ling, miry, and dull. All arts of civilizing others render thee rude and untractable; courts have taught thee ill-manners, and polite conversation has finished thee a pedant.'

The mock Homeric of the night expedition of Bentley and Wotton, to cut off some of the slumbering chiefs from the army of the ancients, is not less inimitable :

'As when two mongrel curs, whom native greediness and domestic wars provoke and join in partnership, though fearful, nightly to invade the folds of some rich grazier, they, with tails depressed and lolling tongues, creep soft and slow; meanwhile, the conscious moon, now in her zenith, on their guilty heads darts perpendicular rays, nor dare they bark, though much provoked by her refulgent visage, whether seen in puddle, by reflection, or in sphere direct; but one surveys the region round, while the other scouts the plain, if haply to discover, at distance from the flock, some carcase half-devoured, the refuse of gorged wolves or ominous ravens. So marched this lovely, loving pair of friends, nor with less fear and circumspection, when at distance they might perceive two shining suits of armour, hanging upon an oak, and the owners not far off, in a profound sleep. The two friends drew lots, and the pursuing of this adventure fell to Bentley; on he went, and in his van Confusion and Amaze, while Horror and Affright brought up the rear. As he came near, behold, two heroes of the ancients' army, Phalaris and Esop, lay fast asleep: Bentley would fain have dispatched them both, and, stealing close, aimed his flail at Phalaris's breast; but then, the Goddess Affright interposing, caught the modern in her icy arms, and dragged him from the danger she foresaw. Both the dormant heroes happened to turn at the same instant, though soundly sleeping, and busy in a dream, for Phalaris was just that minute dreaming how a most vile poetaster had lampooned him, and how he had got him roaring in his bull; and Æsop dreamed, that as he and the ancient chiefs were lying on the ground, a wild ass broke loose, ran about, trampling and kicking, and dunging in their faces. Bentley, leaving the two heroes asleep, seized on both their armours, and withdrew in quest of his darling Wotton.'

Boyle,

'Clad in a suit of armour, which had been given him by all the gods,' (in obvious allusion to the confederacy of the Christ Church wits,) 'transfixes both Bentley and Wotton with his irresistible lance. As when a skilful cook has trussed a brace of woodcocks, he, with iron skewer, pierces the tender sides of both, their legs and wings close pinioned to the ribs, so was this pair of friends transfixed, till down they fell, joined in their lives, joined in their deaths; so closely joined, that Charon would mistake them both for one, and waft them over Styx for half his fare.'

Of all his party, Boyle alone seems to have had some misgivings about the weakness of his cause. For this curious fact

we

we are indebted to the research of Dr. Monk. He transmitted to Atterbury some corrections and improvements for a new edition, which were considered a proof of distrust and ingratitude, and returned with a letter of indignant complaint, reproaching him for his thankless behaviour, and declining all further interference in the controversy.' On the other hand, Bentley alone stood unmoved, or, at least, was too proud to acknowledge the least apprehension. To one anxious friend he made the cool answer, which, we suspect, although it may seem little less than treason against the authority of reviewers, nevertheless to contain much truth: Indeed, I am in no pain about the matter; for it is a maxim with me that no man was ever written out of reputation but by himself.' At length his memorable answer appeared. The motto of Boyle's volume had been selected with great felicity

'Remember Milo's end,

Wedged in the timber which he strove to rend.'

That of Bentley's was equally clever and apposite—

'Mordear opprobriis falsis mutemve colores?

Falsus honor juvat, et Mendar Infamia, terret
Quem, nisi mendacem et mendosum ?'

On the work itself, we should do great injustice to Dr. Monk if we did not transcribe his masterly criticism:

The appearance of this work is to be considered an epoch, not only in the life of Bentley, but in the history of literature. The victory obtained over his opponents, although the most complete that can be imagined, constitutes but a small part of the merits of his performance. Such is the author's address, that, while every page is professedly controversial, there is embodied in the work a quantity of accurate information relative to history, chronology, antiquities, philology, and criticism, which it would be difficult to match in any other volume. The cavils of the Boyleans had fortunately touched upon so many topics, as to draw from their adversary a mass of learning, none of which is misplaced or superfluous; he contrives, with admirable judgment, to give the reader all the information which can be desired upon each question, while he never loses sight of his main object. Profound and various as are the sources of his learning, every thing is so well arranged, and placed in so clear a view, that the student, who is only in the elementary parts of classical literature, may peruse the book with profit and pleasure, while the most learned reader cannot fail to find his knowledge enlarged. Nor is this merely the language of those who are partial to the author; the eminently learned Dodwell, who had no peculiar motive to be pleased with a work in which he was himself a considerable sufferer, and who, as a nonjuror, was prejudiced against Bentley's party, is recorded to have avowed, that he had never learned so much from any book in his life. This learned

