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the couch, till a fhort ceffation restored his powers, and he was again able to talk with his former vigour.

The approaches of this dreadful malady he began to feel foon after his uncle's death; and, with the ufual weakness of men fo difeafed, eagerly fnatched that temporary relief with which the table and the bottle flatter and feduce. But his health continually declined, and he grew more and more burthenfome to himself.

To what I have formerly faid of his writings may be added, that his diction was often harfh, unskilfully laboured, and injudiciously felected. He affected the obfolete when it was not worthy of revival; and he puts his words out of the common order, feeming to think, with fome later candidates for fame, that not to write profe is certainly to write poetry. His lines commonly are of flow motion, clogged and impeded with clufters of confonants. As men are often ef teemed who cannot be loved, fo the poetry of Col. lins may fometimes extort praife when it gives little pleasure.

Mr. Collins's firft production is added here from the "Poetical Calendar."


Ceafe, fair Aurelia, ceafe to mourn;
Lament not Hannah's happy ftate;
You may be happy in your turn,

And feize the treafure you regret.

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With Love united Hymen ftands,
And fottly whifpers to your charms;
"Meet but your lover in my bands,
"You'll find your fifter in his arms."




OHN DYER, of whom I have no other account to give than his own Letters, published with Hughes's correfpondence, and the notes added by the editor, have afforded me, was born in 1700, the fecond fon of Robert Dyer of Aberglafney, in Caermarthenshire, a folicitor of great capacity and


He paffed through Weftminster fchool under the care of Dr. Freind, and was then called home to be inftructed in his father's profeffion. But his fa ther died foon, and he took no delight in the study of the law, but, having always amufed himself with drawing, refolved to turn painter, and became pupil to Mr. Richardson, an artist then of high reputation, but now better known by his books than by his pictures.

Having ftudied a while under his mafter, he became, as he tells his friend, an itinerant painter, and wandered about South Wales and the parts adjacent ; but he mingled poetry with painting, and about



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"1727 printed "Grongar Hill" in Lewis's Mifcellany.

Being, probably, unfatisfied with his own proficiency, he, like other painters, traveled to Italy; and coming back in 1740, published the "Ruins of "Rome."

If his poem was written foon after his return, he did not make ufe of his acquifitions in painting, whatever they might be; for decline of health and. love of ftudy determined him to the Church. He therefore entered into Orders; and, it seems, married about the fame time a lady of the name of Enfor; "whofe grand-mother," fays he, "was a Shakspearė, "defcended from a brother of every body's Shakfpeare;" by her, in 1756, he had a fon and three daughters living..


His ecclefiaftical provifion.was for a long time but flender His firft patron, Mr. Harper, gave him, in 1741, Calthorp in Leicefterfhire, of eighty pounds a year, on which he lived ten years, and then exchanged it for Belchford in Lincolnshire, of feventyfive. His condition now began to mend. In 1751, Sir John Heathcote gave him Coningsby, of one hundred and forty pounds a year; and in 1755 the Chancellor added Kirkby, of one hundred and ten. He complains that the repair of the houfe at Coningsby, and other expences, took away the profit. In 1757 he published "The Fleece," his greateft poetical work; of which I will not fupprefs a ludicrous ftory. Dodfley the bookfeller was one day mentioning it to à critical vifiter, with more expectation of success than the other could eafily admit. In the converfation the author's age was afked; and being reprefented as adVOL. XI. T vanced


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vanced in life, "He will," faid the critick, "be "buried in woollen."

He did not indeed long furvive that publication, nor long enjoy the increate of his preferments; for in 1758 he died.

Dyer is not a poet of bulk or dignity fufficient to require an elaborate criticifin. Grongar Hill" is the happieft of his productions: it is not indeed very accurately written; but the scenes which it displays are fo pleafing, the images which they raife are fo welcome to the mind, and the reflections of the writer fo confonant to the general fenfe or experience of mankind, that when it is once read, it will be read again.

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The idea of the "Ruins of Rome" ftrikes more, but pleases lefs, and the title raifes greater expectation than the performance gratifies. Some patlages, however, are conceived with the mind of a poet; as when, in the neighbourhood of dilapidating edifices, he fays,

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The Pilgrim oft

At dead of night, mid his orifon hears

Aghaft the voice of time, difparting tow'rs,
Tumbling all precipitate down dath'd,
Rattling around, loud thund'ring to the Moon,

Of "The Fleece," which never became popular, and is now univerfally neglected, I can fay little that is likely to recall it to attention. The woolcomber and the poet appear to me fuch difcordant natures, that an attempt to bring them together is to couple the ferpent with the fowl. When Dyer, whofe mind was not unpoetical, has done his utmoft, by intereft

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