A LETTER To the RIGHT REVEREND The Lord Biſhop of O----d.

A LETTER, ſubſcribed by a late Profeſſor in the Univerſity of Oxford, and addreſſed to a learned Prelate now living, fell into my hands no earlier than a few days ago. A very unexpected cha⯑racter, which is therein given of the li⯑terary taſte and genius of the late Dr. Bentley, has ſtrongly tempted me to ad⯑dreſs a few obſervations to the Writer of that Letter; and as I ſhall hope to do this [6] with all becoming civility and decorum I preſume the Lord Biſhop of O----- will make no ſcruple to avow any opi⯑nions, which a late Profeſſor in that Uni⯑verſity thought fit to advance.

In the correſpondence I have now commenced with your Lordſhip, it is far from my meaning to attempt at mea⯑ſuring weapons with you in the ſcience of letters; I have much too humble a ſenſe of my own powers, and too high a reſpect for your Lordſhip's, to entertain ſuch a deſign. It is an appeal to your candour as a gentleman, not an attack upon your capacity as a ſcholar, that I meditate. I am willing you ſhould enjoy, whole and unenvied, all the ſame you can fairly and honeſtly acquire; but I would wiſh your Lordſhip to believe that no credit is to be gained, either with the preſent age or poſterity, by attempt⯑ing [7] to demoliſh the reputation of an⯑other.

Add to this, that ſuch conduct is, in your particular, groſsly impolitic. You at preſent enjoy a temporary repoſe; hoſti⯑lities ſeem for a while ſuſpended between your Right Reverend Correſpondent and you; cultivate the time; examine and improve your reſources; conciliate to yourſelf new allies, rivet and confirm your old ones; and imitate thoſe few wiſe and provident princes, who, know⯑ing the ſhort duration of all public fe⯑licity, employ the intervals of peace in preparations for a future war.

You will probably find employment enough for all your talents, when the great champion, whom you have ſo in⯑ſultingly provoked, ſhall enter the liſts againſt you; the time will certainly come; [8] and amongſt the virtues, which you will have occaſion to exerciſe in that day of trial, 'tis well, my Lord, if repentance be not found to have a place.

The zealous affection, which you, my Lord, ſo well know how to expreſs for your friends, muſt excuſe the warmth with which I intereſt myſelf in the de⯑fence of mine. If honour calls upon us to reſent an aſperſion upon an abſent friend, yet living; ſomething more than honour, piety engages us to vindicate the dead. Did your Lordſhip, when you ſtruck with ſuch rancour at Dr. Bentley, flatter yourſelf that he had out⯑lived all thoſe private and tender alliances, which bind and connect mankind to⯑gether, and that his fame lay at the mercy of every free booter? Far from it; the learned and the candid of all na⯑tions are the friends of his fame; and no [9] inconſiderable number ſtill ſurvive, whom his private worth and virtues have left under laſting impreſſions of affection. The former order of men will probably think you have diſcovered no great tokens of diſcernment in this invective; or, fa⯑vouring your judgment, will think your temper not altogether free from ſome ſmall portion of envy and aſperity. As for the latter claſs of people, perſonalities, my Lord, inflame mankind to that de⯑gree, that 'tis well if they leave you even the ſmall ſhred of reputation, which you have allowed to Dr. Bentley.

Recollect, my Lord, the warmth, the piety, with which you remonſtrated a⯑gainſt Biſhop W----'s treatment of your father in a paſſage of his Julian: ^* ‘"It is not in behalf of myſelf that I expoſtulate; but of one, for whom I am much more concerned, that is — my Father."’ [10] Theſe are your Lordſhip's words; amiable, affecting expreſſion! inſtructive leſſon of filial devotion! Alas, my Lord, that you, who was thus ſenſible to the leaſt ſpeck, which fell upon the reputation of your father, ſhould be ſo inveterate againſt the fame of one, at leaſt as eminent, and perhaps no leſs dear to his family.

