A PREFACE, MADE BY THE SECRETARY. The following paper was read at a full meeting of the Junto, and listened to with considerable attention: not more than a dozen falling into a nodding doze during its reading. I was at a loss to account for this interest, not knowing whether to ascribe it to the style of the composition or to the manner of the reader, who frequently indicated his delight, though perhaps at the expense of his charity, by his insinuating emphasis of particular sentences. To be relieved of my perplexity, I addressed the inquiry to a gentleman seated near me, upon whose face I noticed a savage scowl, which had probably been occasioned by his having heard too accurate a description of his own character. Turning towards me, perhaps with the view of ascertaining whether there was not a double meaning in my query, he gruffly replied: “Neither style nor manner; but scandal, to be sure: the drowsiest cur will prick its ears at scandal--the sluggard, be he never so sluggish, never gapes when furnished with a dish well seasoned with its venom.” That he was correct in this, I shall not here venture to record an opinion; but certain it is, that at the conclusion he was the loudest in applause of Peter’s dream, and the first to declare that “it was not all a dream.” Notwithstanding this emphatic declaration, however, it was soon ascertained, upon questioning the gentleman who had introduced the paper, that it was, of a verity, what it purported to be. He had received the manuscript of a friend, who had heard every incident therein related from Peter Easy himself, and could not be mistaken. This seemed to satisfy the curiosity of each, and it was therefore generously decreed that the “Dream of a Loafer” should be allowed a place amongst the records of the Association. S----Y. THE DREAM OF A LOAFER. It has often been matter of surprise to me, that the important and truly philosophic individual upon whom the community has generously conferred the title of “loafer,” should frequently be so little appreciated as to receive no higher encomiums than such as he may be able to extract from a laugh or a sneer. His title is certainly one of dignity and distinction, and although many efforts have heretofore been made to change it, and substitute the more refined and aristocratic appellation of “gentleman of leisure,” he has ever, and very properly, in my opinion, indignantly resisted such invidious encroachments upon it. He has thoroughly examined its derivation, and fully investigated its import, with all of which he has no reason to find fault, and therefore remains perfectly content.