nder the
protection of Lady Frances Lumley, in fact, the author confessed that
she had not the happiness of being known to the object of her praise,
but wished to be the first to felicitate her publicly upon her nuptials.
We may be sure that the offering of "Frederick, Duke of Brunswick-
Lunenburgh" to the hero's namesake, Frederick, Prince of Wales, was both
unsanctioned and unacknowledged. Sometimes, however, the writer's
language implies that she had already experienced the bounty of her
patron, while in the case of the novel dedicated to Sir Richard Steele
at a time when his health and credit were fast giving way, Eliza can
hardly be accused of interested motives. Apparently sincere, too, though
addressed to a wealthy widow, was the tribute to Lady Elizabeth Germain
prefixed to "The Fruitless Enquiry"; and at least one other of Mrs.
Haywood's productions is known to have been in Lady Betty's library. But
these instances are decidedly exceptional. Usually the needy novelist's
dedications were made up of servile adulation and barefaced begging.
With considerable skill in choosing a favorable moment she directed a
stream of panegyric upon William Yonge (later Sir) within two months
after his appointment as one of the commissioners of the treasury in
Great Britain. Soon after Sir Thomas Lombe was made a knight, the wife
of that rich silk weaver had the pleasure of seeing her virtues and her
new title in print. And most remarkable of all, Lady Elizabeth Henley,
who eloped with a rake early in 1728, received Mrs. Haywood's
congratulations upon the event in the dedication of "The Agreeable
Caledonian," published in June, though if we may trust Mrs. Delany's
account of the matter, the bride must already have had time for
repentance. Even grief, the specialist in the study of the passions
knew, might loosen the purse strings, and accordingly she took the
liberty to condole with Col. Stanley upon the loss of his wife while
entreating his favor for "The Masqueraders." But of all her dedications
those addressed to her own sex were the most melting, and from their
frequency were evidently the most fruitful.

The income derived from patronage, however, was at best uncertain and
necessitated many applications. To the public, moreover, a novel meant
nothing if not something new. Eliza Haywood's productiveness, therefore,
was enormous. When she had settled to her work, the authoress could
produce little pieces, ranging from sixty to