a peculiar idea of comick
excellence, which he supposed to consist in gay remarks and unexpected
answers; but that which he endeavoured, he seldom failed of performing.
His scenes exhibit not much of humour, imagery, or passion; his
personages are a kind of intellectual gladiators; every sentence is to
ward or strike; the contest of smartness is never intermitted; his wit
is a meteor playing to and fro with alternate coruscations. His comedies
have, therefore, in some degree, the operation of tragedies; they
surprise rather than divert, and raise admiration oftener than
merriment. But they are the works of a mind replete with images, and
quick in combination.

Of his miscellaneous poetry, I cannot say any thing very favourable. The
powers of Congreve seem to desert him when he leaves the stage, as
Antaeus was no longer strong than when he could touch the ground. It
cannot be observed without wonder, that a mind so vigorous and fertile
in dramatick compositions should, on any other occasion, discover
nothing but impotence and poverty. He has, in these little pieces,
neither elevation of fancy, selection of language, nor skill in
versification: yet, if I were required to select from the whole mass of
English poetry the most poetical paragraph, I know not what I could
prefer to an exclamation in the Mourning Bride:

ALMERIA.

It was a fancy'd noise; for all is hush'd.

LEONORA.

It bore the accent of a human voice.

ALMERIA.

It was thy fear, or else some transient wind
Whistling thro' hollows of this vaulted isle:
We'll listen--

LEONORA.

Hark!

ALMERIA.

No, all is hush'd and still as death.--'Tis dreadful!
How reverend is the face of this tall pile;
Whose ancient pillars rear their marble heads,
To bear aloft its arch'd and ponderous roof,
By its own weight made stedfast and immoveable,
Looking tranquillity! It strikes an awe
And terror on my aching sight; the tombs
And monumental caves of death look cold,
And shoot a chilness to my trembling heart.
Give me thy hand, and let me hear thy voice;
Nay, quickly speak to me, and let me hear
Thy voice--my own affrights me with its echoes.

He who reads these lines enjoys, for a moment, the powers of a poet; he
feels what h