasantly! The _dearest wish_ of my heart is to see both my
parents again; and perhaps it will one day be gratified. Surely,
where parents do their _duty_, children can never know a tie
stronger, or as strong, as their _earliest_ dependence on a
parent’s love produces! and, after the lapse of many years, how
fresh and vivid still are the recollections of parental and
filial love! At least, _I_ feel them to be so.

(4th.) A night to be thankful for. Snow on the ground and
trees, when I rose; happily, I had given up all idea of going to
S. Meeting, for fear of making myself ill again. My dear friends
and the family gone to church; I going to keep my meeting in my
own room. The snow is falling from the trees, and taking away
the beauty it gave; but the sky seems likely to bring it again.
The wind is to the N.E. and high, and one cannot but fear for
ships at sea; so my benevolent friends have ordered out the
fishermen who look after the gun, to keep watch along the cliff.
May He, who rules the waves, watch over the endangered! * * *

I have enjoyed my first day, even though I have not been to
meeting. It is sweet to know one is in a worshipping family!

(6th.) Sleet and snow abounding; made drawings of three of my
friends, and rode out in a snow storm, and enjoyed it. * * * To
bed latish, with pleasant recollections of the day, though
burdened with the sin of having desired the accession of _great
wealth_—that is, of _power_, and the means of
self-gratification. Who is to be trusted with such a gift? Not
I, I am sure; and ought I not to know that _wishes_ are a
species of _murmurs_, and that “nevertheless, Thy will not mine
be done,” is the only proper language? (9th.) Reading
Washington Irving’s Columbus—how interesting! As well satisfied
as I can be, while doing nothing for the good of others. (10th.)
Drove to Sheringham, and returned in a storm of sleet, just in
time to keep my engagement at H. B.’s; and arrived there as _the
clock struck five_, punctual, to my heart’s content. * * To bed
grateful for much, but most, for having been able, in some
instances, during the evening, to speak according to my own
moral standard, whether vainly or not. (14th.) A good night;
was dressed by eight, but so absorbed in the psalms, and in
making extracts from Columbus, that I did not hear the reading
bell, and lost the reading, which I regretted. * * After dinner
we drove out; but previously I wrote a little account of cruelty
to a dog. We had a most charming drive. It was a bright
afternoon, and the sky over the sea was full of tints, and such
a glorious setting sun, which clothed the church steeple, and
many other prominent objects in sunshine, as we came down the
road from Roughton! But, welcome were our home, and our smiling
fire, and welcoming friend! (16th.) Drove out to D. B.’s, to
see my epitaph on the stone. Thankful to have given pleasure to
the son, by these lines. Oh that, like the epitaph named by Legh
Richmond, in his Young Cottager, they may be made the means of
good! A happy evening, to bed thankful for much, though not
satisfied with my own conduct. (17th.) A good night to return
thanks for. Drove to see _that_ house, where I had so often been
with those most dear, now in their graves—my husband, and my
cousin Olyett Woodhouse! Dear O! when he went away and sold this
estate, he hoped to repurchase it, and return; but he is in his
Indian grave! What a trial his death was to me! but my _last_
loss annihilated, in a great measure, the sense of every other.
(18th, first day.) _Grieved_ I could not get to meeting, but I
must bear it as well as I can. My own sitting, a favoured and
comforting one. After dinner, set off to see the poor widow
Green, a blind woman of 89; read to her a long time, and gave
her money. Went to the cliff; the sea and sky truly interesting.
* * To bed with sabbath feelings. (19th.) Went to see the
skaters. Lord Suffield came up to us; and, while we admired the
tints of the sky,—which were pale green over the sea, melting
into pale blue, and then gradually deepening, till they became
the deepest, richest, indigo and purple, over our heads,—he
observed, that he had often, but vainly, tried to convince
distant friends that our skies in Norfolk, near the sea, have
the finest tints he ever saw, and pale green particularly.

(22nd.) A most comfortable sitting of two hours in my own
room. Thought of dear N. friends, and wished myself there, (at
meeting,) but was thankful for my lonely opportunity. * * * If I
were not so idle, and were nearer a meeting, my happiness could
know no drawback; especially when we three are alone together.
(23rd.) Such a good night! We read as usual; afterwards dear
A. was dragged in her hand-chair, to visit the cottages and the
sea. The cold, on going out, was intense; the snow in our faces;
but I got warm with walking, and enjoyed the scene and the
visits. Went to the cliff, and saw, on the shore, planks and
baulks, which a most angry sea had washed up; a wreck, no doubt,
somewhere, the fishermen said. Fresh barley had floated to land
also, and we went to a farm yard near, to see a ladder, bearing
the inscription of Exmouth, Hull. My dear friend ordered the men
to be on the alert, and watch, lest any vessel should be in
distress on the coast, that the mortar might be used. Happily,
however, we heard of none being in sight. Drew three likenesses;
two, reckoned very good. Alas! it was my last evening at the
dear cottage! and it was one of love and interest; and, to me,
of thankfulness that I have such friends.

