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William Godwin: his Friends and Contemporaries
Ch. VII. 1759-1791
Mary Wollstonecraft to George Blood, 20 July [1785]

Contents Vol. I
Ch. I. 1756-1785
Ch. II. 1785-1788
Ch. III. 1788-1792
Ch. IV. 1793
Ch. V. 1783-1794
Ch. VI. 1794-1796
Ch. VII. 1759-1791
Ch. VII. 1791-1796
Ch. IX. 1797
Ch. X. 1797
Ch. XI. 1798
Ch. XII. 1799
Ch. XIII. 1800
Contents Vol. II
Ch. I. 1800
Ch. II. 1800
Ch. III. 1800
Ch. IV. 1801-1803
Ch. V. 1802-1803
Ch. VI. 1804-1806
Ch. VII. 1806-1811
Ch. VIII. 1811-1814
Ch. IX. 1812-1819
Ch. X. 1819-1824
Ch. XI. 1824-1832
Ch. XII. 1832-1836
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Licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 Unported License.
Produced by CATH
Newington Green, July 20th, [1785]

. . . . . “I am not a fair weather friend; on the contrary, I think I love most people best when they are in adversity, for pity is one of my prevailing passions. I am not fond of possessions, yet, once for all, let me assure you that I have a mother’s tenderness for you, and that my heart dances when I make any new discovery of goodness in you. It gives me the sincerest satisfaction to find that you look for comfort where only it is to be met with, and that Being in whom you trust will not desert you. Be not cast down while we are struggling with care, life slips away, and, through the assistance of Divine Grace, we are obtaining habits of virtue that will enable us to relish those joys that we cannot now form any idea of. I feel myself particularly attached to those who are heirs of the promises, and travel on in the thorny path with the same Christian hopes that render my severe trials a cause of thankfulness when I can think. . . . I often see your father and mother; they desire to be remembered to you in the kindest manner, and entirely acquit you of the crime that is laid to your charge, as do the girls. . . . I have no creature to be unreserved to. Eliza and Everina are so different that I could as soon fly as open my heart to them. How my social comforts have dropped away—Fanny first, and then you went over the hills and far away. I am resigned to my fate, but ’tis that gloomy kind of resignation that is akin to despair. . . . Your affectionate friend,