Read it through once

“I heard very little literary news. Everybody is talking of ‘Marcian Colonna,’ Barry Cornwall’s new poem. Now ‘Barry Cornwall’ is an _alias_. The poet’s real name is Procter, a young attorney, who feared it might hurt his practice if he were known to follow this ‘idle trade.’ It has, however, become very generally known, and poor Mr. Procter is terribly embarrassed with his false name. He neither knows how to keep it on or throw it up. By whatever appellation he chooses to be called, he is a great poet. Poor John Keats is dying of the _Quarterly Review_. This is a sad, silly thing; but it is true. A young, delicate, imaginative boy—that withering article fell upon him like an east wind. Mr. Gifford’s behaviour is very bad. He sent word that if he wrote again his poem should be properly reviewed, which was admitting the falsity of his first critique, and yet says that he has been Keats’ best friend, because somebody sent him twenty-five pounds to console him for the injustice of the _Quarterly_.”