ied, "it is a very fine night; _the Lord is
abroad_." He was very fond of a garden, and inscribed on the wall of his
summer-house the words, _Ambulantes in horto audiebant vocem Dei_
(Walking in the garden, they heard the voice of God). He had also erected
a dial with the inscription, _Eheu fugaces!_ which, he said with a smile
to Mr Langton, "was sadly verified, for by the next morning my dial had
been carried off." Though sometimes melancholy, he was disposed to
encourage mirth in others, and established an assembly and bowling-green
in his parish.

And had this been all--had Young continued to pursue such an even,
equable course--he had been by this time well-nigh forgotten; for we do
not think that either his satires or plays would of themselves have
preserved his name. But it was decreed that grief should co-operate with
disappointment in unfolding the full riches of his mind. Antaeus was
strongest when he touched the ground. Job was never so eloquent till he
was prostrated on his dunghill. And, in order to be able to write the
"Night Thoughts," Young must be plunged in the deepest gloom of
affliction--"Thrice flew the shaft, and thrice his peace was slain." In
1736, a daughter of his wife, by a former husband, died. This was Mrs
Temple--the Narcissa of his great poem. Her disease was a lingering one.
Young accompanied her to Lyons, where she died, and where her remains
were brutally denied sepulture, as the dust of a Protestant. Her husband,
Mr Temple, or Philander, died four years later; and in 1741, Young's
wife, or Lucia, also expired. He now felt himself alone, and blasted in
his solitude. But his grief did not sink into sullen inactivity. He made
it oracular, and distilled his tears into song. The "Night Thoughts" were
immediately commenced, and published between 1742 and 1744. This
marvellous poem was all composed either at night, or when riding on
horseback--an exercise, by the way, which gives a sense of mastery and
confidence, stirs the blood, elevates the animal spirits, and has been
felt by many to be eminently favourable to thought and mental
composition. It inspired, we know, such men as Burns, Byron, Shelley, and
Delta. We love to think of Young riding through the green lanes of his
parish, and cooing out to himself his plaintive minstrelsies. We love
better still to watch his lonely lamp shining at midnight, like a star,
through the darkness, and seeming to answer the far signal of those
mightier lu