No, sir, very early; he was always up at sunrise, but then he had never
been in bed.
Did you ever correspond with him?
Very seldom. We were so much together there was little opportunity or
occasion for it.
You do not happen to have any reliques of his hand-writing?
I don’t think I have; but when I get my breath a little better I will
look among my papers to try if I can find any.
The kind old gentleman was warmed with the subject, and even set forward
to his escritoire in the pursuit, but returned only with a letter from
the late Dr. Armstrong, which he flattered himself contained something
relative to Thomson. In this he was mistaken. It was a rhapsody of
thanks in return for being presented with a large bottle of spirits; but
it was well worth an airing. This, said Mr. R., will show you the
intimate terms I was upon with Johnny Armstrong, who wrote that
beautiful poem, the “Art of Preserving the Health.” He was a very
ingenious and excellent man.
Did you know Dr. Patrick Murdoch, who wrote Thomson’s Life?
Ay, very well, and esteemed him. Pattie, as I always called him, had a
good heart.
Pope, as I have heard, used often to visit Thomson?
Yes, frequently. Pope has sometimes said, Thomson, I’ll walk to the end
of your garden, and then set off to the bottom of Kew-foot-lane and
back. Pope, sir, courted Thomson, and Thomson was always admitted to
Pope whether he had company or not; but Pope had a jealousy of every
eminent writer; he was a viper that gnawed the file.
Was Pope a great talker?
Pope, when he liked his company, was a very agreeable man. He was fond
of adulation, and when he had any dislike was a most bitter satirist.
Thomson, I think, was very intimate with David Mallet, the editor of
Bolingbroke?
Sir, that person’s name was properly “Malloch;” but I used to call him
“Moloch” in our festive moments, and Thomson enjoyed the jest. Sir, he
had not Thomson’s heart; he was not sound at the core; he made a
cat’s-paw of Thomson, and I did not like the man on that account.
Thomson had two cousins or nephews, who were gardeners, did they live
with him?
No, they did not live with him, they lived upon him. He was so generous
a man, that if he had but two eggs he would have given them both away.
Were you acquainted with Mr. Gray, who lived at Richmond Hill?
Yes, I knew a John Gray, who was a victualler. He purchased Thomson’s
collection of prints and drawings after his decease, but I believe
purely out of ostentation.
You must have had great influence over him, sir, from several
circumstances you have mentioned, but wish to be suppressed?
Without ostentation or vanity, sir, I really very often have wondered
how I came to have so much, and the rest of his friends wondered too;
for I do say it most sincerely, that I never could find out what made
Thomson and many of these geniuses so partial to me as they appeared.
Then, sir, I suspect you are the only one who could not make the
discovery?
Sir, I was not fishing for a compliment, I do assure you.
If you had, sir, I should not have snatched so eagerly at your bait.
I suppose you attended Thomson in a medical as well as in a social
capacity?
Yes, Armstrong and myself were with him till his last moments. I was in
the room with him when he died. A putrid fever carried him off in less
than a week. He seemed to me to be desirous not to live, and I had
reason to think that my sister-in-law was the occasion of this. He could
not bear the thoughts of her being married to another.
Pray did you attend his funeral?
Indeed I did, and a real funeral it was to me, as Quin said when he
spoke the prologue to “Coriolanus”--“I was in truth no actor there.”
Did you hear Quin speak that prologue, sir?
Yes, I could not have been absent.
Were you the only intimate friend who paid the last tribute of respect
to Thomson’s remains?
No, sir, Quin attended, and Mallet, and another friend, whose name I do
not recollect. He was interred in the north-west corner of Richmond
church, just where the christening pew now stands. I pointed out the
place to the sexton’s widow, that she might show it to strangers.
Did you know Andrew Millar, the bookseller?
I knew him well. He took a box near Thomson’s, in Kew-lane, to keep in
with him as an author who might be profitable to him. Andrew was a
good-natured man, and not an unpleasant companion, but he was a little
contracted in mind by his business, and had the dross of a bookseller
about him.
Did you know Paterson?
Yes. Paterson had been clerk to a counting-house in the city, went for
some time abroad, and on his return was amanuensis to Thomson, was his
deputy as surveyor-general to the Leeward Islands, and succeeded him in
that office, but he did not live long to enjoy it, I believe not more
than two years.
Collins, the poet, and Hammond, author of the “Love Elegies,” visited
Thomson?
Yes. Ah! poor Collins, he had much genius, but half mad. Hammond was a
gentleman, and a very pleasant man. Yet Thomson, I remember, one day
called him a burnished butterfly. Quin, the comedian, was a sincere
friend of Thomson; he was naturally a most humane and friendly man, and
only put on the brute when he thought it was expected from him by those
who gave him credit for the character.
Was the anecdote of Quin and Thomson true?
Yes, I believe it was.
Boswell surmised that Thomson was a much coarser man than is commonly
allowed?
Sir, Thomson was neither a _petit-maître_ nor a boor; he had simplicity
without rudeness, and a cultivated manner without being courtly. He had
a great aversion to letter-writing, and did not attempt much of prose
composition of any kind. His time for composition was generally at the
dead of night, and was much in his summer-house, which, together with
every memorial of his residence, is carefully preserved by the
honourable Mrs. Boscawen.
Did you know, sir, of any other attachments of Thomson’s, except that to
his Amanda?
No, I believe he was more truly attached to my little wife and her
sister than to any one else, next to Amanda. Mr. H., of Bangor, said he
was once asked to dinner by Thomson, but could not attend. One of his
friends, who was there, told him that there was a general stipulation
agreed on by the whole company, that there should be no hard drinking.
Thomson acquiesced, only requiring that each man should drink his
bottle. The terms were accepted unconditionally, and when the cloth was
removed, a three-quart bottle was set before each of his guests. Thomson
had much of this kind of agreeable humour. Mr. Aikman, the painter, and
Dr. De la Cour, a physician and ingenious writer, were intimate and
beloved friends of Thomson. Mr. Aikman was a gentleman of competent
estate, and was always friendly to Thomson.
Sir, I cordially thank you for this kindness, in suffering yourself to
be teased with interrogations; and when lord Buchan’s tablet on the
grave of the poet shall be imposed in Richmond church, I shall hope to
see you tripping across the green to take a peep at it.
Sir, if I can crawl across for such a gratification, I shall certainly
do it.
We then twice shook hands and parted. Intelligent old gentleman! Little
was I aware that his lengthened eve of life was so very near its close!
He was taken seriously ill a few hours after I left him, Monday, October
24, and on the Friday following he died, and was buried on Saturday, the
4th of November, by the south side of Richmond church.
Mors ultima linea rerum est.
(Signed) T. P.
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