one evening at his house in Ratisbon (where he resided as British plenipotentiary), he fell down the stairs and killed himself. The greatest of the comic dramatists was WILLIAM WYCHERLEY, born in the year 1640, in Shropshire, where his father possessed a handsome property. Though bred to the law, Wycherley did not practise his profession, but lived gaily upon town.' Pope says he had 'a true nobleman look,' and he was one of the favourites of the abandoned Duchess of Cleveland. He wrote various comedies, Love in a Wood (1672), the Gentleman Dancing Master (1673), the Country Wife (1675), and the Plain Dealer (1677). In 1704 he published a volume of miscellaneous poems, of which it has been said the style and versification are beneath criticism; the morals are those of Rochester.' In advanced age, Wycherley continued to exhibit the follies and vices of youth. His name, however, stood high as a dramatist, and Pope was proud to receive the notice of the author of the 'Country Wife.' Their published correspondence is well-known, and is interesting from the marked superiority maintained in their intercourse by the boy-poet of sixteen over his mentor of sixty-four. The pupil grew too great for his master, and the unnatural friendship was dissolved. At the age of seventy-five, Wycherley married a young girl, in order to defeat the expectations of his nephew, and died ten days afterwards, in December 1715. The subjects of most of Wycherley's plays were borrowed from the Spanish or French stage. He wrought up his dialogues and scenes with great care, and with considerable liveliness and wit, but without sufficient attention to character or probability. Destitute himself of moral feeling or propriety of conduct, his characters are equally objectionable, and his once fashionable plays may be said to be 'quietly inurned' in their own corruption and profligacy. A female Wycherley appeared in MRS APHRA BEHN, celebrated in her day under the name of Astræa

The stage how loosely does Astræa tread !

Pope.

The comedies of Mrs Behn are grossly indelicate; and of the whole seventeen which she wrote (besides various novels and poems), not one is now read or remembered. The history of Mrs Behn is remarkable. She was daughter of the governor of Surinam, where she resided some time, and became acquainted with Prince Oroonoko, on whose story she founded a novel, that supplied Southerne with materials for a tragedy on the unhappy fate of the African prince. She was employed as a political spy by Charles II., and, while residing at Antwerp, she was enabled, by the aid of her lovers and admirers, to give information to the British government as to the intended Dutch attack on Chatham. She died in 1689.

[Scene from Sir George Etherege's Comical Revenge.] [A portion of this comedy is written in rhyme. Although the versification of the French dramatic poets is mostly so, its effect in our own language is far from good, especially in passages of rapid action. In the following scene, the hero and his second arrived at the place of meeting for a duel; but are set upon by hired assassins. Their adversaries opportunely appear, and set upon them.]

Enter BEAUFORT and SIR FREDERICK, and traverse the stage. Enter BRUCE and Lovis at another door.

Should I your friendship and my honour rate
Below the value of a poor estate?
A heap of dirt. Our family has been
To blame, my blood must here atone the sin.
Enter the five villains with drawn swords.

1st Villain, pulling off his vizard.-Bruce, look on me, and then prepare to die.

Bruce. O treacherous villain!

1st Villain. Fall on and sacrifice his blood to my revenge.

Lovis. More hearts than one shall bleed if he must die. [They fight.

Enter BEAUFORT and SIR FREDERICK. Beau. Heavens! what is this I see? Sir Frederick, draw. Their blood's too good to grace such villains' swords. Courage, brave men; now we can match their force! Lovis. We'll make you slaves repent this treachery. Beau. So. [The villains run. Bruce. They are not worth pursuit; we'll let them go.

Brave men! this action makes it well appear
'Tis honour, and not envy, brings you here.
Beau. We come to conquer, Bruce, and not to see
Such villains rob us of our victory.
Your lives our fatal swords claim as their due;
We'd wrong'd ourselves had we not righted you.

Song.

[In Mrs Behn's' Abdelazer, or the Moor's Revenge."] Love in fantastic triumph sat,

Whilst bleeding hearts around him flow'd, For whom fresh pains he did create,

And strange tyrannic power he show'd.
From thy bright eyes he took his fires,
Which round about in sport he hurl'd;
But 'twas from mine he took desires
Enough t' undo the amorous world.
From me he took his sighs and tears,
From thee his pride and cruelty;
From me his languishment and fears,
And every killing dart from thee:
Thus thou, and I, the god have arm'd,
And set him up a deity;

But my poor heart alone is harm'd,

While thine the victor is, and free.

