The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay Part 1

The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay.

by Mary Wollstonecraft and Roger Ingpen.

PREFACE

I

Of Mary Wollstonecraft's ancestors little is known, except that they were of Irish descent. Her father, Edward John Wollstonecraft, was the son of a prosperous Spitalfields manufacturer of Irish birth, from whom he inherited the sum of ten thousand pounds. He married towards the middle of the eighteenth century Elizabeth Dixon, the daughter of a gentleman in good position, of Ballyshannon, by whom he had six children: Edward, Mary, Everina, Eliza, James, and Charles. Mary, the eldest daughter and second child, was born on April 27, 1759, the birth year of Burns and Schiller, and the last year of George II.'s reign. She pa.s.sed her childhood, until she was five years old, in the neighbourhood of Epping Forest, but it is doubtful whether she was born there or at Hoxton. Mr. Wollstonecraft followed no profession in particular, although from time to time he dabbled in a variety of pursuits when seized with a desire to make money.

He is described as of idle, dissipated habits, and possessed of an ungovernable temper and a restless spirit that urged him to perpetual changes of residence. From Hoxton, where he squandered most of his fortune, he wandered to Ess.e.x, and then, among other places, in 1768 to Beverley, in Yorkshire. Later he took up farming at Laugharne in Pembrokeshire, but he at length grew tired of this experiment and returned once more to London. As his fortunes declined, his brutality and selfishness increased, and Mary was frequently compelled to defend her mother from his acts of personal violence, sometimes by thrusting herself bodily between him and his victim. Mrs. Wollstonecraft herself was far from being an amiable woman; a petty tyrant and a stern but incompetent ruler of her household, she treated Mary as the scapegoat of the family.

Mary's early years therefore were far from being happy; what little schooling she had was spasmodic, owing to her father's migratory habits.

In her sixteenth year, when the Wollstonecrafts were once more in London, Mary formed a friendship with f.a.n.n.y Blood, a young girl about her own age, which was destined to be one of the happiest events of her life. There was a strong bond of sympathy between the two friends, for f.a.n.n.y contrived by her work as an artist to be the chief support of her family, as her father, like Mr. Wollstonecraft, was a lazy, drunken fellow.

Mary's new friend was an intellectual and cultured girl. She loved music, sang agreeably, was well-read too, for her age, and wrote interesting letters. It was by comparing f.a.n.n.y Blood's letters with her own, that Mary first recognised how defective her education had been. She applied herself therefore to the task of increasing her slender stock of knowledge--hoping ultimately to become a governess. At length, at the age of nineteen, Mary went to Bath as companion to a tiresome and exacting old lady, a Mrs. Dawson, the widow of a wealthy London tradesman. In spite of many difficulties, she managed to retain her situation for some two years, leaving it only to attend the deathbed of her mother.

Mrs. Wollstonecraft's death (in 1780) was followed by the break-up of the home. Mary went to live temporarily with the Bloods at Walham Green, and a.s.sisted Mrs. Blood, who took in needle-work; Everina became for a short time housekeeper to her brother Edward, a solicitor; and Eliza married a Mr. Bishop.

Mr. Kegan Paul has pointed out that "all the Wollstonecraft sisters were enthusiastic, excitable, and hasty tempered, apt to exaggerate trifles, sensitive to magnify inattention into slights, and slights into studied insults. All had bad health of a kind which is especially trying to the nerves, and Eliza had in excess the family temperament and const.i.tution."

Mrs. Bishop's married life from the first was one of utter misery; they were an ill-matched pair, and her peculiar temperament evidently exasperated her husband's worst nature. His outbursts of fury and the scenes of violence of daily occurrence, for which he was responsible, were afterwards described with realistic fidelity by Mary in her novel, "The Wrongs of Women." It was plainly impossible for Mrs. Bishop to continue to live with such a man, and when, in 1782, she became dangerously ill, Mary, with her characteristic good nature, went to nurse her, and soon after a.s.sisted her in her flight from her husband.

In the following year (1783) Mary set up a school at Islington with f.a.n.n.y Blood, and she was thus in a position to offer a home to her sisters, Mrs.

Bishop and Everina. The school was afterwards moved to Newington Green, where Mary soon had an establishment with some twenty day scholars. After a time, emboldened by her success, she took a larger house; but unfortunately the number of her pupils did not increase in proportion to her obligations, which were now heavier than she could well meet.

