CHAPTER XIX.

INFLUENCE OF CHRISTIAN FELLOWSHIP; MRS. OPIE RETURNS TO ENGLAND; GIVES UP HOUSEKEEPING; JOURNEY INTO CORNWALL; LETTERS AND JOURNAL DURING HER RESIDENCE THERE.

Some of Mrs. Opie’s most sincere and attached friends felt a degree of anxiety, lest her protracted sojourn in the gay capital of France, where she was surrounded by admirers, and found so much to gratify and charm her taste and feelings, should be injurious to her best and highest interests. They feared lest she should be “drawn away from the simplicity” of faith and manners, which must characterize the true Christian, in his intercourse with the world. These anxieties were natural, and the expression of them salutary. The knowledge that such care was felt on her behalf, that such watchful eyes of love were upon her movements, awakened her gratitude, and influenced her conduct. The union that subsisted between her and the Friends, with whom she had “cast in her lot,” was a true and beneficial one; exerting an abiding and useful influence, and having a hold upon her affections, as well as her principles. In her journals, she continually refers to the happy and comforting experiences of her first day services, with the “two or three,” who met together for religious fellowship and sympathy; and her heart yearned towards those whom she had left behind in her dear native city, when “vexed” with the ungodliness and carelessness of heart which she saw around her.

But her nature was many-sided and elastic; she could, and did, take a living interest in all the varied forms of life and society; and could be in the world though she was not of it. She was able to turn with undiminished interest, from scenes of high excitement, to small and apparently uncongenial subjects. To each claim she responded in turn, and the tale of every human heart had power to interest her. Hence, when she returned to her solitary home, and the quiet and comparatively monotonous life she led there, she lost none of her spring, nor appeared in the slightest degree less keenly alive to all that claimed her attention. The society of her friends, and the works of charity which she had relinquished for a season, were returned to and resumed with warmth and diligence. She was especially interested about this time, in the cause of the Ladies’ Branch Bible Society, in Norwich. Mr. Charles Dudley was anxious to effect an improvement in its management, and there were meetings and committees at the Friends’ meeting-house, at which Mrs. Opie assisted. She also took a district, and visited among the poor, receiving their weekly pence as a collector, and thus coming into contact with many scenes of sorrow and want, that awakened her kindly feelings, and found employment for her charitable dispositions. She mentions, in her diary, the pleasure she felt at being welcomed on her return after her long absence, by the poor people whom she met. This was a reward quite after her own heart!

In the year 1832, Mrs. Opie sold her house in St. George’s, which she had been desirous to do from the time of her father’s death. During Dr. Alderson’s life, many of Mr. Opie’s pictures were in his possession, and adorned the walls of the rooms in which he lived. There were two of large size over the mantel-piece in the dining and drawing rooms; one, the well-known picture of the Secret Correspondence, or Love letter, the other was the Shepherd Boy, in Gainsborough’s style. There were beside these, many others, including the portraits, which formed the subjects of six of her “Lays for the Dead.”—The latter Mrs. Opie retained in her possession, taking them with her when she went into lodgings, and eventually to her house on the Castle Meadow.

Having completed all her arrangements, disposed of her house, and dismissed her servants, she resolved to give up housekeeping for some time, that she might be entirely at liberty to wander at will; and, in the autumn of this year, at length found herself able to accomplish a desire, which (she said) had for many years been near her heart; viz. to visit Cornwall, her husband’s native county, intending to make her stay there as long as she found desirable; and on the 20th of September she left London for Falmouth, viâ Plymouth. On finding herself in Cornwall, she wrote:—

I cannot describe the sensation I felt at being in my poor husband’s native county, which I had so often heard him lavish in praise of; but his part of the county was bold and rocky, and without trees; this was rich and wooded, though rocky, and the low walls, made of a red stone, appeared to me particularly picturesque. Indeed, at every moment, scenery of increasing beauty presented itself to the view. Before we arrived at Truro, I was extremely pleased with a long dell, called the Forest, extending to a considerable length; across this dell very large forest trees bent over, forming a natural bower, beautiful and magnificent, and, as I concluded must be the case, a fine stream ran through the hollow, and, at its termination, there is a gentleman’s seat; I fear that I envied the owner his delightful residence.