MISCELLANEOUS PIECES OF THE PERIOD 1649-1689. [Hallo my Fancy.] [Anonymous.]

In melancholic fancy,
Out of myself,
In the vulcan dancy,
All the world surveying,
No where staying,

Just like a fairy elf;

Out o'er the tops of highest mountains skipping, Out o'er the hills, the trees and valleys tripping, Out o'er the ocean seas, without an oar or shipping. Hallo my fancy, whither wilt thou go

Amidst the misty vapours,

Fain would I know

What doth cause the tapers;

Why the clouds benight us
And affright us,

While we travel here below.

Your present happiness, your future joy;
You for the hopeless your great hopes destroy.

Lovis. What can I venture for so brave a friend?

I have no hopes but what on you depend.

And what these lightnings be that rend the clouds asunder,

And what these comets are on which we gaze and wonder.

Hallo my fancy, whither wilt thou go?

O, from what ground of nature Doth the pelican,

That self-devouring creature, Prove so froward

And untoward,

Her vitals for to strain?

And why the subtle fox, while in death's wounds is lying, Doth not lament his pangs by howling and by crying; And why the milk-white swan doth sing when she's a-dying.

Hallo my fancy, whither wilt thou go!

Fain would I conclude this,

At least make essay,

What similitude is;

Why fowls of a feather

Flock and fly together,

And lambs know beasts of prey:

How Nature's alchymists, these small laborious crea-
Acknowledge still a prince in ordering their matters,
tures,
And suffer none to live, who slothing lose their features.
Hallo my fancy, whither wilt thou go?

I'm rapt with admiration,

When I do ruminate,

Men of an occupation,

How each one calls him brother,

Yet each envieth other,

And yet still intimate!

Yea, I admire to see some natures farther sund'red, Than antipodes to us. Is it not to be wond'red,

In myriads ye'll find, of one mind scarce a hundred! Hallo my fancy, whither wilt thou go?

What multitude of notions

Doth perturb my pate,
Considering the motions,
How the heavens are preserved,
And this world served,

In moisture, light, and heat!

If one spirit sits the outmost circle turning,

Or one turns another continuing in journeying,
If rapid circles' motion be that which they call burning!
Hallo my fancy, whither wilt thou go!

Fain also would I prove this,

By considering

What that, which you call love, is: Whether it be a folly

Or a melancholy,

Or some heroic thing!

And follow Fate,

College hopes do deceive me;

I oft expected

To have been elected,

But desert is reprobate.
Masters of colleges

Have no common graces,

And they that have fellowships
Have but common places;

And those that scholars are,

They must have handsome faces:

Alas, poor scholar! whither wilt thou go?

I have bow'd, I have bended,

And all in hope

One day to be befriended:

I have preach'd, I have printed
Whate'er I hinted,

To please our English pope:
I worship'd towards the east,

But the sun doth now forsake me;

I find that I am falling;

The northern winds do shake me:

Would I had been upright,

For bowing now will break me:

Alas, poor scholar! whither wilt thou go?

At great preferment I aimed,

Witness my silk;

But now my hopes are maimed:

I looked lately

To live most stately,

And have a dairy of bell-ropes' milk;

But now, alas!

Myself I must not flatter;

Bigamy of steeples

Is a laughing matter;

Each man must have but one,

And curates will grow fatter:

Alas, poor scholar! whither wilt thou go!

And say I am profane.
Once, I remember,

I preached with a weaver;

I quoted Austin,

He quoted Dod and Clever;

I nothing got,

He got a cloak and beaver:

Alas, poor scholar! whither wilt thou go! Ships, ships, ships, I can discover,

Crossing the main;

Shall I in, and go over,

Turn Jew or Atheist,
Turk or Papist,

To Geneva, or Amsterdam?

Bishoprics are void

In Scotland; shall I thither?

Or follow Hindebank

And Finch, to see if either

Do want a priest to shrive them?

