The “Reminiscences” and the last Annual Report—Warnings of serious illness—Proposed pension—Gradual loss of strength—Death.

This closing chapter records the peaceful close of the wonderful career of a remarkable gentlewoman who devoted her life to work in the successful effort to benefit her fellow men. The pages are replete with human nature and human sympathy, and full of unselfish interest in the interests of others whom she numbered among her sympathetic friends and trusted confidants. The “Reminiscences” on which she did but desultory, yet interested, work, during the intervals of temporary respite from the burden of disease and increasing physical exhaustion, were as she feelingly expressed it “a perfect blessing.” Her letters belonging to this period are a noble record of fortitude and resignation during a trying struggle for health and life, and the close is touchingly pathetic.

Dear Professor Wallace,—I return Sir W. Macgregor’s letter^[110] with many thanks for letting me see it, for it is very gratifying. It is a great pleasure to me to see how those who understand appreciate your work. I am very glad you are able to tell me that you enjoy your visits to me, but next time I hope that our going to church may be of a less airy sort. I hope that you did not get serious harm?^[111]

I feel much pleasure (not to say relief) at results of our “Reminiscence” work, and at all those papers being safely lodged in your hands.

P.S.—I am working steadily on the twenty-fourth Report, but if a bit [of “Reminiscences”] comes into my head (the “awen,” as the Welsh say), I mean to put down the ideas.

Here comes such a long story [here cut short] about the “Reminiscences.” I hope it will not be quite too tedious, but really I think we are thriving.

A messenger has just been down from London, and carried off material for ten illustrations.

The materials for letterpress are appearing fairly out of holes and corners also, the chief prize a book of Memoranda for 1891, by my sister Georgiana, giving numbers of dates of my letters, &c.

I was glad to see the “Creameries”^[112] in the “Times,” and glad to see also that it was properly placed at the top of the column. I thought you wrote very firmly and well.

P.S.—I have not sent [copies of the Manual] (though you kindly said I might) to the Clubs. I have not the courage; so many of the members might not care for Economic Entomology.

I think I am being very good! in seldom letting the “Reminiscences” meddle really with work, but rest time (wet afternoons) helps. One thing more, I remembered I had a part given me by my mother of my father’s “queue” (Anglice, “pigtail”) cut off in the year of their marriage, 1808, and I think this might come in nicely.

I quite forgot to thank you for your Indian Examination questions,^[113] which was wrong of me, for I like very much to have all the information they point to, though I am afraid there are scarcely two I could answer.

My account of myself is—I am fairly well all but rheumatism; only, last Saturday the disaster happened of a blood-vessel breaking in my left eye. These affairs seem seldom of consequence, but this time my doctor told me (after two or three days) that he did not remember excepting from external circumstances that he ever knew such a great breakage. So I was an absolute spectacle for some time, but the sight is not at all injured, and the organ recovering well, and I may write as much as I like. I now enclose six more illustrations—I think in their way they are all nice.

As you kindly say that even more than a good report of “Reminiscences” you would like to hear I am better, I am truly thankful to say that I am quite as usual again, and my eye recovered. There has been some sort of illness about but I had it very lightly. I hope the very bad day for His Majesty’s Proclamation brought no serious harm to yourself. An Edinburgh “inquirer” informed me that he thought numbers of the spectators would catch their deaths of cold. I was truly pleased to see that the King duly promised to support “The Church of Scotland,” a matter I have more at heart than on my tongue here! You will value Her Majesty’s approval of your “Indian Famine” lecture more than ever now. I certainly should have liked myself to have a tiny bit even of approval.

“Reminiscences.”—This is just for your best leisure (and pleasure) to advise me on, but I very much need a good “paper talk” with you to start me on a reasonable plan. I quite believe that in a fortnight or sooner I may begin regularly.

