departed that "the paragon of modern eloquence," and "the benefactor of
two nations," had left these shores. Garrison's grief was as poignant as
his humiliation was painful. George Thompson had come hither only as a
friend of America, and America had pursued him with the most relentless
malice. The greatest precautions were taken after the "Broadcloth Mob"
to ensure his safety. The place of his concealment was kept a secret and
committed only to a few tried friends. There is no doubt that had these
precautions not been observed and his hiding place been discovered by
the ruffians of the city, his life would have been attempted. Indeed it
is almost as certain that had he ventured to show himself in public he
would have been murdered in broad daylight in any of the large towns and
cities of Massachusetts. His mission was clearly at an end unless he was
determined to invite martyrdom. In these circumstances there was nothing
to do but to smuggle him out of the country at the first opportunity. On
Sunday, November 8, the anxiously looked-for moment came when George
Thompson was put upon a packet, in which he sailed for St. Johns, New
Brunswick, whence he subsequently took passage for England. Garrison was
inconsolable. "Who now shall go forth to argue our cause in public," he
sadly asked, "with subtle sophists and insolent scoffers?" little
dreaming that there was then approaching him out of the all-hail
hereafter a greater in these identical respects than George Thompson,
indisputably great as he was.

It was a blessed refuge to Garrison, the Benson homestead of Brooklyn,
termed Friendship's Valley. Hunted as a partridge by his enemies here he
found the quiet, and sympathy, and the right royal welcome and affection
for which his heart panted amidst the dust, and din, and dangers of the
crusade against slavery. But grateful as were the domestic sweets of
Friendship's Valley, his was altogether too militant and masterful a
spirit to yield himself without a struggle to the repose which it
offered. He did not at all relish the idea of being a forced exile from
Boston, of being obliged to edit the _Liberator_ at such long range. But
his friends urged him to submit to the one, and do the other, both on
grounds of economy and common prudence. He was almost super-anxious lest
it be said that the fear of the mob drove him out of Boston, and that
the fear of it kept him out. This super-anxiety in that regard his
friends to a certain