...You have always known my opinion—I have ever declared that two people, who mean to live together, ought not to belong separated.—lf certain things are more necessary to you than me —search for them—say but one word, and you shall never hear of me more.—lf not, for God’s sake, let me struggle with poverty—with any evil, but these continual disquietudes of business, which I have been told were to last but a few months, though every day the end appears more distant! This is the first letter in this strain that I have determined to forward to you; the rest lie by, 282 : Pte ee 2 ORLA because I was unwilling to give you pain, and I should not now write, if I did not think there would be no conclusion to the schemes, which demand, I am told, your presence.4 Ar tas January 9 [1795].
I just now received one of your hasty notes; for business so entirely occupies you, that you have not time, or sufficient command of thought, to write letters. Beware! you seem to be got into a whirl of projects and schemes, which are drawing you into a gulph, that, if it do not absorb your happiness, will infallibly destroy mine.
Fatigued during my youth by the most arduous struggles, not only to obtain independence, but to render myself useful, not merely pleasure, for which I had the most lively taste, I mean the simple pleasures that flow from passion and affection, escaped me, but the most melancholy views of life were impressed by a disappointed heart on my mind. Since I knew you, I have been endeavouring to go back to my former nature, and have allowed some time to glide away, winged with the delight which only spontaneous enjoyment can give.—Why have you so soon dissolved the charm?...I should have been content, and still wish, to retire with you to a farm—My God! anything but commerce, which debases the mind, and roots out affection from the heart...Still as you talk of your return, even in February, doubtingly, I have determined, the moment the weather changes, to wean my child.—It is too soon for her to begin to divide sorrow!—And as one has well said ‘ despair is a freeman,’ we will go and seek our fortune together.
4 Imlay was about this time at Ramsgate, professedly on his way to Paris. But he returned in fact to London, pleading a sudden pressure of business.
283 ‘ SUPPLEMENT TO MEMOIRS This is not a caprice of the moment—for your absence has given new weight to some conclusions, — that I was very reluctantly forming before you left — me.—I do not chuse to be a secondary object.—lf your feelings were in unison with mine, you would not sacrifice so much to visionary projects of future — advantage. PE ee January 15 [1795].
I was just going to begin my letter with the fag end of asong, which would only have told you, what I may as well say simply, that it is pleasant to forgive those we love. I have received your two letters, dated the 26th and 28th of December, and my anger died away...My animal is well; I have not yet taught her to eat, but nature is doing the business. I gave her a crust to assist the cutting of her teeth; and now she has two, she makes good use of them to gnaw a crust, biscuit, &c. You would laugh to see her; she is just like a little squirrel; she will guard a crust for two hours; and, after fixing her eye on an object for some time, dart on it with an aim as sure as a bird of prey—nothing can equal her life and spirits. I suffer from a cold; but it does not affect her. Adieu! do not forget to love us—and come soon to tell us that you do. AE From the purport of your last letters, I should suppose that this will scarcely reach you; and I have already written so many letters, that you have either not received, or neglected to acknowledge. I do not find it pleasant, or rather I have no inclina- tion, to go over the same ground again...My child is well, and the spring will perhaps restore me to myself.—...‘ The secondary plea- 284 GAPE RS? LOOM LAY sures of life,’ you say, ‘ are very necessary to my comfort’; it may beso; butI have ever considered them as secondary. If therefore you accuse me of wanting the resolution necessary to bear the common ® evils of life; I should answer, that I have not fashioned my mind to sustain them, because I would avoid them, cost what it would...Adieu! eure February 9 [1795]...You left me indisposed, though you have taken no notice of it; and the most fatiguing journey I ever had ® contributed to continue it. However, I recovered my health; but a neglected cold, and continual inquietude during the last two months, have reduced me to a state of weakness I never before experienced. Those who did not know that the canker-worm was at work at the core, cautioned me about suckling my child too long.—God preserve this poor child, and render her happier than her mother!
