Bentham’s family connections would naturally have given him a fair start at the bar, but this was not the career for which he was preparing himself. He spent his time in making chemical experiments and in speculating upon legal abuses, rather than in reading Coke upon Littleton and the Reports. On being called to the bar he “found a cause or two at nurse for him, which he did his best to put to death,” to the bitter disappointment of his father, who had confidently looked forward to seeing him upon the woolsack. The first fruits of Bentham’s studies, the Fragment on Government, appeared in 1776. This masterly attack upon Blackstone’s praises of the English constitution was variously attributed to Lord Mansfield, Lord Camden, and Lord Ashburton. One important result of its publication was that, in 1781, Lord Shelburne called upon its author in his chambers at Lincoln’s Inn. Henceforth Bentham was a frequent guest at Bowood, where he saw the best society, and where he met Miss Caroline Fox, to whom he afterwards made a proposal of marriage. In 1785 Bentham started, by way of Italy and Constantinople, on a visit to his brother, Sir Samuel Bentham, who became a general in the Russian service; and it was in Russia that he wrote his Defence of Usury. Disappointed in the hope which he had entertained, through a misapprehension of something said by Lord Lansdowne, of taking a personal part in the legislation of his country, he settled down to the yet higher task of discovering and teaching the principles upon which all sound legislation must proceed. His fame spread widely and rapidly. He was made a French citizen in 1792; and his advice was respectfully received in most of the states of Europe and America, with many of the leading men of which he maintained an active correspondence. His ambition was to be allowed to prepare a code of law for his own or some foreign country. During nearly a quarter of a century he was engaged in negotiations with Government for the erection of a “Panopticon,” which would render transportation unnecessary. The scheme was eventually abandoned, and Bentham received £ 23,000 by way of compensation. In 1823 he established the Westminster Review. Some idea of the extent of Bentham’s literary labours may be derived from the fact that his Works, as edited with biographical notices by Dr Bowring in 1843, fill eleven volumes octavo, of closely printed double columns. Bentham died on the 6th of June 1832, in his 85 th year, at the house in Queen’s Square Place, which he had occupied f®r fifty years. In accordance with his directions, his body, after being dissected in the presence of his friends, was embalmed, and is still preserved, seated in his wonted dress, in University College, London.

Bentham’s life was a happy one of its kind. His constitution, weakly in childhood, strengthened with advancing years so as to alløw him to get through an incredible amount of sedentary labour, while he retained to the last the fresh and cheerful temperament of a boy. An ample inherited fortune permitted him to pursue his studies undistracted by the necessity for making a livelihood, and to maximize the results of his time and labour by the employment of amanuenses and secretaries. He was able to gather around him a group of congenial friends and pupils, such as the Mills, the Austins, and Bowring, with whom he could discuss the problems upon which he was engaged, and by whom several of his books were practically rewritten, from the mass of rough though orderly memoranda which the master had himself prepared. Thus, for instance, was the Rationale of Judicial Evidence written out by J. S. Mill, and the Book of Fallacies by Bingham. The services which Dumont rendered in recasting, as well as translating, the works of Bentham were still more important.

The popular notion that Bentham was a morose visionary is far removed from fact. It is true that he looked upon general society as a waste of time, and that he disliked poetry as “misrepresentation ”; but he intensely enjoyed conversation, gave good dinners, and delighted in music, in country sights, and in making others happy. These features of Bentham’s character are illustrated in the graphic account given by the American minister, Mr Rush, of an evening spent at his house in the summer of the year 1818. “If Mr Bentham’s character is peculiar,” he says, “so is his place of residence. It was a kind of blind-alley, the end of which widened into a small, neat courtyard. There by itself stands Mr Bentham’s house. Shrubbery graced its area, and flowers its window-sills. It was like an oasis in the desert. Its name is the Hermitage. Mr Bentham received me with the simplicity of a philosopher. I should have taken him for 70 or upwards. Everything inside the house was orderly. The furniture seemed to have been unmoved since the days of his fathers, for I learned that it was a patrimony. A parlour, library, and dining-room made up the suite of apartments. In each was a piano, the eccentric master of the whole being fond of music as the recreation of his literary hours. It is a unique, romantic-like homestead. Walking with him into the garden, I found it dark with the shade of an aient trees. They formed a barrier against all intrusion. The company was small, but choice. Mr Brougham; Sir Samuel Romilly; Mr Mill, author of the well-known work on India; Μ. Dumont, the learned Genevan, once the associate of Mirabeau, were all who sat down to table. Mr Bentham did not talk much. He had a benevolence of manner suited to the philanthropy of his mind. He seemed to be thinking only of the convenience and pleasure of his guests, not as a rule of artificial breeding as from Chesterfield or Madame Genlis, but from innate feeling. Bold as are his opinions in his works, here he was wholly unobtrusive of theories that might not have commended the assent of all present. When he did converse it was in simple language, a contrast to his later writings, where an involved style and the use of^ new or universal words are drawbacks upon the speculations of a genius original and profound, but with the faults of solitude. Yet some of his earlier productions are distinguished by classical terseness.”— {Residence at the Court of London, p. 286.) Bentham’s love of flowers and music, of green foliage and shaded walks, comes clearly out in this pleasant picture of his home life and social surroundings.

