I was in this respect greatly impressed with the confession of one of the most accomplished readers and excellent critics that any author could have fallen in with (the unfortunate Joseph Gerald).

He told me that he had received my book late one evening, and had read through the three volumes before he closed his eyes.

Thus, what had cost me twelve months' labour, ceaseless heartaches and industry, now sinking in despair, and now roused and sustained in unusual energy, he went over in a few hours, shut the book, laid himself on his pillow, slept, and was refreshed, and cried, "To-morrow to fresh woods and pastures new." I had thought to have said something here respecting the concoction of "St.Leon" and "Fleetwood." But all that occurs to me on the subject seems to be anticipated in the following.