8 he left
Dublin, remained with his people in Staffordshire for some two years,
entered himself at the Temple, and came upon the town with _The Old
Bachelor_ in January 1692. _The Double-Dealer_ was produced in November
1693. In 1694 a storm in the theatre led to a secession of Betterton and
other renowned players from Drury Lane: with the result that a new
playhouse was opened in Lincoln's Inn Fields, on 30th April 1695, with
_Love for Love_. In the same year Congreve was appointed 'Commissioner
for Licensing Hackney Coaches.' _The Mourning Bride_ was produced in
1697, and was followed, oddly enough, by the controversy, or rather
'row,' with Jeremy Collier. In March 1700 came _The Way of the World_.
The poet was made Commissioner of Wine-Licences in 1705, and in 1714 with
his Jamaica secretaryship and his places in the Customs and the
delightful 'Pipe-Office,' he had an income of twelve hundred pounds a
year. He died at his house in Surrey Street, Strand, on 19th January
1728 [1729].

One or two comments on these dates are obvious. They dissipate the
Thackerayan fable that on the production of _The Old Bachelor_, the
fortunate young author received a shower of sinecures, 'all for writing a
comedy.'

'And crazy Congreve scarce could spare
A shilling to discharge a chair,'

writes Swift, and 'crazy' indicates that Congreve was gouty before he was
rich. But then, the gout was a very early factor in his life, and one
may call the line an exaggeration. Another couplet:

'Thus Congreve spent in writing plays,
And one poor office, half his days:'

probably expresses the truth. With his plays and his hackney coaches he
doubtless got through his twenties and thirties with no very hardly
grinding poverty, and at forty or so was comfortably secure. But another
fact, which the dates bring out very sharply, has a different interest.
At an age when Swift was beginning to try his powers, Congreve's work was
done. A few odes, a few letters he was still to write, but no more
comedies. Was it ill-health? or because the town had all but damned his
greatest play? or because he cared more for life than for art?

III.

The question brings one to an attempted appreciation of the man. Mr.
Gosse, for whose _Life_ I would express my gratitude, confesses that 'it
is not very easy to construct a definite portrait of Congreve.' But that
it baffled that very new journalist, Mrs. Manley, in his own day, and