"Lady Wishfort. Out of my house, out of my house, thou viper, thou serpent, that I have fostered; thou bosom traitress, that I raised from nothing.-Begone, begone, begone, go, go.-That I took from washing of old gauze and weaving of dead hair, with a black-blue nose over a chafing-dish of starved embers, and dining behind a traverse rag, in a shop no bigger than a bird-cage."

This is certainly the genius loci ;-the poetry of local description, and narrow-minded contempt! Very little poetry of any sort is there in the "Miscellanies" of Congreve, and not much of his accustomed wit. To his scholarship, as Dr. Johnson observed, the public were indebted for the discovery, that Cowley's irregular versification was not Pindaric; though, in a directly critical sense, he can hardly be said to have first taught the knowledge to "English writers;" for the example of the true Pindaric (as far as metre goes) had been set with pedantic nicety by Ben Jonson. Congreve professes not to be aware of the existence of a precursor in this reformation; and most likely he had forgotten Ben's miscellaneous poetry, though he had well studied the dramas of the old scholar. He retained a better recollection of Spenser; for in the "Elegy on the Marquis of Blandford,” (the son of his friend the Ducness of Marlborough,) the toiler through its common-places is agreeably surprised at coming upon one or two passages of real fancy and tenderness, evidently suggested by the verses of the great poet on the "Death of Sir Philip Sydney." All his other "Mourning Muses," and serious poems of any sort, with the exception of a passage in his ode upon the singing of Arabella Hunt, (for he had a real feeling for music,) are, for the most part, to use a frank epithet applied to some of them by Johnson," despicable." He sometimes follows Cowley so ill, that he may be said to imitate Sprat !—as in the "sigh" which Silence occupies by way of "throne," and which has been "purposely annihilated" to oblige him with that accommodation! There is now and then a strenuous couplet in his translations, caught from the tone of Dryden. His art of “Pleasing” consists in a freedom from affectation; which though a necessary, is but a negative part of it. In his best songs he is remarkable for the absence of everything that is inverted in words, or superfluous to the thought; and here also his wit returns; but he implies, as usual, little cordiality in his gallantry. The following, however, is written in the spirit of a gentleman.

SONG.

False though she be to me and love,

I'll ne'er pursue revenge;
For still the charmer I approve,
Though I deplore the change.

In hours of bliss we oft have met,

They could not always last;
And though the present I regret,

I'm grateful for the past.

The following is more characteristic of his writings in ordinary; as full of wit, and what was thought sense," as it is deficient in sentiment. It is needless to add, that epicures of this sort are ignorant of half of what they think they know best, the very luxury of the senses.

SONG.

Tell me no more I am deceived,
That Chloe 's false and common;

I always knew, at least believed,
She was a very woman.

As such I liked, as such caress'd;
She still was constant when possess'd
She could do more for no man.

* See the Discourse on the Pindarique Ode prefixed to one of Congreve's poems on King William; and, in 'en Jonson's works, the "Pindaric Ode" to the memory of Sir Lucius Cary and Sir H. Morison.

But oh! her thoughts on others ran,

And that you think a hard thing;
Perhaps she fancied you the man,

And what care I one farthing?

You think she's false, I'm sure she's kind,

I take her body, you her mind;

Which has the better bargain?

The perplexed heroine of the next has been thought to be "poor Mrs. Bracegirdle."

SONG.

Pious Selinda goes to prayers,

If I but ask the favour;
And yet the tender fool's in tears,
When she believes I'll leave her,

Would I were free from this restraint,
Or else had hopes to win her!
Would she could make of me a saint,
Or I of her a sinner!

Congreve had an admiration of fair saints; which indeed is natural to a sinner of his sort. But "Doris" was thought his master-piece. The critics of the age, with good-natured Steele at their head, wanted words to express their admiration of " Doris ; "-Doris, which was the concatenation of everything new, and playful, and profound;-Doris, the "inimitable Doris," which, for aught that Greece or Rome had to show to the contrary, might have been written by Horace or Menander, or Virgil himself; nay, by Lord Dorset, or the Earl of Halifax. But we must not jest with a name like Steele, because we happen to live in an age which has been taught better. "Doris " is, in truth, very acutely and pleasantly written, and, to this day, not a little startling; though the character was not a new one, even with Congreve. It shall be the last of our extracts in verse :

DORIS.