Rocks, woods, and river, were the constant succession of objects which my delighted eyes gazed on, as we proceeded on our way; and the vale of Perran fully equalled my expectations, though I could not explore its heights and look down on its lovely valley. Penryn is a striking scene, from the business going forward there, and the romantic scenery around its river. Next came the beautiful harbour of Falmouth, on which we looked down as we drew near; it fully realized my high-raised expectations!

At the inn, I found my friend awaiting my arrival; he drove me up an almost perpendicular street, which reminded me of Whitby, where the streets are all precipitous. When I reached W. Place, and the kind inhabitants introduced me into the house, I was overpowered, as it were, by the sense of beauty with which the view from the window impressed me! The bay was blue as heaven! and there seemed nothing between us and that, but a gently undulating lawn, enamelled with flowering shrubs. To the left, rose the castle of Pendennis, on its high and verdant promontory, and the whole was so like an Italian scene, that I could scarcely fancy myself in England. I felt deep thankfulness when I retired to my charming room at night, not only for my safe arrival, but that the lines were fallen to me in such pleasant places!

Mrs. Opie, after remaining a month at Falmouth, left her friends there on the 22nd of October, and proceeded to Perran, on a visit to another branch of the same family, and from this time she seems to have kept a journal, from which we purpose making occasional extracts. On her way to Perran she visited a mine, which she describes thus:—

There is here the largest steam engine, perhaps, in Europe; when I entered the room I went up to see the immense beam, or bob, that opened and shut, and looked like a great whale, opening its jaws to devour me. The whole thing was vast, even to sublimity. We then went below, and a little steam was let off, for me to hear the roar; they went on to increase it for my amusement, but I had enough at the third roar, which, from its extraordinary noise, made me feel ready to faint; a fourth increase of sound would, I believe, have made me fall to the ground. We then went to see the women at work. The first sight of the mining district exceeded all my ideas of its desolation—a desolation only equalled by its population.

On the 21st, (she says,) I bade a sorrowful farewell to dear Perran, and drove off with a heavy heart, at leaving my friends, to St. Agnes. The drive was interesting while the light lasted, and I was kindly welcomed on my arrival, by my worthy relatives.

From hence she wrote the following letter:—

TO SARAH ROSE, BRACONDALE, NORWICH.

St. Agnes, 11th mo., 26th, 1832.

My very dear Friend,

I shall begin by what is uppermost with me just now. Last night, in the papers, I had the shock of seeing the death of Lady Stafford, at Brighton! what a loss! what a wide-spreading loss! What did she die of? how sudden her removal! but it is those who are left who have to mourn. One cannot think but all is well with her, poor dear! I used to lament I knew so little of her, but now I rejoice! I am sorry to think, dear friend, what a gloom the death of this noble and excellent lady will cast over thy circle, and, consequently, over thyself. * * *

I am here, with my poor husband’s nephew, and his wife and family, which consists of Edward Opie the painter; a boy of ten; and of a gentle and pleasing young woman, named Amelia, after me, at the desire of my poor sister. They have just lost a lovely, gifted girl, of thirteen, whose loss has sunk deep into the hearts of her parents. The whole family have soft pleasing manners; in short, I like them all. From the summer house in the garden, there is a view of rock and ocean, seen over a thick wood, which I should always like to look upon; but alas! the parlour window looks only on a narrow road, and a high house opposite. Such an exchange for beautiful Falmouth bay and harbour, and Perran vale, whence I now come! Yesterday I dined at Harmony Cot, where my husband and all the family were born and bred. It is a most sequestered cottage, whitewashed and thatched; a hill rising high above it, and another in front; trees and flower-beds before it, which in summer must make it a pretty spot. Now, it is not a tempting abode; but there are two good rooms, and I am glad I have seen it.

