wished to have his permission to publish it anonymously, but that she hoped that he would not insist upon seeing it.  What followed may serve to illustrate what we meant when we said that Dr. Burney was as bad a father as so goodhearted a man could possibly be.  It never seems to have crossed his mind that Fanny was about to take a step on which the whole happiness of her life might depend, a step which might raise her to an honourable eminence or cover her with ridicule and contempt.  Several people had already been trusted, and strict concealment was therefore not to be expected.  On so grave an occasion, it was surely his duty to give his best counsel to his daughter, to win her confidence, to prevent her from exposing herself if her book were a bad one, and, if it were a good one, to see that the terms which she made with the publisher were likely to be beneficial to her.  Instead of this, he only stared, burst out a-laughing, kissed her, gave her leave to do as she liked, and never even asked the name of her work.  The contract with Lowndes was speedily concluded.  Twenty pounds were given for the copyright, and were accepted by Fanny with delight.  Her father’s inexcusable neglect of his duty happily caused her no worse evil than the loss of twelve or fifteen hundred pounds.(12)

After many delays, “Evelina” appeared in January, 1778.  Page xxv

Poor Fanny was sick with terror, and durst hardly stir out of doors.  Some days passed before anything was heard of the book.  It had, indeed, nothing but its own merits to push it into public favour.  Its author was unknown.  The house by which it was published, was not, we believe, held high in estimation.  No body of partisans had been engaged to applaud.  The better class of readers expected little from a novel about a young lady’s entrance into the world.  There was, indeed, at that time a disposition among the most respectable people to condemn novels generally:  nor was this disposition by any means without excuse; for works of that sort were then almost always silly and very frequently wicked.

Soon, however, the first faint accents of praise began to be heard:  The keepers of the circulating libraries reported that everybody was asking for “Evelina,” and that some person had guessed Anstey(13) to be the author.  Then came a favourable notice in the “London Review”; then another still more favourable in the “Monthly.”  And now the book found its way to tables which had seldom been polluted by marble-covered volumes.  Scholars and statesmen, who contemptuously abandoned the crowd of romances to Miss Lydia Languish and Miss Sukey Saunter, were not ashamed to own that they could not tear themselves away from “Evelina.”  Fine carriages and rich liveries, not often seen east of Temple-bar, were attracted to the publisher’s shop in Fleet-street.  Lowndes was daily questioned about the author, but was himself as much in the dark as any of the questioners.  The mystery, however, could not remain a mystery long.  It was known to brothers and sisters, aunts and cousins:  and they were far too proud and too happy to be discreet.  Dr. Burney wept over the book in rapture.  Daddy Crisp shook his fist at his Fannikin in affectionate anger at not having been admitted to her confidence.  The truth was whispered to Mrs. Thrale:  and then it began to spread fast.