the couch, till a fhort ceffation reftored his powers, and he was again able to talk with his former vigour. The approaches of this dreadful malady he began to feel foon after his uncle's death; and, with the ufual weakness of men fo difeafed, eagerly fnatched that temporary relief with which the table and the bottle flatter and feduce. But his health continually declined, and he grew more and more burthenfome to himself. To what I have formerly faid of his writings may be added, that his diction was often harsh, urskilfully laboured, and injudicioufly felected. He affected the obfolete when it was not worthy of revival; and he puts his words out of the common order, feeming to think, with fome later candidates for fame, that not to write profe is certainly to write poetry. His lines commonly are of flow motion, clogged and impeded with clusters of confonants. As men are often efteemed who cannot be loved, fa the poetry of Collins may fometimes extort praise when it gives little pleasure. Mr. Mr. Collins's firft production is added here from thePoetical Calendar." TO MISS AURELIA C-R, ON HER WEEPING AT HER SISTER'S WEDDING, Ceafe, fair Aurelia, ceafe to mourn; You may be happy in your turn, DYER. DY E R. JOHN DYER, of whom I have no other account to give than his own Letters, published with Hughes's correfpondence, and the notes added by the editor, have afforded me, was born in 1700, the fecond fon of Robert Dyer of Aberglafney, in Caermarthenshire, a folicitor of great capacity and note. He paffed through Westminster-fchool under the care of Dr. Freind, and was then called home to be inftructed in his father's profeffion. But his father died foon, and he took no delight in the ftudy of the law; but, having always amufed himself with drawing, refolved to turn painter, and became pupil to Mr. Richardson, an artist then of high reputation, but now better known by his books than by his pic tures. Having ftudied awhile under his mafter, he became, as he tells his friend, an itinerant painter, and wandered about South Wales, and the parts adjacent ; but he niingled poetry with painting, and about 1727 printed "Grongar Hill" in Lewis's Mif cellany. Being, probably, unfatisfied with his own proficiency, he, like other painters, travelled to Italy; and coming back in 1740, published The Ruins of Rome. If his poem was written foon after his return, he did not make much ufe of his acquifitions in painting, whatever they might be; for decline of health and love of ftudy determined him to the Church. He therefore entered into orders; and, it seems, married about the fame time a lady of the name of Enfor; "whofe grandmother," fays he, "was a Shakspeare "defcended from a brother of every body's Shak"fpeare;" by her, in 1756, he had a fon and three daughters living. His ecclefiaftical provifion was for a long time but flender. His first patron, Mr. Harper, gave him, in 1741, Calthorp in Leicestershire, of eighty pounds a year, on which he lived ten years, and then exchanged it for Belchford in Lincolnshire, of feventyfive. His condition now began to mend. In 1751, Sir John Heathcote gave him Coningsby, of one hundred and forty pounds a year; and in 1755 the Chancellor added Kirkby, of one hundred and ten. He complains that the repair of the houfe at Coningf by and other expences, took away the profit. In 1757 he published The Fleece, his greateft poetical. work; of which I will not fupprefs a ludicrous ftory. Dodfley the bookfeller was one day mentioning it to a critical visitor, with more expectation of fuccess than the other could eafily admit. In the converfation the author's age was afked; and being reprefented as adVOL. III. vanced T vanced in life," He will," faid the critick, "be "buried in woollen." He did not indeed long furvive that publication, nor long enjoy the increase of his preferments; for in 1758 he died. Dyer is not a poet of bulk or dignity fufficient to require an elaborate criticism. Grongar Hill is the happiest of his productions: it is not indeed very accurately written; but the fcenes which it difplays are fo pleafing, the images which they raise are fo welcome to the mind, and the reflections of the writer fo confonant to the general fenfe or experience of mankind, that when it is once read, it will be read again. The idea of The Ruins of Rome ftrikes more, but pleases lefs, and the title raises greater expectation than the performance gratifies. Some paffages, however, are conceived with the mind of a poet; as when, in the neighbourhood of dilapidating edifices, he fays, The Pilgrim oft At dead of night, mid his orifon hears Aghaft the voice of time, difparting tow'rs, Rattling around, loud thund'ring to the Moon. Of The Fleece which never became popular, and is now univerfally neglected, I can fay little that is likely to recall it to attention. The woolcomber and the poet appear to me fuch difcordant natures, than an attempt to bring them together is to couple the ferpent with the fowl. When Dyer, whose mind was not unpoetical, has done his utmoft, by intereft * July 24th. C. |