WILLIAM CONGREVE was born in 1670,* at Bardsey, in the neighbourhood of Leeds. His father, a younger son of a very ancient Staffordshire family, had distinguished himself among the Cavaliers in the Civil War, was set down after the Restoration for the Order of the Royal Oak, and subsequently settled in Ireland, under the patronage of the Earl of Burlington.

having written a good play, and shame at having done an ungentlemanlike thing-pre tended 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 admiraCongreve passed his childhood and youth tion for the talents of others. He declared that in Ireland. He was sent to school at Kilkenny, he had never seen such a first play; and lent and thence went to the University of Dublin. his services to bring it into a form fit for reHis learning does great honour to his instruct-presentation. Nothing was wanting to the ers. From his writings it appears, not only that he was well acquainted with Latin literature, but that his knowledge of the Greek poets was such as was not, in his time, common even in a college.

success of the piece. It was 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 When he had completed his academical stu- complete triumph; and the author was gratidies, he was sent to London to study the law, fied with rewards more substantial than the and was entered of the Middle Temple. He applauses of the pit. Montagu, then a Lord of troubled himself, however, very little about the Treasury, immediately gave him a place, pleading or conveyancing; and gave himself and, in a short time, added the reversion of up to literature and society. Two kinds of another place of much greature value, which, ambition early took possession of his mind, however, did not become vacant till many and often pulled it in opposite directions. He years had elapsed. was conscious of great fertility of thought, and In 1694, Congreve brought out the "Doublepower of ingenious combination. His lively Dealer," a comedy in which all the powers conversation, his polished manners, and his which had produced the “Old Bachelor" show highly respectable connections had obtained themselves, matured by time and improved by for him ready access to the best company. He exercise. But the audience was shocked by longed to be a great writer. He longed to be a the characters of Maskwell and Lady Touchman of fashion. Either object was within his wood. And, indeed, there is something strangely reach. But could he secure both? Was there revolting in the way in which a group that not something vulgar in letters-something seems to belong to the house of Laius or of inconsistent with the easy apathetic graces of a Pelops, is introduced into the midst of the man of the mode? Was it aristocratical to be Brisks, Froths, Carelesses, and Plyants. The confounded with creatures who lived in the play was unfavourably received. Yet, if the cocklofts of Grub Street, to bargain with pub-praise of distinguished men could compensate lishers, to hurry printers' devils, to squabble with managers, to be applauded or hissed by pit, boxes, and galleries? Could he forego the renown of being the first wit of his age? Could he attain that renown without sullying what he valued quite as much-his character for gentility? The history of his life is the history of a conflict between these two impulses. In his youth the desire of literary fame had the mastery; but soon the meaner ambition overpowered the higher, and obtained supreme dominion over his mind.

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 "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."

"Our builders were with want of genius curst,

The second temple was not like the first.'

Since the return of the royal house, much art His first work, a novel of no great value, he and ability had been exerted, but the old maspublished under the assumed name of "Cleo-ters had been still unrivalled. phil." 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 At length a writer had arisen who, just emerg interest and of probability. The characters ing from boyhood, had surpassed the authors are either not distinguishable, or are distin- of the "Knight of the Burning Pestie," and the guished only by peculiarities of the most glar-"Silent Woman," and who had only one rival ing kind. But the dialogue is resplendent with left to contend with. wit and eloquence-which indeed are so abundant that the fools come 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

Mr. Leigh Hunt says 1669. But the Old Style has misled him. VOL. IV.-57

"Heaven, that but once was prodigal before,

To Shakspeare gave as much, he could not givo hm more."

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

"Already am I worn 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,

2 P 2

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

many important points, we can never mention without respect.