volume owes much of its attraction to the strain of humour, which makes the perusal highly entertaining. The advocates of Phalaris, having chosen to rely upon wit and raillery, were now made to feel, in their turn, the consequences of the warfare which they had adopted. In holding up his enemies to laughter, Bentley's address is no less conspicuous than his wit. He says, in the preface, "I have endeavoured to take Mr. Boyle's advice, and to avoid all ridicule where it was possible to avoid it; and if ever 'that odd work of his' has irresistibly moved me to a little jest and laughter, I am content that what is the greatest virtue of his book shall be counted the greatest fault of mine." He generally contrives to expose the poverty of the jest attempted by the Boyleans; and, having convicted them of some gross mistake in their eagerness to be witty, he effectually turns the laugh against themselves. And though he recurs perpetually to the same method, and that too with the keenest irony, yet the occasions are so well chosen, that we are neither sated nor offended by the repetition-so careful is he that the provocation shall have proceeded from his adversaries. Moreover, he contrives, by stopping short of the point to which strict justice would have allowed retaliation, to engage the reader's good will in his favour. In this part of his controversial tactics, as well as in the whole of his argument, he owes much of his success to his strong sense, and to that acute logic which we have more than once had occasion to notice. The talent exhibited in reducing to an absurdity all the erroneous positions of his adversaries is scarcely to be paralleled. Even Bishop Warburton, who was not well disposed to Bentley's reputation, admits that he beat the Oxford men at their own weapons. Such is the lively interest which his unabated strain of humour confers on the book, that a person who looks into any part of it, finds himself almost irresistibly carried forward. It has been a matter of my own observation for many years, that young men who have consulted the Dissertation with no other view than to obtain information respecting the history of tragedy, the Attic dialect, or some other subject connected with their studies, have unexpectedly felt such interest in the train of argument, as to read the whole work with appetite and delight. So well sustained is the learning, the wit, and the spirit of this production, that it is not possible to select particular parts as objects of admiration, without committing a sort of injustice to the rest: and the book itself will continue to be in the hands of all educated persons as long as literature maintains its station in society.'-p. 93.

So true is the former part of this last paragraph, that, being anxious to illustrate the merit of this singular work to the general reader (for, with due deference to Dr. Monk, we are inclined to think that many of the educated in the present day-we speak it not to their praise-are little acquainted with the controversy about Phalaris,) we have found it impossible, by any such selection, to convey any fair notion of its general character. For its excellence as a dissertation

a dissertation depends on its copiousness, and the manner in which it goes to the very depth of every debated point; as a controversial tract, not on the dexterity or strength of any single hit, but on the rapidity with which blow follows blow, the completeness of the refutation, the total rout of the adversary at all points. We have already ventured to describe Bentley as a controversial Entellus; and if its classical propriety will justify us in following up our pugilistic illustration, we cannot do better than describe, in the familiar lines of Virgil, the manner in which the fallen combatant rises to the new contest, not merely with his native strength put forth in tenfold energy, but suddenly, as it were, endowed with the agility of his adversary.

At non tardatus casu neque territus

Acrior ad pugnam redit, ac vim suscitat ira:
Tum pudor accendit vires et conscia virtus ;
Præcipitemque Daren ardens agit æquore toto;
Nunc dextrâ ingeminans ictus, nunc ille sinistrâ :
Nec mora, nec requies. Quam multa grandine nimbi
Culminibus crepitant; sic densis ictibus heros

Creber utraque manu pulsat versatque Dareta.'

However advantageous to the fame of Bentley, this unexpected and acknowledged triumph was not likely to operate very favourably upon his character, either in humbling his natural arrogance or softening the asperities of his temper. In the full pride of his victory, of which he knew the ground on which he fought too well to entertain a doubt, he received his appointment to the important situation of Master of Trinity College, Cambridge. At first sight, this nomination might appear singularly appropriate; that the greatest English scholar should be restored to his natural sphere, the University, and be placed at the head of its noblest foundation; that the man who had coped singly with the united strength of the most distinguished society in the rival University, would be possessed with the noble emulation of raising his college to the same superiority over its great competitor in wealth and reputation; such might be the reasonable views and expectations of the public on Bentley's promotion. But the perverse and intractable character of the man was yet imperfectly developed. He entered Trinity College, if a remarkable anecdote be true, in the spirit of an invader. The natural jealousy of a society, like that of Trinity, at the introduction of a stranger to rule over them, was heightened in this case by Bentley'sbeing a member of the only college in Cambridge which, in reputation and number, can fairly compete with it, St. John's. Bentley received the congratulation of his friends with no very reverend application of the words of the sacred writings, By the help

help of my God I have leaped over the wall.' His government aspired at once to an arbitrary despotism; L'état c'est moi, was an axiom not more implicitly believed, nor acted upon with greater steadiness by the extraordinary man who uttered it, than that Trinity College, or even the University, was himself, by Bentley; and in the deliberate conviction of his own immeasurable superiority to the rest of the learned world, there were few, perhaps, on whom Bentley looked down with more sovereign contempt than the fellows of Trinity College; apparently, it must be confessed, at that time by no means a very distinguished body. In such a temper of mind did Bentley enter upon this dignified situation, the most extensively useful to which a man of letters could aspire; a situation in which, although, especially at the commencement of his government, an active President may have to combat with much indolence and much prejudice in the controlling oligarchy of the senior fellows, yet he may be almost sure, if he act with discretion and conciliation, to establish almost a despotism of influence; where there is, as it were, a perpetual renewal of the youth of the society; and its ranks are constantly, though gradually, recruited with men better suited to the views of the Head and the ever-changing character of the times; and where among the students there are such perpetual opportunities of rendering service to the rising talent of the country, to the wealthy and high-born by prudent encouragement, to the more humble and dependent by more solid advantages. And thus the place for which Bentley was, in some respects, so admirably fitted, became the fatal cause of lowering him in the estimation of his own age, and even of posterity. He began unfortunately with a paltry money dispute with his predecessor which might give his enemies just cause for suspecting, that a new and as yet undeveloped vice, rapacity, was to be added to his well-known constitutional infirmities of arrogance and impetuosity. The extensive and costly repair of his lodge, however necessary, was the first cause of the still-widening breach between the master and the fellows. His plans of discipline, though salutary, were carried into effect in a rough and arbitrary manner, till he even took the unstatutable step of expelling a member of the body (not indeed without good grounds) on his own sole authority.

Yet if, like Wolsey, he was a man of an unbounded stomach,' and if his general conduct partook of the pride and rapacity, his plans for the advancement of learning and science, in his less extensive sphere, were not without the splendour and munificence of the celebrated Cardinal. Before his appointment to Trinity College, Bentley had rendered most valuable service to the University

press;