l79^»' Thomson's last letter to Pater ran. 325: 



now, the charming time comes on : Heaven is justr 

 on the point, or rather in the very act, of giving earth 

 a green gown. The voice of the nightingale is heard 

 in our lane. ' 



You must know that I have enlarged my rural 

 domain much to the same dimensions you have done 

 yours. The two fields next to me ; from the first of 

 which I have walled — no, no, — paled in about as 

 much as my garden consisted of before ; so that the 

 walk runs round the hedge, where you may figure me 

 walking any time of the day, and sometimes under 

 night. For you, I image you reclining under ce- 

 dars and palmetloes, and there enjoying more mag- 

 nificent slumbers than are known to the pale climates. 

 of the north ; slumbers rendered awful and divine 

 by the solemn stillnefs and deep fervors of the tor- 

 rid noon I At other times I image you drinking 

 punch in groves of lime or orange trees, gathering 

 pine-apples from hedges, as. commonly as we may 

 black-berries, poetising under lofty laurels, or ma- 

 king love under full spread myrtles. 



But to lower my stile a little. As I am siich a. 

 genuine lover of gardening, Avhy don't you remember 

 me in that instance, and send me some seeds of things 

 that might succeed liere during the summer, though, 

 they cannot perfect their seeds sufficiently in this, 

 to them ungenial climate, to propagate ; in which case 

 is thc'calliloo, that, from tlie seed it bore liere, came 

 «p puny, rickelty, and good for nothing.. There 

 are other things certainly with you, not yet brought 

 over hither, that might flourifh here in the summer 

 time, and live tolerably well, provided they be fliel- 

 tered in an hospitable stove or g-.eenhouse during tha- 