For my own part, much as I reverence great and learned men, in my poor eſti⯑mation, one generous ſentiment, one be⯑nevolent emanation of the heart, is of more value and reſpect than all the un⯑impaſſioned productions of the under⯑ſtanding; I therefore cannot help hold⯑ing your Correſpondent in higher eſteem for the generous and candid manner in which he atones for this offence, than for all the vaſt fund of erudition, which he has diſplayed in the eyes of the world, to the ſingular annoyance (as it ſhould ſeem) of your Lordſhip, but to the ge⯑neral [11] uſe and information of all man⯑kind beſides.

He tells you, that he knew not that the ^* Mr. L. whom he had treated with diſreſpect in one of his notes, was your father; that this circumſtance amply juſtified you for every thing he com⯑plained of relative to your unkind uſage of him in your prelections; in ſhort, that he owed ſo much to your piety, which he conſidered as really edifying, that he would ſtrike out that note a⯑gainſt your father the firſt opportunity. Indeed, the whole turn of the letter, from which theſe expreſſions are ſelected, carries ſuch an air of candour and polite acknowledgment, that I am ſurpriſed your Lordſhip, with this tranſaction freſh in your memory, ſhould not have con⯑ſidered, when you was thus unhand⯑ſomely [12] treating Dr. Bentley's character, that it was poſſible ſome one might be found, under the ſame predicament, or with the ſame feelings towards him, that you had experienced towards Mr. L. There is a rule, my Lord, in the Chriſtian doctrine, which I dare ſay you have frequently recommended to other people, that on this occaſion would have been peculiarly uſeful to yourſelf. All that can now be done is, that, as you have thought fit to copy your learned Correſpondent in the leaſt amiable part of his character, you ſhould ſtrive to re⯑ſemble him in his more ſhining fea⯑tures; and learn of him, that even faults may be made graceful by an in⯑genuous manner of atoning for them. As there are ſome diſtempers, which, by being ſkilfully cured, leave the con⯑ſtitution more vigorous and healthy, than if it had never been attacked by them; [13] ſo there ſeem to be certain flaws in the moral conduct of ſome men, which, being well and effectually repaired, ſet off the character with greater luſtre and advantage than it could have appeared with, had ſuch imperfections never been diſcovered. Was I worthy to preſcribe to your Lordſhip, the taſk would be no very hard one that I ſhould ſet you; it would be only to give your real ſen⯑timents of Dr. Bentley's merit; and I am perſuaded they would turn out the moſt complete recantation of what you have now been pleaſed to amuſe us with, that could be wiſhed for.

I have entered thus circumſtantially into this matter, not with a deſign to aggravate your Lordſhip's offence, but to extenuate my own. Cenſure which falls from you, my Lord, falls from a great height; eſpecially when the de⯑fenceleſs [14] object, upon whom it is di⯑rected, is unhappily laid ſo low.

You will now permit me to tranſcribe the ſentence of which I complain. I find it in your 80th page; I mention the page, becauſe for the alluſion it bears to any part of your ſubject, it might as well be ſought for in any other leaf of the book. The paragraph is addreſſed to Biſhop W-----, and runs thus;—‘"And here more opportunely for the illuſtration of what I am ſaying, than for your own purpoſe, you introduce the incomparable Bentley, as ſtanding in the foremoſt rank of modern critics; of grammatical and verbal critics I agree with you; he could judge with great penetration of the age of an author by the dialect, the phraſe, and the matter; by The⯑riclean cups and Sicilian talents; this [15] was his proper ſphere of ſcience, and in this he excelled: but in matters of pure taſte, a fine diſcernment of the different characters of compoſi⯑tion, colours of ſtyle, and manners of thinking; of interior beauties and excellencies of writing, in regard to all this, what was he? Unus capri⯑mulgus, aut foſſor. What then has he to do here?"’ —Ay, what in⯑deed? Your Lordſhip has aſked a que⯑ſtion, which I really cannot eaſily re⯑ſolve; and, but that you have prevented me in it, the very queſtion I ſhould have taken the liberty of putting to your Lordſhip.