But now—publisher! Messrs. A— B— wrote me that the book would be so sound it would be sure to command public approval and they would like to publish. Mr. Newman wrote he thought I had best go to the top of the tree, and suggested John Murray. I answered that in real truth the very idea of applying to such a leading man made me quite uneasy—and yesterday he replied that as he understood you were aiding me in the work, that my best course would be to ask you whether when the time comes you would act on my part with a publisher. I am sure he is right—I am as ignorant as a reasonable person can be of how to “approach” a publisher, but, if I am not asking too much, it would indeed be a relief to my mind if you think fit to give me this help.

If it is possible I certainly should much like to print with Messrs. West, Newman & Co. Is it possible to have a part of the book printed before beginning negotiations just to show what it is like?

I feel sure you will be pleased to hear that this morning I sent Messrs. West, Newman & Co. all that I believe is needed for my present Annual Report, excepting for completion of Index; and I have really begun “Reminiscences.” Will not my best way be to take any subjects that I think I have enough material for, and work them up just as I think they might go to press? Thus you would see how you like the writing and suggest improvements, and there would be something, if you please, to show a publisher. Turning to your letter—I think that if at your very best leisure you would kindly let me have the parcel of MS. which you were good enough to take for safe custody it would help me now.

How dreary the past week has been with our national sorrow and all the anxieties. I hope we may be more cheerful now.

Your beautifully secured parcel has arrived safely, and I have locked it up carefully in my safe, with a very legible inscription that the contents are the property of Prof. Wallace, University of Edinburgh. There is nothing like making sure, in case of as people say “anything happening”! I should like to think that this mass of documents which I have been accumulating should pass to your hands.

I hope the work for your lecture^[114] on the twelfth prox. is getting on quite to your liking. It is always a great pleasure to me to hear your plans are prospering.

It has been very much on my conscience that I did not say a word in my hasty letter about your beautiful and valuable present.^[115] How very pretty it must be, and a very great pleasure to yourself as a kindly acknowledgment.

About the “Reminiscences”—what you suggest about typewriting is just what I should like, but I did not care to trust MS. here. Before parleying with the typewriters, I should like very much indeed to read to you all the papers that I can get ready before the ninth. I feel a little anxious about the new style of writing.

I have made up a good bit on “birth, childhood, and parentage” (chap. I.) not forgetting with “an action of humility”! Edward I., and Eleanor of Castille. At present I have “Series of Annual Reports” (chap. IX.) on hand,—very pleasant work.

But now I want you, please (and very much indeed), to be kindly thinking of some advice about my entomological work that I am sure you could help me greatly with when we meet. The burthen has become so very great that it seriously affects my health. I am in bed now with another of these attacks; the constant pressure of work to suit other people’s time and convenience, and maybe a tremendous worry, brings on painful and exhausting illness. I hope to be up again to-day, but the doctor is very anxious I should—may I call it?—“Take in sail.” My wish is that the present Annual Report should be the last of the series with an addendum slip of explanation inserted. There is not the important information needed or forwarded that there was twenty years ago, and working hard for months over so much repetition is dreadful drudgery. I heard lately from Dr. Fream, and he very strongly advises me to drop it. If your opinion—which I thoroughly trust—is the same, I should have no doubt. The difficult thing is to moderate the applications, but I think I see my way to that very nicely by having plenty of the addendum slip printed and sending a copy to an unreasonable applicant. I do not want to give up Entomology entirely.

How nice it must have been to have a good turn at curling!

In answer to your very kind letter I must tell you I am much better. It was quite my fault that I got so out of sorts; I ought to have asked my doctor weeks ago what was amiss, and then the difficulty of how I, “all of my own head,” was to get that “old man of the sea”—the Annual Reports—off my shoulders, came on me like a brain shock. However, now I hope things are getting quite nicely into order again. Meanwhile I am trying to arrange what can hardly fail to be a rather explosive announcement. When I came to set to work it did not seem to me that an addendum slip would do. It would have been on such different lines to the statements in the Preface that folks would have wondered what could have happened! So I mean to have a Cancel, and hope all will be nice.

One word which I forgot—I quite hope to pass on quietly as much Economic Entomology as I possibly can to Dr. MacDougall.

This is very kind of you, and if you are very much shocked at my explicitness please consider yourself an extra nephew, M.D. for the occasion, and put this in the fire.