...1 did not expect this blow from you. I have done my duty to you and my child; and if I am not to have any return of affection to reward me, I have the sad consolation of knowing that I deserved a better fate. My soul is weary—I am sick at heart; and, but for this little darling, I would cease to care about a life, which is now stripped of every charm...I meant simply to tell you, that I consider your requesting me to come to you, as merely dictated by honour.—Indeed, I scarcely understand you—You request me to come, and then tell me, 5 This probably alludes to some expression of the person to whom the letters are addressed, in which he treated as common evils, things upon which the letter-writer was disposed to bestow a different appellation. {Godwin’s note.]
6 Sept. 1794. Havre to St age 205 that you ae not ‘given up ah thoughts of re ret to this place. ‘ When I determined to live with you, i was governed by affection —I would share poverty wit you, but turn with affright from the sea of trou on which you are entering...I can still exert. myself to obtain the necessaries of life for my child, © and she does not want more at present.—I have — two or three plans in my head to earn our sub- | sistence; for do not suppose that, neglected by you, I will lie under obligations of a pecuniary kind | to you!—No; I would sooner submit to menial — service,—I wanted the support of your affection— — I cannot write—I inclose a fragment of a letter: written soon after your departure, and another m which tenderness made me keep back when it was written.—You will see then the sentiments of a — calmer, though a not more determined, moment.— _ Do not insult me by saying that ‘ our being together — is paramount to every other consideration!’ Were it, you would not be running after a bubble, at the _ expence of my peace of mind.
Perhaps this is the last letter you will ever receive from me. wate Feb. 10 [1795].
You talk of ‘permanent views and future comfort ’—not for me, for l am dead to hope. The inquietudes of the last winter have finished the business, and my heart is not only broken, but my constitution destroyed. I conceive myself in a galloping consumption, and the continual anxiety I feel at the thought of leaving my child, feeds the fever that nightly devours me. It'is on her account that I again write to you, to conjure you, by all that you hold sacred, to leave her here with the German lady you may have heard me mention!
286 _— ee le : a Peet hee LO. LM LAY She has a child of the same age, and they may be brought up together, as I wish her to be brought up...To facilitate this, I shall give up my present lodgings, and go into the same house. I can live much cheaper there, which is now become an object...1 shall entirely give up the acquaint- ance of the Americans.
When you first entered into these plans, you bounded your views to the gaining of a thousand pounds. It was sufficient to have procured a farm in America, which would have been an independence. You now find that you did not know yourself, and that a certain situation in life is more necessary to you than you imagined—more necessary than an uncorrupted heart—For a year or two, you may procure yourself what you call pleasure; eating, drinking, and women; but, in the solitude of declin- ing life, I shall be remembered with regret—I was going to say with remorse, but checked my pen.
As I have never concealed the nature of my connection with you’ your reputation will not 7 Mary had already informed her sisters of this ‘ connec- tion’ in a letter from Havre, March 10, 1794, in which she says: If any of the many letters I have written have come to your hands, or Eliza’s, you know that I am safe, through the protection of an American, a most worthy man, who joins in uncommon tenderness of heart and quickness of feeling, a soundness of understanding and reasonableness of temper rarely to be met with. Having been brought up in the interior parts of America, he is a most natural, unaffected creature. I am with him now at Havre, and shall remain there, till circumstances point out what is necessary for me to do...
Where is poor Eliza? From a letter I received many months after it was written, I suppose she is in Ireland. In another letter to her sisters (printed by Kegan Paul in Wiliam Godwin, i. 219-19) she had written: As you must, my dear girl, have received several letters from me, especially one I sent to London by Mr. Imlay, I 287 ee S.-i e 1 PN Ane A re SUPPLEMENT TO MEMOIRS & suffer. I shall never have a confident: I am x different, till I recollected, that the sentiments of — content with the approbation of my own mind = and if there is a searcher of hearts, mine will not _ be despised. Reading what you have written — relative to the desertion of women, I have often — wondered how theory and practice could be so — passion, and the resolves of reason, are very — distinct...God bless you! Adieu!
* KOK OK avail myself of this opportunity to tell you that I am well and my child, and to request you to write by this occasion.
