muse, and some time after produced his best piece, so some think, ‘The Way of the World,’ which was also performed by Betterton’s company; but, alas! for overwriting—­that cacoethes of imprudent men—­it was almost hissed off the stage.  Whether this was owing to a weariness of Congreve’s style, or whether at the time of its first appearance Collier’s attacks, of which anon, had already disgusted the public with the obscenity and immorality of this writer, I do not know:  but, whatever the cause, the consequence was that Mr. William Congreve, in a fit of pique, made up his mind never to write another piece for the stage—­a wise resolution, perhaps—­and to turn fine gentleman instead.  With the exception of composing a masque called the ‘Judgment of Paris,’ and an opera ‘Gemele,’ which was never performed, he kept this resolution very honestly; and so Mr. William Congreve’s career as a playwright ends at the early age of thirty.

But though he abandoned the drama, he was not allowed to retire in peace.  There was a certain worthy, but peppery little man, who, though a Jacobite and a clergyman, was stanch and true, and as superior in character—­even, indeed, in vigour of writing—­to Congreve, as Somers was to every man of his age.  This very Jeremy Collier, to whom we owe it that there is any English drama fit to be acted before our sisters and wives in the present day.  Jeremy, the peppery, purged the stage in a succession of Jeremiads.

Born in 1650, educated at Cambridge as a poor scholar, ordained at the age of twenty-six, presented three years later with the living of Ampton, near Bury St. Edmunds, Jeremy had two qualities to recommend him to Englishmen—­respectability and pluck.  In an age when the clergy were as bad as the blackest sheep in their flocks, Jeremy was distinguished by purity of life; in an age when the only safety lay in adopting the principles of the Vicar of Bray, Jeremy was a Nonjuror, and of this nothing could cure him.  The Revolution of 1688 was scarcely effected, when the fiery little partizan published a pamphlet, which was rewarded by a residence of some months in Newgate, not in capacity of chaplain.  But he was scarcely let out, when again went his furious pen, and for four years he continued to assail the new government, till his hands were shackled and his mouth closed in the prison of ‘The Gate-house.’  Now, see the character of the man.  He was liberated upon giving bail, but had no sooner reflected on this liberation than he came to the conclusion that it was wrong, by offering security, to recognize the authority of magistrates appointed by a usurper, as he held William to be, and voluntarily surrendered himself to his judges.  Of course he was again committed, but this time to the King’s Bench, and would doubtless in a few years have made the tour of the London prisons, if his enemies had not been tired of trying him.  Once more at liberty, he passed the next three years in retirement.