her niche, not indeed amongst the highest orders of genius, but in one
confessedly her own, in our British temple of literary fame; and it may
be difficult to make them believe how coldly her works were at first
received, and how few readers had any appreciation of their peculiar
merits. Sometimes a friend or neighbour, who chanced to know of our
connection with the author, would condescend to speak with moderate
approbation of 'Sense and Sensibility,' or 'Pride and Prejudice'; but if
they had known that we, in our secret thoughts, classed her with Madame
D'Arblay or Miss Edgeworth, or even with some other novel writers of the
day whose names are now scarcely remembered, they would have considered
it an amusing instance of family conceit. To the multitude her works
appeared tame and commonplace, {136a} poor in colouring, and sadly
deficient in incident and interest. It is true that we were sometimes
cheered by hearing that a different verdict had been pronounced by more
competent judges: we were told how some great statesman or distinguished
poet held these works in high estimation; we had the satisfaction of
believing that they were most admired by the best judges, and comforted
ourselves with Horace's 'satis est Equitem mihi plaudere.' So much was
this the case, that one of the ablest men of my acquaintance {136b} said,
in that kind of jest which has much earnest in it, that he had
established it in his own mind, as a new test of ability, whether people
_could_ or _could not_ appreciate Miss Austen's merits.

But though such golden opinions were now and then gathered in, yet the
wide field of public taste yielded no adequate return either in praise or
profit. Her reward was not to be the quick return of the cornfield, but
the slow growth of the tree which is to endure to another generation. Her
first attempts at publication were very discouraging. In November, 1797,
her father wrote the following letter to Mr. Cadell:--