I have here the most delicious bread, butter, and clotted cream, possible. I have luxuriated in this latter article since I reached Cornwall, and also in sweetwort, at Falmouth. A kind old friend there always keeps a store ready for me; for, strange to say, one can buy it at Falmouth a penny per pint, and the man brews almost every day. I was at Falmouth one month, at R. W. Fox’s, and at his mother’s at Perran and Falmouth another month, and came hither last fourth day from Redruth monthly meeting, and I go to Truro next fourth day, to stay till the beginning of next month, when I go to Burncoose, and I hope to take up my abode, in lodgings of my own, at Penzance, by the second of the next year, if not before—but I have so many invitations! I was, on fifth day, up St. Anne’s beacon. Such a magnificent sea view! We hope to get to Perran Path, to see rocks and caverns, on second day. * * * Enter a sweet giblet pie. Farewell.

After dinner.—When I am at Penzance I mean to go on excursions from that town; the neighbourhood is very interesting, and rocks and sea do not lose, but gain, in beauty and sublimity, from rough weather.

How many persons have died even during the short time of my absence! and I have had to fear for dear Dr. Ash! I am truly thankful he is restored. I have good accounts of my aunt and J. Sparshall and of all (save Henry Bidwell) in whom I am interested. May such accounts continue! I have had a letter from Lady Milman to-day; like herself, admirable! In much love, and with messages of love to Whites, yourselves, Beecrofts, and Anne Bevan,

I am, thy ever affectionate friend,

A. Opie.

How I wish I were, what I am not, and fear I never may be, weaned from the pleasures of this life, and given only to preparation for another! I sometimes reprove myself for the happiness I feel; and my health so perfect!

The Journal proceeds:—

(7th day, 1st of 12th mo.) Went to see the market, and institution or museum. En route met the Wesleyan minister, and went to his house to ask C. Cook’s address at Paris, and to speak to him on the necessity of a Temperance Society at St. Anne’s, as spirits are the universal drink among temperate people, and who see not the danger of such a habit. Had letters from J. J. G. and H. G. Wrote to the latter, for the last time by a frank to him!

(1st day, 2nd.) Got to meeting; snowy. In the evening came on an awful storm; thunder loud, lightning vivid! When it subsided, W. T. opened the windows for me to see what he called his illumination. It was the large Methodist meeting house lighted up, and towering in radiance in the valley on the left!

(3rd day, 4th.) Monthly meeting day—time to go and prepare. * * A most satisfactory meeting; much dropt that was interesting and instructive.

(4th day, 5th.) Quarterly meeting. A full attendance of Friends from all parts of the country. S. and C. Abbot, to me unknown before, amongst them. The meeting still, and evidently owned. Several friends spoke to great edification; but C. A., for voice, manner, and matter, delightful! Such sweetness of voice, united to such compass, I never heard before; and then her communication! I wish I could hear her often. The meeting well attended in the evening. Next morning our friends left, with a solemn, sweet, though short, parting benediction.

(1st day, 9th.) Heard a good account of dear M. Fox and her children. Lodgings suitable procured for me, at Penzance; much pleased to hear it. Walked after dinner up the hill beyond the house, to see to advantage the remarkable and sublime appearance of the clouds, which resembled the glaciers, and formed ridges of ice, like those on the Mer de Glace! It was a sublime spectacle; and, if it had not left us, we should have found it difficult to leave it.

(6th day.) Shocked to find that Gurney and Ker had lost their election! Heard from S. Austin. Rolfe in for Falmouth; good! P. W. drove me to see the pit where Wesley preached; a hallowed spot—now made into a circle of turf seats, and will hold 12,000 persons. Interesting indeed!

On the 10th of January, (1833,) her Journal continues:—

Rose at five, and off at seven for Penzance; a day of incessant wind and rain! looked for the mount and its bay to the right, but happening to turn to the left window, I just did so in time to see it in all its glory, and quite near me, the billows lashing its rocky sides! Kind Lord de D. has procured me the means of sleeping there at the next full moon! * * My lodgings pleasant; a good drawing-room, a decent bed-room, and a fine sea view, are my possessions here, and leisure. May I employ it well! Dear S. and A. Fox! they were so kind, that I was very loth to quit them! but here I am.

A touching mention follows of the tidings she received of the death of a sweet child of some of the friends she had left.