While Mary was living at Newington Green, she was introduced to Dr.

Johnson, who, G.o.dwin says, treated her with particular kindness and attention, and with whom she had a long conversation. He desired her to repeat her visit, but she was prevented from seeing him again by his last illness and death.

In the meantime f.a.n.n.y Blood had impaired her health by overwork, and signs of consumption were already evident. A Mr. Hugh Skeys, who was engaged in business at Lisbon, though somewhat of a weak lover, had long admired f.a.n.n.y, and wanted to marry her. It was thought that the climate of Portugal might help to restore her health, and she consented, perhaps more on that account than on any other, to become his wife. She left England in February 1785, but her health continued to grow worse. Mary's anxiety for her friend's welfare was such that, on hearing of her grave condition, she at once went off to Lisbon, and arrived after a stormy pa.s.sage, only in time to comfort f.a.n.n.y in her dying moments. Mary was almost broken-hearted at the loss of her friend, and she made her stay in Lisbon as short as possible, remaining only as long as was necessary for Mrs.

Skeys's funeral.

She returned to England to find that the school had greatly suffered by neglect during her absence. In a letter to Mrs. Skeys's brother, George Blood, she says: "The loss of f.a.n.n.y was sufficient to have thrown a cloud over my brightest days: what effect then must it have, when I am bereft of every other comfort? I have too many debts, the rent is so enormous, and where to go, without money or friends, who can point out?"

She thus realised that to continue her school was useless. But her experience as a schoolmistress was to bear fruit in the future. She had observed some of the defects of the educational methods of her time, and her earliest published effort was a pamphlet ent.i.tled, "Thoughts on the Education of Daughters," (1787). For this essay she received ten guineas, a sum that she gave to the parents of her friend, Mr. and Mrs. Blood, who were desirous of going over to Ireland.

She soon went to Ireland herself, for in the October of 1787 she became governess to the daughters of Lord Kingsborough at Michaelstown, with a salary of forty pounds a year. Lady Kingsborough in Mary's opinion was "a shrewd clever woman, a great talker.... She rouges, and in short is a fine lady without fancy or sensibility. I am almost tormented to death by dogs...." Lady Kingsborough was rather selfish and uncultured, and her chief object was the pursuit of pleasure. She pampered her dogs, much to the disgust of Mary Wollstonecraft, and neglected her children. What views she had on education were narrow. She had been accustomed to submission from her governess, but she learnt before long that Mary was not of a tractable disposition. The children, at first unruly and defiant, "literally speaking, wild Irish, unformed and not very pleasing," soon gave Mary their confidence, and before long their affection. One of her pupils, Margaret King, afterwards Lady Mountcashel, always retained the warmest regard for Mary Wollstonecraft. Lady Mountcashel continued her acquaintance with William G.o.dwin after Mary's death, and later came across Sh.e.l.ley and his wife in Italy. Mary won from the children the affection that they withheld from their mother, consequently, in the autumn of 1788, when she had been with Lady Kingsborough for about a year, she received her dismissal. She had completed by this time the novel to which she gave the name of "Mary," which is a tribute to the memory of her friend f.a.n.n.y Blood.

II

And now, in her thirtieth year, Mary Wollstonecraft had concluded her career as a governess, and was resolved henceforth to devote herself to literature. Her chances of success were slender indeed, for she had written nothing to encourage her for such a venture. It was her fortune, however, to make the acquaintance of Joseph Johnson, the humanitarian publisher and bookseller of St. Paul's Churchyard, who issued the works of Priestley, Horne Tooke, Gilbert Wakefield, and other men of advanced thought, and she met at his table many of the authors for whom he published, and such eminent men of the day as William Blake, Fuseli, and Tom Paine. Mr. Johnson, who afterwards proved one of her best friends, encouraged her in her literary plans. He was the publisher of her "Thoughts on the Education of Daughters," and had recognised in that little book so much promise, that when she sought his advice, he at once offered to a.s.sist her with employment.