Whether or no he can be said to have founded a school, his doctrines have become so far part of the common thought of the time, that there is hardly an educated man who does not accept as too clear for argument truths which were invisible till Bentham pointed them out. His sensitively honourable nature, which in early life had caused him to shrink from asserting his belief in Thirty-nine articles of faith which he had not examined, was shocked by the enormous abuses which confronted him on commencing the study of the law. He rebelled at hearing the system under which they flourished described as the perfection of human reason. But he was no merely destructive critic. He was determined to find a solid foundation for both morality and law, and to raise upon it an edifice, no stone of which should be laid except in accordance with the deductions of the severest logic. This foundation is “the greatest happiness of the greatest number,” a formula adopted from Beccaria. The pursuit of such happiness is taught by the “utilitarian” philosophy, a phrase used by Bentham himself in 1802, and therefore not invented by Mr J. S. Mill, as he supposed, in 1823. In order to ascertain what modes of action are most conducive to the end in view, and what motives are best fitted to produce them, Bentham was led to construct marvellously exhaustive, though somewhat mechanical, tables of [motives. With all their elaboration, these tables are, however, defective, as they omit some of the highest and most influential springs of action. But most of Bentham’s conclusions may be accepted without any formal profession of the utilitarian theoιy of morals. They are, indeed, merely the application of a rigorous common sense to the facts of society. That the proximate ends at which Bentham aimed are desirable hardly any one would deny, though the feasibility of the means by which he proposes to attain them may often be questioned; and much of the new nomenclature in which he thought fit to clothe his doctrines may be rejected as unnecessary. To be judged fairly, Bentham must be judged as a teacher of the principles of legislation. With the principles of private morals he really deals only so far as is necessary to enable the reader to appreciate the impulses which have to be controlled by law.

As a teacher of legislation he inquires of all institutions whether their utility justifies their existence. If not, he is prepared to suggest a new form of institution by which the needful service may be rendered. While thus engaged no topic is too large for his mental grasp, none too small for his notice; and, what is still rarer, every topic is seen in its due relation to the rest. English institutions had never before been thus comprehensively and dispassionately surveyed. Such improvements as had been necessitated were mere makeshifts, often made by stealth. The rude symmetry of the feudal system had been long ago destroyed by partial and unskilful adaptations to modern commercial life, effected at various dates and in accordance with various theories. The time had come for deliberate reconstruction, for inquiring whether the existence of many admitted evils was, as it was said to be, unavoidable; for proving that the needs of society may be classified and provided for by contrivances which shall not clash with one another because all shall be parts of a consistent whole. This task Bentham undertook, and he brought to it a mind absolutely free from professional or class feeling, or any other species of prejudice. He mapped out the whole subject, dividing and subdividing it in accordance with the principle of “dichotomy.” Having reached his ultimate subdivisions he subjects each to the most-thorough and ingenious discussion. His earlier writings exhibit a lively and easy style, which gives place in his later treatises to sentences which are awkward from their effort after unattainable accuracy, and from the newly-invented technical nomenclature in which they are expressed. Many of Bentham’s phrases, such as “international,” “utilitarian,” “codification,” are valuable additions to our language; but the majority of them, especially those of Greek derivation, have taken no root in it. His neology is one among many instances of his contempt for the past and his wish to be clear of all association with it. His was, indeed, a typically logical, as opposed to an historical, mind. For the history of institutions, which in the hands of Sir Henry Maine is becoming a new and interesting branch of science, Bentham cared nothing Had he possessed such a knowledge of Roman law as is now not uncommon in England, he must doubtless have taken a different view of many subjects. The logical and historical methods can, however, seldom be combined without confusion; and it is perhaps fortunate that Bentham devoted his long life to showing how much may be done by pursuing the former method exclusively. His writings have been and remain a storehouse of instruction for statesmen, an armory for legal reformers. “Pillé par tout le monde,” as Talleyrand said of him, “il est toujours riche.” To trace the results of his teaching in England alone would be to write a history of the legislation of half a century. Upon the whole administrative machinery of government, upon criminal law, and upon procedure, both criminal and civil, his influence has been most salutary; and the great legal revolution which has just accomplished the fusion of law and equity is not obscurely traceable to the same source. Those of Bentham’s suggestions which have hitherto been carried out have affected the matter, or contents, of the law There seems at length some reason to hope that his suggestions for the improvement of its form and expression are about to receive the attention which they deserve. The services rendered by Bentham to the world would not, however, be exhausted even by the practical adoption of every one of his recommendations. There are no limits to the good results of his introduction of a true method of reasoning into the moral and political sciences.

