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.
I hear he kept very late hours?
No, sir, very early; he was always up at sunrise, but then he had never been in bed.
Did you ever correspond with him?