Mary therefore settled at Michaelmas 1788 in a house in George Street, Blackfriars. She had brought to London the ma.n.u.script of her novel "Mary,"

and she set to work on a book for children ent.i.tled "Original Stories from Real Life." Both of these books appeared before the year was out, the latter with quaint plates by William Blake. Mary also occupied some of her time with translations from the French, German, and even Dutch, one of which was an abridged edition of Saltzmann's "Elements of Morality," for which Blake also supplied the ill.u.s.trations. Besides this work, Johnson engaged Mary as his literary adviser or "reader," and secured her services in connexion with _The a.n.a.lytical Review_, a periodical that he had recently founded.

While she was at George Street she also wrote her "Vindication of the Rights of Man" in a letter to Edmund Burke. Her chief satisfaction in keeping up this house was to have a home where her brothers and sisters could always come when out of employment. She was never weary of a.s.sisting them either with money, or by exerting her influence to find them situations. One of her first acts when she settled in London was to send Everina Wollstonecraft to Paris to improve her French accent. Mr. Johnson, who wrote a short account of Mary's life in London at this time, says she often spent her afternoons and evenings at his house, and used to seek his advice, or unburden her troubles to him. Among the many duties she imposed on herself was the charge of her father's affairs, which must indeed have been a profitless undertaking.

The most important of Mary Wollstonecraft's labours while she was living at Blackfriars was the writing of the book that is chiefly a.s.sociated with her name, "A Vindication of the Rights of Woman." This volume--now much better known by its t.i.tle than its contents--was dedicated to the astute M. Talleyrand de Perigord, late Bishop of Autun, apparently on account of his authorship of a pamphlet on National Education. It is unnecessary to attempt an a.n.a.lysis of this strikingly original but most unequal book--modern reprints of the work have appeared under the editorship both of Mrs. Fawcett and Mrs. Pennell. It is sufficient to say that it is really a plea for a more enlightened system of education, affecting not only her own s.e.x, but also humanity in its widest sense. Many of her suggestions have long since been put to practical use, such as that of a system of free national education, with equal advantages for boys and girls. The book contains too much theory and is therefore to a great extent obsolete. Mary Wollstonecraft protests against the custom that recognises woman as the plaything of man; she pleads rather for a friendly footing of equality between the s.e.xes, besides claiming a new order of things for women, in terms which are unusually frank. Such a book could not fail to create a sensation, and it speedily made her notorious, not only in this country, but on the Continent, where it was translated into French. It was of course the outcome of the French Revolution; the whole work is permeated with the ideas and ideals of that movement, but whereas the French patriots demanded rights for men, she made the same demands also for women.

It is evident that the great historical drama then being enacted in France had made a deep impression on Mary's mind--its influence is stamped on every page of her book, and it was her desire to visit France with Mr.

Johnson and Fuseli. Her friends were, however, unable to accompany her, so she went alone in the December of 1792, chiefly with the object of perfecting her French. G.o.dwin states, though apparently in error, that Fuseli was the cause of her going to France, the acquaintance with the painter having grown into something warmer than mere friendship. Fuseli, however, had a wife and was happily married, so Mary "prudently resolved to retire into another country, far remote from the object who had unintentionally excited the tender pa.s.sion in her breast."

She certainly arrived in Paris at a dramatic moment; she wrote on December 24 to her sister Everina: "The day after to-morrow I expect to see the King at the bar, and the consequences that will follow I am almost afraid to antic.i.p.ate." On the day in question, the 26th, Louis XVI. appeared in the Hall of the Convention to plead his cause through his advocate, Desize, and on the same day she wrote that letter to Mr. Johnson which has so often been quoted: "About nine o'clock this morning," she says, "the King pa.s.sed by my window, moving silently along (excepting now and then a few strokes on the drum, which rendered the stillness more awful) through empty streets, surrounded by the national guards, who, cl.u.s.tering round the carriage, seemed to deserve their name. The inhabitants flocked to their windows, but the cas.e.m.e.nts were all shut, not a voice was heard, nor did I see anything like an insulting gesture. For the first time since I entered France I bowed to the majesty of the people, and respected the propriety of behaviour so perfectly in unison with my own feelings. I can scarcely tell you why, but an a.s.sociation of ideas made the tears flow insensibly from my eyes, when I saw Louis sitting, with more dignity than I expected from his character, in a hackney coach, going to meet death, where so many of his race had triumphed. My fancy instantly brought Louis XIV. before me, entering the capital with all his pomp, after one of his victories so flattering to his pride, only to see the sunshine of prosperity overshadowed by the sublime gloom of misery...."

