ar a fool's cap; but mine, alas! has lost its
bells and grown so heavy I find it intolerably troublesome.
Good-night! I have been pursuing a number of strange thoughts since
I began to write, and have actually both laughed and wept
immoderately. Surely I am a fool."

In these dark days it was always to Mr. Johnson she turned for sympathy
and advice. She had never been on very confidential terms with either of
her sisters, and her friendship with George Blood had grown cooler. Their
paths in life had so widely diverged that this was unavoidable. The
following extract from a letter Mary wrote to him in the winter of 1791
shows that the change in their intimacy had not been caused by
ill-feeling on either side. He apparently had, through her, renewed his
offer of marriage to Everina, as he was now able to support a wife:--

"... Now, my dear George, let me more particularly allude to your
own affairs. I ought to have done so sooner, but there was an
awkwardness in the business that made me shrink back. We have all,
my good friend, a sisterly affection for you; and this very morning
Everina declared to me that she had more affection for you than for
either of her brothers; but, accustomed to view you in that light,
she cannot view you in any other. Let us then be on the old
footing; love us as we love you, but give your heart to some worthy
girl, and do not cherish an affection which may interfere with your
prospects when there is no reason to suppose that it will ever be
returned. Everina does not seem to think of marriage. She has no
particular attachment; yet she was anxious when I spoke explicitly
to her, to speak to you in the same terms, that she might
correspond with you as she has ever done, with sisterly freedom and
affection."

But good friends as they continued to be, he was far away in Dublin, with
different interests; and Mary craved immediate and comprehensive
sympathy. Mr. Johnson was ever ready to administer to her spiritual
wants; he was a friend in very truth. He evidently understood her nature
and knew how best to deal with her when she was in these moods. "During
her stay in George Street," he says in a note referring to her, "she
spent many of her afternoons and most of her evenings with me. She was
incapable of disguise. Whatever was the state of her mind, it appeared
when she entered, and the tone of conve