In 1811 the first of her books, _Sense and Sensibility_, was published at her own expense, and produced in three neat little volumes in clear type by T. Egerton, Whitehall. Her identity was not disclosed by the title-page, which simply bore the words “By a Lady.” She paid a visit to her brother Henry in London in order to arrange the details, with which Henry helped her very much. When in London with this object she writes, “No, indeed, I am never too busy to think of _Sense and Sensibility_. I can no more forget it than a mother can forget her sucking child, and I am much obliged to you for your enquiries. I have had two sheets to correct but the last only brings us to Willoughby’s first appearance. Mrs. K. regrets in the most flattering manner that she must wait _till_ May, but I have scarcely a hope of its being out in June. Henry does not neglect it; he _has_ hurried the printer, and says he will see him again to-day.” _Sense and Sensibility_ did not come out until she had returned to the country, and when she received £150 for it later on, she thought it “a prodigious recompense for that which had cost her nothing.” And certainly, considering her anonymity and the small chances the book had, she had good reason to be satisfied. The gratifying reception of _Sense and Sensibility_ seems to have awakened the powers of writing which had so long lain dormant from want of encouragement. In 1812 she began _Mansfield Park_, perhaps in some ways the least interesting, though by no means the least well constructed, of her novels. Edmund and Fanny are both a little too mild for the taste of most people, and are far from taking their real place as hero and heroine. However, Edmund’s blind partiality for Miss Crawford is very natural, and, as Henry Austen himself said, it is certainly impossible to tell until quite the end how the story is going to be finished. The minor characters are throughout excellent; it is one of Jane’s shining qualities that no character, however small the part it has to play, remains unknown, she seems able to describe in a touch or two some human quality or defect which at once brings us into intimate relations with either man or woman. Mr. Rushworth’s self-importance, “I am to be Count Cassel and to come in first in a blue dress, and a pink satin cloak, and afterwards have another fine fancy suit by way of a shooting dress. I do not know how I shall like it ... I shall hardly know myself in a blue dress and pink satin cloak,” is excellent. Lady Bertram’s character might be gathered from one sentence in the letter which she sends to Fanny, telling of her elder son’s dangerous illness: “Edmund kindly proposes attending his brother immediately, but I am happy to add Sir Thomas will not leave me on this distressing occasion as it would be too trying for me.”