carved representation of
the royal arms. The gilded vane of the cupola glittered in the blaze. The
kindling of this bonfire was the well known signal for the populace of
Boston to assemble in the street.

Before the tar-barrels, of which the bonfire was made, were half burnt
out, a great crowd had come together. They were chiefly laborers and
seafaring men, together with many young apprentices, and all those idle
people about town who are ready for any kind of mischief. Doubtless some
school-boys were among them.

While these rough figures stood round the blazing bonfire, you might hear
them speaking bitter words against the high officers of the province.
Governor Bernard, Hutchinson, Oliver, Storey, Hallowell, and other men
whom King George delighted to honor, were reviled as traitors to the
country. Now and then, perhaps, an officer of the crown passed along the
street, wearing the gold-laced hat, white wig, and embroidered waistcoat,
which were the fashion of the day. But, when the people beheld him, they
set up a wild and angry howl, and their faces had an evil aspect, which
was made more terrible by the flickering blaze of the bonfire.

"I should like to throw the traitor right into that blaze!" perhaps one
fierce rioter would say.

"Yes; and all his brethren too!" another might reply; "and the governor
and old Tommy Hutchinson into the hottest of it!"

"And the Earl of Bute along with them," muttered a third; "and burn the
whole pack of them under King George's nose! No matter if it singed him!"

Some such expressions as these, either shouted aloud, or muttered under
the breath, were doubtless heard in King Street. The mob, meanwhile, were
growing fiercer, and fiercer, and seemed ready even to set the town on
fire, for the sake of burning the king's friends out of house and home.
And yet, angry as they were, they sometimes broke into a loud roar of
laughter, as if mischief and destruction were their sport.

But we must now leave the rioters for a time, and take a peep into the
lieutenant-governor's splendid mansion. It was a large brick house,
decorated with Ionic pilasters, and stood in Garden Court Street, near the
North Square.

While the angry mob in King Street were shouting his name,
Lieutenant-Governor Hutchinson sat quietly in Grandfather's chair,
unsuspicious of the evil that was about to fall upon his head. His beloved
family were in the room with him. He had thrown off his embroidered coat
and