For what anſwer can we give? Is it to be thought that you conceive this ſovereign contempt of Dr. Bentley's taſte and genius from an acquaintance with his works? with his ^* original works [16] I mean; for, although a great and ele⯑gant genius will break forth, even when employed in the under work of cri⯑ticiſm and expoſition, (as witneſs your Lordſhip's learned labours on the He⯑brew poeſy), yet undoubtedly it is in compoſitions of an original ſort, where the proper eſtimate of the genius of an author is to be formed. Let me then with all due reſpect demand of your Lordſhip, from which of the original productions of Dr. Bentley's pen is it that you have collected theſe very un⯑favourable ſentiments concerning him? In which of his labours have you tra⯑ced the brutal ignorance of a goatherd, the clowniſh ſtupidity of a hedger and ditcher? Indeed, my good Lord, theſe are hard words; worſe by one half than you beſtowed upon the prophet Ezra, who eſcaped your ſatire with the appel⯑lation only of a ſemi-barbarian. Could you have given worſe language to a [17] country curate at a viſitation? Is your Lordſhip ſure that theſe expreſſions are perfectly elegant and perfectly true? are they fit for one ſcholar, one gentle⯑man, one Chriſtian divine to beſtow upon another? do they give us any impreſſion of your Lordſhip's manners, of your wit, or of your judgment? The virtues of your heart, my Lord, and the purity of your morals, will ſupport your character with the preſent age; but it muſt be the productions of your un⯑derſtanding, that are to eſtabliſh your reputation with poſterity: How therefore could you think of tranſmitting to after-ages an opinion, which mankind will be ſure to charge to the error either of your head, or of your heart? What provo⯑cation can you have received from Dr. Bentley's genius, that you ſhould liken it to that of boors and peaſants? I don't know, my Lord, what kind of licence you men of learning take in ſpeaking [18] of each other; but we, who act in com⯑mon life, and have common underſtand⯑ings, ſtare at ſuch familiarities; a cer⯑tain cautious principle (which your Lord⯑ſhip ſeems to hold in diſregard) called prudence; and a ſmall degree of worldly virtue (in which your Lordſhip, 'tis plain, on ſome occaſions, does not abound) called good-manners, teach us to ſmother and repreſs theſe ſallies of ſpleen and ill-nature; if not from natural principle, yet from the dread of that humiliating correction, which expreſſions of ſo of⯑fenſive a nature would be apt to incur. Theſe, my Lord, are amongſt the checks and reſtraints that civilize ſociety. I don't mean to apply them to the caſe in queſtion; I believe, and, by your Lord⯑ſhip's example, am convinced, that other rules and principles obtain in the re⯑public of letters; every thing there breathes an unreſtrained freedom of man⯑ners; affronts are mutually interchanged, [19] and challenges are publicly given and accepted by the graveſt and moſt reſpect⯑able characters: nothing, however, ſhall perſuade me that this is not ridiculous and unbecoming. I cannot ſee Profeſſors, dignified Divines and Biſhops tilting at each other, without a bluſh: 'tis this unpardonable petulancy that makes the company of men of learning ſo little ſought after; it reduces literary ſcience to the rank of a mechanical art; when the ſcholar is found to give way to as many little mean detracting inſinuations in his profeſſion, as a Fidler, or a Taylor does in his. For my own part, ſuch is my prejudice againſt envy and ill-nature, and ſo great is the reſpect that I bear to candour and complaiſance, that, altho' I have your Lordſhip's example before my eyes, ſtill I cannot be perſuaded that invidious aſperſions, leſſening com⯑pariſons, and calumnious railings, are any proofs of liberal education, or of an [20] elegant improved underſtanding; and this I can tell your Lordſhip, that if you had not expreſsly, ay, and in ca⯑pital letters, aſſerted^*, THE UNI⯑VERSITY OF OXFORD to have been the place of your education; the ſeat where you firſt ſacrificed to the muſes and to the graces; it might really, to future ages, have been juſt matter of doubt, in what one ſpot of this globe your Lordſhip had imbibed thoſe elegant and friendly manners, which run through the whole of your diſputations with Biſhop W . . ., and are particularly mark⯑ed out in the character you have given of Dr. Bentley; a character in which you have apparently a double intent; not only to undeceive the world with reſpect to any falſe opinions we might have taken up concerning his underſtanding, but to give us at the ſame time a juſt impreſſion of your own; for where would be the [21] uſe of expoſing Dr. Bentley's egregious deficiency in all the polite accompliſh⯑ments of a ſcholar; if you did not thereby tacitly inform mankind that Dr. L . . th was eminently endowed with them all? This, my Lord, of all the roads, which lead to fame, is the ſhorteſt and eaſieſt aſcent; 'tis following the camp without mixing in the fray.

