A pretty picture with this motif comes into her Diary: On a certain morning, our Dr. Franklin--being then in London on colonial business--makes a call upon Dr. Burney:--and in absence of her father, meets the daughter: a big, square-shouldered man, very formal, very stout, but very kindly, approaches her and says--"I think I have the pleasure of speaking with Evelina." "Oh, no," she replies, "I am Frances Burney," and he--"Ah--indeed! I thought it had been Evelina:" and there it ends, and we lose sight of our broad-shouldered Dr. Franklin, with only this "Ah!" upon his lips. {167} She had a modesty that was vain by its excess, and was awkward when caught unexpectedly or with strangers; in great trepidation lest her books might be talked of--yet with her books and her authorship always tormentingly uppermost in her thought. Her Diary and letters are full of them. Yet she is attractive--strangely so--by her sympathetic qualities; so responsive to every shade of sorrow or of joy; winning, because so tell-tale of heart; and with a tongue that could prattle gracefully when at ease; Evelina, in short, without Evelina's beauty or expectations. I have read the book over again after a gap of many years--with a view to this talk of the authoress, and find myself wondering more than ever, how so many of great and commanding intellect should have so heartily admired it. Burke read it with most eager attention and largest praise; old Dr. Johnson delighted in it, and declared it superior in many points to Richardson (which for him was extravagant commendation). Even Mme. de Stael, some few years later, gave it her applause; and the quick and swift-witted Mrs. Thrale was in raptures with it; {168} and Mrs. Thrale knew a dunce, and detested dunces. There must have been a deftness in her touch of things local,--of which, I think, she was but half conscious; there was beside a pretty dramatic art which found play in many pages of her Diary, and in all she did and all she spoke. For her third novel of _Camilla_, which scarce ever comes off the shelf of old libraries now--where it survives in deserved retirement--she received, according to the rumors current in those days, the sum of £3,000; such rumors, very likely exaggerated the amount; they are apt to do so--in all times. Her Diary[8] is of special interest; particularly the portion which takes one into the domestic life of Royalty. For one of the bitter fruits of her celebrity, was her appointment as Lady of the Robes (or other such title), to the Queen. The service indeed did not last many years, but long enough to give us a good sight of the well-disposed, {169} fussy, indolent, kind-hearted Queen, and of the inquisitive, obstinate, good-natured King. [Sidenote: Trials of the Queen.]