Mary Robinson, also called Maria, 1758–1800, the daughter of an American sea-captain named Darby, but a native of Bristol, England, was married at fifteen to Mr. Robinson, whose pecuniary difficulties caused his wife to try her fortune on the stage. Whilst performing in the character of Perdita (a name which she subsequently assumed in amatory correspondence), she attracted the attention of the Prince of Wales (afterwards George IV.), then in his 18th year. An intimacy of two years with this person was followed by one equally reprehensible with an officer of the army. She pub. a vol. of “Poems” in 1775, 8vo; “Captivity, a Poem, and Celadon and Lydia, a Tale,” 1777, 4to; 2 more vols. of “Poems,” 8vo, in 1791; a number of single poems, novels, plays, pamphlets, &c., between 1775 and 1799; and “The False Friend,” 1799, 4 vols. 12mo. “The Effusions of Love,” purporting to be her correspondence with the Prince of Wales, was pub. in 177–, 8vo; her “Lyrical Tales” appeared in 1800, cr. 8vo; her “Memoirs,” written by herself, were pub. after her death in 1801, 4 vols. 12mo (also 1826, 12mo; and again with Charlotte Clarke’s “Autobiography,” 18mo and 12mo); her “Poems,” 1803, 2 vols. 12mo; and the “Poetical Works of the late Mrs. Robinson, now first collected,” were pub. by her daughter, Mary Robinson, in 1806, 3 vols. p. 8vo.

Personal

  Charles Fox is languishing at the feet of Mrs. Robinson. George Selwyn says, “Who should the Man of the People live with, but with the Woman of the People?”

  Deathless was to be the young Prince’s love, and his munificence was to be equal to his truth. In proof of the latter, he gave her a bond for £20,000, to be paid to her on his coming of age. In a few months he attained his majority, refused to pay the money, and made no secret to the lady of his deathless love having altogether died out. He passed her in the park, affecting not to know her; and the spirited young woman, who had given up a lucrative profession for his sake, flung a remark at him, in her indignation, that ought to have made him blush, had he been to that manner born. However, she was not altogether abandoned. The patriotic Whig statesman, Charles Fox, obtained for the Prince’s cast-off favourite an annuity of £300,—out of the pockets of a tax-paying people!… There was good in this hapless creature. Throughout life, she was the loving and helping child of her mother, the loving and helpful mother of her child, for both of whom she laboured ungrudgingly, to the last. Hannah More, herself, would not harshly construe the conduct of her pupil. “I make the greatest allowance for inexperience and novel passions,” was the comment of Horace Walpole. “Poor Perdita!” said Mrs. Siddons, “I pity her from my very heart!”

  The actress had made great way in public favour—she was becoming a favourite with the town. She was not powerful, perhaps, but she was certainly pleasing; not a great artist but a very graceful one. She could not take the public by storm; but she could win them gradually, holding them just as securely at last. It was difficult to resist the beauty of her face and form—the charm of her voice. More than these was not required in many of her characters. She had no genius, but she had a cultivated cleverness which did nearly as well. She was very lovely, dressed beautifully, could be arch and sparkling, or tender and pathetic. The good-natured audience demanded no more—they gave her their hands and hearts without further question, thundering their applause.

  Of all the black spots that rest upon the character of this prince, there are few blacker than his treatment of this unfortunate lady; and how little blame was considered to attach to her, by those whom envy and malice did not render partial judges, is proved by the sympathy and friendship which she obtained from many persons of high standing in society.

General

  As an authoress, she displays very considerable powers, but, being one of the Della Cruscan school, she was mercilessly attacked by Gifford.

  There were in her day many admirers of her writings, though they have since sunk into comparative forgetfulness, and justly, as they are not characterized by merit sufficient to warrant praise.

  Perdita was not idle; she wrote poems and novels: the former, tender in sentiment and expression; the latter, not without power and good sense. She had undertaken to supply the Morning Post with poetry, when she died.

  As an author she was credited in her own day with the feeling, taste, and elegance, and was called the English Sappho. Some of her songs, notably “Bounding Billow, cease thy motion,” “Lines to him who well understood them,” and “The Haunted Beach,” enjoyed much popularity in the drawing-room; but though her verse has a certain measure of facility, it appears, to modern tastes, jejune, affected, and inept. Wolcott (Peter Pindar) and others belauded her in verse, celebrating her graces, which were real, and her talents, which were imaginary.