tread the milky way,
To the bright palace of eternal day!

When Young was writing a tragedy, Grafton is said by Spence to have sent
him a human skull, with a candle in it, as a lamp; and the poet is
reported to have used it.

What he calls the _true_ Estimate of Human Life, which has already been
mentioned, exhibits only the wrong side of the tapestry; and, being
asked why he did not show the right, he is said to have replied that he
could not. By others it has been told me that this was finished; but
that, before there existed any copy, it was torn in pieces by a lady's
monkey.

Still, is it altogether fair to dress up the poet for the man, and to
bring the gloominess of the Night Thoughts to prove the gloominess of
Young, and to show that his genius, like the genius of Swift, was, in
some measure, the sullen inspiration of discontent.

From them who answer in the affirmative it should not be concealed,
that, though "Invisibilia non decipiunt" appeared upon a deception in
Young's grounds, and "Ambulantes in horto audierunt vocem Dei" on a
building in his garden, his parish was indebted to the good humour of
the author of the Night Thoughts for an assembly and a bowling-green.

Whether you think with me, I know not; but the famous "De mortuis nil
nisi bonum" always appeared to me to savour more of female weakness than
of manly reason. He that has too much feeling to speak ill of the dead,
who, if they cannot defend themselves, are, at least, ignorant of his
abuse, will not hesitate, by the most wanton calumny, to destroy the
quiet, the reputation, the fortune, of the living. Yet censure is not
heard beneath the tomb, any more than praise. "De mortuis nil nisi
verum--De vivis nil nisi bonum," would approach much nearer to good
sense. After all, the few handfuls of remaining dust which once composed
the body of the author of the Night Thoughts feel not much concern
whether Young pass now for a man of sorrow, or for a "fellow of infinite
jest." To this favour must come the whole family of Yorick. His immortal
part, wherever that now dwells, is still less solicitous on this head.

But to a son of worth and sensibility it is of some little consequence
whether contemporaries believe, and posterity be taught to believe, that
his debauched and reprobate life cast a Stygian gloom over the evening
of his father's days, saved him the trouble of feigning a character
completely detestable, and succeeded, at last, in bringi