In the year 1745, his Tancred and Sigismunda, taken from the novel in Gil Blas, was performed with applause; and from the deep romantic distress of the lovers, continues to draw crowded houses. The success of this piece was indeed ensured from the first, by M. Garrick's and MM. Cibber's appearing in the principal characters; which they heighten and adorn with all the magic of their neverfailing art.

He had, in the mean time, been finishing his Castle.of Indolence, in two cantos. It was, at first, little more than a few detached stanzas, in the way of raillery on himself, and on some of his friends, who would reproach him with indolence; while he thought them, at least, as indolent as himself. But he saw very soon, that the subject deserved to be treated more seriously, and in a form fitted to convey one of the most important moral lessons.

The stanza, which he uses in this work, is that of Spenser, borrowed from the Italian poets; in which he thought rhimes had their proper-place, and were even graceful: the compass of the stanza admitting an agreeable variety of final sounds; while the sense of the poet is not cramped or cut short, not yet tou

much dilated: as must often happen, when it is parcelled out into rhimed couplets; the usual measure, indeed, of our elegy and satire; but which always weakens the higher poetry, and, to a true ear, will sometimes give it an air of the burlesque.

This was the last piece M. Thomson himself published; his tragedy of Coriolanus being only prepared for the theatre, when a fatal accident robbed the world of one of the best men, and best poets, that lived in it.

He had always been a timorous horseman; and more so, in a road where numbers of giddy or unskilful riders are continually passing: so that when the weather did not invite him to go by water, he would commonly walk the distance between London and Richmond, with any acquaintance that offered; with whom he might chat and rest himself, or perhaps dine, by the way. One summer evening, being alone, in his walk from town to Hammersmith, he had overhcated himself, and in that condition, imprudently took a boat to carry him to Kew; apprehending no bad consequence from the chill air on the river, which his walk to his house, at the upper end of Kew-lane, had always hitherto

prevented. But, now, the cold had so seized him, that next day he found himself in a high fever, so much the more to be dreaded as he was of a full habit. This however, by the use of proper medicines was removed, so that he was thought to be out of danger; till the fine weather having tempted him to expose himself once more to the evening dews, his fever returned with violence, and with such symptoms as left no hopes of a cure. Two days had passed before his relapse was known in town; at last M. Mitchell and M. Reid, with Dr. Armstrong, being informed of it, posted out at midnight to his assistance but alas! came only to endure a sight of all others the most shocking to nature, the last agonies of their beloved friend. This lamented death happened on the 27th day of august 1748.

His testamentary executors were, the lord Lyttelton, whose care of our poet's fortune and fame ceased not with his life, and M. Mitchell, a gentleman equally noted for the truth and constancy of his private friendships, and for his address and spirit as a public minister. By their united interest, the orphan play of Corialanus was brought on the stage to the best advantage; from the profits of which

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and the sale of manuscripts, and others effects, all demands were duly satisfied, and a handsome sum remitted to his sisters. My lord Lyttelton's prologue to this piece was admired as one of the best that had ever been written; the best spoken it certainly was. The sympathizing audience saw that, then indeed, M. Quin was no actor; that the tears he shed, were those of real friendship and grief.

M. Thomson's remains were deposited in the church of Richmond, under a plain stone, without any inscription : nor did his brother poets at all exert themselves on the occasion, as they had lately done for one who had been the terror of poets all his life time. This silence furnished matter to one of his friends for an excellent satirical epigram, which we are sorry we cannot give the reader. Only one gentleman, M. Collins, who had lived some time at Richmond, but forsook it when M. Thomson died, wrote and Ode to his memory. This, for the dirgelike melancholy it breathes, and the warmth of affection that seems to have dictated it, we shall subjoin to the present account.

Our author himself hints, somewhere in his works, that his exterior was not the most promising; his

make being rather robust than graceful: though it is known that in his youth he had been thought handsome. His worst appearance was, when you saw him walking alone, in a thoughtful mood: but let a friend accost him, and enter into conversation, he would instantly brighten in a most amiable aspect, his features no longer the same, and his eye darting a peculiar animated fire. The case was much alike in company; where, if it was mixed, or very numerous, he made but an indifferent figure: but with a few select friends, he was open, sprightly and entertaining. His wit flowed freely, but pertinently, and at due intervals, leaving room for every one to contribute his share. Such was his extreme sensibility, so perfect the harmony of his organs with the sentiments of his mind, that his looks always announced, and half expressed what he was about to say; and his voice corresponded exactly to the manner and degree in which he was affected. This sensibility had one inconvenience attending it, that it rendered him the very worst reader good poetry: a sonnet, or a copy of tame verses, he could manage pretty well; or even improve them in the reading : but a passage of Virgil, Milton, or Shakespeare,

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