him into the commission of new offences.  He fled from London, and I lost sight of him.  At length I discovered that he was preaching in one of the northern counties, and with greater success than ever—­yes, such is the fallacy of the system—­with the approbation of men, and the idolatry of women, to whom the history of his career was as familiar as their own.  Again circumstances compelled him to decamp.  I know not what these were, nor could I ever learn; satisfied, however, that from his nature money must have been in close connexion with them, I expected soon to hear of him again; and I did hear, but not for years.  The information that last of all I gained was, that he had sold his noble faculties undisguisedly to the arch enemy of man.  He had become the editor of one of the lowest newspaper of the metropolis, notorious for its Radical politics and atheistical blasphemies.

Honest, faithful and unimpeachable John Thompson!  Friend, husband, father—­sound in every relation of this life—­thou noble-hearted Englishman!  Let me not say thy race is yet extinct.  No; in spite of the change that has come over the spirit of our land—­in spite of the rust that eats into men’s souls, eternally racked with thoughts of gain and traffic—­in spite of the cursed poison insidiously dropped beneath the cottage eaves, by reckless, needy demagogues, I trust my native land, and still believe, that on her lap she cherishes whole bands of faithful children, and firm patriots.  Not amongst the least inducements to return to London was the advantage of a residence near to that of my best friend and truest counsellor.  I cannot number the days which I have spent with him and his unequalled family—­unequalled in their unanimity and love.  For years, no Sunday passed which did not find me at their hospitable board; a companion afterwards in their country walks, and at the evening service of their parish church.  The children were men and women before it pleased Providence to remove their sire.  How like his life was good John Thompson’s death!  Full of years, but with his mental vision clear as in its dawn, aware of his decline, he called his family about his bed, and to the weeping group spoke firmly and most cheerfully.

“He had lived his time,” he said, “and long enough to see his children doing well.  There was not one who caused him pain and fear—­and that was more than every father of a family could say—­thank God for it!  He didn’t know that he had much to ask of any one of them.  If they continued to work hard, he left enough behind to buy them tools; and if they didn’t, the little money he had saved would be of very little use.  There was their mother.  He needn’t tell ’em to be kind to her, because their feelings wouldn’t let them do no otherwise.  As for advice, he’d give it to them in his own plain way.  First and foremost, he hoped they never would sew their mouths up—­never act in such a way as to make themselves ashamed of speaking