to her that she never mentions it in her letters throughout those years. It is provoking to read through the pages of correspondence with the sister to whom she told everything, and to find them full of little every-day details of home life without a single word upon the subject which would be so interesting now to us. It cannot have been from shyness that she avoided the topic, for her own family knew of her stories when completed, and, wonderful to relate, she carried on all her writing in the little parsonage sitting-room, with everyone coming in and out and pursuing occupations there. This, by the way, speaks volumes for the Austen family and their friends; for if even one of them had been a Mrs. Allen, or, worse still, a Miss Bates, all Elizabeth Bennett's and Emma Woodhouse's doings might have been for ever lost to posterity. While perfectly free from shyness or false shame with her own family about her works, Jane was nevertheless careful to keep the knowledge of them from the outer world, and, in spite of her writing being so openly carried on, one intimate friend of her family's wrote afterwards that he "never suspected her of being an authoress." She always used a little mahogany desk—still in existence—which was easily put away if necessary; and she wrote on very small sheets of paper, which could be quickly concealed without attracting any notice.
When we hear of so much steady work between 1795 and 1800, it seems wonderful that she published nothing until 1811; but Jane Austen, like other people, was destined to work her way slowly to success, and her first attempts at getting into print were so disheartening that they deserve to be recorded for the benefit of all despairing young authors.