I do indeed long to hear from you and Eliza. I have at © last got some tidings of Charles, and as they must have reached you, I need not tell you what sincere satisfaction they have afforded me. I have also heard from James, he too talks of success, but in a querulous strain. What are you doing? Where is Eliza?
And that hypocrite, Imlay, had himself written to Eliza Bishop (from Kegan Paul, William Godwin, i. 217): My DEAR Mapam, Mr. Johnson gave me your acceptable favor enclosing one from Mrs. Imlay, saying it was for her, which leaving me ignorant of being included, I could not return an immediate answer; since which time I have been out of town. ’ As to your sister’s visiting England, I do not think she will previous to a peace, and perhaps not immediately after such an event. However, be that as it may, we shall both of us continue to cherish feelings of tenderness for you, anda recollection of your unpleasant situation, and we shall also endeavour to alleviate its distress by all the means in our power. The present state of our fortune is rather {low?]...I shall always be most happy to receive your letters, but as I shall most likely leave England the beginning of next week, I will thank you to let me hear from you as soon as convenient, and tell me ingenously in what way I can serve you in any manner or respect. I am in but indifferent spirits occasioned by my long absence from Mrs, Imlay and our little girl, while I am deprived of a chance of hearing from them.
; Adieu, Yours truly, 288 G. IMLay.
PEE RSTO. CML AY Feb. 19 [1795]. When I first received your letter, putting off your return to an indefinite time, I felt so hurt, that I know not what I wrote. I am now calmer, though it was not the kind of wound over which time has the quickest effect; on the contrary, the more I think, the sadder T grow. Society fatigues me inexpressibly—.. My child alone interests me, and, but for her, I should not take any pains to recover my health.
As it is, I shall wean her, and try if by that step (to which I feel a repugnance, for it is my only solace) I can get rid of my cough. Physicians talk much of the danger attending any complaint on the lungs, after a woman has suckled for some months. They lay a stress also on the necessity of keeping the mind tranquil—and, my God! how has mine been harassed! But whilst the caprices of other women are gratified, ‘the wind of heaven not suffered to visit them too rudely,’ I have not found a guardian angel, in heaven or on earth, to ward off sorrow or care from my bosom.
What sacrifices have you not made for a woman you did not respect!—but I will not go over this ground—I want to tell you that I do not understand you. You say that you have not given up all thought of returning here—and I know that it will be necessary—nay, is. I cannot explain myself; but if you have not lost your memory, you will easily divine my meaning. What! is our life then only to be made up of separations? and am I only to return to a country, that has not merely lost all charms for me, but for which I feel a repugnance that almost amounts to horror, only to be left there a prey to it.
Why is it so necessary that I should return? &— 8 There is no evidence in any of the letters that Imlay renewed his former request for Mary to come to London, M.W. 289 T SUPPLEMENT TO MEMOIRS 4 brought up here, my girl would be freer. Indeed, 3 expecting you to join us, 1 had formed some plans ~ of usefulness that have now vanished with my hopes ~ of happiness. P In the bitterness of my heart, I could complain — with reason, that I am left here dependent on a man, whose avidity to acquire a fortune has © rendered him callous to every sentiment connected — with social or affectionate emotions.—With a brute insensibility, he cannot help displaying the © pleasure your determination to stay gives him, in spite of the effect it is visible it has on me...
Now follow three letters (the first to Imlay and the next two to Rowan) which she wrote from her — house in Havre—‘my house’ she calls it—while waiting for the ‘vessel’ on which to cross the Channel. Her trip was delayed, as she tells us, because, on the first embarkation, ‘the awkward pilot ran us aground.’ It was probably only a few days after Mary’s departure that Rowan took advantage of her offer of ‘a lodging there while waiting for a passage to America.’
To Imlay: April 7 [1795].
Here I am at [Havre], on the wing towards you, and I write now, only to tell you, that you may but there must have been some communication between them, for Godwin gives this account of her return: In April, 1795, Mary returned once more to London, being requested to do so by Mr. Imlay, who even sent a servant to Paris to wait upon her in the journey, before she could complete the necessary arrangements for her departure. But, notwithstanding these favourable appearances, she came to England with a heavy heart, not daring, after all the uncertainties and anguish she had endured, to trust to the suggestions of hope. (Memoirs, p. 123.)
