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.