n which Godwin was
asking her for final instructions about her children, so sure were the
physicians that her end was near. Mr. Reveley was very young at the time.
His observations were not written until he was quite an old man. It would
not be unlikely, then, that his memory played him false in this
particular.

Mary was thirty-eight years of age, in the full prime of her powers. Her
best work probably remained to be done, for her talents, like her beauty,
were late in maturing. Her style had already greatly improved since she
first began to write. Constant communication with Godwin would no doubt
have developed her intellect, and the calm created by her more happy
circumstances would have lessened her pessimistic tendencies. Moreover,
life, just as she lost it, promised to be brighter than it had ever been
before. Godwin's after career shows that he would not have proved
unworthy of her love. Domestic pleasures were dear to her as intellectual
pursuits. In her own house, surrounded by husband and children, she would
have been not only a great but a happy woman. It is at least a
satisfaction to know that her last year was content and peaceful. Few
have needed happiness more than she did, for to few has it been given to
suffer the hardships that fell to her share.

The very same day, Godwin himself wrote to announce his wife's death to
several of his friends. It was characteristic of the man to be systematic
even in his grief, which was sincere. He recorded in his diary the
details of each day during Mary's illness, and it was not until the last
that he shrank from coldly stating events to him so truly tragic. The
only dashes which occur in his diary follow the date of Sunday, Sept. 10,
1797. Kegan Paul says that his writing to his friends "was probably an
attempt to be stoical, but a real indulgence in the luxury of woe." To
Holcroft, who, he knew, could appreciate his sorrow, he said, "I firmly
believe that there does not exist her equal in the world. I know from
experience we were formed to make each other happy. I have not the least
expectation that I can now ever know happiness again." Mrs. Inchbald was
another to whom he at once sent the melancholy news. "I always thought
you used her ill, but I forgive you," he told her in his note. Now that
Mary was dead he felt the insult that had been shown her even more keenly
than at the time. His words roused all Mrs. Inchbald's ill-feeling, and,
with a singular want of co