'
My expectations at this time were widely different from those of my
namesake George in the VICAR OF WAKEFIELD when he published his
paradoxes. I took it as a matter of course that the world, whether
learned or unlearned, would say to my book what they said to his
paradoxes, as the event showed, - nothing at all. To my utter
astonishment, however, I had no sooner returned to my humble
retreat, where I hoped to find the repose of which I was very much
in need, than I was followed by the voice not only of England but
of the greater part of Europe, informing me that I had achieved a
feat - a work in the nineteenth century with some pretensions to
originality. The book was speedily reprinted in America, portions
of it were translated into French and Russian, and a fresh edition
demanded.
In the midst of all this there sounded upon my ears a voice which I
recognised as that of the Maecenas of British literature:
'Borromeo, don't believe all you hear, nor think that you have
accomplished anything so very extraordinary: a great portion of
your book is very sorry trash indeed - Gypsy poetry, dry laws, and
compilations from dull Spanish authors: it has good points,
however, which show that you are capable of something much better:
try your hand again - avoid your besetting sins; and when you have
accomplished something which will really do credit to - Street, it
will be time enough to think of another delivery of these GYPSIES.
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