The best edition of Bentham’s works is that edited by Dr Bowring, in 11 vols. 8vo, the publication of which was completed in 1843. It contains a selection from his correspondence, and some biographical statements, (τ. E. H.)

In 1689 Stillingfleet became bishop of Worcester, and Bentley’s pupil went to reside at Oxford in Wadham College, accompanied by his tutor. Bentley’s introductions, and his own merits, placed him at once on a footing of intimacy with the most distinguished scholars in the university—Mill, Hody, Edward Bernard. Here he revelled in the MS. treasures of the Bodleian, Corpus, and other college libraries. He projected, and occupied himself with collections for, vast literary schemes. Among these are specially mentioned a corpus of the fragments of the Greek poets, and an edition of the Greek lexicographers. But his first publication was in connection with a -writer of much inferior note. The Oxford press was about bringing out an edition (the editio princeps) of the Chronicle of John Malalas, from the unique MS. in the Bodleian; and the editor, Dr Mill, had requested Bentley to look through the sheets, and make any remarks on the text. This originated Bentley’s Epistola ad Millium, which occupies less than one hundred pages at the end of the Oxford Malμlas (e Theatro Sheldoniano, 1691, 8vo). This short tractate at once placed Bentley at the head of all living English scholars. The ease with which, by a stroke of the pen, he restores passages which had been left in hopeless corruption by the editors of the Chronicle, the certainty of the emendation, and the command over the relevant material, are in a style totally different from the careful and laborious learning of Hody, Mill, or Chilmead. To the small circle of classical students it was at once apparent that there had arisen in England a critic, whose attainments were not to be measured by the ordinary academical standard, but whom these few pages had sufficed to place by the side of the great Grecians of a former age. Unfortunately this mastery over critical science was accompanied by a tone of self-assertion and presumptuous confidence, which not only checked admiration, but was calculated to rouse enmity. Dr Monk, indeed, Bentley’s biographer, has charged him with an indecorum of which he was not guilty. “In one place,” writes Dr Monk, “he accosts Dr Mill as ω Ιαmδiov, an indecorum which neither the familiarity of friendship, nor the licence of a dead language, can justify towards the dignified head of a house.” But the object of Bentley’s apostrophe is not his correspondent Dr Mill, but his author John Malalas, whom in another place he playfully appeals to as "Syrisce.” From this publication, however, dates the origin of those mixed feelings of admiration and repugnance which Bentley through his whole career continued to excite among his contemporaries.

In 1690 Bentley had taken deacon’s orders in the Established Church. In 1692 he was nominated first Boyle lecturer, a nomination which was repeated in 1694. He was offered the appointment a third time in 1695, but declined it, being by that time involved in too many other undertakings. In these first series of lectures he endeavours to present the Newtonian physics in a popular form, and to frame them into a proof of the existence of an intelligent Creator. The second series, preached in 1694, has not been published, and is believed to be lost. Scarcely was Bentley in priest’s orders before he was preferred to a prebendal stall in Worcester cathedral. And, in 1693, the keepership of the royal library becoming vacant by the death of Henri de Justel, great efforts were made by his friends to obtain the place for Bentley. But, though there was a High Church candidate (Edmund Gibson) backed by the archbishops, the court interest prevailed, and the place was given to Mr Thynne. Mr Thynne, however, wanted only the salary and not the office, and was prevailed on to cede the place to Bentley for an annuity of £130 for life, the whole emoluments being but £200 and apartments in St James’s Palace. To these preferments were added, in 1695, a royal chaplaincy, and the living of Hartlebury. He was also about the same time elected a fellow of the Royal Society. And the recognition of Continental scholars came in the shape of a dedication, by Graevius (John George), prefixed to a dissertation of Albert Rubens, Be vita Th. Mallii, published at Utrecht in 1694.

