University of Virginia Library

1. CHAP. I.

Song of the Sixteenth Century.

There was hurrying to and fro through the principal
streets of Boston on the night of the 14th of August,
1765. A brilliant bonfire was blazing on Fort Hill.
Column after column of light died away to rise again
with redoubled grandeur, and at each succeeding burst
of flame, the loud shouts of the rabble were heard with
dreadful distinctness.

At this time, Henry Osborne was passing down
Union-street, with the rapid pace of one who struggles
with the intensity of thought. He leaned a moment on
Union Stone, listening to the distant tumult, as he said,
“Be the sin on the heads of those who have provoked
this,—I have done all I could to prevent it.”

As he spoke, a graceful stranger, in a rich military
undress, stept from a neighbouring court. The moon
shone full on the countenances of both, and as he approached,
he hesitatingly said, “Mr. Osborne, I believe.”

“You are welcome, Captain Somerville,” replied the
other, giving him his hand.

“Thank you,” rejoined the stranger. “I have found
you very opportunely; for I have been some time in
search of a house which every child in this loyal town
might point out to me. The spirit of rebellion, however,
has induced some of your promising lads to mislead
me by four contradictory directions; and I am not,
even now, certain that I am in the vicinity of Governor
Hutchinson.”

“We are very near his dwelling,” replied Osborne;
“and I myself will accompany you thither, to meet my
sister, whom I left there this afternoon.”

A few questions relative to the riot were asked by the
officer, and obviously avoided by his companion, before
they arrived at Friezel Court.[1]

Both paused a moment opposite the Lieutenant Governor's
elegant mansion, struck by the uncommon beauty,
and almost fearful stillness of the scene. The dim light
of a lamp suspended from the roof gave a rich twilight
view of the interior, and displayed a spacious arch, richly
carved and gilded, in all the massy magnificence of
the times, and most tastefully ornamented with busts
and statues. The light streamed full on the soul-beaming
countenance of Cicero, and playfully flickered on
the brow of Tulliola, the tenderness of whose diminutive
appellation delightfully associates the father with
the orator, and blends intellectual vigour with the best
affections of the heart.

The silence was so deep that the gentlemen could
distinctly hear a light, quick step, as a young lady passed
from room to room, and paused beneath the arch in a
listening attitude.

The exquisite proportion of her aerial little figure,
and her beauty, pale and unearthly as Guido has represented
his Madonnas, showed finely beneath the severely
intellectual brow of Cicero. In the living figure, the
soul was shrouded in its loveliest and most transparent
veil; in the marble, its glowing fires seemed gleaming
through the shrine they were consuming.

“It is my sister Grace,” whispered Osborne.

“Grace, indeed!” ejaculated his companion, in a
tone of fervent admiration.

“Hark!” said she, raising her beautiful finger, and
speaking to some one behind her,—“as I live, there is
the murmur of voices now. How could the servants
leave us thus.”

She turned, and the last fold of her blue drapery was
just disappearing, when Henry exclaimed, “It is I, dear
Grace.”

The tiny beauty bounded to the door. “I am so
glad you have come,—we have been so frightened,”—
said she; and she paused and blushed deeply as she
noticed the handsome stranger.

“My sister, Captain Somerville,” said Henry, evidently
proud of her heightened loveliness.

A dignified courtesy answered the courtly salutation
of the officer; and her brother, turning to two other
ladies that now advanced, said, “Her friend Lucretia
Fitzherbert, and Madam Sandford.”

The ceremony of introduction over, Miss Sandford
opened a door on the right hand, and led the way into a
dimly-lighted parlour. The pannelling was of the dark,
richly-shaded mahogany of St. Domingo, and ornamented
with the same elaborate skill as the hall they had just
quitted. The busts of George III. and his young queen
were placed in front of a splendid mirror, with bronze
lamps on each side, covered with beautiful transparencies,
one representing the destruction of the Spanish armada,
the other giving a fine view of a fleet of line-of-battle
ships drawn up before the Rock of Gibraltar. On either
side of the room there were arches surmounted with the
arms of England, in the recesses of which the company
were soon seated, forming a group of exceedingly varied
and interesting character. The sharp countenance and
prim figure of Miss Sandford, gave her the air of an antediluvian
image; the inelegant form and very plain face
of Lucretia, though transiently lighted up with expression
that almost atoned for the want of beauty, formed a
contrast extremely favourable to the etherial loveliness
of Grace; and the Grecian outline of Henry's mild
countenance served to place in bold relief the aquiline
nose, and the open, fearless brow of Somerville, shaded
by a profusion of curls, as dark and clustering as the
beautiful locks of the Roman Antinous.

