of warmer imaginations, and a brighter glow of genius with less solidity of understanding, and, of course, more liable to the influences of their pas

sions."

Of Bentley, the still more illustrious ancestor of Cumberland, it is sufficient to mention the name, for to no man, however moderate his pretensions to literature, can it be unknown. We all remember the vastness of his erudition, the coarseness of his arrogance, and the extent of his controversial ability. Every reader of Pope recollects the line in which his skill in verbal criticism is consigned to contempt, and the passage in the Dunciad, where he is ridiculed with more asperity than truth; and every reader must likewise remember the man whose sagacity as a critic, and whose orthodox ardour as a divine, entitle him to the best remembrance of his country. I do not mean to vindicate the polemical harshness of Bentley, nor his absurd and preposterous emendations of Milton; but I reverence the man who made the sublimest discoveries in science subservient to the eternal truths of religion, by applying the deductions of Newton to the establishment of the fundamental principles of our belief; and I admire that perspicacity of mind which has restored to their native purity some of the finest passages in the heathen writers. These claims to applause must be allowed by those who may be most disposed

to censure his fierceness, or to ridicule his mistakes.

Cumberland might justly be proud of his descent from such a man, and the literary world is indebted to him for some particulars respecting him, which, if true, and there seems no reason to question their veracity, shew his domestic character in a light considerably more amiable than that in which it has hitherto been contemplated. Though there is certainly no necessary connexion between the habits of a man's private life, and those which he may display on public occasions, yet we are so naturally disposed to associate in our ideas these characters, that I question whether it has ever been possible to entertain two completely distinct notions of an individual, even upon the closest inspection of his life, public and private. A political tyrant may be an innoxious companion; and a literary despot may possess the gentlest of social virtues, but who can completely separate the tyrant from the companion, or the despot from the friend? They will both be approached with cautious timidity, which no exercise of benevolence on their part can entirely dissipate, because there will still be the consciousness of what they are capable; as we might be tempted to fondle a tame tyger, yet fearful in our caresses, because knowing the hidden disposition of the capricious animal. Such, indeed, must always be

the unenviable fate of men who have made themselves terrible in the exercise of their faculties or of their power; mankind will receive and transmit the stronger features of their character, while the softer and more engaging ones, tinted by the reflection from the more powerful, will be forgotten, or only partially remembered and believed.

Cumberland has endeavoured, and successfully, to remove some of the prejudices which are still entertained by posterity as to the social qualities of Bentley. He considers him as a man much misrepresented, and strives to impress kinder notions of him upon the reader's mind, by the detail of some familiar anecdotes, which certainly justify the belief that he has been aspersed. Pope has represented him, in the following couplet, as obsequiously attended by Walker:

His hat, which never veil'd to human pride,
Walker, with rev'rence, took and laid aside.

And in a subsequent part, Bentley is made to exclaim,

"Walker, our hat."

Walker was vice-master of Trinity-college, and the intimate friend of Bentley. The hat, says Cumberland, was of formidable dimensions;" but he denies that it ever strayed from the peg of his arm chair, and intimates that if it had, it is likely he himself would have been dispatched for

it. This office, therefore, it may be presumed, the poet invented for the object of his satire; but it does not seem to be disputed that the vice master "took it with reverence," and we must therefore suppose that, instead of "laying it aside," he hung it on the accustomed peg. And thus this immay be considered as satisfactorily asportant fact certained by the joint sagacity of Mr. Cumberland and myself.

Before I commence the immediate object of this volume, I will endeavour to add something to its interest, by exhibiting to the reader some of those qualities of Bentley's character, which shew him to have been less rigid and repulsive in domestic life than is commonly supposed. Such facts are always gratifying, both as they relate to a justly distinguished man, and as they serve to rectify our ideas, by removing unpleasing errors, and substituting, in their stead, better notions of human nature, and feelings more agreeable to a good mind. They are extracted in the words of Cumberland himself:

"I had a sister somewhat elder than myself. Had there been any of that sternness in my grandfather, which is so falsely imputed to him, it may well be supposed we should have been awed into silence in his presence, to which we were admitted every day. Nothing can be further from the truth; he was the unwearied patron and promoter of all our childish sports and sallies; at all times

ready to detach himself from any topic of conversation to take an interest and bear his part in our amusements. The eager curiosity natural to our age, and the questions it gave birth to, so teazing to many parents, he, on the contrary, attended to and encouraged, as the claims of infant reason never to be evaded or abused; strongly recommending, that to all such enquiries answer should be given according to the strictest truth, and information dealt to us in the clearest terms, as a sacred duty never to be departed from. I have broken in upon him many a time in his hours of study, when he would put his book aside, ring his hand bell for his servant, and be led to his shelves to take down a picture-book for my amusement. I do not say that his good nature always gained its object, as the pictures which his books generally supplied me with were anatomical drawings of dissected bodies, very little calculated to communicate delight; but he had nothing better to produce; and surely such an effort on his part, however unsuccessful, was no feature of a cynic: a cynic should be made of sterner stuff. I have had from him, at times, whilst standing at his elbow, a complete and entertaining narrative of his school-boy days, with the characters of his dif ferent masters very humorously displayed, and the punishments described, which they at times would wrongfully inflict upon him for seeming to be idle and regardless of his task, When the dunces,'