the idiot wife of a country squire. We his moral taste that, while he firmly will not go into details. In truth, believed that he was producing a picWycherley's indecency is protected ture of virtue too exalted for the comagainst the critics as a skunk is pro- merce of this world, he was really tected against the hunters. It is safe, delineating the greatest rascal that is because it is too filthy to handle, and to be found, even in his own writings. too noisome even to approach.

We pass a very severe censure on It is the same with the Plain Dealer. Wycherley, when we say that it is a How careful has Shakspeare been in relief to turn from him to Congreve. Twelfth Night to preserve the dignity Congreve's writings, indeed, are by no and delicacy of Viola under her dis- means pure; nor was he, as far as we guise! Even when wearing a page's are able to judge, a warm-hearted or doublet and hose, she is never mixed high-minded man. Yet, in coming up with any transaction which the to him, we feel that the worst is most fastidious mind could regard as over, that we are one remove further leaving a stain on her. She is em- from the Restoration, that we are ployed by the Duke on an embassy past the Nadir of national taste and of love to Olivia, but on an embassy of morality.

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.

Congreve passed his childhood and youth in Ireland. He was sent to school at Kilkenny, and thence went to the University of Dublin. His learning does great honour to his instructors. 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.

the most honourable kind. Wycher- WILLIAM CONGREVE was born in ley borrows Viola; and Viola forth-1670, at Bardsey, in the neighbourwith becomes a pandar of the basest hood of Leeds. His father, a younger sort. But the character of Manly is son of a very ancient Staffordshire the best illustration of our meaning. Molière exhibited in his misanthrope a pure and noble mind, which had been sorely vexed by the sight of perfidy and malevolence, disguised under the forms of politeness. As every extreme naturally generates its contrary, Alceste adopts a standard of good and evil directly opposed to that of the society which surrounds him. Courtesy seems to him a vice; and those stern virtues which are neglected by the fops and coquettes of Paris become too exclusively the objects of his veneration. He is often to blame; he is often ridiculous; but he is always a good man; and the feeling which he inspires is regret that a person so esti- When he had completed his academable should be so unamiable. Wy-mical studies, he was sent to London cherley borrowed Alceste, and turned him, we quote the words of so lenient a critic as Mr. Leigh Hunt,-into "a ferocious sensualist, who believed himself as great a rascal as he thought every body else." The surliness of Molière's hero is copied and caricatured. But the most nauseous libertinism and the most dastardly fraud are substituted for the purity and integrity of the original. And, to make the whole complete, Wycherley does not seem to have been aware that he was not drawing the portrait of an eminently honest man. So depraved was

to study the law, and was entered of the Middle Temple. He troubled himself, however, very little about pleading or conveyancing, and gave himself up to literature and society. Two kinds of ambition early took possession of his mind, and often pulled it in opposite directions. He was conscious of great fertility of thought and power of ingenious combination. His lively conversation, his polished manners, and his highly respectable connections, had obtained for him ready access to the best company. He longed to be a great writer. He longed to be a man

for representation. Nothing was wanted to the 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

of fashion. Either object was within | never read such a first play, and lent his reach. But could he secure both? his services to bring it into a form fit Was there not something vulgar in letters, something inconsistent with the easy apathetic graces of a man of the mode? Was it aristocratical to be confounded with creatures who lived in the cocklofts of Grub Street, to bar-Lane Theatre, then the only theatre in gain with publishers, to hurry printers' London, could assemble. The result devils and be hurried by them, to was a complete triumph; and the author squabble with managers, to be ap- was gratified with rewards more subplauded or hissed by pit, boxes, and stantial than the applauses of the pit. galleries? Could he forego the re- Montagu, then lord of the treasury, nown 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.

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.

In 1694, Congreve brought out the Double Dealer, 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 chaHis first work, a novel of no great racters of Maskwell and Lady Touchvalue, he published under the assumed wood. And, indeed, there is something name of Cleophil. His second was the strangely revolting in the way in which Old Bachelor, acted in 1693, a play a group that seems to belong to the inferior indeed to his other comedies, house of Laius or of Pelops is introbut, in its own line, inferior to them duced into the midst of the Brisks, alone. The plot is equally destitute Froths, Carelesses, and Plyants. The of interest and of probability. The play was unfavourably received. Yet, characters are either not distinguish- if the praise of distinguished men could able, or are distinguished only by pecu- compensate an author for the disapproliarities of the most glaring kind. But bation of the multitude, Congreve had the dialogue is resplendent with wit no reason to repine. Dryden, in one of and eloquence, which indeed are so the most ingenious, magnificent, and abundant that the fool comes in for pathetic pieces that he ever wrote, exan ample share, and yet preserves a tolled the author of the Double Dealer certain colloquial air, a certain inde- in terms which now appear extravascribable ease, of which Wycherley had gantly hyperbolical. Till Congreve came given no example, and which Sheridan forth,—so ran this exquisite flattery,— in vain attempted to imitate. The the superiority of the poets who preauthor, divided between pride and ceded the civil wars was acknowledged. shame, pride at having written a good play, and shame at having done an "Theirs was the giant race before the flood." ungentlemanlike thing, pretended that Since the return of the Royal House, he had merely scribbled a few scenes much art and ability had been exerted, for his own amusement, and affected to but the old masters had been still unyield unwillingly to the importunities rivalled. 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

"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 Burn

ing Pestle and of the Silent Woman, | praise. Had he contented himself with and who had only one rival left to saying that it was finer than any thing contend with. 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 days of been in the wrong. Charles the First, he would not have

"Heaven, that but once was prodigal before, To Shakspeare gave as much, she 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.