That men, born in the ſame country, cultivators of the ſame ſcience, profeſ⯑ſing the ſame religion, fellow-labourers in the ſame miniſtry, ſhould invidiouſly defame and diſparage each other in the eyes of mankind, is a myſtery to men of ordinary capacities. If a Caprimulgus, my Lord, a low and paltry Herdſman, ſhould ſet about to under-rate the talents of a rival in that ruſtic occupation; if a Foſſor, a vulgar untaught Hedger and Ditcher, ſhould attempt to diſparage the handy-work of a fellow-labourer, ſuch [22] low-bred dealings in clowns might find ſome excuſe; but when we ſee the ſame mean paſſions carried into upper life, and exhibited by a man of your Lordſhip's talents and erudition, we bluſh for you, for your profeſſion, for your title; we feel an ingenuous ſhame for the diſreputation, which is brought upon learning, nay, even upon our country; and we ſigh when we can no longer eſteem a character like your Lordſhip's;—for ſurely, my Lord, you forget how much you expoſe your own fame, when you endeavour to blind and to blacken that of Dr. Bentley's.

The treatment the world has thought proper to beſtow upon critics in general, ſuits its gratitude: it is owing to the labours of the eminent in that department, that almoſt any of the now elegant remains of Greek and Roman literature are at this day intelligible; the moment they were ſo, the weapons they were ſo kind to [23] poliſh for our uſe, have been employed againſt themſelves: a run therefore upon criticiſm in general is become too trite to be any longer a ſubject of complaint; but the pulling down the fame of the dead, though reared by the approbation of the learned of all Europe, muſt be ungener⯑ous, however ſevere a provocation may be ſuppoſed to be concealed in a man's having been called incomparable by the Biſhop of G . . . . The lot of Dr. B. has been particular; as his character is at preſent arraigned by your Lordſhip, his condition has in like manner been de⯑baſed in the Biographia Britannica, from that of a gentleman to a mean tradeſ⯑man: this miſrepreſentation may per⯑haps have had a ſhare in inducing your Lordſhip to beſtow upon him the deli⯑cate epithets, which you was ſure from Catullus were good Latin, and from the authority of an uninformed modern hi⯑ſtorian, [24] you imagined were juſtly appli⯑cable to his ſuppoſed birth.

But I juſt now deſired your Lordſhip to reſolve me in which of Dr. Bentley's original works it was, that you had diſ⯑covered ſuch convincing marks of the meanneſs and contemptible ruſticity of his genius: was it in his declamations from the pulpit that he betrayed this utter ignorance of the beauties and excel⯑lencies of writing? Did ever Herdſman from his obſervations on nature, and the fabric and conſtruction of man, argue up to the divine author and creator of all things with ſuch ſtrength of reaſoning, ſuch convictive eloquence, as are to be found in his Lectures? Did ever Hedger and Ditcher give ſuch edifying, ſuch ſa⯑tisfactory Reaſons for the Hope and the Faith that was in him, as are given in his famous Commencement Sermon? Many clowns, my Lord, it muſt be confeſs'd, [25] have preached before kings, and ſtill con⯑tinue to preach; but does Dr. Bentley's ſermon before the king impeach him of inurbanity? ſurely not; and it will be hard to think with your Lordſhip, that the ſame perſon, who was capable of compoſing in ſo good a ſtyle himſelf, ſhould be incapable of forming any judg⯑ment with reſpect to that of another man's. I flatter myſelf therefore I may conclude, that it is not in the pulpit your Lordſhip will arraign Dr. Bentley; it is not for his labours in the cauſe of religion, the inſtruction of mankind, and the confutation of atheiſm, that your Lordſhip (ſo conſpicuous for merits of the ſame nature) means to degrade and diſgrace his memory. I may ſay for him what Biſhop W . . . . pleaded for him⯑ſelf—^* ‘"that his ſervices to religion and ſociety ſeem to entitle him to common reſpect ---- from every man of let⯑ters, [26] engaged in the ſame cauſe, where no perſonal animoſities have intervened."’ And as your Lordſhip, in deſcribing your own character, has profeſſed yourſelf to be, ‘"^*as a member of the common⯑wealth of letters, a true lover of peace and quietneſs, of mutual freedom, candour, and benevolence; and that you deteſt and deſpiſe the ſquabbles that are perpetually ariſing from the jealouſy and peeviſhneſs of the genus irritabile ſcriptorum;"’ I will venture to conclude that you have not taken up this contemptuous opinion of his underſtanding and abilities, from the ſervices he has done to religion, and the inſtructions he has bequeathed to man⯑kind.