290 HE PRERS DOVIMLAY expect me in the course of three or four days; for I shall not attempt to give vent to the different emotions which agitate my heart—You may term a feeling, which appears to me to be a degree of delicacy that naturally arises from sensibility, pride—Still I cannot indulge the very affectionate tenderness which glows in my bosom, without trembling, till I see, by your eyes, that it is mutual.
I sit, lost in thought, looking at the sea—and tears rush into my eyes, when I find that I am cherishing any fond expectations.—I have indeed been so unhappy this winter, I find it as difficult to acquire fresh hopes, as to regain tranquillity — Enough of this—lie still, foolish heart!—But for the little girl, I could almost wish that it should cease to beat, to be no more alive to the anguish of disappointment.
Sweet little creature! I deprived myself of my only pleasure, when I weaned her, about ten days ago.—I am however glad I conquered my repug- nance.—It was necessary it should be done soon, and I did not wish to embitter the renewal of your acquaintance with her, by putting it off till we met. —It was a painful exertion to me, and I thought it best to throw this inquietude with the rest, into the sack that I would fain throw over my shoulder.—I wished to endure it alone, in short— Yet, after sending her to sleep in the next room for three or four nights, you cannot think with what joy I took her back again to sleep in my bosom!
I suppose I shall find you, when I arrive, for I do not see any necessity for your coming to me.—Pray inform Mr., that I have his little friend with me.—My wishing to oblige him, made me put myself to some inconvenience—and delay my departure; which was irksome to me, who have 291 SUPPLEMENT TO MEMOIRS not quite as much philosophy, I would not for the world say indifference, as you. 7 God bless you! Yours truly * * = * 9 Two days later she wrote from the same place to; Rowan. The letter was addressed to: ‘Mr. J. Thomson.’
My DEAR SIR, Going off at an hours notice I have scarcely a moment to command to wish you well and to express my regret that I have not had the pleasure of seeing you again. I have left you a few things in a closet— and believe me it will give me sincere pleasure to see you once more.—Pray let me hear from you— God bless you [!] remember that I want to be number[ed] amongst your friend[s]. I ought to be for I feel that I am sorry to say Adieu and that I shall think of you with affection.
M. Imvay.? Terminal, April 9.
The further letter to Rowan dates itself in the first sentence. It was printed in Rowan’s Autobiography (Dublin, 1840), page 259, and again in Kegan Paul’s William Godwin (London, 1876), i. 221, 2. Each version contains one or more passages lacking in the other, and there are a few minor changes. I use Rowan’s text, as being the more nearly contemporary and showing the variants in notes, and the text which ° Posthumous Works, Letters Xxiv. to XXXVIII. iii. 62-117.
1 This letter has never before been printed. The original is in the possession of Mr. Frank T. Sabin, 172 New Bond Street, London, W.1, who kindly supplied me with a transcript.
292 4 3 ~ >» Pe RS LOD ROWAN is supplied from Kegan Paul’s version, between brackets.
Havre [April 1795.] My DEAar Sir, I wrote a few hasty lines to you just now before we entered the vessel, and after hurrying myself out of breath—for as I do not like exaggerated phrases, I would not say to death—the awkward pilot ran us aground; so here we are in an empty house, and with the heart and imagination on the wing, you may suppose that the slow march of time is felt very painfully. I seem to be counting the ticking of a clock; and there is no clock here. For these few days I have been busy preparing; now all is done, and we cannot go. If you were to pop in, I should be glad, for in spite of my impatience to meet a friend who deserves all my tenderness, I have still a corner in my heart where I will allow you a place, if you have no objection. It would give me sincere pleasure to meet you at any future period, and to be introduced to your wife. Pray take care of yourself; and when you arrive, let me hear from you. [Direct to me at Mr. Johnson’s, St. Paul’s Church-yard, London, and wherever I may be the letter will not fail to reach me.] You will not find a very comfortable house; but I have left a little store of provisions in a closet, and the girl who assisted in the kitchen, and who has been well paid, has promised to do everything for you. Mr. Wheatcroft has [all] your packages, and will give you all the information and assistance he can.
