laid London under the obligation of Dionysius' presence, by the fact, that he has more than once declared, he knew not the most famous among them, yea Charles Boyton himself (whom we mention honoris causa,) even by name. 'As if,' exclaimed an indignant A.B.T.C.D., to whom this fact was communicated, 'a risidint Masthur of Thrinity Collidge did not know iviry wan of the fillows aqual to his own toes and fingers.' It certainly was a stretch of fancy on the part of our friend opposite to which the ignorance of Russell Square is but a trifle. We find him, on arrival, at once a Professor in the University of London, called by ill-willers Cockney College, or some other name still more savory. Here he, with the true spirit of an Hibernian, threw himself, without delay, into the thick of the thousand-and-one fights with which that most pugnacious, or to use the old term, hoplomachic of universities immediately on its creation abounded, armed shillela in hand. We take it for granted that his ancient Tory partialities, exacerbated his bile against the Whigs; but whatever was the occasion, the consequence was that Dennis, after giving and taking as much punishment as would have been expected from Jem Word or Josh Hudson, was fairly floored at last, and obliged to quit the ring. Hereupon he commenced a literary Cab-driver, and has started his Cycloped, with various fortune, good or bad,--the former we trust, predominating. Of this great work we have had several occasions to speak already, and it is highly probable that many more will occur. We are sorry to learn that the impartiality of our strictures has sometimes ruffled the mind of our phylosophical friend; but we assure him that we wish him, and indeed all literary men, well; and if we censure, it is only with a view to his and their improvement in mind or morals. Around him he has gathered a various host, as diversified as those with whom Nonnus, in his thirteenth book, surrounds his hero. But as our business is not now with the - προμάχους ἥρωας, ἀγειρμοίνους Διονύση, as the epigraph has it, but with the leader himself,-we thus conclude our first Dionysiac. THE LOVER OF MUSIC TO THE PIANOFORTE. BY LEIGH HUNT. Oн, friend, whom glad or grave we seek, Heaven-holding shrine! I ope thee, touch thee, hear thee speak, And peace is mine. No fairy casket, full of bliss, Outvalues thee: Love only, waken’d with a kiss, More sweet may be. To thee, when our full hearts o'erflow With griefs or joys, Unspeakable emotions owe A fitting voice. Mirth flies to thee-and Love's unrest And Memory dear And Sorrow, with his tighten'd breast, Comes for a tear. Oh! since no joys of human mould Thus wait us still, Thrice bless'd be thine, thou gentle fold Of peace at will. No change, on sullenness, no cheat, In thee we find: Thy saddest voice is ever sweet, Thine answers kind. THE HOUR OF SONG. BY REV. II. STEBING, M. A. WHEN storms are brooding o'er the sea, 'Tis then, though comes the spirit's bride! And that we better feel within, What we and what the past have been; JEREMY BENTHAM. AND that grey-haired, venerable old man, whom all, who beheld him loved to look on, has turned to common earth, changed into unconscious gases and metals, never again to originate thoughts, such as those of which he has left behind him an ample store, and which will yet do their work in the regeneration of the world! This indeed gives a humbling sensation to the pride of man. That which was Bentham, has lost the power of thinking, and all that was human in the most kindly of earthly beings, is now of no more account than the material of the commonest reptile, which has passed away its existence, studying how to inflict the greatest portion of evil on its fellow-creatures, for the gratification of selfish passions. Yet it was a glorious thing to look on him while in life, to behold that nobly moulded head, that most benevolent face, in which almost childlike simplicity contended with godlike intellect, and both blended in universal sympathy, while his loose grey hair streamed over his shoulders, and played in the wind, as he pursued his evening walk of meditation, around the still garden wherein the patriot Milton was erst accustomed to contemplate. How has he been libelled amongst the unthinking herd, owing to their narrow comprehension of the word utility! Loving all beauty, and as keenly alive to the perception of it as any Greek of the olden time, it has been held that he thought nothing worth pursuing, save the study of the regulation of supply and demand, for the commonest corporeal and mental wants. That he liked poetry, and was fond of botany, is a sufficient answer to such a supposition. He wrote on abstruse matters, because he thought the comprehension of such matters essential to husan happiness, but he did not, therefore, dislike the lighter sources of innocent pleasure. We shall not soon look upon his like. Even now, his hand writing of a few weeks' lapse is before us, clear, distinct, and comprehensive, at the age of eighty-five years; and it is with sorrow that we peruse it. Others have possessed knowledge without its bringing forth the fruit of wisdom. The knowledge of Bentham was combined with wisdom of the most exalted class, and the most self-sacrificing beneficence. His outset in life was as an equity barrister, and the little practice which he attained to, was marked as the evidence of a high order of intellect. We know not his history farther back, but it must contain much matter of curious