end directly written on this subject, she says, 'I am
perfectly aware that some of the incidents ought to be transposed and
heightened by more luminous shading; and I wished in some degree to avail
myself of criticism before I began to adjust my events into a story, the
outline of which I had sketched in my mind.'" It therefore must be more
gently criticised than such of her books as were published during her
life-time, and considered by her ready to be given to the public. But, as
the last work upon which she was engaged, and as one which engrossed her
thoughts for months, and to which she devoted, for her, an unusual amount
of labor, it must be read with interest.

The incidents of the story are, in a large measure, drawn from real life.
Her own experience, that of her sister, and events which had come within
her actual knowledge, are the materials which she used. These served her
purpose as well as, if not better than, any she could have invented. The
only work of her imagination is the manner in which she grouped them
together to form her plot. The story is, briefly, as follows: Maria, the
heroine, whose home-life seems to be a description of the interior of the
Wollstonecraft household, marries to secure her freedom, rather than from
affection for her lover, as was probably the case with "poor Bess." Her
husband, who even in the days of courtship had been a dissolute rascal,
but hypocrite enough to conceal the fact, throws off his mask after
marriage. He speculates rashly, drinks, and indulges in every low vice.
All this she bears until he, calculating upon her endurance, seeks to
sell her to a friend, that her dishonor may be his gain financially. Then
he learns that he has gone too far. She flies from his house, to which
she refuses, on any consideration, to return. All attempts to bring her
back having failed, he, by a successful stratagem, seizes her as she is
on her way to Dover with her child, and, taking possession of the latter,
has his wife confined in an insane asylum. Here, after days of horror,
Maria succeeds in softening the heart of her keeper, Jemima by name, and
through her makes the acquaintance of Henry Darnford, a young man who,
like her, has been made a prisoner under the false charge of lunacy.
Jemima's friendship is so completely won that she allows these two
companions in misery to see much of each other. She even tells them her
story, which, as a picture of degradation, equals that of some of