Beside the proceeds arising from the sale of her works, Mrs. Haywood evidently expected and sometimes received the present of a guinea or so in return for a dedication.  Though patrons were not lacking for her numerous works, it does not appear that her use of their names was always authorized.  In putting “The Arragonian Queen” under the protection of Lady Frances Lumley, in fact, the author confessed that she had not the happiness of being known to the object of her praise, but wished to be the first to felicitate her publicly upon her nuptials.  We may be sure that the offering of “Frederick, Duke of Brunswick-Lunenburgh” to the hero’s namesake, Frederick, Prince of Wales, was both unsanctioned and unacknowledged.  Sometimes, however, the writer’s language implies that she had already experienced the bounty of her patron, while in the case of the novel dedicated to Sir Richard Steele at a time when his health and credit were fast giving way, Eliza can hardly be accused of interested motives.  Apparently sincere, too, though addressed to a wealthy widow, was the tribute to Lady Elizabeth Germain prefixed to “The Fruitless Enquiry”; and at least one other of Mrs. Haywood’s productions is known to have been in Lady Betty’s library.  But these instances are decidedly exceptional.  Usually the needy novelist’s dedications were made up of servile adulation and barefaced begging.  With considerable skill in choosing a favorable moment she directed a stream of panegyric upon William Yonge (later Sir) within two months after his appointment as one of the commissioners of the treasury in Great Britain.  Soon after Sir Thomas Lombe was made a knight, the wife of that rich silk weaver had the pleasure of seeing her virtues and her new title in print.  And most remarkable of all, Lady Elizabeth Henley, who eloped with a rake early in 1728, received Mrs. Haywood’s congratulations upon the event in the dedication of “The Agreeable Caledonian,” published in June, though if we may trust Mrs. Delany’s account of the matter, the bride must already have had time for repentance.  Even grief, the specialist in the study of the passions knew, might loosen the purse strings, and accordingly she took the liberty to condole with Col.  Stanley upon the loss of his wife while entreating his favor for “The Masqueraders.”  But of all her dedications those addressed to her own sex were the most melting, and from their frequency were evidently the most fruitful.

The income derived from patronage, however, was at best uncertain and necessitated many applications.  To the public, moreover, a novel meant nothing if not something new.  Eliza Haywood’s productiveness, therefore, was enormous.  When she had settled to her work, the authoress could produce little pieces, ranging from sixty to nearly two hundred pages in length, with extraordinary rapidity.  In 1724, for instance, a year of tremendous activity, she rushed into print no less than ten original romances, beside