Be that as it may; the difficulty is known, and will be acknowledged. Yet, for the sake of strangers, rather than to assist the recollections of the friends of Mrs. Opie, the following slight sketch may be permitted.
She was of about the standard height of woman; her hair was worn in waving folds in front, and behind, it was seen through the cap, gathered into a braid; its colour was peculiar—’twixt flaxen and gray; it was unusually fine and delicate, and had a natural bend or wave. Her Quaker cap was of beautiful lawn, and fastened beneath the chin with whimpers, which had small crimped frills: her dress was usually of rich silk or satin, often of a fawn or grey colour; and over the bust was drawn a muslin or net handkerchief, in thick folds, fastening into the waist, round which was worn a band of the same material as the dress; an apron, usually of net or muslin, protected (or adorned) the front of the gown. Her feet, which were small and well formed, peeped out beneath the dress. On her hands she wore small, black, netted muffatees, (she sometimes repaired them while talking to her friends,) and the cuffs of her gown were secured by a small loop at one corner, which she wore passed over the thumb, so as to prevent them from turning back or rucking upon the arm; her figure was stout, the throat short; her carriage was invariably erect, and she bore her head rather thrown back, and with an air of dignity. Her countenance, in her later years, lost much of that fire which once irradiated it; but the expression was more pleasing; softer, more tender, and loving. Her eyes were especially charming; there was in them an ardour mingled with gentleness, that bespoke her true nature, and occasionally they were raised upwards with a look most peculiar and expressive, when her sympathy was more than usually excited. Her complexion was fair, and the kindling blush mantled in her cheek, betraying any passing emotion; for, like her friend Lafayette, she “blushed like a girl to hear her own praises.” Altogether she attracted you, and you drew near to her, and liked to look into her face, and felt that old age, in her, was beautiful and comely.
Often, very often, has the writer, while listening to her lively anecdotes, and watching her animated countenance, drawn her chair closer and yet closer, and at length, slipping down, rested on one knee, in order the better to see her; and after bidding her farewell again and again, returned to the same position and “staid a little longer.”
How lively were her narratives; and with what minute touches she gave the details of the scene she was describing. What spirit and life did she breathe into the portraits of those whom she admired! Certainly her conversation was superior to her writing; perhaps the charms of manner and voice aided to enhance the effect of her words.
The peculiar virtues and excellencies of Mrs. Opie’s character have been manifested (as it were unconsciously) in the notes and diaries given in these pages; and it would be unbecoming, and is unnecessary, for the writer to enumerate them. Her foibles, too, are shewn by her own hand; and happy they who have so few; happier still, they, who exercise the same watchfulness against their easily besetting faults. In one of her earlier notes, she says, “My practice every night is to examine all my actions, and sift all my motives during the day, for all that I have said or done. I make sad discoveries, by that means, of my own sinfulness; but I am truly thankful that this power has been given me, and lay my head on my pillow with much gratitude.”
Seneca accounted the remembrance of his departed friends amongst his solemn delights; not looking upon them as lost, for, he said, “the thought of them is sweet and soothing to me; while I had them I expected to lose them; and having lost them, I still feel that I have them;” and if it were so with the pious heathen, with how much more confidence may the Christian cherish delightful thoughts of the friends he has lost; and, indeed, it is the will of God, and part of the favour which He has promised to His servants, that “the memory of the just shall be blessed.”
To many the remembrance of Amelia Opie will long be dear. Would that these memorials of her life, (imperfect alas! and unsatisfactory as they are,) might be the means of animating some by her example, to pursue the things “which are true and lovely and of good report.”
THE END.
FLETCHER AND ALEXANDER, PRINTERS, NORWICH.