Jeremy Collier was a clergyman of the Church of England, bred at Cambridge. His talents and attainments were such as might have been expected to raise him to the highest honours of his profession. He had an extensive knowledge of books, and yet he had mingled with polite society, and is said not to have wanted either grace or vivacity in conversation. There were few branches of literature to which he had not paid some attention. But ecclesiastical antiquity was his favourite study. In religious opinions he belonged to that section of the Church of England which lies furthest from Geneva and nearest to Rome. His notions touching Episcopal government, holy orders, the efficacy of the sacraments, the authority of the Fathers, the guilt of schism, the importance of vestments, ceremonies, and solemn days, differed little from those which are now held by Dr. Pusey and Mr. Newman. Towards the close of his life, indeed, Collier took some steps which brought him still nearer to Popery-mixed water with the wine in the Eucharist, made the sign of the cross in con. firmation, employed oil in the visitation of the sick, and offered up prayers for the dead. His politics were of a piece with his divinity. He was a Tory of the highest sort, such as in the cant of that age was called a Tantivy. Not even the tyranny of James, not even the persecution of the bishops and the spoliation of the universities, could shake that steady loy alty. While the Convention was sitting, Collier wrote with vehemence in defence of the fugitive king, and was in consequence arrested. But his dauntless spirit was not to be so tamed. He refused to take the oaths, renounced all his

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 received in Drury Lane, 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 any thing so good we must go twelve years back to "Venice Preserved" or six years forward to the "Fair Penitent." The noble passage which Johnson, 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 thing in the tragedies of Dryden, Otway, Lee, Rowe, Southern, Hughes, and Addison-than any thing, in short, that had been written for the stage since the time of Charles the First-preferments, and, in a succession of pamphlets 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 demoralizing 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 where men of wit and fashion congregated, and above all, the theatres. At this conjuncture arose a great reformer, whom, widely as we differ from him in

written with much violence and with some ability, attempted to excite the nation against its new masters. In 1692, he was again arrested on suspicion of having been concerned in a treasonable plot. So unbending were his principles that his friends could hardly per suade him to let them bail him; and he afterwards expressed his remorse for having been induced thus to acknowledge, by implication, the authority of a usurping government. He was soon in trouble again. Sir John Friend and Sir William Parkins were tried and convicted of high treason for planning the murder of King William. Collier administered spi ritual consolation to them, attended them to Tyburn, and just before their execution laid his hands on their heads, and by the authority which he derived from Christ, solemnly ab solved them. This scene gave indescribable scandal. Tories joined with Whigs in blaming the conduct of the daring priest. There are, it was said, some acts which fall under the definition of treason into which a good man may, in troubled times, be led even by his vir tues. It may be necessary for the protection of society to punish such a man. But even in punishing him we consider him as legally rather than morally guilty, and hope that his honest error, though it cannot be pardoned here, will not be counted to him for sin here.

after. But such was not the case of Collier's | to wink at the excesses of a body of zealous penitents. They were concerned in a plot for and able allies, who covered Roundheads and waylaying and butchering, in an hour of secu- Presbyterians with ridicule. If a Whig raised rity, one who, whether he wee or were not his voice against the impiety and licentioustheir king, was at all events their fellow-crea-ness of the fashionable writers, his mouth was ture. Whether the Jacobite theory about the instantly stopped by the retort-You are one rights of governments, and the duties of sub- of those who groan at a light quotation from jects, were or were not well founded, assassi- Scripture, and raise estates out of the plunder nation must always be considered as a great of the Church.-who shudder at a double encrime. It is condemned even by the maxims tendre, and chop off the heads of kings. A of worldly honour and morality. Much more Baxter, a Burnet, even a Tillotson, would have must it be an object of abhorrence to the pure done little to purify our literature. But when Spouse of Christ. The Church cannot surely, a man, fanatical in the cause of Episcopacy, without the saddest and most mournful fore- and actually under outlawry for his attachbodings, see one of her children who has been ment to hereditary right, came forward as the guilty of this great wickedness, pass into eter- champion of decency, the battle was already nity without any sign of repentance. That half won. these traitors had given any sign of repentance was not alleged. It might be that they had privately declared their contrition; and, if so, the minister of religion might be justified in privately assuring them of the Divine forgiveness. But a public remission ought to have been preceded by a public atonement. The regret of these men, if expressed at all, had been expressed in secret. The hands of Collier had been laid on them in the presence of thousands. The inference which his enemies drew from his conduct was, that he did not consider the conspiracy against the life of William as sinful. But this inference he very vehemently, and, we doubt not, very sincerely denied.

