Do tell me who wrote the review on Fitzgerald Barker’s last poem.  Only I know you won’t.  I remember nothing done so well.  I should think the poor wretch will hardly hold his head up again before the autumn.  But it was fully deserved.  I have no patience with the pretensions of would-be poets who contrive by toadying and underground influences to get their volumes placed on every drawing-room table.  I know no one to whom the world has been so good-natured in this way as to Fitzgerald Barker, but I have heard of no one who has extended the good nature to the length of reading his poetry.

Is it not singular how some men continue to obtain the reputation of popular authorship without adding a word to the literature of their country worthy of note? ...