(11th.) Walked on the shore after dinner—the Mount very dark when we first saw it, then it was sunlit, then dark and misty, then light again, and green as an emerald was the flood swelling against it, and edged with snow-white feathers. Beautiful Mount, I long to be better acquainted with thee!

(18th.) The day lovely; walked to find the tombs of my cousins. Such a walk! the air balmy, the bay blue and gold, the Mount darkly grand! saw it almost all the way. The churchyard pretty; the tomb simple; in its railing is another like it, over a mother and son, friends of Philothea.[[35]] On our return the Mount was bright—saw the granite rocks: and the sea was first green and then a bright blue! so lovely! not at all tired. Enjoyed my walk and my dinner. Wrote in the evening to General Lafayette and E. M.

TO SARAH ROSE, BRACONDALE, NORWICH.

Regent’s Terrace, Penzance,

1st mo., 14th, 1833.

It is long since the receipt of any letter has given me so much pleasure as the one I received to-day from thee, my beloved friend. * * * I intend to write to my friend, Judith Beecroft, but I defer writing till I have visited St. Michael’s Mount. She and Laura, who have passed a night with the monks, at the convent of Great St. Bernard, will still look down on poor me, who shall, when I write, have passed a night in that rocky wonder. But I am to enjoy the great pleasure of visiting the rock and ramparts by moonlight, and I am to sleep there;—par conséquent, I shall also see the sun rise and set there—a great privilege; whether I may have the bells set a ringing or not, I can’t tell, but I should like to judge of all the effects possible in that unique spot.

I have lately been staying at Lord de Dunstanville’s, and he it was who wrote to Sir John St. Aubyn’s housekeeper, desiring a bed to be prepared for me, whenever I chose to go; and that is at the next full moon, (a suspicious circumstance, n’est ce pas?) But, dear me! how should there be any moon where there is no sun? only once have I seen the latter since I came hither, last fifth day, the 10th. Wind, rain, and no fish! and I usually live on fish; but then in two minutes I can be on the beach, and see the Mount. * * * Oh! what a blessing is leisure, and its promoter, solitude! I can say, with deep thankfulness, that I have been only too happy with my dear Cornish friends; too happy, because, I have been idle and useless; but, much as I have enjoyed this very precious society, I cannot express my delight at feeling that I have fourteen hours before me when I rise, or more, to do what I will in, and write and read as I choose.

* * * At Paris the glass is many many degrees below freezing point; here, there is rain and wind, but no frost. I fear, indeed know, that you have frost, but I hope thou feelest it not. I will add that my health is perfect, and I need the sorrows of my friends to sober my spirits. My drawing-room commands the bay, and on one side the town and hills of N., washed by the sea.

Now to talk of thyself. I am cheered much by thy letter, and I humbly trust that the best of all cheerfulness, that which results from entire resignation, is thine now, and will be to the end. “If we live to the Lord, we shall also die to the Lord;” and I believe persons afflicted with incurable complaints are permitted to live on and suffer, that they may be made profitable examples. * * * To-morrow I am going to dine and sleep at Sir Rose Price’s. I have many letters yet unacknowledged; I like to put my friends in my debt. I am paying off mine; I sent seven yesterday to the post. Farewell! remember I must hear from thee again.

Thine affectionate friend,

A. Opie.

(5th day, 24th.) A bright and dazzling sun, silvering over the bellowing sea, like great wit and talent, throwing a lustre over turbulent passions, under an agreeable surface. This day four months I came to dear Falmouth; what happy months! Blessed be His goodness who willed them so to be. I hope for some letters to day * * * one from S. Rose, franked by H. Jerningham, the first catholic frank I have had. Poor dear Mary White! H. K. W.’s mother. She is gone, full of years and honour; and no doubt gone to glory! What a meeting will hers be with her blessed son, if, (as I trust,) the “raised again” know each other. (1st day, 27th.) To meeting; silent, as usual, both morning and afternoon, still it was refreshing. In the evening read some pages of S. Crisp’s Sermons—admirable! Read Newton’s “Cardiphonia,”[[36]] and in the Acts; an edifying evening, still to bed discouraged, though much enabled to pray during the day. (28th.) A disturbed night, but woke with “My grace is sufficient for thee” on my lips. Hoped it was an answer to prayer. Slept again, and woke with the same text. Rose encouraged. * * * This evening went on with my remarks on the sons of Eli and the Rechabites. Read Carne’s “Letters from the East,” which, though not new to me, were most pleasing; so absorbed with his accounts of the Holy Land, I could scarcely quit them to go to bed.

