e, prospects of an addition to their income. Then
the Bloods during Mary's absence had fallen further into the Slough of
Despond, out of which, now their daughter was dead, there was no one to
help them. George could not aid them, because, though they did not know
it, he was just then without employment. Unable to live amicably with his
brother-in-law after Fanny's death, he had resigned his position in
Lisbon and gone to Ireland, where for a long while he could find nothing
to do. Mr. Skeys simply refused to satisfy the never-ceasing wants of his
wife's parents. He cannot be severely censured when their shiftlessness
is borne in mind. He probably had already received many appeals from
them. But Mary could not accept their troubles so passively.

To add to her distress, she was weakened by the painful task she had just
completed. She was low-spirited and broken-hearted, and really ill. Her
eyes gave out; and no greater inconvenience could have just then befallen
her. Her mental activity was temporarily paralyzed, and yet she knew that
prompt measures were necessary to avert the evils crowding upon her. She
had truly been anointed to wrestle and not to reign.

There was no chance of relief from her own family. Her father had married
again, but his second marriage had not improved him. He had descended to
the lowest stage of drunkenness and insignificance. His home was in
Laugharne, Wales, where he barely managed to exist. James, the second
son, had gone to sea in search of better fortune. Charles, the youngest,
was not old enough to seek his, and hence had to endure as best he could
the wretchedness of the Wollstonecraft household. Instead of Mary's
receiving help from this quarter, she was called upon to give it. Kinder
to her father than he had ever been to her, she never ignored his
difficulties. When she had money, she shared it with him. When she had
none, she did all she could to force Edward, the one prosperous member of
the family, to send his father the pecuniary assistance which, it seems,
he had promised.

In whatever direction she looked, she saw misery and unhappiness. The
present was unendurable, the future hopeless. For a brief interval she
was almost crushed by her circumstances. To George Blood, now even dearer
to her than he had been before, she laid bare the weariness of her heart.
Shortly after her return she wrote him this letter, pathetic in its
despair:

NEWINGTON GREEN, Feb. 4, 1786.