We add a few closing passages from her notes.
(5th mo. 30th.) Again I am forced to feel the pain of not being able to go to Yearly Meeting, a great loss to me; and I have lost an opportunity of seeing H. B. Stowe; but I heartily rejoice in the reception she has met with: well has it been deserved, in my opinion; and well has she performed the work delegated to her from above. I am very glad dear H. Birkbeck has a son; and very glad also, that dear L. B. will soon be home; for I had feared I should not live to see her again. I rejoice, too, to hear such good accounts of the dear Cunninghams.
Another note, dated 7th mo. 18th, records the visit of her cousin, Mrs. Vincent Thompson, with warm affection, and expresses the happiness she had experienced in her society, concluding, “I am indeed delighted to have seen her once more.” Shortly after this time she mentions the expected departure to America of the lamented William Forster; he had been her friend and counsellor; one to whom she looked for help and support; and from whose lips she had drunk in truth and wisdom. It did indeed cost her heart a severe pang to part from him; and the more so, as she felt she “should see his face no more.” She writes:—
(7th mo. 28th.) How very much I feel the return of this season, this year. The dead have been more present with me than the living; but that is very natural. I am writing in bed, the place I love best. Alas! to the house of the Lord I cannot go, and that is an evil. Dearest W. Forster! going away, not to return again, I fear, till I am no more; but I shall not own that to him.[[46]]
On the 21st of October Mrs. Opie appeared much as usual; during that morning she received several friends, and was highly interested by a visit from Lieutenant Cresswell, who had recently returned to England with dispatches from the Investigator, to tell of the discovery of the north-west passage, though not, alas! of the finding of Sir John Franklin. His communications excited her lively sympathy; and, as the grandson of Mrs. Fry, his presence alone awakened the slumbering remembrances of the past.
The following day she was evidently somewhat fatigued, but was able to write several notes. In one, addressed to Miss Gurney, after expressing her joy at hearing a good account of her dear friend Mrs. Hoare, she mentions the pleasure she had enjoyed in seeing Mrs. Cunningham and Mr. John Gurney, who had dined at her house, and attended the Bible Meeting; she says:—
I could not accompany them, nor can I perhaps expect to go out again. Well! all good and all evil here will soon be over with me now. I am abundantly thankful for everything; for I feel that “His mercies are new every morning.” How I wish thou and dear Lady Buxton could have been my guests yesterday. It was really a very enjoyable time, and the only drawback was my being unable to go to the meetings, and to dine below stairs.
The next day was Sunday; early in the morning she was taken ill; and her maid, S. Nixon, observing symptoms unusual with her mistress, sent immediately for Dr. Hull, who desired she might be kept perfectly quiet.
The writer of these memoirs had been in the habit, since Mrs. Opie’s confinement to the house, of spending an hour with her, on Sunday morning. On that day there was not the usual influx of visitors, and she seemed to enjoy having a quiet chat. The usual call was made that morning, but the mandate of the doctor was communicated, and, of course, obeyed. It was with a strange feeling of alarm, that turning away from the door-step, the writer began to think over the past few months. Yes, there had certainly been some tokens of enfeebled powers—a partial failure of memory—an occasional loss in the thread of her conversation; and at times an inability to express clearly her meaning. For the last few weeks the newspapers had been neglected; and, once or twice, an ominous sentence had been dropped, that startled her friends. “When I am gone.”—“I feel I shall not be here long.” To her faithful friend of many years’ standing, the Rev. H. Tacy, she had said, shortly before, “Do not be long before you come again; for I am on the wing!”—But, her aunt had lived more than ninety years, and Mrs. Opie was so cheerful and bright, her carriage so erect, and she looked so much as she had long done, that, after all, these occasional symptoms were probably merely the inevitable results of advancing age, and her foreboding expressions the effects of confinement and seclusion!
So whispered Hope; and the writer, for one, did not realize the idea that the end was at hand. On the evening of that Sunday, a message from Dr. Hull was sent to her friend and professional adviser, Thos. Brightwell. Mrs. Opie was very ill—might not, perhaps, survive many hours; and, as she had desired, in case of any sudden attack of illness, that “Thomas Brightwell and Mary Brown” should be sent for, he had felt it his duty to inform them of her condition.