She informed him of their mother's death, of their father's infirmities, and that he was then an out-door pauper in T——.
He relieved his sister's wants, and, with Louise, hastened to his birth-place. He found his father almost bedridden—a boarder at half-a-crown a-week in a miserable hovel, the occupants of which were as poor as their parish lodger. Old James was sitting reading a newspaper, which he had borrowed, when they entered; for his ruling passion remained strong in the midst of his age and infirmities. The rays of the setting sun were falling on his grey hairs. Tears had gathered in the eyes of his son, and he inquired—
"Do you know me?"
James suddenly raised his eyes—they flashed with eager joy—he dropped his paper.
"Ken ye! ken ye!—my son! my son! my lost George!" and he sank on his son's bosom.
When the first burst of joy had subsided—
"And wha is this sweet leddy?" inquired James, gazing fondly at Louise.
"Your daughter," replied George, placing her hand in his.
I need not further dwell upon the history of the Leveller. From that hour he ceased to be a pauper—he accompanied his son to Brussels, and spent the remainder of his days in peace, and amidst many of the scenes which he had long before read of with enthusiasm.
But, some reader may ask, what became of poor Catherine and her flute-player? A linendraper's shop was taken and stocked for them by her brother, and in it prosperity became a constant customer. Such is the history of James Nicholson the Leveller and his children.