vol. xi. p. 369, Lond. 1814, says that King Henry VIII. was tall. Strype, in Appendix A., vol. vi. p. 267, Ecc. Mem., London, 1816, devotes twenty-four octavo pages to an account of the funeral of Henry VIII., with all its singular details; and, at the last, he says—“Then was the vault uncovered, under the said corpse; and the corpse let down therein by the vice, with help of sixteen tal yeomen of the guard, appointed to the same.” “Then, when the mold was brought in, at the word, pulverem pulveri et cinerem cineri, first the Lord Great Master, and after the Lord Chamberlain and al others in order, with heavy and dolorous lamentation brake their staves in shivers upon their heads and cast them after the corps into the pit. And then the gentlemen ushers, in like manner brake their rods, and threw them into the vault with exceeding sorrow and heaviness, not without grievous sighs and tears, not only of them, but of many others, as well of the meaner sort, as of the nobility, very piteous and sorrowful to behold.”
No. XLI.
My attention was arrested, a day or two since, by a memorial, referred to, in the Atlas, from the owner of the land, famous, in revolutionary history, as the birth-place of Liberty Tree; and, especially, by a suggestion, which quadrates entirely with my notions of the fitness of things. If I were a demi-millionaire, I should delight to raise a monument, upon that consecrated spot—it should be a simple colossal shaft, of Massachusetts granite, surmounted with the cap of liberty. I would not inscribe one syllable upon it—but, if any grey-headed Boston boy—born here, within the limits of the old peninsula—should be moved, by the spirit, to write below—
Hæc olim meminisse juvabit—
I should not deem that act any interference with my original purpose.
What days and nights those were! 1765! then, the man, who has now passed on to ninety-four, was the boy of ten! How perfectly the tablet of memory retains those impressions, made, by the pressure of great events, when the wax was soft and warm!
It is quite common, with the present generation, at least, to connect the origin of Liberty Tree with 1775–6. This is an error. It became celebrated, ten years earlier, during the disturbances in Boston, on account of the Stamp Act, which passed March 22, 1765, and was to be in force, on the first of November following. Intelligence arrived, that Andrew Oliver, Secretary of the Province, was to be distributor of stamps.
There was a cluster or grove of beautiful elms, in Hanover Square—such was the name, then given to the corner of Orange, now part of Washington Street, and Auchmuty’s Lane, now Essex Street. Opposite the southwesterly corner of Frog Lane, now Boylston Street, where the market-house now stands, there was an old house, with manifold gables, and two massive chimneys, and, in the yard, in front of it, there stood a large, spreading elm. This was Liberty Tree. Its first designation was on this wise. During the night of August 13, 1765, some of the Sons of Liberty, as they styled themselves, assuming the appellation bestowed on them in the House of Commons, by Col. Barre, in a moment of splendid but unpremeditated eloquence, hung, upon that tree, an effigy of Mr. Oliver, and a boot, with a figure of the devil peeping out, and holding the stamp act in his hand; this boot was intended as a practical pun—wretched enough—upon the name of Lord Bute. In the morning of the 14th, a great crowd collected to the spot. Some of the neighbors attempted to take the effigy down. The Sons of Liberty gave them a forcible hint, and they desisted. The Lieutenant Governor, as Chief Justice, directed the sheriff to take it down: he reconnoitred the ground, and reported that it could not be done, without peril of life.
Business was suspended, about town. After dark, the effigy was borne, by the mob, to a building, which was supposed to have been erected, as a stamp-office. This they destroyed, and, bearing the fragments to Fort Hill, where Mr. Oliver lived, they made a bonfire, and burnt the effigy before his door. They next drove him and his family from his house, broke the windows and fences, and stoned the Lieutenant Governor and Sheriff, when they came to parley—all this, upon the night of August 14, 1765. On the 26th, they destroyed the house of Mr. Story, register-deputy of the Admiralty, and burnt the books and records of the court. They then served the house of Mr. Hollowell, Contractor of the Customs, in a similar manner, plundering and carrying away money and chattels. They next proceeded to the residence of the Lieutenant Governor, and destroyed every article not easily transported, doing irreparable mischief, by the destruction of many valuable manuscripts. The next day, a town meeting was held, and the citizens expressed their detestation of the riots—and, afterwards manifested their silent sympathy with the mob, by punishing nobody.
Nov. 1, 1765, the day, when the stamp act came into force, the bells were muffled and tolled; the shipping displayed their colors, at half mast; the stamp act was printed, with a death’s head, in the place of the stamp, and cried about the streets, under the name of the Folly of England, and the Ruin of America. A new political journal appeared, having for its emblem, or political phylactery, a serpent, cut into pieces, each piece bearing the initials of a colony, with the ominous motto—JOIN OR DIE. More effigies were hung, upon “the large old elm,” as Gordon terms it—Liberty Tree. They were then cut down, and escorted over town. They were brought back, and hung up again; taken down again; escorted to the Neck, by an immense concourse; hanged upon the gallows tree; taken down once more; and torn into innumerable fragments. Three cheers were then given, and, upon a request to that effect, every man went quietly home; and a night of unusual stillness ensued.
Hearing that Mr. Oliver intended to resume his office, he was required, through the newspaper, by an anonymous writer, to acknowledge, or deny, the truth of that report. His answer proving unsatisfactory, he received a requisition, Nov. 16th, to appear “tomorrow, under Liberty Tree, to make a public resignation.” Two thousand persons gathered then, beneath that Tree—not the rabble, but the selectmen, the merchants, and chief inhabitants. Mr. Oliver requested, that the meeting might be held, in the town house; but the SONS OF LIBERTY seemed resolved, that he should be treed—no place, under the canopy of Heaven, would answer, but Liberty Tree. Mr. Oliver came; subscribed an ample declaration; and made oath to it, before Richard Dana, J. P. This exactitude and circumspection, on the part of the people, was not a work of supererogation: Andrew Oliver was a most amiable man, in private, but a most lubricious hypocrite, in public life; as appears by his famous letters, sent home by Dr. Franklin, in 1772. After his declaration under the TREE, he made a short speech, expressive of his “utter detestation of the stamp act.” What a spectacle was there and then! The best and the boldest were there. Samuel Adams and John—Jerry Gridley, Samuel Sewall, and John Hancock, et id genus omne were in Boston then, and the busiest men alive: their absence would have been marked—they must have been there. What an act of daring, thus to defy the monarch and his vicegerents! I paused, this very day, and gazed upon the spot, and put the steam upon my imagination, to conjure, into life and action, that little band of sterling patriots, gathered around; and that noble elm in their midst:—
“In medio ramos annosaque brachia pandit
Ulmus opaca, ingens.”
Thenceforward, the Sons of Liberty seem to have taken the TREE, under their special protection. On Valentine’s day, 1776, they assembled, and passed a vote, that it should be pruned after the best manner. It is well, certainly, now and then, to lop off some rank, disorderly shoots of licentiousness, that will sometimes appear, upon Liberty Tree. It was pruned, accordingly, by a party of volunteer carpenters, under the direction of a gentleman of skill and judgment, in such matters.
News of the repeal of the stamp act arrived in Boston, May 16, 1766. The bells rang merrily—and the cannon were unlimbered, around Liberty Tree, and bellowed for joy. The TREE, so skilfully pruned, in February, must have presented a beautiful appearance, bourgeoning forth, in the middle of May! The nineteenth of May was appointed, for a merrymaking. At one, in