_ I believe I told you that I offered Mr. Russell’s family my house; but since I arrived I find that there is some chance of letting it. Will you, then, when Mr. Wheatcroft informs you in what manner he has settled it, write the particulars to them. I imagine that the house will be empty for a short 293 c Yours sincerely Mary ImMiay.
While Mary was crossing the Channel she completed _ this letter to Imlay, which she probably sent to him © 5 from Dover. It is printed at the end of Mary’s — Letters written during a Short Residence in- Sweden, — I left this letter unfinished, as I was hurried on ~ board; and now I have only to tell you, that, at — the sight of the Dover cliffs, I wondered how any ~ body could term them grand; they appeared so insignificant to me, after those I had seen in Sweden and Norway.
Adieu! My spirit of observation seems to be fled!—and I have been wandering round this dirty place, literally speaking, to kill time; though the thoughts, I would fain fly from, lie too close to my heart to be easily shook off, or even beguiled, by any employment, except that of preparing for my journey to London.—God bless you!
Pei ome rae & Mary ——.; On her arrival in London, ‘ the gloomy forebodings of her mind, were but too faithfully verified. Mr. 204 wx, F¥OURNEY TO SCANDINAVIA Imlay had already formed another connection; as it is said, with a young actress from a strolling company of players. His attentions therefore to Mary were formal and constrained.’
Mary grew so desperate that she made her first attempt at suicide at ‘the close of May.’ But ‘ her life was, at this time, saved and she determined to continue to exist.’ Imlay’s business in Norway was then in difficulties and Mary decided ‘ to make the voyage, and take the business into her own hands.’ She thought the journey might improve her health and spirits, and also clung to the hope that successful negotiations might result in a reconciliation.
Mary took with her the following document, authorizing her to act in Imlay’s behalf.
Know all men by these presents, that I, Gilbert Imlay, citizen of the United States of America, at present residing in London, do...appoint Mary Imlay, my best friend and wife, to take the sole management...of all my affairs and business which I had placed in the hands of Mr. Elias Bachman, negotiant, Gottenburg, or in those of Messrs. Myburg & Co., Copenhagen, desiring that she will manage...such concerns...as she may deem most wise and prudent. For which this letter shall be a sufficient power, enabling her to receive all the money...that may be recovered from Peter Ellyson...whenever the issue of the tryal now carrying on, instituted by Mr. Elias Backman, as my agent, for the violation of the trust which | had reposed in his integrity...Respecting the cargo of goods in the hands of Messrs. Myburg & Co., Mrs. Imlay has only to consult the most experienced persons engaged in the disposition of such articles, and then placing 295 SUPPLEMENT TO MEMOIRS them at their disposal, act as she may deem right and proper...Thus, confiding in the talent, zeal, and earnest- ness of my dearly beloved friend and companion, I submit the management of these affairs entirely and implicitly to her discretion. 3 Remaining most sincerely and affectionately hers truly. G, ImMuay.
Mary reached Hull, from which port she was to sail, on May 27, and at once sat down and wrote toImlay: We arrived here about an hour ago. | am extremely fatigued with the child, who would not rest quiet with any body but me, during the night—and now we are here in a comfortless, damp room, in a sort of tomb-like house...[Fanny] is playing near me in high spirits. She was so pleased with the noise of the mail-horn, she has been continually imitating it.—Adieu!
Mary had carried with her ‘a letter to a physician of this place’; ‘his wife is a pretty woman (I can admire, you know, a pretty woman, when I am alone) and he an intelligent and rather interesting man.’ With these new found friends Mary drove to her old home of Beverley.
The vessel on which she was.to sail was delayed by adverse winds, and it was not until June 21 that they finally set sail, Mary arriving in Gothenburg on the 27th. I shall not burden this account with the details of her journey: her itinerary can be pieced together from her letters to Imlay and from her next and last book, Letters written...in Sweden. Suffice it to relate here that she left Fanny and Marguerite, the French maid she had brought from Paris, in 296 § led from Hamburg. ae arrived in the 4th of October. In London more bad vaited her. She found that Imlay was living ready furnished house he had provided for his” ?
