Henley, Thursday, Sept. 13.
My dear Sir,—Since I saw you I have, literally speaking, enjoyed solitude. My sister could not accompany me in my rambles; I therefore wandered alone by the side of the Thames, and in the neighboring beautiful fields and pleasure grounds: the prospects were of such a placid kind, I caught tranquillity while I surveyed them; my mind was still, though active. Were I to give you an account how I have spent my time, you would smile. I found an old French Bible here, and amused myself with comparing it with our English translation; then I would listen to the falling leaves, or observe the various tints the autumn gave to them. At other times, the singing of a robin or the noise of a water-mill engaged my attention; for I was at the same time, perhaps, discussing some knotty point, or straying from this tiny world to new systems. After these excursions I returned to the family meals, told the children stories (they think me vastly agreeable), and my sister was amused. Well, will you allow me to call this way of passing my days pleasant?
I was just going to mend my pen; but I believe it will enable me to say all I have to add to this epistle. Have you yet heard of an habitation for me? I often think of my new plan of life; and lest my sister should try to prevail on me to alter it, I have avoided mentioning it to her. I am determined! Your sex generally laugh at female determinations; but let me tell you, I never yet resolved to do anything of consequence, that I did not adhere resolutely to it, till I had accomplished my purpose, improbable as it might have appeared to a more timid mind. In the course of near nine and twenty years I have gathered some experience, and felt many severe disappointments; and what is the amount? I long for a little peace and independence! Every obligation we receive from our fellow-creatures is a new shackle, takes from our native freedom, and debases the mind, makes us mere earthworms. I am not fond of grovelling!
I am, Sir, yours, etc.,
Mary Wollstonecraft.
When she parted from Lady Kingsborough, and the time arrived for beginning her new life, she thought it best to communicate her prospects to Everina; but she begged the latter not to mention them to any one else. She seems for some time to have wished that her family at least should know nothing of her whereabouts or her occupations.
She wrote from London on the 7th of November to Everina,—
I am, my dear girl, once more thrown on the world. I have left Lord K.’s, and they return next week to Mitchelstown. I long since imagined that my departure would be sudden. I have not seen Mrs. Burgh, but I have informed her of this circumstance, and at the same time mentioned to her, that I was determined not to see any of my friends till I am in a way to earn my own subsistence. And to this determination I will adhere. You can conceive how disagreeable pity and advice would be at this juncture. I have two other cogent reasons. Before I go on will you pause, and if, after deliberating, you will promise not to mention to any one what you know of my designs, though you may think my requesting you to conceal them unreasonable, I will trust to your honor, and proceed. Mr. Johnson, whose uncommon kindness, I believe, has saved me from despair and vexation I shrink back from, and fear to encounter, assures me that if I exert my talents in writing, I may support myself in a comfortable way. I am then going to be the first of a new genus. I tremble at the attempt; yet if I fail I only suffer; and should I succeed, my dear girls will ever in sickness have a home and a refuge, where for a few months in the year they may forget the cares that disturb the rest. I shall strain every nerve to obtain a situation for Eliza nearer town: in short, I am once more involved in schemes. Heaven only knows whether they will answer! Yet while they are pursued life slips away. I would not on any account inform my father or Edward of my designs. You and Eliza are the only part of the family I am interested about; I wish to be a mother to you both. My undertaking would subject me to ridicule and an inundation of friendly advice to which I cannot listen; I must be independent. I wish to introduce you to Mr. Johnson. You would respect him; and his sensible conversation would soon wear away the impression that a formality, or rather stiffness of manners, first makes to his disadvantage. I am sure you would love him, did you know with what tenderness and humanity he has behaved to me....
I cannot write more explicitly. I have indeed been very much harassed. But Providence has been very kind to me, and when I reflect on past mercies, I am not without hope with respect to the future; and freedom, even uncertain freedom, is dear.... This project has long floated in my mind. You know I am not born to tread in the beaten track; the peculiar bent of my nature pushes me on. Adieu; believe me ever your sincere friend and affectionate sister,
Mary Wollstonecraft.