eevish
woman. There was little sunshine in the morning of her life. She was
destined always to see the darkest side of human nature. Mrs. Dawson's
temper was bad, and her companions, of whom there seem to have been many,
had hitherto fled before its outbreaks, as the leaves wither and fall at
the first breath of winter. Mary's home-schooling was now turned to good
account. Mrs. Dawson's rage could not, at its worst, equal her father's
drunken violence; and long experience of the latter prepared her to bear
the former with apparent, if not real, stoicism. We have no particulars
of her life as companion nor knowledge of the exact nature of her duties.
But of one thing we are certain, the fulfilment of them cost her many a
heartache. Those who know her only as the vindicator of the Rights of
Women and the defiant rebel against social laws, may think her case calls
for little sympathy. But the truth is, there have been few women so
dependent for happiness upon human love, so eager for the support of
their fellow-beings, and so keenly alive to neglects and slights. In Bath
she was separated from her friends, she was alone in her struggle, and
she held a position which did not always command respect. However, her
indomitable will and unflagging energy availed her to such good purpose
that she continued with Mrs. Dawson for two years, doubtless to the
surprise of the latter, accustomed as she was to easily frightened and
hastily retreating companions. Her departure then was due, not to moral
cowardice or exhaustion, but to a summons from home.

Mrs. Wollstonecraft's health had begun to fail. Her life had been a hard
one, and the drains upon her constitution many. She was the mother of a
large family, and had had her full share of the by no means insignificant
pains and cares of maternity. In addition to these she had had to contend
against poverty, that evil which, says the Talmud, is worse than fifty
plagues, and against the vagaries of a good-for-nothing drunken husband.
Once she fell beneath her burden, she could not rise with it again. She
had no strength left to withstand her illness. Eliza and Everina were
both at home to take care of her, but she could not rest without the
eldest daughter, upon whom experience had taught her to rely implicitly.
She sent for Mary, and the latter hastened at once to her mother's side.
Her own hopes and ambitions, her chances and prospects, all were
forgotten in her desire to do what she co