like a man;” and then he recommended strongly that they should touch no bills but such as they might cut wood with.  The worst that could befall ’em would be a cut upon the finger; and if they handled other bills they’d cut their heads off in the end, be sure of it.  “Alec,” said he at last,—­“you fetch me bundle of good sticks.  Get them from the workshop.”  Alec brought them, and the sire continued,—­“Now, just break one a-piece.  There, that’s right—­now, try and break them altogether.  No, no, my boys, you can’t do that, nor can the world break you so long as you hold fast and well together.  Disagree and separate, and nothing is more easy.  If a year goes bad with one, let the others see to make it up.  Live united, do your duty, and leave the rest to heaven.”  So Thompson spake; such was the legacy he left to those who knew from his good precept and example how to profit by it.  My friendship with his children has grown and ripened.  They are thriving men.  Alec has inherited the nature of his father more than any other son.  All go smoothly on in life, paying little regard to the broils and contests of external life, but most attentive to the in-door business.  All, did I say?—­I err.  Exception must be made in favour of my excellent good friend, Mr Robert Thompson.  He has in him something of the spirit of his mother, and finds fault where his brethren are most docile.  Catholic emancipation he regarded with horror—­the Reform bill with indignation; and the onward movement of the present day he looks at with the feelings of an individual waiting for an earthquake.  He is sure that the world is going round the other way, or is turned topsy-turvy, or is coming to an end.  He is the quietest and best disposed man in his parish—­his moral character is without a flaw—­his honesty without a blemish, yet is his mind filled with designs which would astonish the strongest head that rebel ever wore.  He talks calmly of the propriety of hanging, without trial, all publishers of immorality and sedition—­of putting embryo rioters to death, and granting them a judicial examination as soon as possible afterwards.  Dissenting meeting-houses he would shut up instanter, and guard with soldiers to prevent irregularity or disobedience.  “Things,” he says, “are twisted since his father was a boy, and must be twisted back—­by force—­to their right place again.  Ordinary measures are less than useless for extraordinary times, and he only wishes he had power, or was prime-minister for a day or two.”  But for this unfortunate monomania, the Queen has not a better subject, London has not a worthier citizen than the plain spoken, simple-hearted Robert Thompson.