them, that Mr. Thompson's quest was the subject of some satire among the
passengers. A gratuitous advertisement of the missing Charles, addressed
to "Jailers and Guardians," circulated privately among them; everybody
remembered to have met Charles under distressing circumstances. Yet
it is but due to my countrymen to state that when it was known that
Thompson had embarked some wealth in this visionary project, but little
of this satire found its way to his ears, and nothing was uttered in
his hearing that might bring a pang to a father's heart, or imperil
a possible pecuniary advantage of the satirist. Indeed, Mr. Bracy
Tibbets's jocular proposition to form a joint-stock company to
"prospect" for the missing youth received at one time quite serious
entertainment.

Perhaps to superficial criticism Mr. Thompson's nature was not
picturesque nor lovable. His history, as imparted at dinner, one day, by
himself, was practical even in its singularity. After a hard and wilful
youth and maturity,--in which he had buried a broken-spirited wife, and
driven his son to sea,--he suddenly experienced religion. "I got it in
New Orleans in '59," said Mr. Thompson, with the general suggestion
of referring to an epidemic. "Enter ye the narrer gate. Parse me the
beans." Perhaps this practical quality upheld him in his apparently
hopeless search. He had no clew to the whereabouts of his runaway son;
indeed, scarcely a proof of his present existence. From his indifferent
recollection of the boy of twelve, he now expected to identify the man
of twenty-five.

It would seem that he was successful. How he succeeded was one of the
few things he did not tell. There are, I believe, two versions of the
story. One, that Mr. Thompson, visiting a hospital, discovered his son
by reason of a peculiar hymn, chanted by the sufferer, in a delirious