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.