I am happy to tell you that your Review is abominably bad—happy for your sake, because, as you will, I dare say, sell 12,000, it only shows that you have an estate which produces wholly independent of its culture. All that ridiculous importance given to Dupin,* a wretched écrivas-seur, and that affectation of naval statistics, I think very unsuitable. Your ‘Alchemy’† is appropriate enough, great elaboration and pomp of work ending in smoke and dross. If Dalzell’s ‘Lectures’‡ are as obscure and as dull as your commentary, they were not worth reviewing, no more than the commentary is worth reading. There is a pretension of smartness about your pedant which reminds one of Vadices in the ‘Femmes Galantes.’ The article on Hazlitt§ is good, and that on the Scotch novels‖ excellent. All the rest is what the shipowners call dunnage. In short, my dear Murray, bless your stars you have now sounded the bass string of humility, and you may be assured that your next number will be better than the last, and so good-bye.