But, my Lord, this is not all; I have ſome little matter more to offer in de⯑fence of his mangled reputation; ſome [27] few remarks more to make upon his ſervices in the cauſe of God and of re⯑ligion; I hope theſe will not be taken for tokens of his want of underſtanding. The confutation of atheiſm ſeems an eaſy and obvious taſk, a work for real herdſmen and hedgers; every object proves the exiſtence of the Deity, and every rational being comprehends that proof; but Bentley, like a hardy obſtinate clown as he was, undertook a bolder taſk; this ignorant, unpoliſhed peaſant undertook, my Lord, to confute and expoſe the fine gentlemen of his age, the wits and rea⯑ſoners of the time, the ſet of Free-thinkers that unhinged the age in which he lived, and threw the whole bench of biſhops (your Lordſhip was not then amongſt the number) into conſternation and diſmay. In this dilemma, my Lord, when the whole army of Proteſtant Di⯑vines, mitred and unmitred, like that of Saul upon the challenge of Goliath, [28] trembled behind their trenches, this deſ⯑picable herdſman, this booby boor, taken like David from the ſheep-folds, entered the liſts, and ſingly overthrew the mighty champion of infidelity. The triumphs of Chriſtianity upon this victory were only to be equalled by the applauſes, which every true believer beſtowed upon their defender: The whole bench of biſhops honoured Dr. Bentley with their thanks: Behold the revolution of a few years! Bentley dies; your Lordſhip ſucceeds to a ſeat on that bench; you diſſent from your predeceſſors, and tear their trophies from his ſhrine.

Let me ſtop here for a moment; I would fain preſerve all poſſible reſpect for your Lordſhip, and muſt not there⯑fore purſue my thoughts where they would lead me on this ſubject. But really if men of your order, who are enliſted and banded together againſt the [29] legions, that make war upon Chriſtia⯑nity, cannot with-hold your fingers from each others throats, how can the ge⯑neral cauſe of religion proſper? How muſt the ſpirits of the modern Free-thinkers revive, when your Lordſhip tells them and the world, that he, who had cut their follies to the heart by the keen edge of his moſt piercing ridicule, was a man void of all pure taſte and ge⯑nius; incapable of any fine diſcernment; blind to all the beauties and excellencies of writing; a mere grammatical and ver⯑bal critic; in ſhort, unus caprimulgus, aut foſſor? This, my Lord, is pity to the fallen indeed; it is binding up their wounds yet bleeding with his ſtrokes; it is recalling them to life and vigour, putting arms into their hands, and point⯑ing out the victim againſt whom they ſhould employ them: methinks it puts me in mind of the call of Lucifer to [30] his troops of rebel-angels, when they lay proſtrate and confounded in the burning gulph: no doubt they will, like them, obey the ſummons, and ariſe.

The policy therefore of this conduct of your Lordſhip's I cannot compre⯑hend; the generoſity, the urbanity of it I have already conſidered; ſuffer me now to carry my enquiries into the truth of it.

