out
what is necessary for me to do. Before I left Paris, I attempted to
find the Laurents, whom I had several times previously sought for,
but to no purpose. And I am apt to think that it was very prudent
in them to leave a shop that had been the resort of the nobility.

Where is poor Eliza? From a letter I received many, many months
after it was written, I suppose she is in Ireland. Will you write
to tell her that I most affectionately remember her, and still have
in my mind some places for her future comfort. Are you well? But
why do I ask? you cannot reply to me. This thought throws a damp on
my spirits whilst I write, and makes my letter rather an act of
duty than a present satisfaction. God bless you! I will write by
every opportunity, and am yours sincerely and affectionately,

MARY.

Another written from Paris, before Imlay had shown himself in his true
colors, is full of kindness, containing a suggestion that Everina should
join her in the spring:

PARIS, September, 1794.

As you must, my dear girl, have received several letters from me,
especially one I sent to London by Mr. Imlay, I avail myself of
this opportunity just 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 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? You have perhaps answered these
questions in answer to the letters I gave in charge to Mr. I.; but
fearing that some fatality might have prevented their reaching you,
let me repeat that I have written to you and to Eliza at least half
a score of times, pointing out different ways for you to write to
me, still have received no answers. I have again and again given
you an account of my present situation, and introduced Mr. Imlay to
you as a brother you would love and respect. I hope the time is not
very distant when we shall all meet. Do be very particular in your
account of yourself, and if you have not time to procure me a
letter from Eliza, tell me all about her. Tell me, too, what is
become of George, etc., etc. I only write to