While these distinctions were being accumulated upon Bentley, his energy was making itself felt in many and various directions. His first care was the royal library, the queen’s library, as it was commonly called. He made great efforts to retrieve this collection from the dilapidated condition into which it had been allowed to fall. He employed the mediation of the earl of Marlborough to beg the grant of some additional rooms in the palace for the books. The rooms were granted, but Marlborough characteristically kept them for himself. Bentley enforced the law against the publishers, and thus added to the library nearly 1000 volumes which had been neglected to be delivered. He was commissioned by the University of Cambridge to obtain Greek and Latin founts for their classical books, and he had accordingly cast, in Holland, those beautiful types which appear in the Cambridge books of that date. He assisted Evelyn in his Numismata. All Bentley’s literary appearances at this time were of this accidental character. We do not find him settling down to the steady execution of any of the great projects with which he had started. He designed, indeed, in 1694, an edition of Philostratus, but easily abandoned it to Olearius, " to the joy,” says F. A. Wolf, "of Olearius and of no one else.” He supplied Graevius with collations of Cicero, and Joshua Barnes with a warning as to the spuriousness of the Epistles of Euripides, which was thrown away upon that blunderer, who printed the epistles and declared that no one could doubt their genuineness but a man " perfriet»

frontis aut judicii imminuti.” Bentley supplied to Graevius’s Callimachus a masterly collection of the fragments.

The Dissertation on the Epistles of Phalaris, the work on which Bentley’s fame in great part rests, originated in the same casual way. Wotton being about to bring out a second edition of his book on Ancient and Modern Learning, claimed of Bentley the fulfilment of an old promise to write a paper exposing the spuriousness of the Epistles of Phalaris. This paper was resented as an insult by the Christchurch editor of Phalaris, Hon. Charles Boyle, afterwards earl of Orrery. Assisted by his college friends, Boyle wrote a reply, “a tissue,” says Mr Dyce, “of superficial learning, ingenious sophistry, dexterous malice, and happy raillery.” The reply was hailed by the public as crushing, and went immediately into a second edition. It was incumbent on Bentley to rejoin. This he did, in what Porson styles “that immortal dissertation,” to which no answer was, or could be, given.

In the year 1700, Bentley, then in his 38th year, received that main preferment which, says De Quincey, “was at once his reward and his scourge for the rest of his life.” The six commissioners of ecclesiastical patronage unanimously recommended Bentley to the Crown for the headship of Trinity College.

Trinity College, the most splendid foundation in the University of Cambridge, and in the scientific and literary reputation of its fellows the most eminent society in either university, had, in 1700, greatly fallen from its high estate. It was not that it was more degraded than the other colleges, but its former lustre made the abuse of endowments in its case more conspicuous. The eclipse had taken place during the reaction which followed 1660, and was owing to causes which were not peculiar to Trinity, but which influenced the nation at large. The names of Pearson and Barrow, and, greater than either, that of Newton, adorn the college annals of this period. But these were quite exceptional men. They had not inspired the rank and file of fellows of Trinity with any of their own love for learning or science. Indolent and easy-going clerics, without duties, without a pursuit, or any consciousness of the obligation of endowments, they haunted the college for the pleasant life and the good things they found there, creating sinecure offices in each other’s favour, jobbing the scholarships, and making the audits mutually pleasant. Any excuse served for a banquet at the cost of “the house,” and the celibate imposed by the statutes was made as tolerable as the decorum of a respectable position permitted. To such a society Bentley came, obnoxious as a Johniau and an intruder, unwelcome as a man of learning, whose interests lay outside the walls of the college. Bentley replied to their concealed dislike with open contempt, and proceeded to ride roughshod over their little arrangements. He inaugurated many beneficial reforms in college usages and discipline, executed extensive improvements in the buildings, and generally used his eminent station for the promotion of the interests of learning, both in the college and in the university. But this noble energy was attended by a domineering temper, an overweening contempt for the feelings, and even for the rights, of others, and an unscrupulous use of means when a good end could be obtained. Bentley, at the summit of classical learning, disdained to associate with men whom he regarded as illiterate priests. He treated them with contumely, while he was diverting their income to public purposes. The continued drain upon their purses—on one occasion the whole dividend of the year was absorbed by the rebuilding of the chapel—was the grievance which at last roused the fellows to make a resolute stand. After ten years of stubborn, but ineffectual resistance within the college, they had recourse, in 1710, to the last remedy—an appeal to the visitor. Their petition is an ill-drawn invective, full of general complaints, and not alleging any special delinquency. Bentley’s reply {The Present State of Trinity College, àc., 8vo, Lond. 1710) is in his most crushing style. The fellows amended their position, and put in a fresh charge, in which they articled fifty-four separate breaches of the statutes as having been committed by the master. Bentley, called upon to answer, demurred to the bishop of Ely’s jurisdiction, alleging that the Crown was visitor. He backed his application by a dedication of his Horace to the lord treasurer (Harley). The Crown lawyers decided the point against him; the case was heard, and a sentence of ejection from the mastership ordered to be drawn up, but before it was executed the bishop of Ely died, and the process lapsed.

