"Whom dismal scenes delight,

Frequent at tombs and in the realms of night."

EDWARD YOUNG, whose fame is chiefly due to his "Night Thoughts," now little read, but often quoted, was a very different man from either the "vitriolic Swift" or . the sparkling poet we last spoke of. His father was an eloquent dean, and preached so well that he was appointed chaplain to King William and Queen Mary, and the little Edward, who was born in 1681, was honored by having the princess royal (afterward Queen Anne) for his godmother. He was educated at All Souls College, Oxford, and, though he did not gain a scholarship, Oxford was certainly proud of him; for, only two years after his graduation, he was appointed to speak a Latin oration at the founding of a library there.

Pope says that Young had much of a sublime genius, but lacked common-sense, and genius without that sturdy guide is apt to become mere bombast. So he was thought a little weak by his friends, who laughed at his foibles, while they acknowledged his talent. It is said that he was dissipated in his early days, and led a gay, worldly life, under the patronage of a notoriously bad man-the Duke of Wharton. He may have been badly influenced by his profligate friend, but it is also true that he was remarkably well read in the Bible, and powerful in answer- . ing and refuting the arguments of his skeptical friends.

Tindal, a noted atheist of those days, used to spend much of his time at All Souls, and enjoyed discussing points of religious controversy with the young men, and this is his testimony: "The other boys I can always answer, because I know where they have their arguments, which I have read a hundred times; but that fellow, Young, is continually pestering me with something of his own."

Even if Young did try that wicked life, he left it in disgust, and, to his praise of virtue, adds a personal experience, which taught him to abhor all forms of vice. It makes him, perhaps, a better teacher of morality, for, as some one says, with great beauty of expression, "Experience, like the stern-lights of a ship, only illumines the path over which we have passed." Young's great mistake in life was his desire to gain the patronage and friendship of royalty and the nobility by fawning flattery; and this miserable ambition caused his whole life-and it was a long one-to be a series of disappointments and mortifications. Thinking, perhaps, that Addison gained his good fortune by a complimentary poem addressed to the king, "he hoped to soar to wealth and honor on wings of the same kind." So his first poem was addressed to Queen Anne, praising her in the most extravagant and absurd

manner, and his next poem, "On the Last Day," was also dedicated to her. I believe he gained nothing by this. fulsome flattery but a pension from her majesty, as these lines seem to prove in speaking of the court:

"Whence Gay was banished in disgrace,

Where Pope could never show his face;
Where Young must torture his invention

To flatter knaves, or lose his pension."

In 1717 he went to Ireland with his patron, the dissolute Wharton, who was then really kind to him, giving him much material aid, but afterward deserted him most meanly. The greater part of Young's life was spent in an unsuccessful struggle for fame as a courtier and poet. At last he retired, disgusted and misanthropic.

At the age of fifty, he took clerical orders, and passed the rest of his days in uneasy retirement, satirizing those things he had failed to gain, and to which he ever looked back with regret, still making an occasional effort to satisfy his darling ambition. These feelings he tried to hide in his poems by a veil of dignity and sublime indif ference, which fails to deceive the careful reader. His first important work was a satire on the "Love of Fame," which he styles the "universal passion," as he might well do, if he judged the world by his own longings. This satire, divided into seven epistles, is often strong and vigorous,, with many keen and happy hits; but he was not sufficiently gay, playful, or good-natured, to make it. quite satisfactory. As Swift remarked, "They should have either been more angry or more merry." But they were widely circulated, and brought the author more than three thousand pounds. Of course, the reign of the new monarch was ushered in by Young-ever waiting for a favorable moment to advance his own claims-by a complimentary poem which he styled "Ocean; an Ode."

King George, in his speech when he ascended the throne, had recommended the encouragement of the seamen; and the anxious poet and would-be favorite took his cue from this circumstance.

This ode concludes with a "wish," of which I will give you a specimen, quoting three of the thirteen stanzas, just to show how little we can know of an author's real feelings from what he gives to the world as such. The rhymes

are very bad:

"0 may I steal

Along the vale

Of humble life, secure from foes;

My friend sincere,

My judgment clear,

And gentle business my repose.

"Prophetic schemes,

And golden dreams,

May I, unsanguine, cast away!

Have what I have,

And live, not leave,
Enamoured of the present day!

"My hours my own,

My faults unknown!

My chief revenue in content!

Then leave one beam

Of honest fame,

And scorn the labored monument!"

He hoped to be rewarded by a bishopric, but this was withheld on the ground of the poet's extreme devotion to retirement, which he had so often expressed! Rather hard, wasn't it, for the disappointed man? Nothing was left him, after all his efforts, but to ponder in solitude over the folly of writing romantic stuff in which was neither Honesty seems the best policy, after

sincerity nor heart.

all, with poets as well as common people.

Whipple says: "A man of letters is often a man with

two natures-one a book nature, the other a human nature. These often clash sadly. Seneca wrote in praise of poverty, on a table formed of solid gold, with two millions of pounds let out at usury. Sterne was a very selfish man, according to Warburton, an irreclaimable. rascal, yet a writer unexcelled for pathos and charity. Sir Richard Steele wrote excellently well on temperance, when he was sober. Dr. Johnson's essays on politeness are admirable; yet his 'You lie, sir,' and 'You don't understand the question, sir,' were too common characteristics of his colloquies. He and Dr. Shebbeare were both pensioned at the same time. The report immediately flew that the king had pensioned two bears-a he-bear and a she-bear. Young, whose gloomy fancy cast such sombre tinges on life, was in society a brisk, lively man, continually pelting his hearers with puerile puns. Mrs. Carter, fresh from the stern, dark grandeur of the Night Thoughts,' expressed her amazement at his flippancy. 'Madam,' said he, there is much difference between talking and writing.' The same poet's favorite theme was the nothingness of worldly things; his favorite pursuit was rank and riches. Had Mrs. Carter noticed this incongruity, he might have added, Madam, there is much difference between writing didactic poems and living didactic poems.'

In 1730 his college gave him the rectory of Welwyn, in Hertfordshire, the only substantial favor he ever received, and that came unasked; and in May of the next year he married a widow, Lady Elizabeth Lee, to whom and her two children the poet was tenderly attached. This beautiful and lovely lady inspired one of the happiest and most elegant impromptus ever uttered.

Dr. Young (we must give him the only title he ever gained) was walking in his garden with two ladies, one of them Lady Lee. On being called away by a servant to