His "Winter" was dedicated to Sir Spencer Compton, afterwards Viscount Pevensey--and twenty guineas were the price of the compliment. This poem soon became popular; so much so, that he was induced to publish his "Summer"--after which, "Spring" and "Autumn" followed in the order in which I write them. In 1727 he wrote "Britannia," a satirical poem, and "Sophonisba," a tragedy.[1] Other plays followed, several of which were suppressed by the licenser. Then came "Liberty," an elaborate and heavy poem. Thomson, at this stage of his affairs, was without funds or patronage. The Prince of Wales, however, having reduced his own fortunes to a condition almost as desperate as the Poet's, either from sympathy or from a supposition that the patronage of literature would be one means of gaining popular favor, employed Mr. Lyttleton to enlist Thomson. Our Poet, when the Prince on his first introduction familiarly inquired into his affairs, answered that 'they were in a more poetical posture than formerly'--whereupon he was presented with a yearly pension of 100_l_. After this he produced Agamemnon, a tragedy--Edward and Eleonora, a tragedy--Alfred, a mask--and the tragedy of Tancred and Sigismunda. Mr. Lyttleton having come into office, appointed him {102} surveyor general of the Leeward Islands. The salary appertaining to this office was something more than 300_l_., and then it was that, unharassed by petty troubles, he finished his "Castle of Indolence." [Footnote 1: Now only remembered from a rough parody on one of its verses. The play had excited high expectation, and was well received; but when the actor came to repeat--"O, Sophonisba, Sophonisba, O," a voice from the audience chimed in--"O, Jemmie Thomson, Jemmie Thomson, O," which for a time was a mouth-verse throughout the city.] To this Poem I will confine myself in treating hurriedly of the writings of Thomson. His Seasons are too well known to call for comment--and his other works are (perhaps deservedly) out of the public recollection. The "Castle of Indolence" then, is a renewal of Spenser's best pictures--a renewal not only in its dreamy voluptuousness of character, but in its stanzaic peculiarities. It has been said that no other writers ever succeeded in acquiring the peculiar flow of Milton's blank verse, or the singular play of Spenser's old time rhythm. This is true with an exception. One half of the Castle of Indolence, if a little more antiquated, might be inserted among the cantos of the Faery Queene without detection. And this I hold to be no slight compliment to the later poet. The Castle of Indolence was the work in which the idle Thomson gave words to his individual mood. A sluggard, he had a sluggard's visions. His visions of nature were of nature lulled into quietude. His landscapes sleep under quiet skies--his winds come from "the land of Drowsy Head." He reared shadowy battlements, and planted "sleep-soothing groves," under which lay