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Monthly Review of Literature, 



[JUNE, 



measures, and first or last, by fair means or 

 foul, carried every point, and, especially, 

 built his magnificent lodge at the cost of the 

 college. Deserted as he seemed to be at 

 times by almost every body, he was never 

 for a moment daunted or diverted. His 

 enemies were bitter, inveterate, implacable 

 he had only himself to thank for it : but he 

 cared for no one ; his confidence in his own 

 resources rendered him reckless of offence ; 

 he indulged his whims, and gave way to the 

 violence of his temper, in contempt of com- 

 mon justice, and to the sacrifice of the rights 

 he was bound officially to protect. His 

 opponents, as he had foreseen, were finally 

 worn out many died, and the rest compro- 

 mised ; and the last four years of his long life 

 were spent in tranquillity, farther annoyance 

 on his part being prevented by the manage- 

 ment of his friends. Yet, with all this in- 

 firmity of temper, no man had firmer friends, 

 or more devoted, or more admiring. For 

 this he was indebted, we must suppose, to 

 his abilities and his power : some sided with 

 him from the hope of patronage, and others 

 in reliance on his dexterity, or from despair 

 of effectual opposition ; and even his disin- 

 terested friends, if he had any, must have 

 been influenced more by awe than attach, 

 ment 



Through all the stormy periods, which 

 consumed a large portion of his time, he 

 never abandoned his studies, though he seems 

 never to have pursued them consecutively, 

 or with a definite object. His works were, 

 most of them, written on the spur of sudden 

 motives the results of accident, and many 

 of them acts of revenge. Hare's Terence 

 piqued him to the production of his own ; 

 and his Emendations on Menander and Phile- 

 mon were published to confirm a flippant 

 remark of his own, and prove Le Clerc an 

 ass. Of his editorial works, the Terence is 

 decidedly the most valuable. His Horace, 

 Dr. Monk thinks, and we agree with him, 

 has been unduly depreciated : certainly it is 

 not to be classed, as some have foolishly pro- 

 nounced, with his atrocities upon Milton. 

 The Phalaris is beyond any praise of ours 

 it is an unequalled piece of critical acumen. 



Three Courses and a Dessert. The 

 punning decorations of this handsome volume 

 must be the first thing to attract attention. 

 The " Whims and Oddities" are the sug- 

 gestions, or rather the inventions, of the mag- 

 nificent host himself; but they have been 

 dished up, and put into a presentable shape, 

 by that prince of cooks, Cruikshank. In his 

 preface, the paterfamilias, after making his 

 best acknowledgments to the artist, squeezes 

 out a deprecatory sentence or two to his 

 guests, for his own temerity, and winds up 

 characteristically with a crocodile erect in a 

 pulpit, shedding tears. 



The Three Courses are of course three sets 

 of tales, entitled, successively, West Country 

 Chronicles, Neighbours of an old Irish Boy, 

 and My Cousin's Clients ; and the Dessert 



consists of a few bonbons short, sweet, 

 and crisp. The West Country Chronicles 

 are told chiefly in the Somersetshire dialect ; 

 and so pat and perfect in it is the author, that 

 it may be presumed he is to the manner born. 

 One of the pieces of this course a piece de 

 resistance is so remarkable for strength and 

 pathos, that we pick it out of the ludicrous, 

 to give the reader a taste. It is called The 

 Braintrees. Braintree had been a country 

 gentleman's gamekeeper, and had been hast- 

 ily turned out of office through the insidious 

 dealings of the man who took his place. He 

 had been till then an honest fellow enough ; 

 but the loss of his place drove him to poach- 

 ing, and the loss of character stung him to 

 revenge. No single act seemed capable of 

 soothing his exasperated feelings; and he 

 laid a scheme which took time to mature, 

 and all the while too fed and fostered his 

 vengeance. His wife was nursing the squire's 

 son and heir, and he commanded her to sub- 

 stitute her own child in his place. Affecting 

 to yield to his wishes, her maternal feelings 

 forbade her to execute them ; and Braintree 

 fondly cherished the conviction that he held 

 the squire's happiness in his hands, and gra- 

 tified his hatred by ill-treating the child. 

 Every blow he gave the boy, as he grew up, 

 seemed to him inflicted on the squire. In 

 the meanwhile, he took all possible pains to 

 win the affections of the young squire, whom 

 he believed his own son, by initiating him in 

 the mysteries of sporting. The young men 

 were now eighteen years old, when accident- 

 ally encountering the keeper in the woods in 

 the night, and quarrelling with him, Brain- 

 tree shot him dead, and then exulted in the 

 success with which he contrived to throw the 

 appearance of guilt upon the youth he had so 

 long harshly treated. He had not, however, 

 managed the matter so cunningly as not to 

 leave some shades of suspicion, which caused 

 his own arrest. In this unexpected embarrass- 

 ment, he sent for the young squire, and, 

 breaking to him that he was his father, com- 

 manded him to assist him in escaping, by 

 cutting the rope which bound him. Con- 

 founded at the discovery, and torn by con- 

 flicting emotions, the youth cut the rope, and 

 then gave himself up to the most torturing 

 thoughts: he was attached to Braintree's 

 daughter, and she now seemed to be his 

 sister. Meanwhile, Braintree takes flight ; 

 and, in his farewell interview with his wife, 

 discovers that the exchange of children had 

 never taken place, and that he has all along 

 been acting under a delusion. Horror-struck, 

 he hastens back to the magistrate to excul- 

 pate his son ; and he is, at last, killed in a 

 desperate attempt to escape. The scene at 

 the little ale-house, where the villagers dis- 

 cuss the murder, is a most felicitous piece of 

 painting. 



The Bachelor's Darling has some capital 

 scenes of low life. We shall quote a 

 most vivacious account of a London life of 

 business. The speaker is a merchant : he is 

 on a visit to a brother, a country baronet, 