speculation. The most trifling acts and words of such a man are of importance,-to know the course from which so noble an intellect was fed,-whence the first rills of knowledge sprang. Happy will be the lot of that man to whom it shall be given to unfold the accurate biography of the most powerful advocate of the true interests of suffering humanity, who ever yet drew breath on English soil. By the death of his father he attained independence, after, it is said, a somewhat penurious life: young, rich, and highly intellectual, and moreover of comely presence, a wide field of ambition opened to him, with the promise of a fruitful harvest in whatever sphere of public life he chose to pursue. But selfishness was abhorrent to him, and he clung only to sympathy. He abandoned the practice of mischievous laws, and retired wholly from public life in the flower of his age, to devote himself in seclusion to the unwearied study of those branches of knowledge which he held it essential to human happiness should be rightly comprehended. Through good report, and through evil report, he steadfastly pursued the object which his reason had analysed, and pronounced desirable. He turned neither to the right nor to the left either for praise or blame; fear dwelt not in him, and praise could not move him from his purpose; his reflection was that he individually might perish, but that his principles must survive, and though thrillingly alive to the approval of the discriminating amongst his fellow creatures, his integrity could not be stirred from the strict path of duty for the sake of gaining popularity. He gathered a rich harvest of wisdom to distribute in the charity of universal love and benevolence, without one selfish thought, without a prospect of personal gain. He wrought not for a nation, he wrought for the human race; he made them incalculably his debtors, yet, without heeding the amount, without ever adverting to it, he still continued laboring unceasingly for their benefit. The human race he considered as his children, and wayward as they were, he gave up his mind for their maintainance; a treasury not lightly to be exhausted. They are yet young, and they cannot appreciate the wealth he has left them. As they search into it, their surprise will increase. The mere fertility of his writings is in itself extraordinary, and a remarkable instance of what one man may accomplish; but when we reflect on the variety and profundity of knowledge they display, that each line, each word, is pregnant with thought, the strongest mind feels itself give way to the sensation of wonder. Wisdom has too long been held to be synonymous with austerity-knowledge with supercilious dignity, at least amongst superficial people. The amiable and blameless life of Bentham has withered up that ancient lie. A childlike simplicity of manner, an engaging, affectionate disposition, and an unstudied habitual kindness of friendly intercourse, were his most conspicuous traits. He was a pure concentration of benevolence, seeking his only reward in the thrilling consciousness that he was doing universal good. In common intercourse he respected the feelings of the meanest equally with the highest. He never willingly gave pain, nor shrank from the infliction of it, or the suffering it, when he deemed it essential to the service of humanity. Never lived there a human being, in whom wisdom, knowledge, integrity and perfect love, were all so intimately blended, and so earnestly devoted to the service of a race, who, so far from thanking him for his labors, scarcely knew that he existed, and when they gleaned the knowledge, they in most cases used it for the purpose of vilifying him. So it must ever be till human intellect shall be more widely expanded that is at present the case. The refined and honest man, who shrinks with disgust from pandering to the passions of the herd, cannot expect to be their idol, even if his nature would permit him to wish it. While in life, his spirit had ever been devoted to the service of his fellows, and his last act was to devote his material frame to the same purpose, with the object of removing a mischievous prejudice which had been largely productive of evil to his fellows. We were present at the lecture read by his attached friend over his earthly remains, not to a large audience, but to an audience marked by all the external signs of a development of intellect, such as is rarely gathered together in one assembly. Whosoever looked around upon that audience must have remarked to his own mind, that the spirit which had animated the clay before him was not all dead. The sympathy was indeed deep. The voice of the lecturer was choked by his emotions. The lightning flashed, and the thunder rolled, and the heavens wept while the oration was spoken over the mortal remnants of the benefactor of the human race, amidst the silence of his sorrowing friends. The superstition of the ancient days would have believed that his spirit was passing to heaven on the wings of the storm, and in those days a statue would have been raised to his memory, as to a god. They who knew him in life, know that the influence of his spirit rests around them, and upon them, and that his best sepulchral monument will be the increasing reverence of the human race. The latest joy he experienced in life was in the knowledge that the charter of the freedom of his fellow countrymen was sealed. It would seem as though he had lingered on but to behold the successful achievement |