What, my Lord! will you allow the author of The Remarks no place but amongſt grammatical and verbal critics? will you expel him from the ſociety of liberal and well-accompliſhed ſcholars? was he fit for no higher uſes, than like a juggler to play with Thericlean cups and Sicilian talents? was this his proper ſphere of ſcience; and did he really excel in nothing higher? are there no ſparks [31] of genuine Attic wit, no ſallies of na⯑tive humour, no poliſhed ſtrokes of temperate and cleanly ridicule, (not ſuch I mean as your Lordſhip's pleaſantries upon the ſin of Sodom), to be found in that work? are there really no dawn⯑ings of a pure taſte, no ſhadowings of a diſcerning faculty to be found? your Lordſhip ſays no—He poſſeſſed them not—He was a clown, a clumſy block⯑head—What an error have the learned of all the nations in Europe been in!

Surely, my Lord, without diſparaging your Lordſhip's learned labours, theſe were works as profitable to mankind, and as ſerviceable to religion, as determining the aera in which the poem of Job (call it drama or dialogue) was compoſed; your Lordſhip ſees I give you credit for having actually decided that important queſtion; and am willing to allow you [32] the reputation of having, from ‘"a fine diſcernment of the different characters of compoſition, colours of ſtyle, and manners of thinking,"’ made ſuch nice diſcoveries in a language, of which there is now ex⯑tant but one volume, as not only to have been able to fix the date of this poem, (the ^* Homer of the Hebrew claſſics), but to have pointed out to poſterity the Au⯑guſtan aera of Hebrew poeſy, though you readily allow there was ^† very little va⯑riation in the language from the time of Moſes to the Babyloniſh captivity.

But to convince your Lordſhip with what reluctance I yield to any impreſſions in disfavour of that candour and benevo⯑lence, which you aſſure us are to be found in ſuch plentiful portions in your compoſition, I will confeſs that I am far from thinking we have as yet diſcovered the cauſe that ruined Dr. Bentley in [33] your good opinion: the laurels he won by his triumphs over atheiſm and infi⯑delity, I am perſuaded, would neither have attracted your envy, nor incurred your ill-will. I dare believe your Lord⯑ſhip is far too conſiderate in your reſent⯑ments to abuſe any man, when there is no proſpect of ſerving yourſelf by it, or gratifying your friends; but in the law⯑ful proſecution of one's fortune, when by making one enemy we can gain two patrons, your Lordſhip underſtands the value of the world's favour too well, and the road that leads to it, to heſitate a moment; and if Dr. Bentley's fame has been one round in the ladder, by which your Lordſhip has climbed to the ſum⯑mit of preferment,

[34]There is no harm done, my Lord, the ladder is not one whit the worſe for your uſe; 'tis only bruſhing the ſtep clean again, which your foot has ſoiled a little, and it will be as whole and as ſound as when you firſt mounted upon it.