This process, though it had lasted nearly five years, was only a prologue to the great feud, the whole duration of which was twenty-nine years. Space will not allow of its vicissitudes being here followed. It must suffice to say that Bentley was sentenced by the bishop of Ely (Greene) to be ejected from the mastership, and by Convocation to be stripped of his degrees, and that he foiled both the visitor and the university.

Bentley survived the extinction of this thirty years’ war, two years. Surrounded by his grandchildren, he experienced the joint pressure of age and infirmity as lightly as is consistent with the lot of humanity. He continued to amuse himself with reading; and though nearly confined, to his arm-chair, was able to enjoy the society of his friends, and several rising scholars, Maitland, John Taylor, his nephews Bichard and Thomas Bentley, with whom he discussed classical subjects. He was accustomed to say that he should live to be 80, adding that a life of that duration was long enough to read everything worth reading. He fulfilled his own prediction, dying, of a pleurisy, 14th July 1742, when he was a few months over 80. Though accused by his enemies of being grasping, he left not more than £5000 behind him. A few Greek MSB., brought from Mount Athos, he left to the college library; his books and papers to his nephew, Richard Bentley. Richard, who was a fellow of Trinity, at his death in 1786, left the papers to the college library. The books were acquired, by purchase, by the British Museum.

Of his personal habits some anecdotes are related by his grandson, Richard Cumberland, in vol. i. of his Memoirs (Lond. 1807). The hat of formidable dimensions, which he always wore during reading to shade his eyes, and his preference of port to claret, are traits embodied in Pope’s caricature {Dunciad, b. 4), which bears in other respects little resemblance to the original. He did not take up the habit of smoking till he was 70. He held the archdeaconry of Ely with two livings, but never obtained higher preference in the church. He was offered the (then poor) bishopric of Bristol, but refused it, and being asked what preferment he would consider worth his acceptance, replied, “That which would leave him no reason to wish for a removal.”

Dr Bentley married, in 1701, Joanna, daughter of Sir John Bernard of Brompton. Their union lasted forty years. Mrs Bentley died in 1740, leaving a son, Richard, and two daughters, one of whom married, in 1728, Mr Denison Cumberland, grandson of Richard Cumberland, bishop of Peterborough, and father of Richard Cumberland the dramatic author.

