Almost a month ago there went a copy of a Book called French Revolution, with your address on it, over to Red-Lion Square, and thence, as old Rich declared, himself now emeritus, back to one Kennet (I think) near Covent Garden; who professes to correspond with Hilliard and Company, Boston, and undertook the service.  The Book is not gone yet, I understand; but Kennet engages that it shall leave Liverpool infallibly on the 5th of June.  I wish you a happy reading of it, therefore:  it is the only copy of my sending that has crossed the water.  Ill printed (there are many errors, one or two gross ones), ill written, ill thought!  But in fine it is off my hands:  that is a fact worth all others.  As to its reception here or elsewhere, I anticipate nothing or little.  Gabble, gabble, the astonishment of the dull public brain is likely to be considerable, and its ejaculations unedifying.  We will let it go its way.  Beat this thing, I say always, under thy dull hoofs, O dull Public! trample it and tumble it into all sinks and kennels; if thou canst kill it, kill it in God’s name:  if thou canst not kill it, why then thou wilt not.

By the by, speaking of dull Publics, I ought to say that I have seen a review of myself in the Christian Examiner (I think that is it) of Boston; the author of which, if you know him, I desire you to thank on my part.  For if a dull million is good, then withal a seeing unit or two is also good.  This man images back a beautiful idealized Clothes-Philosopher, very satisfactory to look upon; in whose beatified features I did verily detect more similitude to what I myself meant to be, than in any or all the other criticisms I have yet seen written of me.  That a man see himself reflected from the soul of his brother-man in this brotherly improved way:  there surely is one of the most legitimate joys of existence.  Friend Ripley took the trouble to send me this Review, in which I detected an Article of his own; there came also some Discourses of his much to be approved of; a Newspaper passage-of-fence with a Philistine of yours; and a set of Essays on Progress-of-the-species and such like by a man whom I grieved to see confusing himself with that.  Progress of the species is a thing I can get no good of at all.  These Books, which Miss Martineau has borrowed from me, did not arrive till three weeks ago or less.  I pray you to thank Ripley for them very kindly; which at present I still have not time to do.  He seems to me a good man, with good aims; with considerable natural health of mind, wherein all goodness is likely to grow better, all clearness to grow clearer.  Miss Martineau laments that he does not fling himself, or not with the due impetuosity, into the Black Controversy; a thing lamentable in the extreme, when one considers what a world this is, and how perfect it would be could Mungo once get his stupid case rectified, and eat his squash as a stupid Apprentice instead of stupid Slave!