Lynchburg Virginian. [volume] (Lynchburg [Va.]) 1829-185?, 1851-07-24
MISC CELLANEOU
nIarY WoIs,onecraft Shelley


The daughter of William Goodwin and
Mary Wolstonecraft, and wife of Percy
Bysshe Shelley, died at the age of fifty.
three, in Chester Square, Pimlico, London
on the first day Of February. What wo.
man had ever before relations SO ilustri
ousl Daughter Of Goodwin and wife Of
Shelly! These few words unfold re.
markablc history, unparalleled, and un.
approached in romantic dignity. In the
dedication to her Of the noble poem oi
The Rerolt Of Islam, Shelley says:
"They say that thou were lovely from thy birth,
OF glorious parents, thou aspiring Child
| wonder not-for One then left this earth
Whose life was like sctting,planci mild,
Which clothed thee in the radiance undetiled
Ofit5 departing glory; still her fnme
Shines thee, through the tempests dark and milt
Which shake these latter days; and thou cans claim
The shelter from thy Sire, of an immortol name
In the introduction to one of her novels
she herself says of her youth:
1T isnot tsiugularthat, as the daughter o
wopersons ofdistinguisehd literary celebri
ty, should very early in life have lhoughto
writing. AS a child scrbbled; and my favo.
pastimc ,duringthe hours given me forrc.
creation, was to write stories Still had 4
dearer pleasure than this, which was the
formation of castles III the air-the indulg-
ing IN waking dreams-the following up
trains of thought, which had for their sub.
jcct the formation of succession Of imugi
nary incidents My dreams were at once
more fantastic and agreeable than my wri
ting. In the latter | was close imitatoi
rather doing as others had done, thar
putting down the suggestions of my owr
mind. What wrote was intended al
least for one other eye-my childhood:
companion and friend; but my dreams were
all my own; accounted for them to nobo
dy; they were my refuge when annoyed
my dearest pleasure when free. | hvec
principally in the country as girl, anc
passed considerable time in Scotland
| made occasional visits to the more pictu
rescue parts; but my habitual residenc,
was on the blank and dreary northern
shores Of the Tay, near Dundee. BLANK
and dreary on retrospection | cali them
they were not SO to me then. They wer,
the eyry Of freedom, and the pleasant re
gion where unheeded l could cornmun,
with the creatures of my fancy. l wrot,
then-but in most commonplace style
1t was beneath the trees of the grounds be
longing to our house, or on the bleak side
Of the woodless mountains near, that my
true compositions, the airy flights of my
imagination, were born and fostered.
did not make myself the heroine of m,
tales. Life appeared to me too common.
placcan affair as regarded myself Icoulc
not figure to myself that romantic woes OF
wonderful events would ever be my lot
but | was not confined to my own identity
and | could peoplethc hours with creation.
far more interesting to me at that age, thar
my own sensations"
Her connection with Shelley commenc
ed in 1915, and she gives this account o
the following year, in which She wrote
her famous novel, Frankenaein:
"Aiter this my life became buster, and
reality stood in place of fiction My hus
band, however, was from the first, very
anxious that should provcmyself worthy
ofmy parentage, and enrolmyselfon the page
oitame. He was forever melting me to
obtain literary reputation, which even OF
my own part | cared for then, though
since | have become infinitely Indifferent
to it. AT this time he desired that ! should
write, not so much with the idea that
conld produce any thing worthy of notice
but that he might himself Judge how far
possessed the promise Of better things here
after. Still | did nothing Travelling
and the cares of family, occupied my
time; and study, in the way of reading, ol
improving my ideas in communication with
his far more cultivated mind, was all Of lit
crary employment that engaged nay atten
ton. In the simmer of 1916, we visited
Switzerland, and became the neighbors oi
Lord Byron AT first we spent onr pleas
ant hours on the lake, or wandering on its
shores: and Lord Byron. who was writ
ing the third canto Of Childe Harold, was
the only one among US whoput bis thought:
upon paper. These as he brought them
successively to us, clothed in all the hgh
and harmony of poetry. seemed to STAMP
as divine the glories of heaven and earth
whose influences we partook with him
Butt proved wet, ungenial summer, anc
incessant rain often confined us for day:
to the house. Some volumes OF ghost sto
ries, translated from the German into
French, fell into our hands. There wa,
the History of the lnconstant Lover, who
when he thought to clasp the bride to whon
he had pledged his vows, found himself il
the arms of the pale ghost Of her whom he
had deserted. There was thetale ofthe sinfu
founder of his race, whose miserable doom
it was to bestow the kiss Of death on all thu
younger sons OF his fated house, just wher
they reached the age of promise. His q
gantic, shadowy form, clothed like tn,
ghost in Hamlet, in complete armor, bu
with the beaver up, was seen at midnight
by the moons ftful beams, to advanc,
slowly along the gloomy avenue. Th,
shape was lost beneath the shadow of tn,
castle walls; but soon gate swung back,
step was heard, the door Of the chanbe
opened, and he advanced to the couch o
the blooming youths, Graded in health,
sleep. Eternal sorrow sat upon his fac
as he bert down and kissed the forehea,
of the boys. who from that hour withere'
hike flowers snaa upon the stalk. l hav