297 Vill 1795-1796 MARY’S ATTEMPTED SUICIDE— LETTERS WRITTEN DURING A SHORT RESIDENCE IN SWEDEN. FINAL PARTING FROM IMLAY.
Ir was at this time that Mary again determined to make an end to her accumulated troubles by casting herself into the Thames. Godwin describes this in Memoirs. Here is another contemporary account: Mrs. Imlay (late Mrs. Wolstonecraft) Authoress of The Rights of Women, married Mr. Imlay, an American, in Paris, & has one Child. Imlay came to England with her & pretended he had been married before, and proposed to Mrs. Imlay to live in the same house with his first wife (who in fact is only his mistress). She was so much affected by this usage, that one day last summer she took a Boat and was rowed to Putney, where going on shore & to the Bridge, she threw herself into the water. Her cloaths buoyed her up and she floated, & was taken up senseless abt. 200 yards from the Bridge, and by proper applications restored to life. Her mind is now calm; she is separated from Imlay, and visits her friends as usual, & does not object to mention her attempt.! 1 The Farington Diary, by Joseph Farington, R.A.
Edited by James Greig, vol. i. July 13, 1793, to August 24, 1802. London: Hutchinson & Co., 1923.
298 —.
“ Indeed we are very happy” From the original drawing by William Blake (cf. above, pp. 207-13) Wi REO VALS ULCLDE Kegan Paul says of Mary’s attempt at suicide: ‘Ido not know how far a great novelist of our day has consciously borrowed the incident, or has adopted it only with the keen insight of genius, but the attempted suicide of Mirah in Daniel Deronda, is in its very touching details very like that of Mary Wollstonecraft.’
Imlay sent a physician to her, and at Mrs. Christie’s request she removed to their house in Finsbury Square, but soon after ‘ fixed herself in a lodging in Finsbury-place, where, for some time, she saw scarcely any one by Mrs. Christie.’
In November, and therefore at about this time, Imlay and his paramour departed for a three months’ holiday in Paris.
It was probably in Mrs. Christie’s house, and later in her own lodging, that Mary altered and added to the letters she had written to Imlay on her northern journey, the result of which was published as Letters written during a short Residence in Sweden, Norway and Denmark.
It must have been at about this time that Mary wrote her final letter to Fuseli: When I returned from France, | visited you, Sir, but finding myself after my late journey? in a very different situation, I vainly imagined you would have called upon me. I simply tell you what I thought, yet I write not, at present, comment on your conduct or expostulate. I have long ceased to expect kindness or affection from any human creature, and would fain tear from my heart its treacherous sympathies. I am alone. The in- 2 To Scandinavia.
299 SUPPLEMENT TO MEMOIRS justice, without alluding to hopes blasted in the bud, which I have endured, wounding my bosom, ~ have set my thoughts adrift into an ocean of painful conjectures. I ask impatiently what—and where is truth? I have been treated brutally; but I daily labour to remember that I still have the duty of a mother to fulfil.
I have written you more than I intended—for I only meant to request you to return my letters I wish to have them, and it must be the same to you. Adieu! Mary.
And Fuseli, of course, with his usual churlishness, refused her request!
