de as the world, and as permanent as the existence
of man. To do Dryden justice, he admired Milton; and although he did,
and that, too, immediately after Milton departed, venture to travestie
the "Paradise Lost" into a rhymed play, as dull as it is disgusting; and
although he knew that Milton had called him, somewhat harshly, a "good
rhymer, but no poet," yet he praised his genius at a time when it was
as little appreciated, as was the grandeur of his character.

But now the slave, in the chariot of Dryden's triumph, was about to
appear. First came, in 1671, the "Rehearsal," a play concocted among
various wits of the time, including Sprat, Clifford, poor Butler, of
"Hudibras," and chiefly the Duke of Buckingham. The object of this play
was to turn rhymed heroic tragedy, and especially the great playwright
of the day, under the name of Bayes, his person, manners, conversation,
and habits, into unmitigated ridicule. The plan has often since been
followed, with various success. Minor wits have delighted in clubbing
their small but poisoned missiles, and in aiming flights of minnikin
arrows at the Gullivers of their different periods. Thus Pope was
assailed by the "Dunces," whom he afterwards preserved in amber--that
terrible old lion, Bentley, by Boyle and his associates; and Wordsworth,
by the critics or criticasters of his day. Dryden acted with greater
prudence than any of those we have named, except indeed Bentley, who,
being assailed upon points involving the integrity of his scholarship,
and on which demonstrative contradiction was possible, felt himself
compelled to leave his lair, and to rend his enemies in pieces. But
Dryden--feeling on this occasion, at least, that a squib, however
personal and severe, cannot harm any man worthy of the name; and that
the very force of the laughter it produces, drives out the
sting--determined to answer it by silence, and to bide his time.
"Zimri," in Absalom and Achitophel, shows how deep had been his secret
oath of vengeance, and how carefully the sweltered "venom" had been
kept, in which at last he baptizes Buckingham, and embalms him at the
same time for the wonder and contempt of posterity. Here is the danger
of the smaller wits in a controversy of this kind. Their squibs excite a
sensation at the moment, and sometimes annoy the assaulted giant much,
and his friends and publishers more; but he continues to live and grow,
while their spiteful effusions perish; or worse, are pre