Of course you have heard of it. It is
blood-curdling but sympathetic, romantic but realistic, pathetic and
sublime. The passage, for instance, in which the Duke of BARTLEMY
repels the advances of the orphan charwoman is--but you have read it,
and I need not therefore enlarge further upon it. After it had been
published two days, I began to look eagerly into all the daily and
weekly papers for critical notices of my _magnum opus_. I persisted
for a fortnight, and failing to see any, wrote an angry letter to my
publishers. On that very day the last post brought me three letters
in unknown hands. I opened the first listlessly, I read what it
contained, and (may an author confess his weakness?) gave a wild shout
of triumph when I found that one of the enclosures was a newspaper
extract referring to my work. Here it is, as it appeared on the form
enclosed:--
_THE UNITED ASSOCIATION OF COMBINED PARAGRAPHISTS_.
MR. WILLIAM WHORBOYS.
(_FROM THE PIMLICO POTTERER. JULY 6TH_.)
"Amongst the books of the month we may notice _The Foundling's
Farewell_, by MR. WILLIAM WHORBOYS, an author whose name we have not
hitherto met with.
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