taftes all the ease and pleasure mankind can defire. "Every thing about him fhews the man, each indivi"dual being placed by rule. All is neat without He is very pleafant in converfation, and ex ❝art. "tremely polite." This, and more, may poffibly be true; but Tfcharner's was a firft vifit, a vifit of curiofity and admiration, and a vifit which the author expected. Of Edward Young an anecdote which wanders among readers is not true, that he was Fielding's Parfon Adams. The original of that famous painting was William Young, who was a clergyman. He fupported an uncomfortable existence by tranflating for the bookfellers from Greek; and, if he did not seem to be his own friend, was at leaft no man's enemy. Yet the facility with which this report has gained belief in the world argues, were it not fufficiently known, that the author of the "Night Thoughts" bore fome resemblance to Adams. The attention which Young beftowed upon the perufal of books is not unworthy imitation. When any paffage pleased him, he appears to have folded down the leaf. On these paffages he bestowed a fecond reading. But the labours of man are too fre quently vain. Before he returned to much of what he had once approved, he died. Many of his books, which I have seen, are by thofe notes of approbation fo fwelled beyond their real bulk, that they will hardly fhut. What though we wade in wealth, or foar in fame ! And duft to duft concludes her noblest song! The author of thefe lines is not without his Hic jacet. By the good fenfe of his fon, it contains none of that praise which no marble can make the bad or the foolish merit; which, without the direction of a stone or a turf, will find its way, fooner or later, to the deferving. Is it not ftrange that the author of the "Night 66 Thoughts" has infcribed no monument to the memory of his lamented wife? Yet, what marble will endure as long as the poems? Such, my good friend, is the account which I have been able to collect of the great Young. That it may be long before any thing like what I have juft transcribed be neceffary for you, is the fincere wish of, Dear Sir, Your greatly obliged Friend, Lincoln's Inn, Sept. 1789. P. S. P. S. This account of Young was feen by you in manuscript, you know, Sir; and, though I could not prevail on you to make any alteration, you infifted on striking out one paffage, because it said, that, if I did not with you to live long for your fake, I did for the fake of myself and of the world. But this postfcript you will not fee before the printing of it; and I will fay here, in fpite of you, how I feel myself honoured and bettered by your friendship: and that, if I do credit to the Church, after which I always longed, and for which I am now going to give in exchange the Bar, though not at fo late a period of life as Young took Orders, it will be owing, in no small measure, to my having had the happiness of calling the author of "The Rambler" my friend. Oxford, Oct. 1782. H. C. OF Z3 OF Young's Poems it is difficult to give any general character; for he has no uniformity of manner one of his pieces has no great refemblance to another. He began to write early, and continued long; and at different times had different modes of poetical excellence in view. His numbers are fometimes fmooth, and fometimes rugged; his ftyle is fometimes concatenated, and fometimes abrupt; fometimes diffufive, and fometimes concife. His plan feems to have started in his mind at the prefent moment; and his thoughts appear the effect of chance, fometimes adverfe, and fometimes lucky, with very little operation of judgement. He was not one of those writers whom experience improves, and who, obferving their own faults, become gradually correct. His Poem on the "Last Day," his first great performance, has an equability and propriety, which he afterwards either never endeavoured or never attained. Many paragraphs are noble, and few are mean, yet the whole is languid; the plan is too much extended, and a fucceffion of images divides and weakens the general con-. ception; but the great reafon why the reader is dif appointed is, that the thought of the LAST DAY makes every man more than poetical, by fpreading over his mind a general obfcurity of facred horror, that oppreffes diftinction, and difdains expreffion. His story of " Jane Grey" was never popular. It is written with elegance enough; but Jane is too heroick to be pitied. The Univerfal Paffion" is indeed a very great performance. It is faid to be a series of Epigrams: but, if it be, it is what the author intended : his endeavour was at the production of ftriking diftichs and pointed fentences; and his diftichs have the weight of solid sentiments, and his points the fharpness of refiftlefs truth. His characters are often felected with difcernment, and drawn with nicety; his illuftrations are often happy, and his reflections often juft. His fpecies of fatire is between thofe of Horace and Juvenal; and he has the gaiety of Horace without his laxity of numbers, and the morality of Juvenal with greater variation of images. He plays, indeed, only on the furface of life; he never penetrates the receffes of the mind, and therefore the whole power of his poetry is exhausted by a fingle perufal; his conceits please only when they surprise. To tranflate he never condefcended, unlefs his "Pa"raphrafe on Job" may be confidered as a verfion; in which he has not, I think, been unfuccefsful; he indeed favoured himself, by chufing thofe parts which most eafily admit the ornaments of English poetry. He had leaft fuccefs in his lyrick attempts, in which he feems to have been under fome inalignant influence he is always labouring to be great, and at last is only turgid. In his "Night Thoughts" he has exhibited a very wide difplay of original poetry, variegated with deep reflections and striking allufions, a wilderness of thought, in which the fertility of fancy fcatters flowers of every hue and of every odour. This is one |