I think therefore we may venture to draw this concluſion, that, had this ob⯑ject of your contempt been bleſſed with ſuch faculties, as to have reaſoned all Atheiſm and Deiſm effectually out of faſhion, and put to perpetual ſilence every profeſſor of infidelity; had he taken the whole walk of criticiſm to himſelf, and filled our ſhelves with notes, comments, and corrections upon every antient claſ⯑ſic that has come down to us; he might have done it with impunity, per⯑haps with applauſe, had he but ſpared a certain club of wits, who ſucked the milk of ſcience from the ſame breaſts, [35] at which it ſeems your Lordſhip fed. With theſe confederates, your Lordſhip well knows, he ſingly maintained a no⯑table controverſy, with every advantage on his ſide, that ſuperior talents for wit, learning and argumentation could give him. If your Lordſhip doubts which party triumphed in this diſpute, you are the only man of erudition in all Europe that does; but this I dare ſay is by no means the caſe. You could have pitied him, but you cannot find in your heart to applaud him: facts preſs ſo hard upon you, that you have no argument, but the laſt refuge of a flat denial; and the ſu⯑periority of his genius is ſo very conſpi⯑cuous, that nothing now can be done, but by a reſolute and deſperate manoeuvre to aſſail him in that quarter, where he is conceived to be leaſt vulnerable, and con⯑ſequently leaſt expecting an attack. In ſome circumſtances every thing is to be [36] riſked; deny him therefore every faculty for which he was moſt eminent; and though the very ſame buſineſs, which gives your Lordſhip the inclination to abuſe him, furniſhes the ampleſt refu⯑tation of that abuſe, be animated by the hazard of the attempt, and make, if poſſible, the cradle of his reputation, the tomb of it. The difficulty of finding an anſwer to your Lordſhip's queſtion at the concluſion of your character of Dr. Bent⯑ley, now entirely vaniſhes; and when, af⯑ter having beſtowed every term that your fertile imagination, aſſiſted beſides by that of Catullus, could furniſh, moſt contemp⯑tuous, you aſk— ‘"What then has he to do here?"’ we are no longer without a ſolution; and having now diſcovered the clue to your thoughts, and being fully ſatisfied that your Lordſhip never dig⯑nifies an author with your abuſe, whom you are not ſecretly convinced is eminent [37] for thoſe very qualifications, that you publicly declare him to be deficient in, we thankfully accept your reprehenſions, as a teſtimony of your private applauſe, which though it is not indeed ſignified in ſo gracious a manner as it might be, yet we hold it of much value, from the certainty with which it directs us to the real ſentiments of your heart.

Having thus happily diſcovered the method of decyphering your Lordſhip's invectives, I am not without ſuſpicion, that the ſame key muſt be applied for con⯑ſtruing your applauſes. What ſtrengthens this conjecture is, that thoſe talents, which you are pleaſed to take from Dr. Bentley, you liberally beſtow upon ^* Mr. Hobbes.

According to this rule of inverſion, how ſhall we, my Lord, interpret the [38] many fine things you tell us of your⯑ſelf? ſuch as that ‘"you are a true lover peace and quietneſs, of mutual free⯑dom, candour, and benevolence; that you deteſt the jealous and peeviſh ſquabbles of authors."’ Theſe are vir⯑tues, which upon your Lordſhip's report we gave you credit for; it would be with extreme reluctance we ſhould find ourſelves obliged to carry them to the other ſide of the account.

But theſe are groundleſs apprehen⯑ſions. You have favoured the world with a faithful portrait of yourſelf, however you have dawbed and diſguiſed thoſe of other people: I have at this time your letter to the Demonſtrator of the Divine Legation of Moſes before me; and I hold it for impoſſible, that the author of any work, ſo full of pleaſant and innocent raillery, ſo replete with playful and face⯑tious [39] conceits, can be capable of wrath, rancour, and malevolence. Can any thing be more lively than the ſtrain in which you accoſt your Right Reverend correſpon⯑dent in the ſecond page of your epiſtle?—‘"I thought," ſays your Lordſhip, "you might poſſibly whip me at the cart's a—" (I beg pardon, I ſhould have ſaid) "carts tail, in a note to Di⯑vine Legation."’ —Inimitable humour! courtly, elegant, epiſcopal wit! ſo ſevere upon Biſhop W---; ſo very juſt and ſuitable to yourſelf! never did I know a whipping better laid on or more properly applied. But behold another attitude!—‘"Or pillory me in the Dunciad."’—Surely there is ſomething raviſhingly de⯑lectable, when a grave, wiſe and dignified, prieſt, or prelate, like your Lordſhip, ſurpriſes one all at once with a ſtroke of this nature; there is no withſtanding it.—But your vein is not yet exhauſted, [40] and you proceed—‘"or, perhaps, have ordered me a kind of Bridewell correction by one of your Beadles in a pamphlet."’ Well, I proteſt, my Lord, this climax of yours exceeds in profundity of falſe humour, every thing that Swift has given us in his Art of Sinking. We laugh in⯑deed; but it is not a Biſhop W—: you aſk us to an entertainment provided in his name, while your Lordſhip oblig⯑ingly pays the whole coſt. Theſe poſtures, in which you have exhibited yourſelf be⯑fore us, put me in mind of the freaks of a Merry Andrew, who ſuffers himſelf to be kicked and cuffed, and tweaked by the noſe, to make ſport for the mob; while the vile empiric impoſes upon them his noſtrums and quackeries, the paltry ſweepings of the counters, for univerſal panacea's. When we expected ſome ſolemn ſententious reproof from the learned and pious Prelector on the He⯑brew [41] Poeſy, out comes all Bartlemy Fair let looſe upon us at once; and we ſee your Lordſhip whipt at the cart's tail; poſted up in the pillory; flogged by the Beadles of Bridewell; caned by Biſhop W----'s ^* footman; hunted and waylaid by his ^† Cherokees and Iroquois, and at length, (good man!) exhibited on a ^‡ Scaffold, erected on purpoſe for you, and in the moſt conſpicuous place.—How much you muſt have profited by your ſtudies on the book of Job, this example of your patience de⯑monſtrates: but what agreeable company to introduce us into! and you ſeem ſo ſociable and intimate with them; Foot⯑men, and Bum-bailiffs, Beadles, Conſtables, Hangmen, and wild Indians! Edifying ſo⯑ciety! elegant alluſions! taſte, that ſavours of the kennels of Saint Giles's; jeſts, that would put the Ordinary of Newgate to the bluſh; and wit, the genuine off⯑ſpring, [42] not of Athens, but of the Ola Bailey!

