“Oh!” cried I, as composedly as I could, “that is but a small part of my authorship—­I shall give you a list of my folios Soon,”

They had all some jocularity upon the occasion, but I found I was perfectly safe ; indeed my best security is, that my daddy concludes the author to be a man, and all the rest follow as he leads.

Mr. Burney,(40) yesterday, after dinner, said—­“Gentlemen and ladies, I’ll propose a toast”; then filling his glass, he drank to The author of “Evelina!”

Had they known the author was present, they could not have more civilly accepted the toast; it was a bold kind of drollery in Mr. Burney, for I was fain to drink my own health in a bumper, which he filled for me, laughing heartily himself,

August 3—­I have an immensity to write.  Susan has copied me a letter which Mrs. Thrale has written to my father, upon the occasion of returning my mother two novels by Madame Riccoboni.(41) It is so honourable to me, and so sweet in her, that I must copy it for my faithful journal.

Streatham, July 22.

Dear Sir, I forgot to give you the novels in your carriage, which I now send.  “Evelina” certainly excels them far enough, both in probability of story, elegance of sentiment, and general power over the mind, whether exerted in humour or pathos; add to this, that Riccoboni is a veteran author, and all she ever can be; but I cannot tell what might not be expected from “Evelina,” were she to try her genius at comedy.

So far had I written of my letter, when Mr. Johnson returned

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home, full of the praises of the book I had lent him, and protesting there Were passages in it which Might do honour to Richardson.  We talk of it for ever, and he feels ardent after the d`enouement; hee “could not get rid of the rogue,” he said.  I lent him the second volume, and he is now busy with the other.

You must be more a philosopher, and less a father, than I wish you, not to be pleased with this letter ; and the giving such pleasure yields to nothing but receiving it.  Long, my dear sir, may you live to enjoy the just praises of your children! and long may they live to deserve and delight such a parent!  These are things that you would say in verse — but poetry implies fiction, and all this is naked truth.

my compliments to Mrs. Burney, and kindest wishes to all your flock, etc.

How, sweet, how amiable in this charming woman is her desire of making my dear father satisfied with his scribbler’s ’attempt!  I do, indeed, feel the most grateful love for her.  But Dr. Johnson’s approbation!—­It almost crazed me with agreeable surprise—­it gave me such a flight of spirits that I danced a jig to Mr. Crisp, Without any preparation, music, or explanation;—­to his no small amazement and diversion.  I left him, however, to make his own comments upon my friskiness without affording him the smallest assistance.