of the age.  Mrs. Thrale laughed and wept over it.  Crisp was even vehement in applause, and offered to insure the rapid and complete success of the book for half a crown.  What Miss Burney received for the copyright is not mentioned in the Diary; but we have observed several expressions from which we infer that the sum was considerable.  That the sale would be great nobody could doubt; and Frances now had shrewd and experienced advisers, who would not suffer her to wrong herself.  We have been told that the publishers gave her two thousand pounds, and we have no doubt that they might have given a still larger sum without being losers.

Cecilia was published in the summer of 1782.  The curiosity of the town was intense.  We have been informed by persons who remember those days, that no romance of Sir Walter Scott was more impatiently awaited, or more eagerly snatched from the counters of the booksellers.  High as public expectation was, it was amply satisfied; and Cecilia was placed, by general acclamation, among the classical novels of England.

Miss Burney was now thirty.  Her youth had been singularly prosperous; but clouds soon began to gather over that clear and radiant dawn.  Events deeply painful to a heart so kind as that of Frances, followed each other in rapid succession.  She was first called upon to attend the death-bed of her best friend, Samuel Crisp.  When she returned to St. Martin’s Street, after performing this melancholy duty, she was appalled by hearing that Johnson had been struck with paralysis; and, not many months later, she parted from him for the last time with solemn tenderness.  He wished to look on her once more; and on the day before his death she long remained in tears on the stairs leading to his bedroom, in the hope that she might be called in to receive his blessing.  But he was then sinking fast, and, though he sent her an affectionate message, was unable to see her.  But this was not the worst.  There are separations far more cruel than those which are made by death.  Frances might weep with proud affection for Crisp and Johnson.  She had to blush as well as to weep for Mrs. Thrale.

Life, however, still smiled upon her.  Domestic happiness, friendship, independence, leisure, letters, all these things were hers; and she flung them all away.

* * * * *

Then the prison was opened, and Frances was free once more.  Johnson, as Burke observed, might have added a striking page to his poem on the Vanity of Human Wishes, if he had lived to see his little Burney as she went into the palace and as she came out of it.