I need not write much about myself, as your nephew, who dined with us yesterday, will give you a good account of my health. I have, however, still returns of head-ache, and my legs continue very weak. But I must tell you how much pleased we all are with Mr. Young. I really never saw a young man more pleasing and engaging. He seems to have already acquired much knowledge in most branches and to be studious of obtaining more; it comes out without affectation on all subjects he talks upon. He is very cheerful and easy without assuming anything, and even on the peculiarity of his dress and Quakerism he talked so reasonably that one cannot wish him to alter himself in any one particular. In short, I end as I began, by assuring you that the Duchess and I are quite charmed with him, and shall be happy to renew our acquaintance with him when we return to London. Later in the autumn the Duke, who was Master-General of the Ordnance, offered to make him his private secretary. In a letter to his mother Young says: I have very lately refused the pressing offer of a situation which would have been the most favourable and flattering introduction to political life that a young man in my circumstances could desire. I might have lived at a duke’s table, with a salary of 200_l._ a year, as his secretary, and with hopes of a more lucrative appointment in a short time. I should have been in an agreeable family, have had time enough for study, a library, a laboratory, and philosophical apparatus at my service; and I was not ashamed to allege my regard for our society as a principal reason for my not accepting the proposal. In the winter of 1794-5 he went to Edinburgh to study medicine. He learnt Spanish, German, music in theory and by playing the flute, dancing; and he went as much as he could into society and to the play. Soon after he left Edinburgh in June he wrote to his friend and fellow-student Dr. Bostock: I have seen Mrs. Siddons in ‘Douglas,’ the ‘Grecian Daughter,’ the ‘Mourning Bride,’ the ‘Provoked Husband,’ the ‘Fatal Marriage,’ ‘Macbeth,’ and ‘Venice Preserved.’ She was neither below nor much above my expectation. I can form an idea of something more perfect. My friend Cruikshanks, when I went to take my leave of him, took me aside and, after much preamble, told me he heard I had been at the play, and hoped that I should be able to contradict it. I told him ‘I had been several times, and thought it right to go,’ &c. &c., as civilly as I could. ‘I know you are determined to discourage my dancing and singing, and I am determined to pay no regard whatever to what you say. You think I shall never be able to play the flute well, and I am pretty sure that I may if I choose; as to dancing, the die is cast.’ At this time he gave up the dress and all the other peculiarities of the Quakers.