Time and advertisement had been working for him.

Academic lectures and imitative poetry alike had made him widely known; and, thanks to the small body of enthusiastic admirers whom I have already spoken of, his reputation instead of waning out had grown like the Jinn when released from the bottle.
The fuglemen were determined to find something wonderful in everything he did, and the title of "The Harlot's House," shocking Philistinism, gave them a certain opportunity which they used to the uttermost.

On all sides one was asked: "Have you seen Oscar's latest ?" And then the last verse would be quoted:--"Divine, don't ye think ?" "And down the long and silent street, The dawn, with silver-sandalled feet, Crept like a frightened girl." In spite of all this extravagant eulogy Oscar Wilde's early plays and poems, like his lectures, were unimportant.

The small remnant of people in England who really love the things of the spirit were disappointed in them, failed to find in them the genius so loudly and so arrogantly vaunted.
But, if Oscar Wilde's early writings were failures, his talk was more successful than ever.

He still tried to show off on all occasions and sometimes fell flat in consequence; but his failures in this field were few and merely comparative; constant practice was ripening his extraordinary natural gift.