ink of it, for though I could perhaps better spare the time at present
from painting than I could at any part of the last month, I find I must
now go hard to work to finish my lectures, as the law says they must be
delivered the second year after the election.'

The Academy had appointed Opie Professor of Painting in the place of
Fuseli, and he was now trying his hand at a new form of composition, and
not without well-deserved success. But the strain was too great for
this eager mind. Opie painted all day; of an evening he worked at his
lectures on painting. From September to February he allowed himself no
rest. He was not a man who worked with ease; all he did cost him much
effort and struggle. After delivering his first lecture, he complained
that he could not sleep. It had been a great success; his colleagues
had complimented him, and accompanied him to his house. He was able to
complete the course, but immediately afterwards he sickened. No one
could discover what was amiss; the languor and fever increased day by
day.

His wife nursed him devotedly, and a favourite sister of his came to
help her. Afterwards it was of consolation to the widow to remember that
no hired nurse had been by his bedside, and that they had been able to
do everything for him themselves. One thing troubled him as he lay
dying; it was the thought of a picture which he had not been able to
complete in time for the exhibition. A friend and former pupil finished
it, and brought it to his bedside. He said with a smile, 'Take it away,
it will do now.'

To the last he imagined that he was painting upon this picture, and he
moved his arms as though he were at work. His illness was inflammation
of the brain. He was only forty-five when he died, and he was buried in
St. Paul's, and laid by Sir Joshua, his great master.

The portrait of Opie, as it is engraved in Alan Cunningham's Life, is
that of a simple, noble-looking man, with a good thoughtful face and a
fine head. Northcote, Nollekens, Horne Tooke, all his friends spoke
warmly of him. 'A man of powerful understanding and ready apprehension,'
says one. 'Mr. Opie crowds more wisdom into a few words than almost
anybody I ever saw,' says another. 'I do not say that he was always
right,' says Northcote; 'but he always put your thoughts into a new
track that was worth following.' Some two years after his death the
lectures which had cost so much were published, with a memoir by Mrs.
Opie. Sir James