“I boarded in the city, and in going to the office almost daily passed the house in Herring Street” [now No. 309 Bleecker Street] “where Thomas Paine resided, and frequently in fair weather saw him sitting at the south window of the first-story room of that house.  The sash was raised, and a small table or stand was placed before him with an open book upon it which he appeared to be reading.  He had his spectacles on, his left elbow rested upon the table or stand, and his chin rested between thumb and fingers of his hand; his right hand lay upon his book, and a decanter next his book or beyond it.  I never saw Thomas Paine at any other place or in any other position.”

In this house Paine was at one time desperately ill.  It was said that the collapse was partly due to his too sudden abstinence from stimulants.  He was an old man then, and had lived with every ounce of energy that was in him.  The stimulants were resumed, and he grew somewhat better.  This naturally brings us to the question of Paine as an excessive drinker.  Of course people said he was; but then people said he was a great many things that he was not.  When his enemies grew tired of the monotony of crying “Tom Paine, the infidel,” they cried “Tom Paine, the drunkard” instead.

Which recalls a story which is an old one but too applicable not to be quoted here.

It is said that some official—­and officious—­mischief-maker once came to Lincoln with the report that one of the greatest and most distinguished of Federal generals was in the habit of drinking too much.

“Indeed?” said Lincoln drily.  “If that is true, I should like to send a barrel of the same spirits to some of my other generals.”

If Thomas Paine did drink to excess—­which seems extremely doubtful—­it’s a frightful and solemn argument against Prohibition!

Mrs. Ryder’s house where Paine lived was close to that occupied by his faithful friend Mme. de Bonneville and her two sons.  Paine was devoted to the boys, indeed the younger was named for him, and their visits were among his greatest pleasures.  And, by the bye, while we are on the subject, the most scurrilous and unjust report ever circulated against this great man was that which cast a reflection upon the honourable and kindly relations existing between him and Mme. de Bonneville.

In the first place, Paine had never been a man of light or loose morals, and it is scarcely likely that he should have changed his entire character at the age of three score and ten.  Mme. de Bonneville’s husband, Nicholas, was a close friend of Paine in Paris, and had originally intended to come to America with Paine and his family.  But, as the publisher of a highly Radical paper—­the Bien Informe—­De Bonneville was under espionage, and when the time came he was not permitted to leave France.  He confided his wife and children to his friend, and they set sail with his promise to follow later.  He did follow, when he could—­Washington Irving tells of chatting with him in Battery Park—­but it was too late for him to see the man who had proved himself so true a friend to him and his.