I became acquainted with him in the year 1726, when he published his
poem of Winter. He lived opposite to me, in Lancaster-court, in the
Strand. I went to the East Indies soon after, which caused a chasm in
our acquaintance; but, on my return, our intimacy was strengthened, and
continued to the hour of his death. I do not know any man, living or
dead, I ever esteemed more highly, and he was attached to me. I had once
a complaint of a consumptive nature, which confined me much at home, and
he was so good as to come often from Kew-lane to sit with me.
Did you know Amanda?
Know her? Yes, sir, I married her sister. Amanda was a Miss Young,
daughter to captain Gilbert Young, of the Gulyhill family, in
Dumfriesshire, and was married afterwards to admiral Campbell. She was a
fine sensible woman, and poor Thomson was desperately in love with her.
Mr. Gilbert Young, her nephew, left my house this very morning. Thomson,
indeed, was never wealthy enough to marry.
Mr. Collins, the brewer, has told me, that he was so heedless in his
money concerns, that in paying him a bill for beer, he gave him two bank
notes rolled together instead of one. Collins did not perceive the
mistake till he got home, and when he returned the note Thomson appeared
perfectly indifferent about the matter, and said he had enough to go on
without it! Mr. Robertson smiled at this anecdote, and said it was like
him.
He was not, I believe, one of the weeping philosophers. He was no
Heraclitus?
No, he was not, indeed. I remember his being stopped once between London
and Richmond, and robbed of his watch, and when I expressed my regret
for his loss, “Pshaw, damn it,” said he, “I am glad they took it from
me, ’twas never good for any thing.”
Was he national in his affections?
He had no prejudices whatever; he was the most liberal of men in all his
sentiments.
I have been told that he used to associate with parson Cromer, and some
other convivials, at the Old Orange Tree, in Kew-lane?
Relaxation of any kind was to him frequently desirable, and he could
conform to any company. He was benevolent and social, both in his
writings and in his life; as his friend, Dr. Armstrong, said on another
occasion, he practised what he preached. Lord L.’s character of him as
an author was perfectly just, that in his last moments he had no cause
to wish any thing blotted he had ever written.