The autumn was his favourite season for poetical compofition, and the deep filence of the night, the time he commonly chofe for fuch ftudies; fo that he would often be heard walking in his library, till near morning, humming over, in his way, what he was to correct and write out next day.

The amufements of his leifure hours were civil and natural history, voyages, and the relations of travellers, the most authentic he could procure: and, had his fituation favoured it, he would certainly have excelled in gardening, agriculture, and every rural improvement and exercife. Although he performed on no inftrument, he was paffionately fond of mufic, and would fometimes liften a full hour at his window to the nightingales in Richmond gardens. While abroad, he had been greatly delighted with the regular Italian drama, fuch as Metaftafio writes, as it is there heightened by the charms of the beft voices and inftruments; and looked upon our theatrical entertainments as, in one respect, naked and imperfect, when compared with the ancient, or with those of Italy; wishing fometimes than a chorus, at least, and a better recitative, could be introduced.

Nor was his tafte, lefs exquifite in the arts of painting, fulpture, and architecture. In his travels he had

feen all the most celebrated monuments of antiquity, and the best productions of modern art; and studied them fo minutely, and with fo true a judgment, that in fome of his defcriptions, in the poem of Liberty, we have the mafter-pieces there mentioned placed in a ftronger light perhaps than if we faw them with our eyes; at leaft more justly delineated than in any other account extant: fo fuperior is a natural taste of the grand and beautiful, to the traditional leffons of a common virtufe. His collection of prints, and fome drawings from the antique, are now in the poffeffion of his friend Mr. Gray, of Richmond Hill.

As for his more diftinguishing qualities of mind and heart, they are better represented in his writings than they can be by the pen of any biographer. There, his love of mankind, of his country and friends, his devotion to the Supreme Being, founded on the moft elevated and juft conceptions of his operations and providence, fhine out in every page. So unbounded was his tenderness of heart, that it took in even the brute creation judge what it must have been towards his own fpecies. He is not indeed known, through his whole life, to have given any perfon one moment's pain, by his writings or otherwife. He took no part in the poetical fquabbles which happened in his time;

and was refpected and left undisturbed by both fides. He would even refuse to take offence when he justly might; by interrupting any personal story that was brought him, with fome jeft, or some humorous apology for the offender. Nor was he ever seen ruffled or difcompofed, but when he read or heard of fome flagrant inftance of injuftice, oppreffion, or cruelty: then, indeed, the ftrongest marks of horror and indignation were vifible in his countenance.

These amiable virtues, this divine temper of mind, did not fail of their due reward. His friends loved him with an enthufiaftic ardor, and lamented his untimely fate in the manner that is ftill fresh in every one's memory; the beft and greatest men of his time honored him with their friendship and protection; the applause of the Public attended every appearance he made; the actors, of whom the more eminent were his friends and admirers, grudging no pains to do justice to his tragedies. At prefent, indeed, if we except Tancred, they are feldom called for; the fimplicity of his plots, and the models he worked after, not fuiting the reigning taste, nor the impatience of an English theatre. They may hereafter come to be vogue: but we hazard no comment or conjecture upon them, or upon any part of Mr. Thomfon's works;

in

xxviii

THE LIFE OF MR. THOMSON.

neither need they any defence or apology, after the reception they have had at home, and in the foreign languages into which they have been tranflated. We fhall only fay, that, to judge from the imitations of his manner, which have been following him close, from the very firft publication of Winter, he feems to have fixed no inconfiderable era of the English poetry.

O DE

ON THE

DEATH of Mr. THOMSON.

By Mr. COLLINS.

[The scene of the following ftanzas is supposed to lie on the Thames near Richmond.]

IN yonder grave a Druid lies,

Where flowly winds the ftealing wave! The year's best sweets fhall duteous rife To deck its Poet's fylvan grave!

In yon deep bed of whispering reeds

*

His airy harp fhall now be laid,

That he, whofe heart in forrow bleeds,

May love thro' life the foothing shade.

*The harp of ÆOLUS, of which fee a defcription in the CASTLE OF INDOLENCE.