published under the assumed name of Cleophil. His second was The Old Bachelor, acted in 1693, a play inferior indeed to his other comedies, but, in its own line, inferior to them alone. The plot is equally destitute of interest and of probability. The characters are either not distinguishable, or are distinguished only by peculiarities of the most glaring kind. But the dialogue is resplendent with wit and eloquence-which indeed are so abundant that the fool comes in for an ample share-and yet preserves a certain colloquial air, a certain indescribable ease, of which Wycherley had given no example and which Sheridan in vain attempted to imitate. The author, divided between pride and shame-pride at having written a good play and shame at having done an ungentlemanlike thing-pretended that he had merely scribbled a few scenes for his own amusement,' and affected to yield unwillingly to the importunities of those who pressed him to try his fortune on the stage. The Old Bachelor was seen in manuscript by Dryden, one of whose best qualities was a hearty and generous admiration for the talents of others. He declared that he had never seen such a first play, and lent his services to bring it into a form fit for representation. Nothing was wanted to the success of the piece. It was

1 "There seems to be a strange affectation in authors of appearing to have done everything by chance. The Old Bachelor was written for amusement in the languor of convalescence. Yet it is apparently composed with great elaborateness of dialogue and incessant ambition of wit."-Johnson's Lives of the Poets. ED.

so cast as to bring into play all the comic talent, and to exhibit on the boards in one view all the beauty which Drury Lane Theatre, then the only theatre in London, could assemble. The result was a complete triumph; and the author was gratified with rewards more substantial than the applauses of the pit. Montagu, then a lord of the Treasury, immediately gave him a place, and, in a short time, added the reversion of another place of much greater value, which, however, did not become vacant till many years had elapsed.1

In 1694, Congreve brought out The DoubleDealer, a comedy in which all the powers which had produced The Old Bachelor showed themselves matured by time and improved by exercise. But the audience was shocked by the characters of Maskwell and Lady Touchwood. And, indeed, there is something strangely revolting in the way in which a group that seems to belong to the house of Laius or of Pelops is introduced into the midst of the Brisks, Froths, Carelesses, and Plyants. The play was unfavourably received. Yet if the praise of distinguished men could compensate an author for the disapprobation of the multitude, Congreve had no reason to repine. Dryden, in one of the most ingenious, magnificent, and pathetic pieces that he ever wrote, extolled the author of The

1 A commissioner for licensing hackney coaches; a commissioner for wine licences; a place in the Pipe Office; a post in the Custom House; secretary of Jamaica-these were the appointments, held at one time or another, by the fortunate poet. ED.

Double-Dealer in terms which now appear extravagantly hyperbolical. Till Congreve came forth-so ran this exquisite flattery-the superiority of the poets who preceded the civil wars was acknowledged.

"Theirs was the giant race before the flood."

Since the return of the royal house, much art and ability had been exerted, but the old masters had been still unrivalled.

"Our builders were with want of genius curst,
The second temple was not like the first."

At length a writer had arisen who, just emerging from boyhood, had surpassed the authors of The Knight of the Burning Pestle and of The Silent Woman, and who had only one rival left to contend with.

"Heaven, that but once was prodigal before,

To Shakspeare gave as much, he could not give him more.'

Some lines near the end of the poem are singularly graceful and touching, and sank deep into the heart of Congreve.

"Already am I wern with cares and age,

And just abandoning the ungrateful stage;
But you, whom every Muse and Grace adorn,
Whom I foresee to better fortune born,
Be kind to my remains; and, oh, defend
Against your judgment your departed friend.
Let not the insulting foe my fame pursue,

But guard those laurels which descend to you."

The crowd, as usual, gradually came over to the opinion of the men of note; and The Double

1 The Knight of the Burning Pestle was written by Beaumont and Fletcher; the Silent Woman by Ben Jonson. ED.

Dealer was before long quite as much admired, though perhaps never so much liked, as The Old Bachelor.

In 1695 appeared Love for Love, superior both in wit and in scenic effect to either of the preceding plays. It was performed at a new theatre which Betterton and some other actors, disgusted by the treatment which they had received in Drury Lane, had just opened in a tennis-court near Lincoln's Inn. Scarcely any comedy within the memory of the oldest man had been equally successful. The actors were so elated that they gave Congreve a share in their theatre, and he promised in return to furnish them with a play every year, if his health would permit. Two years passed, however, before he produced The Mourning Bride, a play which, paltry as it is when compared, we do not say, with Lear or Macbeth, but with the best dramas of Massinger and Ford, stands very high among the tragedies of the age in which it was written. To find anything so good we must go twelve years back to Venice Preserved, or six years forward to The Fair Penitent. The noble passage, which Johnson, both in writing and in conversation, extolled above any other in the English drama, has suffered greatly in the public estimation from the extravagance of his praise, Had he contented himself with saying that it was finer than any

Venice Preserved was written by Thomas Otway; The Fair Penitent, by Nicholas Rowe. ED.

thing in the tragedies of Dryden, Otway, Lee, Rowe, Southern, Hughes, and Addison, than anything, in short, that had been written for the stage since the days of Charles I., he would not have been in the wrong.

The success of The Mourning Bride was even greater than that of Love for Love. Congreve was now allowed to be the first tragic as well as the first comic dramatist of his time: and all this at twenty-seven. We believe that no English writer except Lord Byron has, at so early an age, stood so high in the estimation of his contemporaries.

At this time took place an event which deserves, in our opinion, a very different sort of notice from that which has been bestowed on it by Mr. Leigh Hunt.' The nation had now nearly recovered from the demoralising effect of the Puritan austerity. The gloomy follies of the reign of the Saints were but faintly remembered. The evils produced by profaneness and debauchery were recent and glaring. The Court, since the Revolution, had ceased to patronise licentiousness. Mary was strictly pious, and the vices of the cold, stern, and silent William were not obtruded on the public eye. Discountenanced by the government and falling in the favour of the people, the profligacy of the Restoration still maintained its ground in some parts of society. Its strongholds were the places

1 In his introductory notice to The Dramatic Works of Wycherley, Congreve, Vanbrugh, and Farquhar.