of bold results, rather than any success in their development, which
has fixed the public attention. Development, indeed, applied to
philosophic problems, or research applied to questions of erudition,
was hardly possible within so small a compass as one hundred and
seventeen pages, for _that_ is the extent of the work, except
as regards the notes, which amount to seventy-four pages more. Such
brevity, on such a subject, is unseasonable, and almost culpable.
On such a subject as the Philosophy of Protestantism--'_satius
erat silere, quam parcius, dicere_.' Better were absolute silence,
more respectful as regards the theme, less tantalizing as regards
the reader, than a style of discussion so fragmentary and so rapid.

But, before we go farther, what are we to call this bold man? One
must have some name for a man that one is reviewing; and, as he
comes abroad _incognito_, it is difficult to see what name
_could_ have any propriety. Let me consider: there are three
bishops in the field, Mr. H., and the Scotchman--that makes five.
But every one of these, you say, is represented equally by the
name in the title--_Phileleutheros Anglicanus_. True, but
_that's_ as long as a team of horses. If it had but _Esquire_
at the end, it would measure against a Latin Hendecasyllable verse.
I'm afraid that we must come at last to _Phil_. I've been
seeking to avoid it, for it's painful to say 'Jack' or 'Dick'
either _to_ or _of_ an ecclesiastical great gun. But if
such big wigs _will_ come abroad in disguise, and with names
as long as Fielding's Hononchrononthononthologus, they must submit
to be hustled by pickpockets and critics, and to have _their_
names docked as well as profane authors.

_Phil,_ then, be it--that's settled. Now, let us inquire what