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Updated: June 13, 2025
Some more days past, and I had other cause to regret my course; for passing a door ajar, I looked through the crack, hearing voices, and found Mrs Pratt conversing very much at her ease with my prodigal a thing which, though well enough in Congreve's comedies, is what I will not have in my family.
Roger Congreve's eyes wore a constant twinkle, and he looked at her so frequently that Olive defiantly felt that he was laughing at her awkward confusion, and the thought made his prospects towards gaining her friendship, none too bright. So on the whole, supper was not a successful meal, for Mr.
The play was Congreve's tragedy of "The Mourning Bride," one of the best of a class of sentimental and stiltified dramatic productions which the public of our great-grandfathers meekly accepted, quaffing the frothy small-beer of rant and affectation, in lieu of deep draughts of Nature and passion, the rich, red wine of human life, poured generously forth by the dramatists of a better era.
We should as soon expect the people of Woolwich to suffer themselves to be fired off upon one of Congreve's ricochet rockets as trust themselves to the mercy of such a machine, going at such a rate. And the Quarterly was not alone in its scepticism.
I want likewise for myself, as you can pick them up, second-handed or cheap, copies of Otway's Dramatic Works, Ben Jonson's, Dryden's, Congreve's, Wycherley's, Vanbrugh's, Gibber's, or any Dramatic Works of the more modern Macklin, Garrick, Foote, Colman, or Sheridan. A good copy too of Moliere, in French, I much want.
Congreve's greeting, as he came in, making every effort not to be noisy or speak too loud, in consequence of which, his voice was dropped to a sepulchral whisper, and he walked as if the floor was spread with eggs. But his kind, sharp eyes were full of tears, his voice shook, and he held her frail hand as though it was a precious wafer, that slight pressure might demolish.
North of Ancre to Authuille was General Morland's Tenth Corps, and east of Albert General Pulteney's Third Corps, a division directed against La Boiselle, and another against Ovillers. Adjoining the French forces on the British right flank lay General Congreve's Thirteenth Corps.
"We can't starve, with birds about and rabbits as well as sheep on the isle," said Yaspard; "but the storm that could do us no harm may be serious enough for poor Tom. There isn't even a morsel of tea left only a few piltacks and a slice of cheese." "There's a couple of eggs and Miss Congreve's box of chocolates left," Bill said. "We'll keep them for Tom; but the sea may run off before night."
Congreve's wife, of course instead of going to his club, your husband will expect to remain at home with you." "That might be possible in the old-fashioned parsonage where you imbibed so many queer outlandish doctrines; but I do assure you, we have quite outgrown such an intolerable orthodox system of penance.
Congreve's offences against decorum, though highly culpable, were not so gross as those of Wycherley; nor did Congreve, like Wycherley, exhibit to the world the deplorable spectacle of a licentious dotage. Congreve died in the enjoyment of high consideration; Wycherley forgotten or despised.
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