"The Love of Fame," the universal passion, embracing several satires, published in 1728, was dedicated to the duke of Dorset, Lord Wilmington, Sir Robert Walpole, &c. It is said that this poem secured to him from the duke of Grafton the handsome amount of two thousand pounds; yet this account is not universally credited.

His ability to flatter may be discerned in a few lines which we shall quote from the first of these Satires, addressed to the duke of Dorset.

"My verse is satire; Dorset, lend your ear,
And patronise a muse you cannot fear.

To poets sacred is a Dorset's name,

Their wonted passport through the gates of fame.

Satire! had I thy Dorset's force divine,

A knave or fool should perish in each line;

Though for the first all Westminster should plead,
And for the last all Gresham intercede."

None better than our author understood the susceptibility of the human heart to the influence of praise: none, perhaps, have more frequently employed it to advance his own fame or fortune. In this same satire he most truly says:

"The love of praise, howe'er concealed by art,
Reigns, more or less, and glows in every heart:
The proud, to gain it, toils on toils endure;
The modest shun it, but to make it sure.
O'er globes and sceptres, now on thrones it swells;
Now trims the midnight lamp in college cells:
'Tis Tory, Whig; it plots, prays, preaches, pleads,
Harangues in senates, squeaks in masquerades.
Nor ends with life; but nods in sable plumes,

Adorns our hearse, and flatters on our tombs."

It would be difficult, perhaps, to exculpate our author from that offence which he so well satirizes in other poets. He was not always careful to bestow his exuberant praise upon deserving characters. In his desire to obtain the notice and the patronage of greatness, he was not always sufficiently discriminating in regard to another qua

lity, more deserving-that of goodness. If he erred, it was not through ignorance or inadvertence; for in the satire already quoted, we find some very just invectives upon the prostitution of poetry to the adulation of vice.

"Shall Poesy, like law, turn wrong to right,
And dedications wash an Ethiop white,

Set up each senseless wretch for nature's boast,
On whom praise shines, as trophies on a post?
Shall funeral eloquence her colours spread,
And scatter roses on the wealthy dead?
Shall authors smile on such illustrious days,
And satirise with nothing-but their praise ?"

It is the opinion of Croker that the comparative neglect into which Young's works have fallen, may be attributed in some degree to his disgusting flattery of his patrons, male and female; all his wit, pathos, and force—and they are very great-not being able to counteract the effect of the deplorable adulation which he practised. From this fault, however, the "Night Thoughts" are almost entirely free.

In further illustration of our author's peculiarities, as a seeker of royal and court patronage and distinction, it may be mentioned, that upon the accession of George II., and the delivery of his first speech to the Parliament, in 1728, a poem was soon published, on the basis of some remarks with reference to British seamen contained in that speech. "Ocean" was, accordingly, the title prefixed to it. It is addressed to the king. And how does he speak of him? Among other fine things, he says:

Our author had not yet become a clergyman. In 1714, he received his degree of Bachelor of Civil Law: in 1719, the degree of Doctor of Laws-the year in which died Addison, to whom English literature is so deeply indebted. A particular intimacy seems to have long subsisted between these two individuals. They were in the habit, it is said, of communicating to each other whatever verses they composed; and when Addison died, it was beautifully and truthfully said of him by his surviving friend and admirer:

"And guilt's chief foe in Addison has fled."

Such (says Dodsley's Annual Register, 1765) was the success of the poem on the "Last Day," and of the poem entitled, "Force of Religion,” in an age when the noblest productions were common, and even the meanest rewarded, that he was taken particular notice of by several of the nobility; and the turn of his mind leading him to the church, he went into orders, and, in 1728, was made one of the king's chaplains: he afterwards, in 1730, obtained the living of Welwyn, in Hertfordshire, worth about five hundred pounds per annum; and though ever in the full blaze of favour, he never had the fortune to rise to greater preferment. Indeed, during the last reign (George II.) the arts of poetry or of real eloquence were but little promoted or encouraged from the throne. Young could expect no great honours from a master who hated poetry, and styled all poets with the odious appellation of "Buffoons." For some years before the death of the late prince of Wales, Young, who was in favour with his royal highness, attended the court pretty constantly, but upon his decease all his hopes of church advancement vanished,

and towards the latter end of his life his very desires of fortune seemed to forsake him.

The poem already alluded to, and quoted in part, concludes with a "Wish," some stanzas of which will serve to throw light upon the author's character. They present it under an aspect quite unlike the manifestations of it hitherto furnished, and those which appear in the subsequent portion of his life.

My hours my own,
My faults unknown,

My chief revenue in content!
Then leave one beam

Of honest fame,

And scorn the laboured monument!

Unhurt my urn,

Till that great turn

When mighty nature's self shall die;

Time cease to chide

With human pride,

Sunk in the ocean of eternity."

Soon after entering upon the duties of his charge in Welwyn, a playful incident occurred, which may be related as an illustration of his extemporaneous wit and humour. Walking in his garden, in company with two ladies, a servant announced to him that a gentleman was in the house who desired to speak with him. "Tell him," says Young, “I am too happily engaged to change my situation." The ladies insisted, however, that he should leave them and repair to the house, as his visitor was a man of rank, his patron, his friend. Their persuasions having no effect, one of the ladies took him by the right arm, and the other by the left, and led him to the gardengate, when, discovering that resistance was vain, he politely bowed, laid his hand upon his breast, and in that expressive manner for which he was ever remarkable, he poured forth impromptu the following lines:

"Thus Adam look'd when from the garden driven,

And thus disputed orders sent from heaven:

Like him I go, and yet to go am loth;

Like him I go, for angels drove us both.

Hard was his fate, but mine still more unkind;

His Eve went with him, but mine stays behind."

She did not "stay behind" always; for, not many months subsequently to this incident, one of these persons, Lady Elizabeth Lee, walked with him to Hymen's altar, having at the time a son and two daughters by her former husband. This son was in the army, and died soon after this period. The eldest daughter married Mr.