Now; my Lord, would I venture to undergo all the diſcipline your Lordſhip has run through, if that old cynic Dr. Bentley would have ſtirred a muſcle of his face to laughter at all this pleaſantry.—No, no; he had no taſte or capacity, but for hedging and ditching, and milking of Goats; not a ſyllable of all this would he have comprehended. In matters of ſuch pure taſte, as your Lordſhip has now given us a ſample of; compoſitions of a character ſo different from any he ever had been uſed to; ſtyle of a colour ſo directly oppoſite to his own, and a man⯑ner of thinking ſo utterly unlike that of any gentleman, who ever thought at all, I do allow, and am perſuaded he would not have ſhown the leaſt ſhadow of diſ⯑cernment.

[43]For this, however, I do ſeriouſly, and from the ground of my heart, thank your Lordſhip again and again, viz. that when you informed the world of his utter want of taſte, your conſented to give us ſo fair a ſpecimen of your own. But your rail⯑leries are not confined to yourſelf only, you are wonderfully pleaſant upon the patriarchs. Your arch inſinuations about ^* Abraham's offering his ſon Iſaac, are in⯑finitely facetious.—I was ſo ignorant as to conſider this as a circumſtance of a moſt ſerious and edifying nature; an ex⯑alted inſtance of the moſt perfect faith in God, and obedience to his word, and a ſacred type of our Redeemer's death and paſſion, ſelected as the paſſage of ſcrip⯑ture, beſt ſuited to our Good Friday's meditation; I have been apt therefore to think and to ſpeak of this act of the patriarch's with reverence and devotion. [44] Your Lordſhip treats it with the levity of a Mileſian Fable, and puts ſome arch queries upon the matter relative to the ſin of Sodom. This ſin of Sodom, it ſeems, has been a ſort of ſtumbling-block to your Lordſhip, and you tell us you have hunted after it ^† from the beginning of the Bible to the end. The ſearch might be uſeful, though the object of it was not the moſt worthy. I hope, my Lord, you was not equally inquiſitive, when you turned to your Catullus in ſearch of thoſe reproachful terms, (Caprimulgus aut Foſ⯑ſor), to beſtow them upon Dr. Bentley. Had you ranſacked that author through, as you did the Bible, every leaf would have furniſhed you with deſcriptions of the ſin of Sodom. As good luck will have it, you have carried us into one of his cleanlieſt poems; and as your quotation put me upon reading it over, I really thought I traced the features of your [45] Lordſhip, as ſtrongly marked out in the picture of Suffenus, as you conceived you did thoſe of Dr. Bentley; for this Suf⯑fenus, ſays the ^* poet,

The moral, with which the epigram concludes, I more particularly recom⯑mend to your Lordſhip.

[46]But I have detained your Lordſhip long time, and haſten to conclude my ſelf.