Mrs Mary Delany (nee Granville), born 300 years ago this week, on May 14th 1700, could never in her wildest imaginings have dreamed up a notion like the Internet, still less have conceived of two websites dedicated to her name.

What would she have made of it? A highly intelligent, broadminded woman in life, I think she would welcome the research of Prof Alain Kerherve of the Universite de Bretagne Occidentale, Brest, France (at www.geocities.com/Athens/Oracle/5327/MAPAGE.HTM) and of Jean L. Cooper and Angelika S. Powell of Charlotte, Virginia (at www.lib.virginia.edu/exhibits/charlotte/delany.html).

Communication for Mrs Delany was by pen and ink. An inveterate letter writer, chronicler of 18th-century life, her wisdom, news and gossip was dispensed only to friends in her close circle. Yet her influence has prevailed through two centuries and now resides firmly on the World Wide Web. A wonder, surely, for this private Englishwoman who never sought or courted fame and certainly never could have anticipated enduring into the Information Age.

Delany, famous for her flower paintings, spent much of her life in Dublin. Her large garden at Glasnevin formed the basis for the National Botanical Gardens, and her home there, Delville, was a prominent landmark until the 1950s. She had, however, the misfortune to be the daughter of a second son, Bernard Granville. He was dependent on his richer and more powerful brother, Lord Lansdowne, who took charge of the family's prosperity and security.

It was this uncle, who for his own political ends, but also in consideration of his niece's future, procured Alexander Pendarves as her first husband. Mary was 17 at this time, Pendarves nearly 60. She described him as "excessively fat, of a brown complexion, negligent in his dress, and took a vast quantity of snuff, which gave him a dirty look" and added "I was sacrificed". The privations and indignities met within that marriage made his death four years later a happy deliverance for the young woman, and we can be grateful to Pendarves, because widowhood, an ensuing band of suitors, and an unrequited love, brought her to Ireland for the first time.

She came here in 1731 intending to stay six months and ended up staying 18 months. The Bishop of Killala and his wife Mrs Clayton were her hosts at Stephen's Green in Dublin. She wrote, their "apartments are handsome and furnished with gold-coloured damask, a universal cheerfulness reigns in this house. They keep a very handsome table, six dishes of meat at dinner and six plates at supper".

It was in their circle that she made the acquaintance of her future husband, Dr Delany, and the mighty Dean of St Patrick's, Jonathan Swift. An early impression of him was unflattering: "Swift is a very odd companion; he talks a great deal and does not require many answers." However, before long she was writing, "he calls himself `my master', and corrects me when I speak bad English. I wish he lived in England, I should not only have a great deal of entertainment from him, but improvement."

Their friendship grew and correspondence flourished, not without a little flirtation. Swift wrote: "Nothing vexes me so much with relation to you, as that with all my disposition to find faults, I was never once able to fix upon anything that I could find amiss, although I watched you narrowly; I kept my eyes and ears always upon you, in hopes that you would make some boutade, a French word which signifies a sudden jerk from a horse's hinder feet which you did not expect, because you thought him for some months a sober animal, and this hath been my case with several ladies who I chose for friends; in a week, a month, or a year, hardly one of them failed to give me a boutade."

Prophetically, during this first visit to Ireland she reported on a sermon preached by Swift's great friend, Dr Delany: "I was extremely pleased with him. His sermon was on the duties of wives to husbands, a subject of no great use to me at present." That was all to change. Following the death of his wife, he had spirit to write to her in 1743 in the following vein: "I know it is late in life to think of engaging anew in that state. I am old, and I appear older than I am; but thank God I am still in health, tho' not bettered by years, and however the vigour of life may be over, and the flutter of passion, I find myself not less fitted for all that is solid happiness in the wedded state."

Mary's family interfered again, in a way appalling to our understanding today. They considered marriage to an unknown, impecunious parson notwithstanding his character and erudition as a lowering of their standing.

Undaunted, Dr Delany wrote: "I might venture to pronounce that even a parent has no right to control you, at this time of life, and under your circumstances, in opposition to these; and a brother has no shadow of right." Good sense prevailed and for 25 years thereafter they rejoiced in their married life.

In those years, letter followed letter across the Irish Sea, giving news of life in Delville and in the country at large. It is this repository, collected and edited in the 1860s by her great grand niece, Lady Augusta Llanover, that is the source of so much material relating to life and society in 18th century Ireland and England.

This modest woman died in 1788. Her life spanned almost a century, in the course of which she drew regard from all she met - including Swift, Handel, Walpole, George III - but it was chiefly in her intimate correspondence that we find the person who so attracts us today. Just like us now, she interested herself in births, marriages and deaths; no event was beneath her notice. She could supply the recipe for a perfect complexion: "As for the rotten-apple water, it is wonderful, the quick effect of it, and very safe. It must be the rottenest apples that can be had, put into a cold still, and so distilled, without anything besides."

She took great pleasure in her garden at Delville and exchanged plants and gardening advice with her sister, a practice I conduct today by email with my sister in North Carolina.

To ease the symptoms of her nephew's ague she sent two infallible recipes, consisting of a plaster made of ginger and brandy, the other of a spider put into a goose-quill, well sealed and secured, and hung about the neck. One or other was efficacious, we hope.

With failing sight, in latter years, she began her flower collages, or as she called them, her "Flora Delanica", coloured paper cut-outs in precise botanical detail. The late Sybil Connolly used Mrs Delany's designs for her china and fabric ranges. This week we celebrate Mrs Delany, woman of many accomplishments. Always interested in science, she would not be shy of the technological advances which now introduce her to many.

See also: www.geocities.com/Athens/Oracle/5327/MAPAGE.HTM (NB: this site in French) and www.lib.virginia.edu/exhibits/charlotte/delany.html

Dr Delany's description of his wife:

`Her stature was in middle proportion . . . and every part and proportion perfect in their kind, fitted alike for activity and strength. Her walk was graceful, beyond anything that ever I saw in woman'

Dean Swift to Mary, Dublin 1734:

`Madam, When I received the honour and happiness of your last letter, I was afflicted by a pair of disorders . . . although I should have been better contented with one at a time - these are giddiness and deafness.' In this juncture your letter found me: but I was able to read, though not to hear. Neither did I value my deafness for three days . . . your letter was my constant entertainment.'

Mrs Delany's early impression of Dublin, 1731:

`I must say the environs of Dublin are delightful. The town is bad, enough, narrow streets and dirty-looking houses, but some very good ones scattered about; and as for Stephen's Green, I think it may be preferred justly to any square in London.'

Writing to her sister of daily life at Delville:

`We rise about seven, have prayers and breakfast over by nine. In the mornings D.D. makes his visits, and I draw; we dine at two; reading and talking amuse us till supper, and after supper I make shifts and shirts for the poor naked wretches in the neighbourhood . . . '

Spinsterhood was not an enviable condition. To her sister she wrote:

`You have reason to dread the condition of an old maiden. Don't run the hazard of it; depend upon it all your resolutions will fail you when you come to that peevish condition, therefore secure yourself. I will give you a helping hand if in my power.'

Observations on men:

`Moneyed men are most of them covetous; disagreeable wretches; fine men with titles and estates, are coxcombs; those of real merit are seldom to be found.'