O no, 'tis blust'ring weather:

Alas, poor scholar! whither wilt thou go!
Ho, ho, ho, I have hit it;

Peace, Goodman Fool;
Thou hast a trade will fit it;
Draw thy indenture,
Be bound at adventure
An apprentice to a free-school;
There thou may'st command,

By William Lilly's charter:
There thou may'st whip, strip,

And hang, and draw, and quarter,
And commit to the red rod

Both Will, and Tom, and Arthur: Ay, ay, 'tis thither, thither will I go.

The Fairy Queen.

[Anonymous, from the Mysteries of Love and Eloquence, 1658.]

Come, follow, follow me,
You, fairy elves that be;
Which circle on the green,
Come, follow Mab, your queen.
Hand in hand let's dance around,
For this place is fairy ground.

When mortals are at rest,
And snoring in their nest;
Unheard and unespied,

Through keyholes we do glide;
Over tables, stools, and shelves,
We trip it with our fairy elves.
And if the house be foul
With platter, dish, or bowl,
Up stairs we nimbly creep,
And find the sluts asleep:

There we pinch their arms and thighs;

None escapes, nor none espies.

Milton's prose style is lofty, clear, vigorous, expressive, and frequently adorned with profuse and glowing imagery. Like many other productions of the age, it is, however, deficient in simplicity and smoothness-qualities whose occasional absence is in some degree attributable to his fondness for the Latin idiom in the construction of his sentences. It is to be regretted,' says a modern critic, 'that the prose writings of Milton should, in our time, be so little read. As compositions, they deserve the attention of every man who wishes to become acquainted with the full power of the English language. They abound with passages, compared with which the finest declamations of Burke sink into insignificance. They are a perfect field of cloth of gold. The style is stiff with gorgeous embroidery. Not even in the earlier books of the Paradise Lost has he ever risen higher than in those parts of his controversial works in which his feelings, excited by conflict, find a vent in bursts of devotional and lyric rapture. It is, to borrow his own majestic language, "a sevenfold chorus of hallelujahs and harping symphonies."'+

The following extracts are taken respectively from Milton's work called 'The Reason of Church Government urged against Prelacy' (1642), his 'Tractate of Education' (1644), and the Areopagitica' (1644). The first of them is peculiarly interesting, as an * Ikon Basiliké, signifies in Greek, The Royal Image or Portraiture; Iconoclastes, The Image-breaker. Edinburgh Review, vol. xlii. p. 345.

[Milton's Literary Musings.]

After I had, from my first years, by the ceaseless diligence and care of my father, whom God recompense, been exercised to the tongues, and some sciences, as my age would suffer, by sundry masters and teachers, both at home and at the schools, it was found that whether aught was imposed me by them that had the overlooking, or betaken to of my own choice in English, or other tongue, prosing or versing, but chiefly the latter, the style, by certain vital signs it had, was likely to live. But much latelier, in the private academies of Italy, whither I was favoured to resort, perceiving that some trifles which I had in memory, composed at under twenty or thereabout (for the manner is, that every one must give some proof of his wit and reading there), met with acceptance above what was looked for; and other things which I had shifted, in scarcity of books and conveniences, to patch up among them, were received with written encomiums, which the Italian is not forward to bestow on men of this side the Alps, I began thus far to assent both to them and divers of my friends here at home; and not less to an inward prompting, which now grew daily upon me, that by labour and intent study (which I take to be my portion in this life), joined to the strong propensity of nature, I might perhaps leave something so written, to after times, as they should not willingly let it die. These thoughts at once possessed me, and these other, that if I were certain to write as men buy leases, for three lives and downward, there ought no regard be sooner had than to God's glory, by the honour and instruction of my country. For which cause, and not only for that I knew it would be hard to arrive at the second rank among the Latins, I applied myself to that resolution which Ariosto followed against the persuasions of Bembo, to fix all the industry and art I could unite to the adorning of my native tongue; not to make verbal curiosities the end, that were a toilsome vanity; but to be an interpreter, and relater of the best and safest things among mine own citizens throughout this island, in the mother dialect. That what the greatest and choicest wits of Athens, Rome, or modern Italy, and those Hebrews of old did for their country, I in my proportion, with this over and above, of being a Christian, might do for mine; not caring to be once named abroad, though perhaps I could attain to that, but content with these British islands as my world, whose fortune hath hitherto been, that if the Athenians, as some say, made their small deeds great and renowned by their eloquent writers, England hath had her noble achievements made small by the unskilful handling of monks and mechanics.