Mary first went to stay at the house of Madame Filiettaz, the daughter of Madame Bregantz, in whose school at Putney both Mrs. Bishop and Everina Wollstonecraft had been teachers. Mary was now something of a celebrity--"Authorship," she writes, "is a heavy weight for female shoulders, especially in the sunshine of prosperity"--and she carried with her letters of introduction to several influential people in Paris. She renewed her acquaintance with Tom Paine, became intimate with Helen Maria Williams (who is said to have once lived with Imlay), and visited, among others, the house of Mr. Thomas Christie. It was her intention to go to Switzerland, but there was some trouble about her pa.s.sport, so she settled at Neuilly, then a village three miles from Paris. "Her habitation here," says G.o.dwin, "was a solitary house in the midst of a garden, with no other habitant than herself and the gardener, an old man who performed for her many offices of a domestic, and would sometimes contend for the honour of making her bed. The gardener had a great veneration for his guest, and would set before her, when alone, some grapes of a particularly fine sort, which she could not without the greatest difficulty obtain of him when she had any person with her as a visitor. Here it was that she conceived, and for the most part executed, her historical and moral view of the French Revolution, into which she incorporated most of the observations she had collected for her letters, and which was written with more sobriety and cheerfulness than the tone in which they had been commenced. In the evening she was accustomed to refresh herself by a walk in a neighbouring wood, from which her host in vain endeavoured to dissuade her, by recounting divers horrible robberies and murders that had been committed there."

[Ill.u.s.tration: From an engraving by Ridley, dated 1796, after a painting by John Opie, R.A.

MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT.

This picture was purchased for the National Gallery at the sale of the late Mr. William Russell. The reason for supposing that it represents Mary Wollstonecraft rests solely on testimony of the engraving in the _Monthly Mirror_ (published during her lifetime), from which this reproduction was made. Mrs. Merritt made an etching of the picture for Mr. Kegan Paul's edition of the "Letters to Imlay."

_To face p. xvi_]

It is probable that in March 1793 Mary Wollstonecraft first saw Gilbert Imlay. The meeting occurred at Mr. Christie's house, and her immediate impression was one of dislike, so that on subsequent occasions she avoided him. However, her regard for him rapidly changed into friendship, and later into love. Gilbert Imlay was born in New Jersey about 1755. He served as a captain in the American army during the Revolutionary war, and was the author of "A Topographical Description of the Western Territory of North America," 1792, and a novel ent.i.tled "The Emigrants," 1793. In the latter work, as an American, he proposes to "place a mirror to the view of Englishmen, that they may behold the decay of these features that were once so lovely," and further "to prevent the sacrilege which the present practice of matrimonial engagements necessarily produce." It is not known whether these views regarding marriage preceded, or were the result of, his connexion with Mary Wollstonecraft. In 1793 he was engaged in business, probably in the timber trade with Sweden and Norway.

In deciding to devote herself to Imlay, Mary sought no advice and took no one into her confidence. She was evidently deeply in love with him, and felt that their mutual confidence shared by no one else gave a sacredness to their union. G.o.dwin, who is our chief authority on the Imlay episode, states that "the origin of the connexion was about the middle of April 1793, and it was carried on in a private manner for about three months."

Imlay had no property whatever, and Mary had objected to marry him, because she would not burden him with her own debts, or "involve him in certain family embarra.s.sments," for which she believed herself responsible. She looked upon her connexion with Imlay, however, "as of the most inviolable nature." Then the French Government pa.s.sed a decree that all British subjects resident in France should go to prison until a general declaration of peace. It therefore became expedient, not that a marriage should take place, for that would necessitate Mary declaring her nationality, but that she should take the name of Imlay, "which," says G.o.dwin, "from the nature of their connexion (formed on her part at least, with no capricious or fickle design), she conceived herself ent.i.tled to do, and obtain a certificate from the American Amba.s.sador, as the wife of a native of that country. Their engagement being thus avowed, they thought proper to reside under the same roof, and for that purpose removed to Paris."

In a letter from Mary Wollstonecraft to her sister Everina, dated from Havre, March 10, 1794, she describes the climate of France as "uncommonly fine," and praises the common people for their manners; but she is also saddened by the scenes that she had witnessed and adds that "death and misery, in every shape of terror, haunt this devoted country.... If any of the many letters I have written have come to your hands or Eliza's, you know that I am safe, through the protection of an American, a most worthy man who joins to uncommon tenderness of heart and quickness of feeling, a soundness of understanding, and reasonableness of temper rarely to be met with. Having been brought up in the interior parts of America, he is a most natural, unaffected creature."