(5th of 2nd mo.) * * * * Received a very good and civil note from the housekeeper. (4th day, 6th.) Packed up and ready at a quarter before ten, for Marazion. Meeting satisfactory. Sent my parcel before me to the Mount. Ascent very steep; surprised at the difficulty and pain of the effort. Housekeeper very civil. Saw all the prime of the house. Walked round the ramparts. No moon; she rose, however, and was fine at midnight. A bad night, but enjoyed the novelty of my situation.

TO THOMAS BRIGHTWELL.

Regent Terrace, Penzance.

2nd mo., 11th, 1833, evening.

My dear Friend,

If I were now at my dear old house at Norwich, I should, perhaps, have the pleasure of passing this evening with thee; but as we are separated by a distance of nearly 400 miles, this pleasure I cannot have. I am therefore desirous to make myself amends for a privation which I frequently regret, by holding with thee that communication, imperfect though it be, I can enjoy through the medium of pen, ink, and paper. * * * One of the most interesting sights that I have seen, is THE PIT where Wesley, almost at the hazard of his life, addressed the Cornish men, for the first time. It is now an immense punch bowl of green turf, cut into circular seats from the top to the bottom; steps, left to ascend and descend, dividing the area into four parts; at the top of the last one are two posts of granite, on which, when any one preaches, there is laid a board, to support whatever the preacher may require. On every Whit Sunday one of their most distinguished ministers holds forth to an immense congregation—immense indeed! for the place holds above 10,000 persons, and it is often quite full. I could fancy, as I stood there, those thousands of uplifted faces, wrapt in devout attention, and, as I hope, drinking in waters from the well of salvation.

The greatest sight, and perhaps one of the most unique in Europe, is St. Michael’s Mount, as it is stupidly called, for the term mount, gives one no idea of vastness, but the contrary; and who would expect to find a place called a mount—a rock, a mountain, and a castle? Yet, such is St. Michael’s Mount; one of the seats of Sir John St. Aubyn; where I passed two days and two nights alone, last week; and where I had leave to stay as long as I liked, but I felt a scruple against taking possession of a man’s house in his absence, and putting his housekeeper to the trouble of waiting upon me, and cooking for me; she said she wished me to stay a week, but I thought she would, in her heart, be very glad to get rid of a crazy old gentlewoman, who came to look at the moon from the ramparts of the castle, as if she had no moon in her own country! and I don’t doubt but she fancied me moonstruck, which idea was, I dare say, confirmed, by her catching me drawing the faces and figures I saw in the fire; a new, but I assure thee, a very amusing occupation. I advise Lucy to set about it directly. The sea is closed round this magnificent mountain, with its masses of rock frowning midway down its verdant sides, during greater part of the day, and such a sea as it is in winter! They are shipless waters, for no vessel could live in them; and I did enjoy to see the waves of the Atlantic rolling proudly on, on one side of the castle, telling of greater and more fearful power beyond, where my eye could not penetrate. The first night I was there, the weather was so rough, that I went to bed supposing the moon would not shine; but when the tide unclosed, as the saying is, the moon shone, and I, on waking past midnight, saw her light, but could not see her; so the next night I sat up till she rose, and, leaning on the balcony, witnessed her fight with the wind and rain, and her ultimate victory. Such was the roughness of the sea, that the white foam made the “darkness light about it,” without the aid of the moon; but where she did not shine on their jutting points, dark as Erebus were the turrets, the ramparts, and the walls of the castle; while the little town at the foot of the mountain, and the more distant town beyond, lay in a sort of half tint of moonshine, and the noble rocks over which I leaned, were softened into beauty by the mellowing rays that rested on them! It was interesting to watch the lights from the habitations, far and near, as they gradually disappeared; and to feel that I, probably, was the only being awake and moving, in that vast space of land and water. I walked and gazed, and leaned on the ramparts, till the consciousness of my solitude became oppressive to me, and I hastened along that corridor, so often trodden, in times long past, by the monk or the warrior, to my repose. This castle was once a monastery, and I entered a dungeon which was found, a few years ago, bricked up, and the skeleton of a large man in it, no doubt that of an offending monk, left there to die by inches. * *

