It is customary t is customary to regard Mary Shelley’s cla­ims to literary distinction as so entirely rooted and grounded in her husband’s as to constitute a me­rely parasitic growth upon his fame. It may be un­reservedly admitted that her association with Shel­ley, and her care of his writings and memory after his death, are the strongest of her titles to rememb­rance. It is further undeniable that the most origi­nal of her works is also that which betrays the stron­gest traces of his influence. Frankenstein was written when her brain, magnetized by his companions­hip, was capable of an effort never to be repeated.