`There was one quality of honesty, however, which "honest Tom
Duncombe" did possess. He was not a hypocrite. He was not
devoid of right feeling. He had plenty of good sense; and it
would have given him a sickening pang on his death-bed to think
that his frailties were to be perpetuated by his descendants;
that he was to be pointed out as a shining star to guide, instead
of a beacon-fire to warn. "No," he would have said, if he
could have anticipated this most ill-chosen, however well-
intentioned, tribute, "spare me this terrible irony. Do not
provoke the inevitable retort. Say of me, if you must say
anything, that I was not a bad man, though an erring one; that I
was kindly disposed towards my fellow-creatures; that I did some
good in my generation, and was able and willing to do more, but
that I heedlessly wasted time, money, health, intellect, personal
gifts, social advantages and opportunities; that my career was a
failure, and my whole scheme of life a melancholy
mistake." '[134]