Of this walk in the snow, Mrs. Opie afterwards wrote a pleasing account, part of which we subjoin:—

* * * Snow had continued to fall, and I to admire; but we became
impatient of keeping the house, and resolved to go out in some
way or other. Accordingly, as to use the horses was impossible,
I equipped myself for walking, and one of my friends for going
in a chair on wheels. But when the moment for our departure
arrived, I felt very loth to leave the fire-side, and envied the
dear companion, who, not daring to brave the cold, was left to
enjoy its cheering precincts. However, though casting “a longing
lingering look behind,” both on my friend and the fire, I
sallied forth. The wind was a keen north-easter, and blew full
in our faces, while I, though shuddering in the blast, ankle
deep in snow, and with fingers in agony, romantically attempted
to convince myself how delightful the walk was, by repeating a
sonnet to winter, written in the days of my youth. But even my
own fictions had not power to warm me; and as, with blue and
quivering lip, I spouted my tuneful admiration of what was
taking away my breath, and inflicting pain on me besides, I
ended in a hearty laugh at my own absurdity; in which, as my
companion was not sensible of what I was doing, since the wind
blew my words away from her, she happily could not join, and I
kept my own counsel.

I then tried to beguile my sense of cold, by admiring the group
before me. Methought we should have made a figure in a
landscape—not that there was aught picturesque in my dress;
still, my full long cloak was blown by the wind into folds,
which would, in a picture, have turned, I flatter myself, to
some account; but my friend in her chair, the servants and the
dogs who accompanied us, made a group which, as I said before,
might have employed the pencil to advantage. Yes, we had three
dogs with us, one of them was a fine black curly Newfoundland
dog, called Charley; and his companion was a small terrier. The
Marquise de Sevigné said of a friend of hers, that he abused the
privilege which men have to be ugly—and I think poor Hefty has
abused the privilege which terriers have to be so; _au reste_,
he is a good dog, but, like his species, high-minded and
aristocratic. Every one knows that dogs do not like the poor, or
their houses; probably there is something in the smell of
poverty which displeases their nice organs.

The terrier in question, when, to his great annoyance, one day,
I forced him into a cottage, got under my chair, and would not
stir from it while I staid, wrapping himself up meanwhile, in
the train of my silk gown.

The servants were forced to keep a sharp look out after Hefty
and Charley, because they knew there were plenty of pheasants
and hares in the coverts, alongside of which we passed, and
seemed to think a chase after them would be an agreeable
pastime; while their bounding feet, ever and anon on the verge
of trespassing, and the exemplary readiness with which, better
taught than most children, they obeyed the calling voice to
return, gave interest and cheerfulness to our walk.

The third dog was a short-legged, big-bodied, over-fed, tiny,
pet spaniel, with brown ears, that almost swept the snow as he
waddled along. Why he came out at all I know not, as he has no
vocation for any exertion save that of eating, lapping, and
barking; and, I believe, if Jackey could have spoken, he would
have begged Charley and Hefty not to walk quite so fast, but
wait for _him_. At last, the poor little body was so tired, that
his mistress took him on her lap, and, while his really pretty
head peeped over her arm, he added to the picturesqueness of our
group.

We had some way to go, before we came to a habitation, and the
“untrodden snow,” extending on all sides, made the scene appear
unusually desolate. The Parish Church, too, which we passed,
added to the desolation. The greater part of it, that is, the
whole body, is a ruin; but part of the nave is still entire, and
able to hold the population of O——. It is, perhaps, one of the
smallest churches in England, but I doubt whether there be one,
in which the service is performed with more exemplary zeal and
heartfelt sincerity, or where the worshippers, (chiefly
fishermen and their families,) are more truly and fervently
devotional. Tradition says, that every evening, at twilight, the
_ghost of a dog_ is seen to pass under the wall of this
churchyard, having begun its walk from the church at B——, a
village between Cromer and Sheringham. It is known by the name
of Old Shock, and is said to be very like Charley, the companion
of our walk, by those who have seen, and _felt_ him; for this
four-footed ghost, unlike all human ones, is not only visible,
but tangible. A worthy, sensible gamekeeper, now no more,
declared, and believed, to the day of his death, that one
evening it ran under his hand, and “though ready to face any
earth-born poacher, four-legged or two-legged, at dawn or at
dusk,” he owned he was so frightened, for he knew what it was he
saw glide on before him in the moonlight! Its back, as he
described it, was rough, hard, and shaggy.