Mary has expressed in the "Rights of Woman" her ideal of the relations between man and wife; she now looked forward to such a life of domestic happiness as she had cherished for some time. She had known much unhappiness in the past. G.o.dwin says: "She brought in the present instance, a wounded and sick heart, to take refuge in the attachment of a chosen friend. Let it not, however, be imagined, that she brought a heart, querulous, and ruined in its taste for pleasure. No; her whole character seemed to change with a change of fortune. Her sorrows, the depression of her spirits, were forgotten, and she a.s.sumed all the simplicity and the vivacity of a youthful mind. She was playful, full of confidence, kindness, and sympathy. Her eyes a.s.sumed new l.u.s.tre, and her cheeks new colour and smoothness. Her voice became cheerful; her temper overflowing with universal kindness; and that smile of bewitching tenderness from day to day illuminated her countenance, which all who knew her will so well recollect, and which won, both heart and soul, the affections of almost every one that beheld it." She had now met the man to whom she earnestly believed she could surrender herself with entire devotion. Naturally of an affectionate nature, for the first time in her life, with her impulsive Irish spirit, as G.o.dwin says, "she gave way to all the sensibilities of her nature."

The affair was nevertheless doomed to failure from the first. Mary had taken her step without much forethought. She attributed to Imlay "uncommon tenderness of heart," but she did not detect his instability of character. He certainly fascinated her, as he fascinated other women, both before and after his attachment to Mary. He was not the man to be satisfied with one woman as his life-companion. A typical American, he was deeply immersed in business, but his affairs may not have claimed as much of his time as he represented. In the September after he set up house with Mary, that is in '93, the year of the Terror, he left her in Paris while he went to Havre, formerly known as Havre de Grace, but then altered to Havre Marat. It is awful to think what must have been the life of this lonely stranger in Paris at such a time. Yet her letters to Imlay contain hardly a reference to the events of the Revolution.

Mary, tired of waiting for Imlay's return to Paris, and sickened with the "growing cruelties of Robespierre," joined him at Havre in January 1794, and on May 14 she gave birth to a girl, whom she named Frances in memory of f.a.n.n.y Blood, the friend of her youth. There is every evidence throughout her letters to Imlay of how tenderly she loved the little one.

In a letter to Everina, dated from Paris on September 20, she speaks thus of little f.a.n.n.y:

"I want you to see my little girl, who is more like a boy. She is ready to fly away with spirits, and has eloquent health in her cheeks and eyes. She does not promise to be a beauty, but appears wonderfully intelligent, and though I am sure she has her father's quick temper and feelings, her good humour runs away with all the credit of my good nursing."

In September Imlay left Havre for London, and now that the Terror had subsided Mary returned to Paris. This separation really meant the end of their camaraderie. They were to meet again, but never on the old footing.

The journey proved the most fatiguing that she ever made, the carriage in which she travelled breaking down four times between Havre and Paris.

Imlay promised to come to Paris in the course of two months, and she expected him till the end of the year with cheerfulness. With the press of business and other distractions his feelings for her and the child had cooled, as the tone of his letters betrayed. For three months longer Imlay put her off with unsatisfactory explanations, but her suspense came to an end in April, when she went to London at his request. Her gravest forebodings proved too true. Imlay was already living with a young actress belonging to a company of strolling players; and it was evident, though at first he protested to the contrary, that Mary was only a second consideration in his life. He provided her, however, with a furnished house, and she did not at once abandon hope of a reconciliation: but when she realised that hope was useless, in her despair she resolved to take her life. Whether she actually attempted suicide, or whether Imlay learnt of her intention in time to prevent her, is not actually known. Imlay was at this time engaged in trade with Norway, and requiring a trustworthy representative to transact some confidential business, it was thought that the journey would restore Mary's health and spirits. She therefore consented to take the voyage, and set out early in April 1795, with a doc.u.ment drawn up by Imlay appointing her as his representative, and describing her as "Mary Imlay, my best friend, and wife," and concluding: "Thus, confiding in the talent, zeal, and earnestness of my dearly beloved friend and companion; I submit the management of these affairs entirely and implicitly to her discretion: Remaining most sincerely and affectionately hers truly, G. Imlay."