“Uncle Hutchinson has expected you several days,”
said Lucretia, as Somerville seated himself. “You
wrote that you should sail in the William and Mary,—
and a vessel arrived several days since, which had
spoken her below the harbour.”

“It was many miles below the harbour, however,”
answered Somerville; “and I was becalmed, according
to my usual fortune. After so many delays, I am really
anxious to meet my uncle.”

“He would, of course, have been among the first to
welcome you, had he been at home,” she replied;
“but, followed by all the servants, he has gone to
watch the bonfires on Fort Hill; where, I suppose,
either indignation or anxiety has led two-thirds of the
population.”

“I have heard some brief hints of this day's uproar,”
rejoined the Englishman; “but I could not have
imagined any cause powerful enough to seduce Governor
Hutchinson from the place where beauty claimed
his protection.”

“Nor would there have been, in my day,” said Miss
Sandford, in the squeaking tones of antiquated coquetry.
“It was a toilsome process to please a lady when I was
young; but times are sadly altered now.”

“I dare say Cain scolded his wife about the degeneracy
of the ladies in Nod,” said Lucretia, laughing.

“And Cain might have reproached his mother, since,
lacking mortals, she carried on her dangerous flirtation
with Satan,” continued Somerville.

No one smiled at this speech, for its levity was offensive
to those whose associations with the Bible were all
sacred; and to Henry Osborne, the irreverence it argued,
was peculiarly painful.

Anxious to interrupt the awkward silence, Lucretia
hastily said, “My uncle left the servants with us; but,

after all, it seems that bonnets and hats cover brains of
very similar formation; for, one by one, the eagerness
of curiosity tempted them from us, till we were left to
the protection of aunt Sandford.”

“And really we have been much frightened,” added
Grace. “I had no idea the citizens of Boston could
utter sounds so terrific as those we have heard to-night”

“It would be well if their echo could reach across
the Atlantic,” observed her brother.

“And what would be heard, if they did?” asked
Somerville.

“Liberty and property! No stamps!” exclaimed
Henry, with startling energy.

A darkening expression passed over the fine face of
Somerville, as rapidly as the shadows of autumnal clouds
over the sunny brow of some verdant hill.

“Then you,” said he, “are among the unhappy men
who encourage popular outrage, and will thus drive the
mother country to severity repugnant to her nature?”

“You talk sir, as many others do, who know nothing
of the subject,” rejoined Henry. “You mistake the
unanimous voice of a free and intelligent people, for the
factious zeal of a few office-seeking demagogues.”

“And what farther proof need we than James Otis,
the Aaron of your tribes, the Goliath of your hosts.
Had his father been chief justice of the Supreme Court,
the world would have lost his fiery speech against writs
of assistance, as well as his never ceasing clamour about
taxation without representation.”

“That is a common, but most unjust slander upon
the character of a generous and noble-minded man.
He is disgusted, as every honest individual must be,
with that rapacity for office, which distinguishes some
friends of the administration; but he is too high minded
to place the interest of his family above that of his
country. Besides, if avarice or ambition guides the
course of James Otis, why is he not a tory? The ministry
would gladly buy him over, on any conditions.”

“Crystals would fetch the price of diamonds if they
were as rare,” replied Somerville. “England has quite
too many great men, to come and purchase in such a
market as her Colonies.”

“We have some, however, that Britain herself might
be proud to boast. Such men as Adams, Hawley,
Quincy, Hancock, Mayhew, and Otis, would even there
obtain the influence and reputation which talents, joined
with integrity, never fail to procure from those who can
appreciate them.”

“Stop now, dear brother,” said Grace, playfully
putting her hand before his mouth. Governor Hutchinson
is coming, and I cannot have you always disputing
about subjects on which you will never agree.”