Doris, a nymph of riper age,

Has every grace and art
A wise observer to engage,
Or wound a heedless heart.
Of native blush and rosy dye

Time has her cheek bereft ;
Which makes the prudent nymph supply,
With paint, the injurious theft.
Her sparkling eyes she still retains,
And teeth, in good repair;
And her well furnish'd front disdain

To grace with borrow'd hair.
Of size, she is nor short nor tall,

And does to fat incline

No more, than what the French would call

Aimable embonpoint.

Farther her person to disclose

Which, like her clothes, when little used,

She always lays aside.

She's one who looks with great contempt
On each affected creature,

Whose nicety would seem exempt

From appetites of nature.

She thinks they want or health or sense,
Who want an inclination;
And therefore never takes offence

At him who pleads his passion.
Whom she refuses, she treats still
With so much sweet behaviour,
That her refusal, through her skill
Looks almost like a favour.
Since she this softness can express
To those whom she rejects,
She must be very fond, you'll guess,
Of such whom she affects.

But here our Doris far outgoes

All that her sex have done;
She no regard for custom knows,
Which reason bids her shun.
By reason, her own reason's meant,
Or, if you please, her will;
For when this last is discontent,
The first is served but ill.
Peculiar, therefore, is her way;
Whether by nature taught,

I shall not undertake to say,

Or by experience bought.

But who o'er night obtain'd her grace,

She can next day disown;

And stare upon the strange man's face,

As one she ne'er had known.

So well she can the truth disguise,
Such artful wonder frame,

The lover or distrusts his eyes,
Or thinks 'twas all a dream.
Some censure this as lewd and low,
Who are to bounty blind;

For to forget what we bestow,

Bespeaks a noble mind.

Doris our thanks nor asks nor needs,

For all her favours done :

From her love flows, as light proceeds
Spontaneous from the sun.

On one or other still her fires

Congreve's undramatic prose writings are few and of little importance. His answer to Collier is noticed at the conclusion of our lives. He addressed a letter to Dennis (whose name was dropped in the later editions of it,) on the subject of Humour in Comedy; but it contains nothing more

remarkable than the use of the word appearing for apparent,—his only innovation we believe of the sort, and strange enough for a writer so opposed to pedantry. In the British Museum are some original letters of his, addressed to Mr. Porter, husband of the celebrated actress, and including one to herself. She was a neighbour of Mrs. Bracegirdle, and a very high-minded and good-natured woman, as well as an actress of great sensibility. We are not aware that these letters have ever been published, and having had permission to copy them, we lay them before the reader. They show us an unaffected man, and an easy, good-tempered, enjoying companion; and there is an occasional glimpse of his wit. We have preserved the irregular initials and the want of stops, to show the progress that lesser wits have since made in these matters by the help of Mr. Dilworth.

"Sr I am forced to Borrow Ladies paper* but I think it will contain all that I can tell you from this place which is so much out of the world that nothing but the last great news could have reacht it. I have a little tried what solitude and retirement can afford, which are here in perfection I am now writing to you from before a black mountain nodding over me and a whole river in cascade falling so near me that even I can distinctly see it. I can only tell you of the situation I am in, which would be better expressed by Mr. Grace if he were here. I hope all our friends are well both at salisbury and windsor where I suppose you spent the last week. pray whenever you write to 'em give my humble service. I think to go the next week to Mansfield race where I am told I shall see all the Country if I see any of y' acquaintance I will do you right to them. I hope Mrs. Longuevilles picture has been well finished. I am Dear Sr Y most humble Servt. WILL. CONGREVE

"Ham near Ashbourn in Derbyshire

"Between 6 and 7 in the morning birds singing jolly breezes whistling &c."
(Outside.) "To Mr. Edward Porter At his house in Surrey Street i' the Strand, London."

"New Year Day.

"This is to wish you and Mrs. Porter and my friends in Howard-street + a happy new year, and next to condole with you for the damnd weather god knows when the snow will let me stir; or if a thaw should come upon it when the flouds will be down. I am by a great fire yet my ink freezes so fast I cannot write. The Hautboys who played to us last night had their breath froze in their instruments till it dropt of the ends of 'em in icicles.by god this is true my service and sorrow to my friends for not being with 'em.

"I am y: most obedient servant,

W. CONGREVE"

(Outside.) "For Mr. Porter, at his house in Surrey street, in the Strand London" (Post-marks.) “Buckingham.—Frank, R. Temple.”

