poraries, William's nativity took place. Be this true or not, it is certain that his education was exclusively Irish; for he received the first rudiments of learning at the college of Kilkenny, where he gave early instances of poetical talent, particularly by a copy of verses on the death of his master's magpie; and was thence removed to complete his studies at the University of Dublin.

As Congreve, the father, lived by a profession, he naturally desired to see his son gain something by one too; and accordingly had him entered a student-at-law in the Middle Temple, during his sixteenth year. Nothing is more common when a boy discovers any readiness of parts, or striking aptitude for study, than for his parents to determine they will rear him to the bar; and nothing is more probable than that he will baffle the plan, and disappoint their expectations. There is little congeniality between the erudition of precise statutes and dry reports of modern judicature, and the ample genius of Demosthenes before the Athenian people, or the liberal capacity of Cicero at the Roman Forum; and thus, in recent days, whenever it has been attempted to force a union between law and literature, the design has proved abortive. Congreve, among many others, evidences the fact: he lived for several years in chambers, but instead of learning the profession, diverted himself with classical compositions, and made his first trial as an author by publishing, in his nineteenth year, a novel entitled the Incognita, or Love and Duty reconciled.' As the volume has long been out of print, it is impossible to describe or to criticise it, but by hearsay: the biographers seem to have praised it without having read it; and the greatest merits they attribute to it are, that it was uncommon for such a time of life, and was both projected and executed according to the rules of poetical art.

6

That Congreve himself was little satisfied with the performance is most likely, for he immediately directed his mind to another style, and never after began a labour congenial with his maiden work. Before he had completed his one-and-twentieth year, he gave the stage The Old Bachelor,' a brilliant comedy, of which, on a subsequent occasion, he presented the world with this vapid history :-" It was written some years before it was acted. When I wrote it, I had little thoughts of the stage, but did it to amuse myself in a slow recovery from a fit of sickness. After

:

wards, through my indiscretion, it was seen, and in some little time acted; and I, through the remainder of my indiscretion, suffered myself to be drawn into the prosecution of a difficult and thankless study, and to be involved in a perpetual war with knaves and fools." All this is very affected and most commonplace but to return to sense and facts; the play, after receiving some corrections, was introduced to the theatre, with high compliments, by Dryden and Southerne, and was represented, with flattering effect, by the united companies in Drury Lane. The prologue was spoken by Mrs. Bracegirdle, the epilogue by Mrs. Barry; and its success was made the subject of a paper in the Tatler, by Addison. Dr. Johnson has investigated its merits with a correctness so original as to leave the task of farther criticism supererogation. "It will be found," he says, "to be one of those comedies which may be made by a mind vigorous and acute, and furnished with comic characters by the perusal of other poets, without much actual commerce with mankind. The dialogue is one constant reciprocation of conceits, or clash of wit, in which nothing flows necessarily from the occasion, or is dictated by nature. The characters, both of men and women, are either fictitious and artificial; as those of Heartwell, and the Ladies; or easy and common, as Wittol, a tame idiot: Bluff, a swaggering coward; Fondlewife, a jealous puritan: and the catastrophe arises from a mistake, not very probably produced, by marrying a woman in a mask.”

This review is just and discriminating to a nicety, which, it is much to be regretted, Johnson did not care to cultivate in all his other criticisms. The Old Bachelor has for years lost its place on the stage, and is now only read by the scholar, who is bound by the conditions of his reputation to be conversant with all that was ever praised in the literature of his country. It brought the author an ample share of popularity, and substantial reward: he was recommended by its success to the notice of the Earl of Halifax, who delighting to be ranked the Mæcenas of the age, promoted Congreve in office at the first opportunity. He was first made a commissioner for licensing hackney-coaches; afterwards appointed to a place in the Pipe-office, and again advanced to a situation in the Custom House. From these posts he derived, almost immediately, a handsome revenue of 6004, a year, and was farther flattered by finding his patron treat him as a friend.

As his conversation was prompt and agreeable, he was introduced to the leading members of the party in administration, and became a welcome associate in their hours of relaxation. In the enjoyment of such prosperity it was not to be expected that he would neglect the means by which he so happily rose; he composed with ease, and therefore produced with commendable regularity.