The shadow of the Chief Justice[2] darkened the
threshold as she finished speaking. He bowed to the
ladies with all the Parisian gallantry that usually characterized

his manner; and after warm congratulations
had passed between him and his nephew, he inquired,

“What news from England?”

“Nothing new to you, I imagine, sir. Lord Bute's
ministry continues to keep the king unpopular among
the commons. Chatham holds the people in the hollow
of his hand; and if his demands for himself and friends
were not so excessively exorbitant, a coalition of parties
would no doubt be formed, and he would be, what he
has long desired to be, secretary of state, and disposer-general
of offices.”

“And the queen and the young princes?” said
Hutchinson.

“Her popularity is unbounded. She and her rosy
children unite all parties. Prince George is as handsome
and clever a scion as ever sprung from a royal
root; the Duke of York is healthy and promising;
and a third is now added to the charming family
group.”

“And the king is as gallant as ever, I suppose?”

“Too much so to leave three distressed damsels to
guard a house on such a night as this, I fancy,” said
Lucretia, smiling.

“Nay,” said the Lieutenant-Governor, “I will not
plead guilty to that charge. I left the servants with
you, and I knew the rioters were employed at a safe
distance. Besides it would have been ungenerous in
me to have deserted Mr. Oliver, if there was the least
chance of being useful to him. Then there is your
friend Doctor Byles, Lucretia, it behoved me to inquire

about his safety; for we well know that his wit and his
loyalty make him very abominable in the eyes of this
liberty-mad race.”

Mr. Osborne frowned, and Grace looked more grave
than usual.

“`Oh, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful in the
contempt and anger of that lip,”' said the gallant Chief
Justice, handing her a handkerchief that had just fallen
on the floor. “But really, Mr. Osborne, the scenes of
this day and night must convince the most obstinate
whig that the designs of the popular party in these
Colonies are altogether subversive of good government,
and must eventually bring ruin on the people.”

“I know not the extent of your meaning, when you
speak of the popular party, sir,” replied Osborne; “but
of one thing I am very certain, and that is, that outrages
of any kind have never been incited, and will never be
countenanced, by such men as Adams, Quincy, Hancock,
and Whiting. Indeed it is worse than foolish,
Governor Hutchinson, to trace the present commotions
to the party spirit of individuals. The truth is, whenever
government heap up combustibles, a hand will always
be found ready to kindle them; and if it were
otherwise, they would take fire spontaneously.”

“And what damage has been occasioned by the explosion
at this time,” inquired Somerville.

“They have merely suspended images of Lord Bute
and your cousin Oliver, upon the Liberty tree; razed
Oliver's stamp office to the ground; carried the images
and timber to Fort Hill; burned them before his house;

pulled down his fences; broken his windows, and destroyed
some furniture;” answered the Lieutenant-Governor.

“This will doubtless sound well at St. James's, and
will mightily serve to heighten the king's respect for
Bostonian loyalty,” said the young officer.

“It may at least serve to convince his most gracious
majesty that we are in earnest,” rejoined Henry.

The politics of the gentlemen and the confidential
tête-à-tête of the ladies were here interrupted by the
entrance of fruit and wine. A light and general conversation
ensued, and in a few moments Grace rose
to depart.

“You have forbidden politics once this evening, Miss
Osborne,” said Somerville; “and I perceive by your
glances at your brother, that you think us most disobedient.
However, I trust you will forgive what the
circumstances of the night seem to have compelled;
and permit me to say, that I am particularly rejoiced
that in meeting Mr. Osborne, I not only meet an old
friend, whom I had known in England, but likewise
your brother.”

Grace slightly blushed, and said she hoped no unhappy
political divisions would interrupt their former friendship.

Osborne warmly seconded his sister's wish, and extended
a polite invitation to the uncle of his friend.

“I see no reason why you should leave us at all to-night,
my dear Miss Osborne,” said Hutchinson.

“Why Grace would think me a lunatic if I should
propose to her to live one night without her father's kiss
and blessing” said Lucretia.

“And not far from right, my mad-capped niece,”
replied he, playfully touching her shoulder. “However,
as you both will; you know your lovely friend is always
welcome twenty-four hours in a day.”

Grace smiled and bowed. Somerville took his hat,
said that nothing but such a cause could tempt a few
moments' absence, and joined the young people as they
left the house.