Mrs. Shelley’s genius, though true and powerful, is monotonous and circumscribed--more so than even her father’s--and, in this point, presents a strong contrast to her husband’s. She has no wit, nor humor--little dramatic talent. Strong, clear description of the gloomier scenes of nature, or the darker passions of the mind, or of those supernatural objects which her fancy, except in her first work, somewhat laboriously creates, is her forte. Hence her reputation still rests upon ‘Frankenstein’; ... she unquestionably made him, but he has had no progeny. ... She has succeeded in her delineation; she has painted this shapeless being upon the imagination of the world forever; and beside Caliban, and Hecate, and Death and Life, and all other weird and gloomy creations, this nameless, unfortunate, involuntary, gigantic unit stands. ... The work is wonderful as the work of a girl of eighteen. One distinct addition to our original creations must be conceded her--and it is no little praise. GEORGE GILFILLAN: ‘A Second Gallery of Literary Portraits.’ Edinburgh: James Hogg. London: R. Groombridge & Sons, 1850. FOOTNOTES: [5] Fanny Godwin, as she was always called, at the age of twenty-two committed suicide by taking laudanum, doubtless impelled by the singular melancholy inherited from her mother. [6] See Shelley’s ‘Epipsychidon.’ [7] Shelley was at first supposed to be the author of ‘Frankenstein.’ MARY LAMB. (1764-1847.) MARY LAMB. Seldom is the name of Mary Lamb seen without that of her brother. “The Lambs” still walk hand-in-hand in our mention, as they were wont to walk on pleasant holidays to Enfield, and Potter’s Bar, and Waltham; when Mary “used to deposit in the little hand-basket the day’s fare of savory cold meat and salad,” and Charles “to pry about at noon-tide for some decent house where they might go in and produce their store, only paying for the ale that he must call for.” Still they pass linked together through our thoughts, as on that sadder day when Charles Lloyd met them, crossing the fields to Hoxton--hand-in-hand, and weeping. It is an act of severance against which the conscience somewhat protests, to present Mary alone to the consideration of the reader. It is like removing her from the protection of his presence who stood so faithfully and long between her and the world.