Early in 1796 Mary wrote a touching letter to Rowan, now, with Charles, engaged in a calico mill in Wilmington, Delaware. This letter has been printed in Rowan’s Autobiography (1840) and in Kegan Paul’s William Godwin, but both versions are more or less incomplete. I was fortunate in receiving a transcript of the original through the kindness of Mr. Frank Sabin, and it now appears for the first time, exactly as written: London, January 26th [1796]. My DEAR SIR, Though I have not heard from you I should have written to you, convinced of your friendship, could I have told you any thing of myself that would have afforded you pleasure—But what can I say to you—I am unhappy—I have been treated with unkindness—and even cruelty, by the person from whom I had every reason to expect affection— I write to you with an agitated hand—I cannot be more explicit—I value your good opinion—and 8 John Knowles, Life of Fuseli. 300 Sick Maeda DETTERS FTO OROW AN you know how to feel for me—I looked for something like happiness—happiness! in the discharge of my relative duties—and the heart on which I leaned has pierced mine to the quick—I have not been used well—and I live, but for my child—for am weary of myself—When I am more composed I will write to you again, mean time let me hear from you—and tell me something of Charles—I avoid writing to him, because I hate to explain myself—lI still think of settling in France, because I wish to leave my little Girl there—I have been very ill—Have taken some desperate steps—But now I am writing for independence—I wish I had no other evil to complain of than the necessity of providing for myself and child—do not mistake me—Mr. Imlay would be glad to supply all my pecuniary wants; but, unless he returns to me himself I would perish first— Pardon the inco- herence of my style. I have put off writing to you from time to time, because I could not write calmly. It would afford me the sincerest satis- faction to hear that you are reunited to your family, for 1 am your affectionate and Sincere friend, Mary Imvay.
Pray write to me—I will not fail, I was going to say when I have any thing good to tell you.—But for me there is nothing good in store, my heart is broken. adieu! God bless you!—If you can be of any service to the bearer you will oblige me— He is an industrious young man—He was a clerk to Mr. Imlay—and I should think might get into a better situation in America than in England— The state of public affairs here are not in a posture to assuage private sorrow.
I think it best, even though not in chronological order, to place here the last two letters between 301 SUPPLEMENT TO MEMOIRS Mary and Rowan that need be reproduced in this — book. 2 First—Mary to Rowan (who was still in Wil- mington): My DEAR FRIEND, I wrote to you some months since, by a private hand; and though you have never acknowledged the receipt of my letter, which I think a little unkind, in spite of the affectionate remembrances that have reached me through the medium of Mr. Maxwell, I feel an inclination to inform you of the present state of my mind. It is calmer. I have been used ill; and very wretched has the cruellest of disappointments, that of discovering I was deceived by a person in whom I trusted with all the confidence of the most perfect esteem, made me; still the consciousness that my conduct— for I governed my thoughts as well as my actions— merited a very different return from [Imlay]. Self-respect seems to promise me that internal satisfaction on which alone true happiness is built. I have sent you my last publication,* and I would give you a more circumstantial account of my situation had I time at present, in order to induce ‘A curious American publication-was, undoubtedly, the result of Mary’s sending Rowan a copy of her Letters Writien during a Short Residence in Sweden, Norway, and Denmark. It is possible that Rowan had something to do with it.
In 1796—the year of the English first edition—there was issued, from a press in Wilmington, Delaware, an edition with this title-page: Letters / written / during a short Residence / in / Sweden, Norway, and Denmark / by / Mary Wollstonecraft. / Printed for, & Sold by / J. Wilson, & J. Johnson, / Booksellers, Wilmington, (Del.) / 1796.
The British Museum authorities were kind enough to compare this American edition with the English one. They believe the subject matter to be identical.
302 DETTE RS LO CROWAN you to be equally explicit with me. I am not apt to forget those I esteem; and in your fate I shall always take the most lively interest, respecting as I do the qualities of your head and heart. It would afford me the sincerest pleasure to hear that there was a chance of your being re-united to your family; and I wish with all my heart that my good luck, if there be any in store for me, may throw me into the same quarter of the globe, for I am sure I should like, say love, Mrs. Rowan, and delight to see you both in the midst of your babies [they had ten]. Mine grows apace, and prattles away; she is a motive, as well as a reward, for exertion. I neglected calling on Mr. Maxwell for some time during my residence in the country, and when my mind was in the most perturbed state; I now hear with pain of his declining health. If, therefore, you should write to me, address me at Mr. Johnson’s, the bookseller, No. 72, Saint Paul’s Churchyard. The bearer of this, Mr. Cooper,® is a very ingenious young man, for whom an intimate friend of mine, Mr. Godwin, has a particular affection. By showing him any attention you would oblige Mr. G. as well as myself; and I am much mistaken if his counte- nance does not prejudice you in his favour, for it is the sort of one I like to see on young shoulders.
What do you think of the present state of Europe? The English seem to have lost the common sense which used to distinguish them.