Old Shock walks sometimes with a head, sometimes without, but,
be that as it may, the villagers, when questioned, assert that
his eyes are “always as big as saucers.”

He is supposed to be a relic of the Danes, because Norfolk was
long their abode—so long, that many Danish words are left in
use amongst us, especially on the coast of which I am writing;
and a similar story of a spectre dog is current in Denmark.
There was one also in the Isle of Man, so long under the
Northmen’s sway.[27] This spectre dog of ours is certainly an
animal of taste, to judge by his choice in walks.

The following day (the 24th instant) Mrs. Opie returned to Norwich, and the next entry in her Journal is made from her own house:—

Returned in safety to my lonely home. What a contrast to the
scene I left! but I am deeply thankful for three weeks and two
days so happily spent, and for the real and many comforts to
which I return.

Shortly after, she records the illness and death of one of her early friends, the daughter of Mrs. Colombine, (to whom she addressed a letter of friendly sympathy, in 1803, from which an extract is given in chapter xiv.) Most tenderly did she watch beside the bed of the poor sufferer, minister to her wants, and, at length, close her eyes. A day or two after her death, she writes:—

She begged me not to leave her—but how could I? I resolved to
sit up with her. I went home to my tea, and then came back. She
had slept in my absence; when she woke, and saw me, she was so
glad; and when I assured her I would not leave her, she kept
saying, trying to smile, (a ghastly smile indeed,) “God bless
you! bless you! bless you!” After a night of great conflict on
her part, and deep feeling on mine, she breathed her last, at
five minutes past five; and I had the melancholy office of
closing her eyes. How thankful was I, as I stood by her
breathless clay, to know, that she, who had shed so many tears,
was gone where “tears are wiped from all eyes,” and to picture
the reunion of mother and daughter, where _separation_ comes
not! She survived her mother only a fortnight—oh! what a mercy;
blessed be He who willed it so to be!

Next day I rose at one, and visited the poor, bereaved aunt;
staid some hours, became ill, oppressed, and nervous, and called
on Dr. Ash, who prescribed for me. Met H. G., who went home with
me, and staid two or three hours; and when he left me, I had not
a complaint in the world! Went to bed so thankful, even for the
trials of the night and day. (4th day.) Went in the mourning
coach, with Dr. Sutton and J. Beecroft, to the house. How the
French Church, where the dear sufferer was laid, on her mother’s
coffin, called back the days of my childhood, and French School!
Dr. S. read the service _well_. Went to Magdalen, committee long
and interesting; called at my uncle’s. (6th.) Catherine G. to
dinner; did _so_ enjoy her company. Went to bed very happy.
(7th.) My uncle’s birthday, (seventy-six;) dined with him; a
pleasant day; my uncle in spirits. To bed thankful and
contented.

Here the Journal abruptly breaks off.

In May of this year, Mrs. Opie was, as usual, in London, and writing to her friends at Northrepps Cottage, she says:—

5th mo., 11th, 1829.
MY VERY DEAR FRIENDS,

I would write “histories” if I could, but for even short tales I
have no time; and I am always led to feel myself very “infirm of
purpose,” when I come to London. I meant to have written down
what I composed on the road, and to send it to dear Northrepps
Cottage, but I have not had any adequate leisure. I was ill all
the way hither, with a feverish cold, and kept the house next
day; but was well enough, by dinner, to enjoy our admirable
guest, Baptist Noel, and he was our only one; and we did indeed
enjoy him; one word is sufficient to express him, and includes
his mind, heart, manners, conversation, and
character—Delightful!

In the evening came the T. Erskines. Without any affectation, B.
N. leads the conversation to religious subjects, and happy the
young, as well as the old, who can frequently associate with
such a man! It was a rich day. The next morning we drove to
Christie’s; he was very kind; and on the 23rd my pictures, which
now I rather pine after, are to be exhibited, and sold, with
some by Ward and Gainsborough. He advises immediate sale, as
times grow worse and worse.

Henrietta Erskine having given me a reserved ticket for the
Jews’ Meeting, I then drove to the Freemasons’ Hall, which I
found nearly full. As they passed, I had an opportunity of
shaking hands with F. Cunningham, Wilberforce, and Simeon. Sir
Thos. Baring was in the chair; and I heard twelve speakers, and
was there from twelve to near half-past five! but I was so
deeply interested that I was not tired. There was much
eloquence, and, what was better, a christian spirit, and
christian humility, I think, pervading all, and manifested very
visibly. You will read the whole proceedings in the Record,
therefore I will not name the speakers. We are going now to the
British and Foreign School Society Meeting.

In the month of June following, Mrs. Opie visited Paris, and spent some months there. An account of this trip is given in the next chapter.

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[27] See the Notes to the Lay of the Last Minstrel.