I have had a kidney attack. I believe something “gouty” (?) has been wrong for weeks, but I had not asked the doctor until such pain set in that there were no two ways about it, I had to go to bed; and he put me on a “course” (of alkalis, I believe) to get out the enemy. Of course this was very weakening, but I was soon up—and really absolutely, I believe that if it were not for a nasty barking cough—very tiresome by day, and more so by night—I should be much as usual. I should be grievously disappointed if you did not come for any reason connected with me. Speaking very selfishly, and besides all the good the pleasure of one of your visits does me, I do not feel as if I could settle comfortably until I have the benefit of your sound and skilled advice about how to rearrange my entomological work.

“Reminiscences” are in enough trim to show you something of even now.^[116]

I am so sorry regarding what I am writing that I hardly know how to put it, but I find to-day I am so much pulled down that I am obliged to tell you. It would be a sad disappointment to me if I did not see you, but my nights are so bad from this cough that I cannot depend on not having to ring to call Miss Hartwell to attend to me, and this makes a great commotion. I believe, as I wrote you yesterday, that the illness (as well as the pain) has gone, but it is the cough which has been keeping me pulled down, more than I knew.

Indeed, you are quite too kind and good to me, and now I want to say that my doctor says he does not see any reason why I should not be able to enjoy your visit on Sunday next without any difficulty or risk whatsoever. If it was convenient to you, would the train suit that would bring you to St. Albans about a quarter before 11 from St. Pancras, and could you stop till the (I think) 8.30 train? I am truly sorry not to be looking forward this week to a whole week-end, but I am still obliged to get up and go to bed at unusual hours; but, indeed, I am very much better—the pain went, but one of the bad sort of cold or cough attacks followed and I could not sleep properly for three nights nor rest lying down. Now I can rest and sleep again.

Please do not think that a good talk tires me or is any strain. It is the want of conversation that I find so wearing, and there is so very much that it will be quite a delight and a rest for me to be allowed to go over with you.

I am writing this to-day so that you may know that (so far as anything in this world is certain) there is no possible reason why I should not look forward to the pleasure of our meeting next Sunday. I am not able to give you my doctor’s verdict for the good reason that he did not think I needed looking up yesterday.

You do not know how good and kind I think it of you to let me rest on you for advice in this way, and it brings a great brightness when you come and I can hope you are making yourself at home. I am glad you like Mr. Newman. I always feel that he is a quite true and well-judging friend, very kindly, but at the same time so grave that I do not at all times feel free to express all I am thinking about! I fancy that you “not being a lady” he would feel freer to express what was uppermost.

Thank you for all you say about Mr. John Murray, and very especially indeed for your good advice. I do really mean, and am trying to act on it, but cannot you imagine the difficulty in not working as hard as body and mind will allow?

However, I have made a thorough beginning; amongst various points, returning to Mr. Newman a great bundle of proofs sent to be looked through, just think, unlooked at. I also disposed of a regular onslaught with special letters from Lady Warwick and Miss Edith Bradley, &c. I am minding what you said [about curtailing work] very nicely.

I am thankful to say I am feeling better every day, and I am looking forward very much to being a better kind of hostess if you will kindly spare me a week-end by and by.

7 p.m.—You are, I conjecture, just beginning your lecture [on “Agriculture in South Africa”]. I hope it will be thoroughly pleasant and satisfactory and that you will have a comfortable journey home. Please accept the enclosed [the twenty-fourth and last Report]. I have only received a parcel late to-day, but I want to send you a copy “from the writer.”

I am very glad your colonial lecture was successful. It is no good my not telling you, for some way or other you would have an idea, but I have not been thriving. Of course there was a flood of letters about discontinuing the Annual Reports, and, however kind (and some were very kind indeed) yet not being in full working order, they were rather too much, and I got feverish “rigors” (though not bad) with temperature 100°, and the doctor on Saturday ordered me straight off to bed. Here I am still, but as far as I know, now only as a matter of precaution. I would not have said anything about it, but I was sure you would have an idea.

