That infamous foreign scoundrel, THOMPSON, will hold forth this afternoon at the Liberator office.  No. 48 Washington street.  The present is a fair opportunity for the friends of the Union to snake Thompson out!  It will be a contest between the Abolitionists and the friends of the Union.  A purse of $100 has been raised by a number of patriotic citizens to reward the individual who shall first lay violent hands on Thompson, so that he may be brought to the tar-kettle before dark.  Friends of the Union, be vigilant!

    Boston, Wednesday, 12 o’clock.

That Wednesday forenoon Garrison spent at the anti-slavery office, little dreaming of the peril which was to overtake him in that very spot in the afternoon.  He went home to an early dinner, since his wife was a member of the society, and he himself was set down for an address.  As he wended his way homeward, Mischief and her gang were afoot distributing the aforesaid handbills “in the insurance offices, the reading-rooms, all along State street, in the hotels, bar-rooms, etc.,” and scattering it “among mechanics at the North End, who were mightily taken with it.”  Garrison returned about a half hour before the time appointed for the meeting.  He found a small crowd of about a hundred individuals collected in front of the building where the hall was situated, and on ascending to the hall more of the same sort, mostly young men, choking the access to it.  They were noisy, and Garrison pushed his way through them with difficulty.  As he entered the place of meeting and took his seat among the ladies, twenty had already arrived, the gang of young rowdies recognized him and evinced this by the exclamation:  “That’s Garrison!” The full significance of the crowd just without the hall did not seem to have occurred to the man whom they had identified.  He did not know that they were the foam blown from the mouth of a great mob at the moment filling the streets in the neighborhood of the building where he sat with such serenity of spirit.  His wife who had followed him from their home saw what Garrison did not see.  The crowd of a hundred had swelled to thousands.  It lay in a huge irregular cross, jammed in between the buildings on Washington street, the head lowering in front of the anti-slavery office, the foot reaching to the site where stood Joy building, now occupied by the Rogers, the right arm stretching along Court street to the Court House, and the left encircling the old State House, City Hall and Post-office then, in a gigantic embrace.  All hope of urging her way through that dense mass was abandoned by Mrs. Garrison, and a friend, Mr. John E. Fuller, escorted her to his home, where she passed the night.