In 1698, Collier published his "Short View of the Profaneness and Immorality of the English Stage," a book which threw the whole literary world into commotion, but which is now much less read than it deserves. The faults of the work, indeed, are neither few nor small. The dissertations on the Greek and Latin Drama do not at all help the argument; and, whatever may have been thought of them by the generation which fancied that Christchurch had refuted Bentley, are such as in the present day, a scholar of very humble pretensions may venture to pronounce boyish, or rather babyish. The censures are not suffi ciently discriminating. The authors whom Collier accused had been guilty of such gross sins against decency, that he was certain to

The storm raged. The bishops put forth a solemn censure of the absolution. The At-weaken, instead of strengthening his case, by torney-General brought the matter before the Court of King's Bench. Collier had now made up his mind not to give baii for his appearance before any court which derived its authority from the usurper. He accordingly absconded, and was outlawed. He survived these events about thirty years. The prosecution was not pressed, and he was soon suffered to resume his literary pursuits in quiet. At a later period, many attempts were made to shake his perverse integrity by offers of wealth and dignity, but in vain. When he died, towards the end of the reign of George I., he was still under the ban of the law.

introducing into his charge against them any matter about which there could be the smallest dispute. He was, however, so injudicious as to place among the outrageous offences, which he justly arraigned, some things which are really quite innocent; and some slight instances of levity, which, though not perhaps strictly correct, would easily be paralleled from the works of writers who had rendered great services to morality and religion. Thus he blames Congreve, the number and gravity of whose real transgressions made it quite unnecessary to tax him with any that were not real, for using the words "martyr" and "inspiration" in a light sense: as if an archbishop might not say that a speech was inspired by claret, or that an alderman was a martyr to the gout. Sometimes, again, Collier does not sufficiently distinguish between the dramatist and the persons of the drama. Thus he blames Vanbrugh for putting into Lord Fop

We shall not be suspected of regarding either the politics or the theology of Collier with partiality; but we believe him to have been as honest and courageous a man as ever lived. We will go further, and say that, though passionate and often wrong-headed, he was a singularly fair controversialist-candid, generous, too high-spirited to take mean ad-pington's mouth some raillery on the Church vantages even in the most exciting disputes, service; though it is obvious that Vanbrugh and pure from all taint of personal malevo- could not better express reverence than by lence. It must also be admitted that his opi- making Lord Foppington express contempt. nions on ecclesiastical and political affairs, There is also throughout the "Short View" though in themselves absurd and pernicious, too strong a display of professional feeling. eminently qualified him to be the reformer of Collier is not content with claiming for his our lighter literature. The libertinism of the order an immunity from insult and indiscri press and of the stage, was, as we have said, minate scurrility; he will not allow that, in the effect of the reaction against the Puritan any case, any word or act of a divine can be strictness. Profligacy was, like the oak leaf a proper subject for ridicule. Nor does he on the twenty-ninth of May, the badge of a confine this benefit of clergy to the ministers Cavalier and a High Churchman. Decency of the Established Church; he extends the was associated with conventicles and calves' privilege to Catholic priests, and, what in him head. Grave prelates were too much disposed is more surprising, to Dissenting preachers,

This, however, is a mere trifle. Imauns, Brahmins, priests of Jupiter, priests of Baal, are all to be held sacred. Dryden is blamed for making the Mufti in "Don Sebastian" talk nonsense. Lee is called to a severe account for his incivility to Tiresias. But the most curious passage is that in which Collier resents some uncivil reflections thrown by Cassandra, in "Cleomenes," on the calf Apis and his hierophants. The words, " grass-eating, foddered god,"-words which really are much in the style of several passages in the Old Testament, give as much offence to this Christian divine as they could have given to the priests at Memphis.

i

But, when all these deductions have been made, great merit must be allowed to this work. There is hardly any book of that time from which it would be possible to select specimens of writing so excellent and so various. To compare Collier with Pascal would indeed be absurd. Yet we hardly know where, except in the "Provincial Letters," we can find mirth so harmoniously and beco ly blended with solemnity as in the " View." In truth, all the modes of ridicule, m broad fun to polished and antithetical sarcasm, were at Collier's command. On the other hand, he was complete master of the rhetoric of honest indignation. We scarcely know any volume which contains so many bursts of that pecuJiar eloquence which comes from the heart, and goes to the heart. Indeed, the spirit of the book is truly heroic. In order fairly to appreciate it, we must remember the situation in which the writer stood. He was under the frown of power. His name was already a mark for the invectives of one half of the writers of the age; when, in the case of good taste, good sense, and good morals, he gave battle to the other half. Strong as his political prejudices were, he seems on this occasion to have entirely laid them aside. He has forgotten that he was a Jacobite, and remembers only that he is a citizen and a Christian. Some of his sharpest censures are directed against poetry which had been hailed with delight by the Tory party, and had inflicted a deep wound on the Whigs. It is really inspiriting to see how gallantly the solitary outlaw advances to attack enemies, formidable separately, and it might have been thought, irresistible when combined-distributes his swashing blows right and left among Wycherley, Congreve, and Vanbrugh-treads the wretched D'Urfey down in the dirt beneath his feet--and strikes with all his strength full at the towering crest of Dryden.

