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thunder, (adversarios velut fulmine prostravisse contentus) yet

he conducted the dispute in such a manner, that his young and graceful antagonist, with the assistance of some powerful allies, so far triumphed over the thundering critic, that he exposed the Doctor's petulance to universal derision; and abundantly proved, that however profound he might be as a scholar, he was deplorably deficient in those accomplishments, which ought ever to accompany great learning-good-manners, good-language, and good-nature.

Not content with asserting, that the Epistles could not be written by Phalaris, Bentley considered them as the composition of some foolish sophist; an idea, which only shews, that he had not taste enough to relish that kind of merit, which the Epistles certainly possess, and which had so forcibly struck the accomplished Sir William Temple, that he was lavish in their praise; the merit I mear, is that of exhibiting many noble sentiments, embellished by brief, perspicuous, and energetic expression.

Here let us observe, to the honour of poetry, that the Epistles of Phalaris are partly indebted for their celebrity, to that benevolent satisfaction, which readers in general receive, in finding a great poet treated with peculiar regard, and distinction, by a person possessed of despotic authority. The Letters, in which Phalaris is supposed to represent himself as friendly, and liberal to the poet Stesichorus, and to his family, inspire an inclination to believe them genuine, because they soothe the mind with an idea, that great literary talents are able to soften, and correct the ferocity of a tyrant.

It is however most probable, they were not written by Phalaris: but of the greater part of them it may justly be said, they are evidently not the compositions of any foolish, and frivolous character.

If I may venture to indulge a hasty conjecture, where conjectures are so likely to mislead, I would say, it seems not improbable, the Epistles of Phalaris might be written by some young Roman, of a cultivated, and powerful mind, who like Atticus, Cicero, and Brutus, devoted some time at Athens, to acquire completely the talent of writing the Greek language, and who, in the course of such study, might compose, as literary exercises, the Letters in question.

Having started the supposition, I leave the learned, and ingenious reader, to amuse himself by examining, how far it will account (as I think it may) both for the merits, and the defects, that have given such a sort of motley reputation to these memorable Epistles. It is now a general persuasion, that they are not genuine, but many of the arguments that Bentley produced, to prove them not written by Phalaris, were arguments of an unfortunate cast, and turned against him by his adversaries, with admirable dexterity of derision. There is hardly any piece of controversial ridicule, more happy in its execution, than that part of Boyle's reply to Bentley, in which he shews, how a future critic might prove, in copying the Doctor's arguments against Phalaris, that Bentley's dissertation was not written by the Doctor.

In the moment of revising a proof-sheet of these remarks I learn, that Mr. Cumberland in the recent publication of his

own memoirs bestows upon me a vindictive reproof for my preceding expressions on his memorable grandfather, Dr. Bentley. Mr. Cumberland produces a double charge against me. He accuses me of having twice misemployed my pen, once by flippant censure on his critical ancestor, and once by unmerited praise in rhyme, addressed to himself, the modest and humble descendant of that imperious Patagonian polemic. A double charge of injuring the dead and of flattering the living has such a striking effect, when it proceeds from a gentleman of Mr. Cumberland's extensive and highly deserved celebrity, that it seems to require some immediate reply. I therefore stop the press, that I may seize this opportunity of giving a cursory answer to his cursory accusation.

And first for his famous progenitor. As his critical grandfather was the god of Mr. Cumberland's infantine idolatry, I can easily forgive what I cannot but consider as an injudicious display of zeal in resenting an occasional and not a malicious mention of those defects in the celebrated critic, which had been abundantly and sometimes very justly censured and derided by the most eminent scholars and wits of his own time. I spoke of Bentley what every man of letters has a right to speak, an unprejudiced opinion, the genuine impression, which a recent perusal of his very remarkable controversy with Boyle had left upon my mind. I believe Bentley to have been a man of many virtues and much learning, but occasionally subject to fits of dogmatical petulance, not perfectly consistent, in my opinion, with such habitual good manners, and such an indulgent, christian spirit of improved good-nature, as true and sound learning

ought to inspire. Yet in allowing that arrogant critic to be truly a great and memorable name, I might have hoped to avoid reprehension from the more than filial piety of his grandson. If I have spoken unjustly of an illustrious scholar, I ought indeed to be sorry; and I trust I shall be so, whenever I perceive my injustice. As yet in truth I have no such perception. But let the Doctor rest for the present! I shall have occasion to pay my respects to him again, if Heaven allows me life and leisure to write such a Preface as I wish to prefix to the Milton of Cowper.

I come now to the second transgression imputed to me, that of having praised the Doctor's more polished, yet diffident descendant above his desert. To this charge Mr. Cumberland can hardly wish me to plead guilty; and my reply to it must have more of truth than politeness, if I should inform my accuser, that, since that eulogy was written, I have myself found reason to entertain some painful doubts concerning its perfect propriety. But this is a point, which of all men living Mr. Cumberland is himself the most competent to decide, because I praised him for a benevolent simplicity of heart. This inestimable endowment he has frequently represented as his peculiar characteristic. Most assuredly I believed it to be so, when in my early days of authorship, I wrote the few hasty and private verses, which he has, with a singular mixture of compliment and reproach, thought proper to publish. The verses were literally what they are called in their title, an impromptu: written, if my memory does not deceive me, about twenty-five years ago, soon after the first publication of my Epistles to Romney. It is cer

tainly possible, as my personal intercourse with, Mr. Cumberland has been very trifling indeed, it is possible, that I may have greatly mistaken his real disposition, when I commended it so warmly. But as my hasty sketch of him in miniature bears a resemblance to the larger portrait, which he has painted of himself, I will yet hope that both may be just.

Mr. Cumberland intimates, that I may be angry with him for printing my verses without my consent. I believe he has trespassed against the common rules of literary politeness in doing so. But had he excited in me any serious anger either by this or by his unexpected reproof, my anger must have instantly subsided into sentiments of benevolent concern in perusing his pathetic narrative of the hardships and indignities which he has long had to endure. If, as candor ought to believe, he has employed the genuine colors of truth and fidelity in the very delicate task of delineating his own conduct and character, he ought to be universally regarded with compassionate respect, as the aged Belisarius of political negociators. I most sincerely hope his own striking picture of his sufferings may excite so strong and so generous a sensation in the public mind, that some patriotic mode may be speedily devised and pursued for bestowing honorable competence and comfort on this injured veteran.

In saying, that the epistles of Phalaris might be written by a Roman student at Athens, I do not mean to insinuate, that none of the later Grecian sophists had talents equal so such a production. In that tribe of literary characters, (often contemptuously described, and often meriting such contempt) there

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