Time serves not now, and perhaps I might seem too profuse, to give any certain account of what the mind at home, in the spacious circuits of her musing, hath liberty to propose to herself, though of highest hope and hardest attempting. Whether that epic form, whereof the two poems of Homer, and those other two of Virgil and Tasso are a diffuse, and the book of Job a brief model; or whether the rules of Aristotle herein are strictly to be kept, or nature to be followed, which in them that know art, and use judgment, is no transgression, but an enriching of art. And lastly, what king or knight before the conquest might be chosen, in whom to lay the pattern of a Christian hero. And as Tasso gave to a prince of Italy his choice, whether he would command him to write of Godfrey's expedition against the infidels, or Belisarius against the Goths, or Charlemagne against the Lombards; if to the instinct of nature and the emboldening of art aught may be trusted, and that there be nothing ad

would be no rashness, from an equal diligence and inclination, to present the like offer in our own ancient stories. Or whether those dramatic constitutions, wherein Sophocles and Euripides reign, shall be found more doctrinal and exemplary to a nation. The Scripture also affords us a fine pastoral drama in the Song of Solomon, consisting of two persons, and a double chorus, as Origen rightly judges; and the Apocalypse of St John is the majestic image of a high and stately tragedy, shutting up and intermingling her solemn scenes and acts with a seven-fold chorus of hallelujahs and harping symphonies. And this my opinion, the grave authority of Pareus, commenting that book, is sufficient to confirm. Or if occasion shall lead, to imitate those magnific odes and hymns, wherein Pindarus and Callimachus are in most things worthy, some others in their frame judicious, in their matter most, and end faulty. But those frequent songs throughout the law and prophets, beyond all these, not in their divine argument alone, but in the very critical art of composition, may be easily made appear, over all the kinds of lyric poesy, to be incomparable. These abilities, wheresoever they be found, are the inspired gift of God, rarely bestowed, but yet to some (though most abuse) in every nation: and are of power, besides the office of a pulpit, to inbreed and cherish in a great people the seeds of virtue and public civility; to allay the perturbations of the mind, and set the affections in right tune; to celebrate in glorious and lofty hymns the throne and equipage of God's almightiness, and what he suffers to be wrought with high providence in his church; to sing victorious agonies of martyrs and saints, the deeds and triumphs of just and pious nations, doing valiantly through faith against the enemies of Christ; to deplore the general relapses of kingdoms and states from justice and God's true worship. Lastly, whatsoever in religion is holy and sublime, in virtue amiable or grave, whatsoever hath passion or admiration in all the changes of that which is called fortune from without, or the wily subtleties and refluxes of man's thoughts from within; all these things, with a solid and treatable smoothness, to paint out and describe. Teaching over the whole book of sanctity and virtue, through all the instances of example, with such delight to those, especially of soft and delicious temper, who will not so much as look upon truth herself, unless they see her elegantly dressed; that whereas the paths of honesty and good life appear now rugged and difficult, though they be indeed easy and pleasant, they would then appear to all men both easy and pleasant, though they were rugged and difficult indeed. And what a benefit would this be to our youth and gentry, may be soon guessed by what we know of the corruption and bane which they suck in daily from the writings and interludes of libidinous and ignorant poetasters, who having scarce ever heard of that which is the main consistence of a true poem, the choice of such persons as they ought to introduce, and what is moral and decent to each one, do for the most part lay up vicious principles in sweet pills, to be swallowed down, and make the taste of virtuous documents harsh and sour. But because the spirit of man cannot demean itself lively in this body without some repeating intermission of labour and serious things, it were happy for the commonwealth if our magistrates, as in those famous governments of old, would take into their care not only the deciding of our contentious law cases and brawls, but the managing of our public sports and festival pastimes, that they might be, not such as were authorised awhile since, the provocations of drunkenness and lust, but such as may inure and harden our bodies, by martial exercises, to all warlike skill and performances; and may civilise, adorn, and make discreet our minds, by the learned and affable meet