The Life of Richard Bentley, by Bishop Monk (4to, Lond. 1830; 2d ed., 2 vols. 8vo, 1833), gives in full detail an interesting account of the Trinity College feud, and the other incidents of his hero’s life. But, though himself a Greek scholar of celebrity and an editor of Euripides, Dr Monk appears to have had but an imperfect comprehension of the consummate genius and vast acquirements of the subject of his biography. He regrets that Bentley wasted his time upon conjectural criticism, instead of applying himself to the deistical controversy. The Remarks upon a late Discourse of Freethinking, by Phileleutherus Lipsiensis, 8vo, 1713, to which Dr Monk alludes, is indeed a very characteristic piece of writing; but it gives no more idea of what Bentley was as a master of ancient learning than does his pamphlet, The Present State of Trinity College, quoted before. Indeed, of all Bentley’s publications there is not one which can be taken as an adequate sample of the critic, as a work at once monumental and characteristic. Bentley is most imperfectly represented by any one of his books. They have all the same occasional stamp. This is the case not only with the most popular of these, the Dissertation on Phalaris. The Horatius of 1712 was brought out to propitiate public opinion at a critical period of the struggle with the fellows of Trinity; the proposals for a recension of the New Testament text, 1720, had a similar origin; the Terentius of 1725 was occasioned by his resentment of Hare’s conduct. The Milton was undertaken at the request of Queen Caroline, but also at an anxious conjuncture of the great quarrel. Nearly all his lesser performances were called forth by friends invoking his aid for their own schemes. What he wrote, he wrote with rapidity, rather with precipitation. If we try to form our idea of the man, not from this or that extempore effusion, but from all that he did or was, we shall find that Bentley was the first, perhaps the only Englishman who can be ranked with the great heroes of classical learning. Before him we have only Selden to name, or, in a more restricted field, Gataker and Pearson. But Selden, with stupendous learning, wanted that which Bentley shared with Scaliger or Wolf, the freshness of original genius and confident mastery over the whole region of his knowledge. “Bentley is not,” says Mähly, “one among the great classical scholars, but he inaugurates a new era of the art of criticism. He opened a new path. With him criticism attained its majority. When scholars had hitherto offered suggestions and conjectures, Bentley, with unlimited control over the whole material of learning, gave decisions.” The modern German school of philology, usually so unjust to foreigners, yet does ungrudging homage to the genius of this one Englishman. Bentley, says Bunsen, “was the founder of historical philology.” And Bernays says of his corrections of the Tristia, “corruptions which had hitherto defied every attempt even of the mightiest, were removed by a touch of the fingers of this British Samson.” The English school of Hellenists, by which the 18th century was distinguished, and which contains the names of Dawes, Markland, Taylor, Toup, Tyrwhitt, Porson, Dobree, Kidd, and Monk, was the creation of Bentley. And even the Dutch school of the same period, though the outcome of a native tradition, was in no small degree stimulated and directed by Bentley’s example. Ruhnken has recorded the powerful effect produced upon the young Hemsterhuys by Bentley’s letter to him on the occasion of his Pollux; at first humiliated to despair by the revelation to him of his own ignorance; then stimulated to higher effort by the consideration that commendation from such a man was not words of mere compliment.

Bentley was a source of inspiration to a following generation of scholars. Himself, he sprang from the earth without forerunners, without antecedents. Self-taught, he created his own science. It was his misfortune that there was no contemporary guild of learning in England by which his power could be measured, and his eccentricities checked. In the Phalaris controversy his academical adversaries had not sufficient knowledge to know how absolute their defeat was. Garth’s couplet—

“So diamonds take a lustre from their foil, And to a Bentley , tis we owe a Boyle ”— expressed the belief of the wits, or literary world, of the time. It was not only that he had to live with inferiors, and to waste his energy in a struggle forced upon him by the necessities of his official position, but the wholesome stimulus of competition and the encouragement of a sympathetic circle were wanting. In a university where the instruction of youth, or the religious controversy of the day, were the only known occupations, Bentley was an isolated phenomenon, and we can hardly wonder that he should have flagged in his literary exertions after his appointment to the mastership of Trinity. All his vast acquisitions and all his original views seem to have been obtained before 1700. After this period he acquired little, and made only spasmodic efforts—the Horace, the Terence, and the Milton. The prolonged mental concentration, and mature meditation, of which alone a great work can be born, were wanting to him.

Bibliography. —1. Epistola ad Millium, at end of Malaloe Chronicon, Oxon. 1691; 2d ed., 1713. 2. The Folly and Unrea sonableness of Atheism, 4to, Lond. 1693 (1st Boyle Lecture). 3. Dissertation on Phalaris, &c., at end of Wotton’s Reflections, &c., 8vo, Lond. 1697; 2d ed., much enlarged, 1699; 3d ed., Lond. 1777; reprinted, 12mo, Berlin, 1875; Latin translation by Lennep, 4to, Groningen, 1777. 4. Horatius, 4to, Cantab. 1711. 5.

Remarks on a late Discourse of Frccthinking, by Phileleutherus· Lipsiensis, 8vo, Lond. 1713; 8th ed., Camb. 1743; translated into French by Armand de la Chapelle, Amst. 1738. 6. Emendationes in Menandri ct Philemonis Reliquias, 8vo, Cantab. 1713. 7. Proposals for a neιo edition of the Greek Testament, 4to, Lond. 1721. 8. Terentius, 4to, Cantab. 1726. 9. Milton's Paradise Lost, 4to,

Lond. 1732. 10. Manilius Astronomicon, 4to, Lond. 1739. 11.

Critica Sacra; Notes on the Greek and-Latin Text of the New Teslament, ed....