The letters describing her travels, excluding any personal matters, were issued in 1796, as "Letters from Sweden and Norway," one of her most readable books. The portions eliminated from these letters were printed by G.o.dwin in his wife's posthumous works, and are given in the present volume. She returned to England early in October with a heavy heart. Imlay had promised to meet her on the homeward journey, possibly at Hamburg, and to take her to Switzerland, but she hastened to London to find her suspicions confirmed. He provided her with a lodging, but entirely neglected her for some woman with whom he was living. On first making the discovery of his fresh intrigue, and in her agony of mind, she sought Imlay at the house he had furnished for his new companion. The conference resulted in her utter despair, and she decided to drown herself. She first went to Battersea Bridge, but found too many people there; and therefore walked on to Putney. It was night and raining when she arrived there, and after wandering up and down the bridge for half-an-hour until her clothing was thoroughly drenched she threw herself into the river. She was, however, rescued from the water and, although unconscious, her life was saved.

Mary met Imlay casually on two or three other occasions; probably her last sight of him was in the New Road (now Marylebone Road), when "he alighted from his horse, and walked with her some time; and the re-encounter pa.s.sed," she a.s.sured G.o.dwin, "without producing in her any oppressive emotion." Mary refused to accept any pecuniary a.s.sistance for herself from Imlay, but he gave a bond for a sum to be settled on her, the interest to be devoted to the maintenance of their child; neither princ.i.p.al nor interest, however, was ever paid. What ultimately became of Imlay is not known.

Mary at length resigned herself to the inevitable. Her old friend and publisher, Mr. Johnson, came to her aid, and she resolved to resume her literary work for the support of herself and her child. She was once more seen in literary society. Among the people whom she met at this time was William G.o.dwin. Three years her senior, he was one of the most advanced republicans of the time, the author of "Political Justice" and the novel "Caleb Williams." They had met before, for the first time in November 1791, but she displeased G.o.dwin, because her vivacious gossip silenced the naturally quiet Thomas Paine, whom he was anxious to hear talk. Although they met occasionally afterwards, it was not until 1796 that they became friendly. There must have been something about G.o.dwin that made him extremely attractive to his friends, for he numbered among them some of the most charming women of the day, and such men as Wordsworth, Lamb, Hazlitt, and Sh.e.l.ley were proud to be of his circle. To the members of his family he was of a kind, even affectionate, disposition. Unfortunately, he appears to the worst advantage--a kind of early Pecksniff--in his later correspondence and relations with Sh.e.l.ley, and it is by this correspondence at the present day that he is best known. The fine side-face portrait of G.o.dwin by Northcote, in the National Portrait Gallery, preserves for us all the beauty of his intellectual brow and eyes. Another portrait of G.o.dwin, full-face, with a long sad nose, by Pickersgill, once to be seen in the National Portrait Gallery, is not so pleasing. In a letter to Cottle, Southey gives an unflattering portrait of G.o.dwin at the time of his marriage, which seems to suggest the full-face portrait of the philosopher--"he has large n.o.ble eyes, and a _nose_--oh, most abominable nose! Language is not vituperatious enough to describe the effect of its downward elongation."

G.o.dwin describes his courtship with Mary as "friendship melting into love." They agreed to live together, but G.o.dwin took rooms about twenty doors from their home in the Polygon, Somers Town, as it was one of his theories that living together under the same roof is destructive of family happiness. G.o.dwin went to his rooms as soon as he rose in the morning, generally without taking breakfast with Mary, and he sometimes slept at his lodgings. They rarely met again until dinner-time, unless to take a walk together. During the day this extraordinary couple would communicate with each other by means of short letters or notes. Mr. Kegan Paul prints some of these; such as G.o.dwin's:

"I will have the honour to dine with you. You ask me whether I can get you four orders. I do not know, but I do not think the thing impossible. How do you do?"

And Mary's: "f.a.n.n.y is delighted with the thought of dining with you. But I wish you to eat your meat first, and let her come up with the pudding. I shall probably knock at your door on my way to Opie's; but should I not find you, let me request you not to be too late this evening. Do not give f.a.n.n.y b.u.t.ter with her pudding." This note is dated April 20, 1797, and probably fixes the time when Mary was sitting for her portrait to Opie.