the circulation of the Gospel in Spain. After the completion of
the work, I had not the slightest idea that it possessed any
peculiar merit, or was calculated to make the slightest impression
upon the reading world. Nevertheless, as every one who writes
feels a kind of affection, greater or less, for the productions of
his pen, I was averse, since the book was written, to suffer it to
perish of damp in a lumber closet, or by friction in my travelling
wallet. I committed it therefore to the press, with a friendly
'Farewell, little book; I have done for you all I can, and much
more than you deserve.'

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