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 estimation of his contemporaries. so early an age, stood so high in the

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 licentious

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 many important points, we can never mention without respect.

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 Bet-ness. Mary was strictly pious; and the terton 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 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, 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

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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; yet he had mingled much 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 of treason are such that a good man to that section of the Church of England may, in troubled times, be led into them which lies furthest from Geneva and even by his virtues. It may be necessary nearest to Rome. His notions touching for the protection of society to punish Episcopal government, holy orders, the such a man. But even in punishing efficacy of the sacraments, the authority him we consider him as legally rather of the Fathers, the guilt of schism, the than morally guilty, and hope that his importance of vestments, ceremonies, honest error, though it cannot be parand solemn days, differed little from doned here, will not be counted to him those which are now held by Dr. Pusey for sin hereafter. But such was not the and Mr. Newman. Towards the close of case of Collier's penitents. They were his life, indeed, Collier took some steps concerned in a plot for waylaying and which brought him still nearer to Popery, butchering, in an hour of security, one mixed water with the wine in the Eu- who, whether he were or were not their charist, made the sign of the cross in king, was at all events their fellowconfirmation, employed oil in the visi- creature. Whether the Jacobite theory tation of the sick, and offered up prayers about the rights of governments and the for the dead. His politics were of a piece duties of subjects were or were not well with his divinity. He was a Tory of the founded, assassination must always be highest sort, such as in the cant of his considered as a great crime. It is conage was called a Tantivy. Not even the demned even by the maxims of worldly persecution of the bishops and the spo- honour and morality. Much more must liation of the universities could shake his it be an object of abhorrence to the steady loyalty. While the Convention pure Spouse of Christ. The Church canwas sitting, he wrote with vehemence in not surely, without the saddest and defence of the fugitive king, and was in most mournful forebodings, see one of consequence arrested. But his dauntless her children who has been guilty of spirit was not to be so tamed. He re- this great wickedness pass into eternity fused to take the oaths, renounced all without any sign of repentance. That his preferments, and, in a succession of these traitors had given any sign of pamphlets written with much violence repentance was not alleged. It might and with some ability, attempted to ex- be that they had privately declared cite the nation against its new masters. their contrition; and, if so, the minister In 1692, he was again arrested on sus- of religion might be justified in privately picion of having been concerned in a assuring them of the Divine forgiveness. treasonable plot. So unbending were his But a public remission ought to have principles that his friends could hardly been preceded by a public atonement. persuade him to let them bail him; and The regret of these men, if expressed he afterwards expressed his remorse for at all, had been expressed in secret. having been induced thus to acknow- The hands of Collier had been laid on ledge, by implication, the authority of them in the presence of thousands. The an usurping government. He was soon inference which his enemies drew from in trouble again. Sir John Friend and his conduct was that he did not conSir William Parkins were tried and sider the conspiracy against the life of convicted of high treason for planning William as sinful. But this inference the murder of King William. Collier he very vehemently, and, we doubt not, administered spiritual consolation to very sincerely denied. them, attended them to Tyburn, and, The storm raged. The bishops put just before they were turned off, laid his forth a solemn censure of the absoluhands on their heads, and by the au- tion. The Attorney-General brought thority which he derived from Christ, the matter before the Court of King's solemnly absolved them. This scene Bench. Collier had now made up his gave indescribable scandal. Tories mind not to give bail for his appearjoined with Whigs in blaming the con-ance before any court which derived its duct of the daring priest. Some acts, it authority from the usurper. He accordwas said, which fall under the definition | ingly absconded and was outlawed. He

survived these events about thirty years. | rality of the English Stage, a book which The prosecution was not pressed; and threw the whole literary world into 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 the First, he was still under the ban of the law.

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 Christ Church 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 sufficiently discriminating. The authors whom Collier accused had been guilty of such gross sins against decency that he was certain to weaken instead of strengthening his case, by introducing into his charge against them any matter about which there could be the smallest dis

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 wrongheaded, he was a singularly fair controversialist, candid, generous, too high-spirited to take mean advantages even in the most exciting disputes, and pure from all taint of personal malevolence. It must also be admitted that his opinions on ecclesias-pute. He was, however, so injudicious tical and political affairs, though in themselves absurd and pernicious, eminently qualified him to be the reformer of our lighter literature. The libertinism of the press and of the stage was, as we have said, the effect of a reaction against the Puritan strictness. Profligacy was, like the oak leaf of the twenty-ninth of May, the badge of a cavalier and a high churchman. Decency was associated with conventicles and calves' heads. Grave prelates were too much disposed to wink at the excesses of a body of zealous and able allies who covered Roundheads and Presbyterians with ridicule. If a Whig raised his voice against the impiety and licentiousness of the fashionable writers, his mouth was instantly stopped by the retort; You are one of those who groan at a light quotation from Scripture, and raise estates out of the plunder of the Church, who shudder at a double entendre, and chop off the heads of kings. A Baxter, a Burnet, even a Tillotson, would have done little to purify our literature. But when a man fanatical in the cause of episcopacy and actually under outlawry for his attachment to hereditary right, came forward as the champion of decency, the battle was already half won. In 1698, Collier published his Short View of the Profaneness and Immo

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, could 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 Foppington's mouth some contemptuous expressions respecting the Church service; though it is obvious that Vanbrugh could not better express reverence than by making Lord Foppington express contempt. There is also throughout the Short View too strong a display of professional feeling. Collier is not content with claiming for his order an immunity from indiscriminate scurrility; he will not allow that, in any case, any word or act of a divine can be a pro