weapon, offensive or defensive, of which he
was not master. But his conscience smote
him; he stood abashed, like the fallen arch-
angel at the rebuke of Zephon,

"And felt how awful goodness is, and saw
Virtue in her shape how lovely; saw and pined
His loss."

At a later period he mentioned the “Short
View" in the preface to his "Fables." He
complained, with some asperity, of the harsh-
ness with which he had been treated, and
urged some matters in mitigation. But on the
whole, he frankly acknowledged that he had
been justly reproved. "If," said he, "Mr. Col·
lier be my enemy, let him triumph. If he be
my friend, as I have given him no personal
occasion to be otherwise, he will be glad of my
repentance."

It would have been wise in Congreve t follow his master's example. He was precisely in that situation in which it is madness to attempt a vindication; for his guilt was so clear, that no address or eloquence could obtain an acquittal. On the other hand, there were, in his case, many extenuating circumstances, which, if he had acknowledged his error, and promised amendment, would have procured his pardon. The most rigid censor could not but make great allowances for the faults into which so young a man had been seduced by evil example, by the luxuriance of a vigorous fancy, and by the inebriating effect of popular applause. The esteem, as well as the admiration, of the public was still within the reach. He might easily have effaced all memory of his transgressions, and have shared with Addison the glory of showing that the most brilliant wit may be the ally of virtue. But in any case, prudence should have restrained him from encountering Collier. The non-juror was a man thoroughly fitted by nature, education, and habit, for polemical dispute. Congreve's mind, though one of no common fertility and vigour, was of a different class. No man understood so well the art of polishing epigrams and repartees into the clearest effulgence, and setting them tastefully in easy and familiar dialogue. In this sort of jewellery he attained to a mastery unprecedented and inimitable. But he was altogether rude in the art of controversy, and he had a cause to defend which scarcely any art could have rendered victorious.

The event was such as might have been foreseen. Congreve's answer was a complete failure. He was angry, obscure, and dull. Even the Green Room and Wills' Coffee-House were compelled to acknowledge, that in wit The effect produced by the "Short View" the parson had a decided advantage over the was immense. The nation was on the side of poet. Not only was Congreve unable to make Collier. But it could not be doubted that, in any show of a case where he was in the wrong, the great host which he had defied, some cham- but he succeeded in putting himself completely pion would be found to lift the gauntlet. The in the wrong where he was in the right. Collier general belief was, that Dryden would take the had taxed him with profaneness for calling a field; and ail the wits anticipated a sharp clergyman Mr. Prig, and for introducing a coachcontest between two well-paired combatants. man named Jehu, in allusion to the King of Israel The great poet had been singled out in the who was known at a distance by his furious most marked manner. It was well known that driving. Had there been nothing worse in the ne was deeply hurt, that much smaller provo-"Old Bachelor" and "Double Dealer," Concations had formerly roused him to violent greve might pass for as pure a writer as Cow resentment, and that there was no literary per himself; who in poems revised by so

austere a censor as John Newton, calls a fox- A new race of wits and poets arose, who gene hunting squire Nimrod, and gives to a chaplain rally treated with reverence the great ties which the disrespectful name of Smug. Congreve bind society together; and whose very indemight with good effect have appealed to the cencies were decent when compared with those public whether it might not be fairly presumed of the school which flourished during the last that, when such frivolous charges were made, forty years of the seventeenth century. there were no very serious charges to make. Instead of doing this, he pretended that he meant no allusion to the Bible by the name of Jehu, and no reflection by the name of Prig. Strange that a man of such parts should, in order to defend himself against imputations which nobody could regard as important, tell untruths which it was certain that nobody would believe.