Now about something much nicer. I wrote to Miss Ashworth (28, Victoria Street, London) and had a most pleasant and businesslike reply. She told me that publishers preferred quarto size and typed a few lines to show the size of type and style they like best; and I sent up the “Chartist Outbreak” (chap. VII.) and asked her to type it for me accordingly, and to let me have one copy and two carbon copies. Thus there would be one for you, one for me, and the third would be useful for the publisher. I should be very much obliged if you would kindly tell me how to offer a copy of my twenty-fourth Report to the University Library. Would it be sufficient just to send a copy c/o The Librarian. I do not want to give more trouble than I can help about such a little thing.

P.S.—I assure you I mean to attend to your kind advice of not making what might be a great pleasure into a toil.

Here comes the first instalment of “Reminiscences” and I hope to forward more to you in due course. The history of “Rise and Progress of Annual Reports” is in Miss Ashworth’s hands. Indeed, I am very thankful to you for helping me about the typewriting. I had no idea of the helpful difference it makes even to me. Please, I earnestly beg of you, do not think that your delightful and helpful visit, only too short, had anything to do with my having to call in the doctor again. I am sure he does not. But I am sure, too, you will understand how very trying indeed, though mostly very kind, the outbreak of newspaper and private comment on what they call “my retirement” was. So to get my cough really cured, and drive constitutional coincidences out of the field I went to bed with the best possible effects (really). I think the doctor will let me get up to-morrow, but he wants me to keep safe from snow chills.

Here is another bit [of autobiography] begging your reading when you are inclined, and now “Birth, Parentage, &c.,” is gone up to London. I should so very much like (if not too much trouble) if you would make some sort of mark on the margin of your copy, wherever you think some alteration is needed, and then when I have the pleasure of seeing you here we could go comfortably into it.

Now (as the fates permit) I am working on “The Severn and the Wye” (chap. V.), and I think it will be interesting, there is such a variety of fresh observation, “Fish, fishers, and fisheries,” some specialities in zoology and semi-marine botany, and something of a good many sorts of things.

I am much mended and doctor says I may tell you I am getting on all right, but the long illness has pulled me down very much so that I am only allowed at present to be up in my own room—such a little thing brings the cough back and we have snow showers still—but as soon as ever I can get about again I have no reason to doubt I should be much as usual.

I seem very unlucky this winter, but on Tuesday, when I hoped I was pretty well again, a chill so bad and so strangely sudden seized me, that breathing got hurried, I could not speak with comfort, and an acute pain set in in my right side. Doctor set to work and did not mention that congestion of the lungs was present, but taking affairs at once did great good, and the enemy was routed; still, I am a good deal pulled down, and do not mean risking another chill at present. I had greatly hoped this time not to tell you any long stories about my health, but it is no good pretending, so please you must let your friendly sympathy in my troubles be my excuse.

I wonder what you will think of the enclosed [“copy”]. I incline to think the subjects are rather nice, but that as we get on bits of this may fit into future papers, or of future papers here? It seems to me best to write whatever I can as well as I can manage, and sift by and by. “Am not I ’umble” (as Uriah Heap says) about Edward I.? (page 13).

I know I shall always have your kind sympathy in these unpleasant visitations, and I wish they did not come to intrude so often. But this time I really and truly do hope, unless some luckless draught gets hold of me, that I shall pick up quickly, and not have such dreary stories to tell you.

Dr. Lipscomb says that it is just having let my health run down that is the reason, and I mean to be very careful. I am up in my room part of the day comfortably, and hope to get downstairs to-morrow.

I greatly look forward to a good talk by and by over many matters, and I was very sorry that Dr. MacDougall could not come this week, but further on I hope we shall have a chat. You will doubtless (or very likely) have seen flourishes in the papers about a testimonial! to my unworthy self—but to my horror yesterday I had a letter from Mr. —— stating that he was trying to procure a pension for me; and the Member for H—— and (I understood Lord ——) would most likely use their influence.