Thy attached Friend,

A. Opie.

(2nd mo. 10th.) A day of storm and rain. To meeting, which was still and solemn, though a very small gathering. I was there first, and enjoyed the opportunity of solitary worship. Anne T. was favoured much in her ministry. It was a privilege which it is long since we enjoyed before. At three, to meeting again; a notice given to those not in society with us; afterwards all came to me—a pleasant evening. (13th.) Went to meeting, a quiet one, only four persons present. Afternoon netted, and sat watching the sun, and the heavens, and the sea; the sun setting in radiance though not in glory; rain, like hail, pattering against the window at the same time, and the wind roaring as loud as the foaming sea.

(15th.) Rose early, and again worked on my Lays. Letters. Shocked to hear of my dear friend, Sarah Rose’s death; but, a mercy to her! Still, I grieve to see her no more, a friend so long attached. I long to hear more, and expect to learn that she had more than a peaceful end. (17th.) Can’t sleep after five, till time to rise; a bad habit. Forgot it was the day of Marazion meeting, so I went here; quite alone, but I did so enjoy it! Wrote all my Lays on my six pictures—very poor, but hope to improve them. To bed much cheered.

(19th.) Finished my purses—packed up; a day of fearful wind and rain! forced to have a chaise to get to the coach for Falmouth. Felt glad, on arriving, to be in this kind home again. Drew all the evening.[[37]]

After a short stay with her friends, Mrs. Opie returned to her solitary lodging, and in her diary, records her progress with her “Lays,” and some short pieces; there are frequent notices too of the domestic joys and sorrow of friends with whom she corresponded, and verses addressed to them on these events. The weather was exceedingly stormy during the latter part of her stay; she writes:—

