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CENTURY OF ANECDOTE.

MEN OF LETTERS.

THOMSON'S "SEASONS."

THE popularity of The Seasons equals that of any poem in the language: Coleridge, seeing a soiled copy of this work lying in the window-seat of an obscure inn on the sea-coast of Somerstshire, he said, “That is true fame."

Victor, in a note in the third volume of his Poems, relates

"The excellent poem of Winter was written in the year 1724, some few months after the author's arrival in London, from Edinburgh. He had no friend here but Mr. Malloch, his schoolfellow, who then lived in the house of the Duke of Montrose, in Hanover-square, as tutor to the Duke's two sons. I remember Mr. Malloch (who soon after changed his name to Mallet) and I walked, one November day, to all the booksellers in the Strand and Fleet-street, to sell the copy of this poem; and at last could only fix with Mr. Millar, who then lived in a little shop in Fleet-street; and the chief motive with him was, that the author was his countryman; for, after several arguments, we could get but three pounds! This poem was dedicated to Sir Spencer Compton, then Speaker of the House of Commons, who took no notice of the author for more than a month. Our agreeable friend, Mr. Hill, who had read and admired the poem in manuscript, was so provoked at this shameful neglect, that he wrote about twenty satirical lines, which were printed, wherein he told the author he was mistaken if he expected ministers of state to do honour to his poem, as being much above their comprehension. Soon after, Sir Spencer Compton sent for

the author, and, with some apology, gave him a bank-bill of twenty pounds.

"The poem sold so well, that Mr. Millar gave Thomson fifty pounds for the second (Spring); the copy-money was increased for the Summer and Autumn; and when printed together, so many editions were sold in a few years, that this grateful bookseller erected that monument to the author's memory now by Shakspeare's, in Westminster Abbey; but

his own works are his best monument."

Savage, who lived much with Thomson, told Johnson he heard a lady remarking that she could gather from his (Thomson's) works three parts of his character that he was a great lover, a great swimmer, and rigorously abstinent! "But," said Savage, "he knows not any love but that of the he was perhaps never in cold water in his life, and he indulges himself in all the luxury that comes within his reach."

sex,

He was a dull boy when at school. Being one day overheard to exclaim, "Confound the Tower of Babel!" he was asked by the teacher what he meant ; when he replied, “If it were not for the Tower of Babel, there would be no languages to learn!" He was then studying Latin and Greek.

THOMSON AND HIS HAIR-DRESSER.

The Poet was social in his habits-" a temperament," says Mr. Bell, "that seldom escapes exaggeration in biography." However, in Thomson's case, we have some trustworthy evidence from one of a class noted for their garrulity—the hairdresser at Richmond, named William Taylor, who regularly dressed the poet, and kept in order his numerous wigs. From this worthy the Earl of Buchan collected the following anecdotes, in a conversation in one of the alcoves on Richmond Green :

"Mr. Taylor, do you remember anything of Thomson, who lived in Kew-lane some years ago ?" "Thomson-Thomson, the poet? Ay, very well; I have taken him by the nose many hundred times. I shaved him, I believe, seven or eight years, or more. He had a face as long as a horse; and he perspired so much, that I remember, after walking one day in summer, I shaved his head without lather, by his own desire. His hair was as soft as a camel's-I hardly ever felt

such; and yet it grew so remarkably, that, if it was but an inch long, it stood upright on end from his head like a brush." "His person, I am told, was large and clumsy?" "Yes, he was pretty corpulent, and stooped forward rather, when he walked, as though he was full of thought. He was very careless and negligent about his dress, and wore his clothes remarkably plain." "Did he always wear a wig?" "Always, in my memory; and very extravagant he was with them. I have seen a dozen at a time hanging up in my master's shop, and all of them so big, that nobody else could wear them. I suppose his perspiring to such a degree made him have so many, for I have known him spoil a new one only in walking to London." "He was a great walker, I believe?" "Yes; he used to walk from Malloch's, at Strandon-the-Green, near Kew-bridge, and from London, at all hours of the night. He seldom liked to go into a carriage, and I never saw him on horseback. I believe he was too fearful to ride."

"Very

"Did Thomson keep much company?" "Yes, a good deal of the writing sort. I remember Pope, and Paterson, and Malloch, and Lyttelton, and Dr. Armstrong; and Andrew Millar, the bookseller, who had a house near Thomson's, in Kew-lane. Mr. Robertson, one of the company, could tell you more about them." "Did Pope often visit him?” often. He used to wear a light-coloured great-coat, and commonly kept it on in the house. He was a strange, ill-formed little figure of a man; but I have heard him and Quin and Paterson talk together so, that I could have listened to them for ever." "Quin was frequently there, I suppose?" "Yes; Mrs. Hobart, Thomson's housekeeper, often wished Quin dead; he made her master drink so. I have seen him and Quin coming from the Castle together, at four o'clock in the morning, and not over sober, you may be sure. When he was writing in his own house, he frequently sat with a bowl of punch before him, and that a good large one, too." "Did he sit much in his garden?" "Yes; he had an arbour at the end of it, where he used to write in summer-time. have known him lie along by himself on the grass near it, and talk away as if three or four people were with him." "Did you ever see any of his writings?" "I was once tempted, I remember, to take a peep. His papers used to lie in a loose pile upon the table in his study, and I had longed

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for a look at them a good while; so one morning, while I was waiting in the room to shave him, and he was longer than usual before he came down, I slipped off the top sheet of paper, and expected to find something very curious; but I could make nothing of it. I could not even read it, for the letters looked all like in one."

"He was very affable in his manner?" "Oh, yes; he had no pride: he was very free in his conversation, and very cheerful, and one of the best-natured men that ever lived." "He seldom was much burthened with cash?" "No, to be sure, he was deuced long-winded; but when he had money, he would send for his creditors, and pay them all round. He has paid my master between twenty and thirty pounds at a time." "You did not keep a shop yourself at that time?" "No, sir; I lived with one Lander here for twenty years, and it was while I was 'prentice and journeyman with him that I used to wait on Mr. Thomson. Lander made his majors and bobs, and a person in Craven-street, in the Strand, made his wigs an excellent customer he was to both." "Did you dress any of his visitors?" "Yes; Quin and Lyttelton-Sir George, I think, he was called. He was so tender-faced, I remember, and so devilish difficult to shave, that none of the men in the shop dare to venture on him, except myself. I have often taken Quin by the nose, too, which required some courage, let me tell you. One day he asked, particularly, if the razor was in good order, protested he had as many barbers' ears in his parlour at home as any boy had birds' eggs on a string, and swore, if I did not shave him smoothly, he would add mine to the number! Ah!' said Thomson, 'Wull [Will] shaves very well, I assure ye.'"

Taylor then described the cause of Thomson's death-from "having had a batch of drinking with Quin, when he took a quantity of cream-of-tartar, as he frequently did on such occasions, which, with a fever before, carried him off." [Mr. Robertson did not assent to this: he used to relate that Thomson frequented the Old Orange-tree, in Kew-lane, with Parson Cromer.] The conversation is resumed: "Thomson lived, I think, in Kew-foot-lane?" Yes, and died there, at the furthest house next Richmond Gardens, now Mr. Boscawen's; he lived, some time before, at a smaller one, higher up, inhabited by Mrs. Davis." "Did you attend him to the last?" "Sir, I shaved him the very day of his death; he

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