s: a Greek one from Julian, a Latin
one from Quintilian, a dramatic one from Shakspeare, a metrical one from
Young, a ponderous philosophical one from Dr. Johnson, and a commonplace
one from Bryant. In consideration of the number and learnedness of these
certificates of character, we approach the lucubrations of the Reverend
Mr. Dexter with profound respect.

In the days when controversial literature was fashionable in England,
and the strife between Protestantism and Catholicism possessed some
interest for the public, we remember with considerable amusement the
manner in which the champions on either side conducted the attack. The
Romish warrior would this month issue a formidable volume entitled "A
Conversation between a Roman Catholic English Nobleman and an Irish
Protestant." In this work the Roman Catholic lord had it all his own
way; the Irish Protestant was accommodatingly weak in all his arguments,
and the noble Papist battered him famously. But the Episcopal side
was on hand next month with a volume entitled "A Dialogue between a
Protestant Peer and an Irish Papist." Here the whole thing was reversed.
The noble was still victorious, but he had changed his religion; and
this time the Roman Catholic was feeble, and the Protestant stalwart. It
is worthy of remark, however, that in both cases the nobleman was on the
right side.

The Reverend Mr. Dexter thoroughly comprehends this ingenious method of
attack. Does he, for instance, desire to impress upon the mind of his
reader that it is in the highest degree criminal to wear kid gloves in
the street, he, by a happy accident, encounters on his way to the
office two persons conversing upon that important topic. He innocently
eavesdrops. The individual who advocates the wearing of gloves is (of
course) frivolous, fashionable, and feeble. His companion, who despises
such vanities, is poor, though honest,--brawny and impregnable. It is
wonderful how stupidly the kid-glove advocate reasons. The honest son
of toil overwhelms him in a few moments. When a man talks so splendidly
about the hard palm of labor being more useful to the world than the
silken fingers of the aristocrat, who would have the courage to reply?
The feeble aristocrat is (very properly) discomfited, and the curtain
falls amid applause from the gallery.

The reverend gentleman seems to combine with his talent for
eavesdropping a most remarkable good-fortune in the contrasts afforded
by the various inter