Chesington Hall, the name the old manor house goes by in the locality, is still standing, and is a plain brick building with a small bell turret in the roof, but in other respects it has been somewhat modernized since the days of Fanny Burney.  The common has been parcelled out into fields, and a picturesque country road now gives access to the front entrance to the house.  From the lawn at the back a narrow avenue of venerable trees, which throw out their long arms in strange grotesque fashion, leads directly to the little village church where Mr. Crisp is buried. -Ed.] 61

          “Evelina”And the mystery attending its publication.

This year was ushered in by a grand and most important event!  At the latter end of January, the literaryworld was favoured with the first publication of the ingenious, learned, and most profound Fanny Burney!  I doubt not but this memorable affair will, in future times, mark the period whence chronologers will date the zenith of the polite arts in this island!

This admirable authoress has named her most elaborate performance, “Evelina; or, a Young Lady’s Entrance into the World.”

Perhaps this may seem a rather bold attempt and title, for a female whose knowledge of the world is very confined, and whose inclinations, as well as situation, incline her to a private and domestic life.  All I can urge is, that I have only presumed to trace the accidents and adventures to which a “young woman” is liable; I have not pretended to show the world what it actually is, but what it appears to a girl of seventeen, and so far as that, surely any girl who is past seventeen may safely do?  The motto of my excuse shall be taken from Pope’s “Temple of Fame “: 

In every work regard the writer’s end
None e’er can compass more than they intend.

About the middle of January, my cousin Edward brought me a parcel, under the name of Grafton.  I had, some little time before, acquainted both my aunts of my frolic.  They will, I am sure, be discreet ; indeed, I exacted a vow from them Of strict secrecy ; and they love me with such partial kindness, that I have a pleasure in reposing much confidence in them.  I immediately conjectured what the parcel was, and found the following letter.

Fleet-street, Jan. 7, 1778.

Sir, I take the liberty to send you a novel, which a gentleman, your acquaintance, said you would hand to him.  I beg with expedition, as ’tis time it should be published, and ’tis requisite he first revise it, or the reviewers may find a flaw.—­I am, sir, your obedient servant, Thomas Lowndes.

To Mr. Grafton, To be left at the Orange Coffee-house.

62

My aunts, now, would take no denial to my reading it to them, in order to mark errata; and to cut the matter short, I was compelled to communicate the affair to my cousin Edward, and then to obey their commands.