Just think what could possess him—what a to-do there would have been. But I wrote earnestly representing how misappropriate such a grant would be to a person so well off as myself, and it being such a troublesome matter, I got Dr. L. to read my letter. I hope I may have quite stopped his operations (and politely), but assuredly I should feel inexpressibly lowered if I accepted a “pension.”

I have been collecting for “Reminiscences” very fairly well, but I have been afraid to prepare whole papers lest

I must write a line to give, I believe, a soundly good report of myself in reply to your letter, which arrived 4.50; it is very good of you to write so kindly. I have been down to-day for about six hours, and I do hope now to steadily regain my strength.

You will let me have your address, will you not? And I shall hope to write something more worth reading.

Mr. —— has on my urgent representation stopped his applications as to a pension.

P.S.—The typewriting seems to me beautiful, and I hope soon to have more work ready.

You will know from your own experience the deluges of publications which come—what can I do with them? They might be measured by feet, if not by yards. Some valuable, some ——!

Would not it be my best way to keep them all until you will, as I hope, come some day—and you could see if there are any that you would like. Besides what are of no very obvious use, there are quantities of amazingly learned entomological treatises which, in case they do not float in the way of our good friend Dr. MacDougall, he might at least like to place on his shelves. You will tell me, will you not, some time what you advise? Meanwhile, with all possible good wishes and kind regards, &c.

I should like to give you a better account of myself, but for weeks back I could not think why I got on so slowly, with “relapses,” and it is only just lately that I have extracted out of my good doctor that the illness I had was that horrid influenza, and I am going through the weeks and weeks of “after effects”! I am not allowed to go down, but sit up a few hours in my room, and am certainly better, but I am told I must not expect to be well for a long time. One of my doctor nephews looked in yesterday, and he told me that a characteristic of some of the influenzas which have been about is that they do not seem much at the time, but they leave those detestable effects on the system.

You will believe how very pleasant (as I get stronger) I find looking up bits for “Reminiscences.” Miss Hartwell brings me books, and I can “rummage” and copy. Now I enclose you some pages, of which I think some part is right, but I did not feel as if I could put the whole paper right until I had it typewritten.

I should very much like too if you would give a thought to my “Scriptural Commentary” (page 21). I do not see how the description I object to can be right. I hope you will think the paper is hopeful. I am not up yet, therefore please excuse this stupid scrawl, and with my very kind regards and best wishes, &c.

How I long for the day to come when I may tell you that I am well, and am going on as usual. But this disgusting, tenacious remains of influenza seems to be always coming back. I had got on to coming down on Friday last a little after 9 a.m., and was full of hope and absolutely striving to recover, but yesterday something went wrong, so I am on a treatment of milk and seltzer-water and bed, but I felt I must write you, and hope soon to send you a much better letter.

“Reminiscences” are a perfect blessing, and I enclose two portraits of my father received yesterday to show the illustrations are getting on. Is not the one of him as a little laddie of about five years old, charming? (plate xxx.)

Many thanks for the additional copy of your lecture, “Agriculture in South Africa.” It is so interesting, I am sure I can find a home where it will be welcome. I was glad to find you were out in the country, and I hope the bracing air will enable you to work on this load of papers without killing yourself.

For myself, I really am afraid that, excepting hope, I have a very indifferent account to give you. I was always getting better off and on! But the result was, that I got weaker and weaker, until on Saturday Dr. Lipscomb wired for Sir Dyce Duckworth. He was away, but my nephew, Dr. J. Arderne Ormerod, who is taking Sir D. D.’s practice at present, came down, and I think the change of treatment that they arranged is really doing good. The trouble was that, though there did not seem any reason why, what they call the “after effects” of influenza should not move off (the sort of gastric catarrh and its detestable allies), yet they didn’t, and my medical tormentors made up their minds that it might be from “Liver.” The plan has been altered as to treatment, and at my urgent request I am allowed to take one glass of port a day, and I do think it is doing me a great deal of good. But excuse more now, for sitting up at my writing-table tires me.