(2nd mo., 28th.) Rose amidst such a storm of wind and rain; the maid fears for the chimney, so do I! The sea a succession of foaming billows, and the white horses galloping towards us. * * What a change since the scene of an hour ago! The sea a succession of circling green waves, seemingly flowing the other way; and the sun in dazzling brightness, edging every wave with silver. Oh! the ever-varying beauty of the ocean. I think I must live near it whenever I fix again. If the brightness did not make my eyes ache, I could not keep from the window. * * The beauty all gone again. Now to work on my Lays. I have added to, and corrected, and written in my book, all my lines on my portraits; 192 lines of blank verse; and I think I must add a few more to those on my dear father. I fear no one will read them! * * The wind, rain, and hail are all abroad again, spite of the moon and stars. * * No, there they are again, making the bay so bright! * * To bed peaceful, grâce à Dieu. (1st day.) A good night, but dared not go to the meeting, so went here, knowing I should be alone—enjoyed it. Rain again! “The rain it remaineth every day!” (2nd day.) Went to the workhouse and jail; found one of the committee there, who was very civil, and, with the governor, went about with me. The workhouse well-conducted and comfortable indeed—mad patients there also; saw one poor woman. In the prison not one person, but a woman debtor—going out soon. Gave 5s. to the fund and 2s. 6d. to the poor woman; they promised to send me an account of the average expense of the establishment per week, to the fund collected by poor’s rates; he thinks it not more than two shillings and a few pence, each person. This gentleman called to tell me that what I had given, with a little added, would give the poor people a treat of cake and tea, at five, next fourth day, and asked me to go and see them enjoy it. It was kindly meant, but I should think it ostentatious. * * Went to the shore, to see the Mount by moonlight. I saw that poor young Irishman, A., at No. 1, walk to-day, and I met him; he looks thinner and weaker, but, his colour grows more and more brilliant! how I wish I dare speak to him, and ask him how he does; he comes from the north of Ireland. It is a comfort his brother is with him. I have read through “Anecdotes of the Court of Napoleon,” some of them true, I doubt not, but many disgusting! To bed, so low, and haunted with painful images. (5th.) Read the paper of yesterday; what times! what speeches! admired many, but most Sir R. Peel’s, I think. Still, am incompetent to judge on the propriety, or rather absolute necessity, of the Irish Bill. (6th.) An almost sleepless night, the storm raging! Thought of the poor souls at sea; hoped Captain Rosewall had not sailed. A day of incessant rain and howling. This weather is very trying to the nerves, and will reconcile me to leaving Penzance! The sounds of wind and rain are bad companions for a lone person, and impede one’s progress in anything; still I am sometimes too much absorbed to mind them. (9th.) A fine, blue, windy, frosty day. Went to the Land’s end, to the Logan-rock first, a magnificent amphitheatre of rocks indeed! walked up to it with my nephew, Tom Opie; ascended, and proved it. The position and the movement, make this piece of rock (which weighs 92 tons) very curious; but the fine sight is the mass of varied rocks around! The Land’s End in sea, was a grievous disappointment; no swell at all; the wind blew from land, but the sea was green and blue and beautiful, and Cape Cormorant grand; and the strange rock in the sea, called the Prisons, very fine; and the the very Land’s End, and its rocks—oh! it was very fine; and I consoled myself on hearing that had there been a great swell and wind, we could not have approached as we did. We then drove to Whitsand bay; the hills that guard it are strewed with immense pieces of rock, some worn round like a bowl; I never saw grander desolation. The sand there is white, and the little shells which abound there are beautiful. (19th.) Set off in a heavy, dark, dirty vehicle, with Thomas Opie, for St. Ives! day bright, but cold; hills steep, rocky, rugged! car jolting; horse going a foot’s pace; and two hours and a half going through a barren, rocky country, full of mines, and desolate. Sublimely ugly! Halstown, a curious place; four and thirty double cottages of white stone, abodes of miners, placed in shelves on the edge of a rocky, steep, high hill. The bay and sea at St. Ives lovely. (22nd.) My last day at Penzance! I felt quitting a spot so endeared to me by hours of refreshing, and, I trust, beneficial solitude. A pleasing note from poor young B. A., (the lame invalid I saw daily from my window,) returning my books and regretting my departure.[[38]]

Mrs. Opie returned from Penzance to Falmouth, where she remained for some weeks, visiting her friends, and enjoying their kind hospitality and true friendship. She makes daily entries in her Journal, and details the domestic every-day life, and the occasional fêtes or troubles of her friends. Especially she dwells, with evident delight and cordial satisfaction on the religious services of the Friends, and expresses her “entire unity” of sentiment with them.

At length, on the 29th of April, she writes:—

Alas! the day of my departure from dear Cornwall, therefore unwelcome. I bade a reluctant adieu to all my dear Cornish friends, deeply thankful for the happiness I had enjoyed, during seven months, in this interesting county, and with this interesting family and others; and endeavouring to prepare mentally for other scenes and other persons.

She spent a few days with friends, at Combe, on her way to Bristol, where she arrived on the 4th instant, and closes her diary, shortly after, thus:—

Here ends my Journal of my Cornish visit, (and its appendix at Combe,) for the health, safety, benefit, and enjoyment of which, I feel deep thankfulness to the Giver of all good!

[35] In her “Lays,” p. 72, there are some lines “on a mother and daughter, relations of mine, who died at Penzance within a short time of each other;” beginning:— Pure, lovely, learned, gifted, pious, wise, Here, by her mother’s side, Philothea lies.
[36] In one of Mrs. O.’s notes, she writes, “Of all the books I ever read, Newton’s ‘Cardiphonia’ (the Bible excepted) did me the most good.”
[37] Likenesses of her friends.
[38] He afterwards corresponded with Mrs. Opie on religious subjects; and she lent him books, and wrote, giving him christian advice and instruction. He eventually died in Cornwall, and there is reason to believe that her efforts were not in vain, and that she was instrumental in leading him to the only “hiding place from the wind, and covert from the tempest.”