In the very next year, 1694, he brought forward the 'Double Dealer,' a comedy; which was received with the same partiality as the former by the poets, but with less favour by the people. It was dedicated, with laboured flattery, to the Earl of Halifax; was acted with the best strength of the company, but failed, and gave the author no passing discontent. The lesson, however, was not without its benefit, for he had ready for the ensuing season, 'Love for Love,' in which he has exhibited a better portraiture of the manners and conduct of life than in any other of his pieces. The circumstances under which it appeared were also highly propitious; the best actors, with Betterton at their head, had just emancipated themselves from the despotism of old Rich, and settled in a theatre built for them by public subscription in Portugalstreet, then Portugal-row, Lincoln's Inn Fields; and Congreve generously presented them with Love for Love,' as an opening play. Betterton delivered the prologue, and Mrs. Bracegirdle the epilogue, which was written by Rowe. The house was crowded to suffocation; and even the stage was thronged with beaus, courtiers, and wits. Every one was anxious to see the new establishment thrive, and was therefore disposed to applaud the performance; and as, by a striking coincidence of fortune, it deserved the favours which all were glad to bestow, they were re-echoed by other audiences with undiminished satisfaction. This popularity induced the proprietors to give him a share in the interest of the patent, upon the condition of receiving a new play from him for each season. That he never fulfilled the contract it is almost needless to observe; and as for the share, he sold it when Sir John Vanbrugh built the new house in the Haymarket.

Having thus secured his rank in comedy, he resolved to try his powers in tragedy; and after a preparation of two years, finished the Mourning Bride.' This was the most successful of his dramas: at the period of its first appearance, it was acted far oftener than any of the others, and has been so frequently revived,

that it still ranks on the catalogue of our standard plays.. It is a good specimen of our second tragic school: sonorous, regular and correct, it never penetrates into the recesses of human feeling, nor extends to the riot of human passion; and as it dares no astonishment, only wearies with even pleasure. It was dedicated to the Princess Anne of Denmark, and was a particular favourite with the author. He not only gave more time to the composition of it than to his former plays, but took a pride in revising it after it was printed. One description in it has been quoted among the happiest passages in the wide range of English poetry, and is therefore given here :

ALMERIA. It was a fancied noise, for all is hushed.
LEONORA. It bore the accent of a human voice.

ALMERIA. It was thy fear, or else some transient wind
Whistling through hollows of this vaulted aisle :
We'll listen-

ALMERIA. No, all is hushed and still as death.-'Tis dreadful!
How reverend is the face of this tall pile,

Whose ancient pillars raise their marble heads,
To bear aloft the arched and ponderous roof
By its own weight made stedfast and immovable,
Looking tranquillity! It strikes an awe
And terror on my aching sight; the tombs
And monumental caves of death look cold,
And shoot a chilness to my trembling heart.
Give me thy hand and let me hear thy voice;
Nay, quickly speak to me, and let me hear

Thy voice-my own affrights me with its echoes.

Another year revolved, and Congreve prepared a new comedy -The Way of the World:' it was damned; and he forthwith took leave of the stage in high dudgeon. This misfortune, however, could not put him out of humour with the great, and he dedicated the play to the Earl of Montague, with all his wonted fawnings of panegyric, and took occasion to insinuate, that the public had been both inconsiderate and ungrateful to him; as he had expended much labour and thought upon the composition. At this point the literary life of Congreve may be said to terminate; for, although there remain one or two other performances

of his to be noticed, they are both trifling in their nature, and inferior in merit. He had not yet completed his six-and-twentieth year; and it is a fact as admirable as unusual, that he fixed the record of his famé at an age when other men hardly cease to lay the mere foundations of excellence. It is always painful to think of talents languishing in poverty; but when, as in the present case, they are rewarded with singular promptitude and generosity, it is even more distressing to find the author turning his back like a coxcomb upon the exercises by which he gave pleasure, and despising the means by which he grew distinguished.

This was about the time at which Collier began that battle with the theatres, which has been already noticed in the life of Betterton. By him Congreve's plays were attacked seriatim; and after some hesitation, the latter published a defence, in eight letters addressed to his friend Walter Moyle, Esq. In these he protests at the very onset against calling names, but uses language equally offensive; for he talks of removing passages from his adversary's dunghill, which were only tainted by his breath; "and when," he adds, "I have washed 'em of that filth which they have contracted in passing through his dirty hands, let their own innocence protect 'em. Mr. Collier in the high vigor of his obscenity first commits a rape upon my words, and then charges 'em with obscenity." This extract is from the first letter: the second gives a schoolboy's definition of comedy from Aristotle, which is neither aptly introduced, nor well applied; but in the third, fourth, fifth, sixth and seventh, he enters upon his own defence, and prospers as he proceeds. He is pertinent, and therefore good; he admits some improprieties, and thus gives an air of candour to his reasoning, which his opponent greatly wants. Had the issue of the contest rested solely between Collier and Congreve, the former had never triumphed as he did; for the latter has frequently the best of the tilt as far as regards himself. But unfortunately, he is by no means so forcible or happy, in justifying the stage at large, as in excusing his own contributions to it; and, therefore, it is to be acknowledged that Collier has much reason with many faults.

Before dismissing this subject, it must in fairness be added, that Collier's attack is in few respects characterized by that virtuous determination which has generally been ascribed to him. He presumes to write like a scholar, and think like a moralist;