I am very sorry to tell you in reply to your kind letter that I am very ailing. I seem to get fairly well of the influenza, and go down and sit for a few hours in the dining-room in the easy chair by the fire. Then, as sure as can be, in a very few days I get a “recurrence” of illness and have to go to bed for days. I think I am now going through about the fifteenth. Dr. Lipscomb says he does not know the reason, but it is very like the recurrence of Indian fever. I know that there may be scentless or other sewer gas, and from what Mr. R—— F—— told me some time ago of the recurrence of a very parallel attack to the Duchess of C—— from gas under her invalid sofa, I mean to have the matter properly seen to. I know there may be reason close to my door.

P.S.—Since the above was written Dr. Lipscomb has been called and thinks the present attack was caused by a chill; and with staying in bed a few days Miss Ormerod hopes to be better.—A. Hartwell.

I am afraid I have seemed very negligent, but my varying illness made it very difficult to tell you, and now I do not want to go away without telling you my deep gratitude for all the great, helpful, affectionate kindness you have showed me. And about the “Reminiscences,” which I hoped would be our pleasant joint work, I have a large collection of material which I give to you for your own property to use as you please—with the requisite paper [dated 1st March] with it. I believe myself the end may come any time now, but I go in happy hope, and that it may please God to bless you is the prayer of your affectionate friend.

I pencil a few lines to say what a delight your visit yesterday was to me. I longed very much to see you again, and also I was wanting to give you the various documents about the “Reminiscences.” To-day Miss Hartwell has been rummaging out for me what I think must be nearly all the material I have more, including the “Edinburgh book” [relating to the LL.D.], which please accept from me as a keepsake. It was left you in my will, so will not there be a hunt? And now I should much like to write more, but I feel too weak, and with every good wish.

P.S.—Please notice I give you all the contents of the box sent to-day—as well as the documents we looked out yesterday.

I was delighted with your letter—that you had a nice talk with Mr. Newman—and besides such an interview with Mr. Murray. This is a great pleasure. I am miserably weak, but I am trying to do as the doctors tell me, and lie here waiting for—what I am sure will be for the best.

My very kindest regards. Yours most sincerely,

[The Times of Saturday, July 20, 1901, published an admirable record of her life and work in the sympathetic obituary notice, from which we have made the following brief extract: “We regret to announce the death of the accomplished entomologist, Miss Eleanor A. Ormerod, which took place at her residence, Torrington House, St. Albans, after a severe illness. She had been gradually sinking for the last six weeks from malignant disease of the liver. Her loss is not to this country alone, but to the whole civilised world, though the farmers of the United Kingdom will feel in a special degree that a trusted friend has been taken from them. Many people will feel that such a magnificent record of unselfish work as she has left behind ought to have received some official recognition of a national character. Nevertheless, almost the last honour bestowed upon her, that of the honorary degree of Doctor of Laws in the University of Edinburgh, was peculiarly grateful to her,” &c., &c.

Having regard to the special interest which Miss Ormerod took in the progress of Economic Entomology in Canada and the United States, and the high appreciation in which she was held by the enlightened exponents of the subject on the other side of the Atlantic, we conclude with an extract from the September number of the “Canadian Entomologist” for 1901:—

“Entomology in England has suffered a great loss through the death of this talented and estimable lady, who died at her residence, Torrington House, St. Albans, on Friday, July 19th. Practical entomologists throughout the world are moved with profound regret that a career so remarkable and so useful should be brought to a close, but one could hardly hope that the aged lady would long be able to sustain the burden of increasing infirmities and the trials of a painful and protracted illness. Miss Ormerod was one of the most remarkable women of the latter half of the nineteenth century, and did more than any one else in the British Isles to further the interests of farmers, fruitgrowers, and gardeners, by making known to them methods for controlling and subduing their multiform insect pests. Her labours were unwearied and unselfish; she received no remuneration for her services, but cheerfully expended her private means in carrying out her investigations and publishing their results. We know not now by whom in England this work can be continued; it is not likely that any one can follow in the unique path laid out by Miss Ormerod; we may therefore cherish the hope that the Government of the day will hold out a helping hand and establish an entomological bureau for the lasting benefit of the great agricultural interests of the country.”]