“ ... Heaven, that but once was prodigal before, To Shakespeare gave as much, she could not give him more;” but we cannot refuse him an absolute supremacy in the narrower sphere of his genius, Congreve’s laurels were all reaped at the age of thirty. The “Old Bachelor” was produced when the author was but twenty-three, and that most perfect of English comedies of manners, “Love for Love,” when he was twenty-five. No such dialogue, for brilliancy, subtlety, intellectual finish, and flavour, was ever before heard. We who read cannot feel surprised that its sparkle should have dazzled the critics into the language of exaggerated panegyric. The “Mourning Bride” was the only essay in tragedy made by the man who, in Voltaire’s words, “raised the glory of comedy to a greater height than any English writer before or since.” Such a genius as Congreve could not fail absolutely, and though most of us know it only in its first line-- “Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast;” or perhaps by the passage which Johnson overpraised as “the most poetical passage from the whole mass of English poetry,” beginning-- “How reverend is the face of this tall pile,”-- the “Mourning Bride” is a _tour de force_ in dramatic art. [Illustration: M^r William Congreve.] Congreve’s career is a striking contrast to that proverbially assigned by fortune to the man of letters. Patronage from rival ministers placed him in various sinecure offices, and he died possessed of a large fortune. His funeral was that of a Prince. His body lay in state in the Jerusalem Chamber, and the greatest Peers of England were the bearers of the pall. Farquhar’s career was less happy than that of Congreve, if indeed success be happiness. The genial Irish spirit of the gallant gentleman could not carry his life beyond its thirtieth year. Over-exertion, necessitated by the impecuniosity inevitable to a nature akin to Goldsmith’s, undermined his health, and, like many another, in seeking to save his life he lost it. To Wilks, the actor, he wrote in a characteristic vein during his last illness:--“Dear Bob, I have not anything to leave thee to perpetuate my memory but two helpless girls. Look upon them sometimes, and think of him that was, to the last moment of his life, thine, George Farquhar.” In the “Beaux’ Stratagem” and the “Recruiting Officer,” there is far less of the prurient indecency characterising the period than in the comedies of any other member of the famous group. Farquhar’s broad humour resembles that of Chaucer and Shakespeare; it bears no relation to that of Wycherley. A gentleman of letters, he carried with him into his plays the happy lovable disposition of the land of his birth, and the gay indifference to fortune’s buffets of the military adventurer. “He was becoming gayer and gayer,” said Leigh Hunt, “when death, in the shape of a sore anxiety, called him away as if from a pleasant party, and left the house ringing with his jest.”