ty, in which Mary,
perhaps unconsciously, gives an excellent analysis of her own sensitive
nature. This quality, the old sage says, is the
"result of acute senses, finely fashioned nerves, which vibrate at
the slightest touch, and convey such clear intelligence to the
brain, that it does not require to be arranged by the judgment.
Such persons instantly enter into the character of others, and
instinctively discern what will give pain to every human being;
their own feelings are so varied that they seem to contain in
themselves not only all the passions of the species, but their
various modifications. Exquisite pain and pleasure is their
portion; nature wears for them a different aspect than is displayed
to common mortals. One moment it is a paradise: all is beautiful; a
cloud arises, an emotion receives a sudden damp, darkness invades
the sky, and the world is an unweeded garden."
Of the "Hints," one on a subject which has of late years been very
eloquently discussed is valuable as demonstrating her opinion of the
relation of religion to morals. It is as follows:--
"Few can walk alone. The staff of Christianity is the necessary
support of human weakness. An acquaintance with the nature of man
and virtue, with just sentiments on the attributes, would be
sufficient, without a voice from heaven, to lead some to virtue,
but not the mob."
CHAPTER XI.
RETROSPECTIVE.
1794-1796.
Mary's torture of suspense was now over. The reaction from it would
probably have been serious, if she had not had the distraction of work.
Activity was, as it had often been before, the tonic which restored her
to comparative health. She had no money, and Fanny, despite Imlay's
promises, was entirely dependent upon her. Her exertions to maintain
herself and her child obliged her to stifle at least the expression of
misery. One of her last outbursts of grief found utterance in a letter to
Mr. Archibald Hamilton Rowan, who in France had been the witness of her
happiness. Shortly after her final farewell to Imlay, she wrote to this
friend:--
LONDON, Jan. 26, 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
anything of myself that could have afforded you pleasure. I am
unhappy. I have been treated with unkindness, and even cruelty,
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