The following is to Mrs. Porter:

"Rotterdam 7br 27: 1700

"I leave you to judge whether Holland can be said to be wanting in Gallantry, when it is Customary there to enclose a Billet doux to a Lady in a letter to her husband I have not so much as made mention of this, to yours; and if you tell first, let the sin fall upon your head instead of his. for my part I keep the Commandment, I love my neighbour as my selfe, and to avoid coveting my neighbour's wife. I desire to be coveted by her; which you know is quite another thing. About — weeks since, I wrote a very passionate letter to you from Antwerp which I believe you never received, for just now it is found carefully put up by my man, who has been drunk ever since. I understand you have not been in the Country, I am glad of it; for I should very much have apprehended the effect which solitude might have produced, Joined with the regrett which I know you feel for my absence. take it for granted that I sigh extreamly: I would have written by the Alcayd, but that would make me reflect that I was at a distance from her, which is pain I cannot bear. I would have written to your mother but that I have changed my religion twice since I left england, I am at present so unsettled, that I think it fit to fix before I endeavour to convert her do

*The "ladies' paper" seems to be paper to curl the hair. It is a half-sheet doubled.
† Mrs. Bracegirdle, and probably her mother.
We cannot make out this hieroglyphic.

my opinion which I design to do as soon as I know what it is. I have discoursed with friars and monks of all orders, with zealots, enthusiasts and all sectaries of the reformed churches. and I had the benefit to travel 12 leagues together in Guelderland with a mad Phanatick in a waggon, who preached to me all the way things not to be written. Pray take care that Mr. Ebbub has good wine, for I have much to say to you over a bottle under-ground: and I hope within 3 weeks to satisfie you that no man upon the face of the earth is more dear neighbour

your ffaithfull and affectionate humble servant (Outside.) "For Mrs. Porter."

W: C"

"Calais: Aug: 11th: Old: S: 1700

"If any letters are left for me before you receive this pray enclose 'em to be left at the post house in Brussels: for any that shall come after y2. receipt of this, I will trouble you with some other direction

“Here is Admirable Champagn for twelve pence a quart as good Burgundy for 15 pence; and yet I have virtue enough to resolve to leave this place to-morrow for St. Omers where the same wine is halfe as dear again and may be not quite so good. (dear Neighbour) Charles and Jacob* and I have never failed drinking y'. healths since we saw you, nor ever will till we see you again. we had a long passage but delicate weather. we set sail from Dover on satturday morning 4 a clock and did not land here till 6 the same evening; nor had we arrived even in that time, if a french open boat with oars had not been stragling towards us when we were not quite halfe-seas over, and rowd us hither from thence in † hours; for the packet-boat came not till this morning; when I come to Brussels I shall have more to write to you till then I am most humbly and heartily yrs.

W: CONGREVE.

"My humble service to my neighbour, your mother, Mrs: Anne ‡, Mrs: Travers, not forgetting the Alcayde, who I hope in my absence may be reconciled to Punch.

"Poor Charles is just writing to Mrs. Anne and striving very hard to find something besides the Ballad, to please her much.

(Outside.) "To Mr. Porter, at his house in Arundel Street, against the blew-ball, London."

"Aug: 9th:

"I am very sorry to hear you are indisposed; tho I believe the season is a great part of y distemper. I assure you it still keeps me back and I have frequently vapours to that excesse, that if I had not some free intervals, I should think my selfe rather impaird than improved in my health. I dont tell you this by way of Complaint so much as by way of Consolation for if good air, moderate exercise, temperate living perfect ease and plenty-cannot resist the influence of this miserable season; you may imagine what power it must necessarily have over you in town, upon the remainder of your last years disorder. your Cough is that I am most concerned for because it is most trouble. some to you tho I make no doubt of that being also vapourish or hysterick. I am only glad you have Dr. Robinson who I make no question will set you quite right. pray let me hear soon that you are better. You must assure y' selfe any way no matter how. I am just now as hot as the Devil in my hands and it is but between six and seven in the morning and promises to be a fine day. but I can never be again imposed on by the dissimulation of the weather. we live here like good midding sort of friars in a pretty retirement onely we have no Nuns. I fancy a good friar would do you no more hari. than a good nun would do me or as Dr. R or Dr. Dunny. I should take it for a prodigious favour if you would let me hear from you and be overjoyed to have you tell me you were better. if I could send you anything that could do you as much good as such a letter would do me; you should have very little cause, and very little time longer to complain.”

(In the same letter.)

"g-if you see Mr Curtis to night pray know of him if it be possible for me to have a picture of

* Probably Jacob Tonson.

† We cannot make out the number.

Bracegirdle.