no doubt. The slumbers of the pastor, Dr. Byles, were disturbed, of course, for he was a tory, though a very pleasant tory, after all. Christ Church replied, with its royal peal, from the North, and God save the king, rang pleasantly again, in colonial ears. The universal joy was expressed, in all those unphilosophical ways, enumerated by Pope,
With gun, drum, trumpet, blunderbuss and thunder.
Liberty Tree was hung with various colors. Fireworks and illuminations succeeded. Gov. Hancock treated the people with “a pipe of Madeira;” and the Sons of Liberty raised a pyramid, upon the Common, with two hundred and eighty lamps. At twelve o’clock—midnight—a drum, upon the Common, beat the tattoo; and men, women, and children retired to their homes, in the most perfect order: verily, a soberness had come over the spirit of their dreams, and method into their madness. On the evening of the twentieth of May, it was resolved to have a festival of lanterns.
The inhabitants vied with each other; and, about dusk, they were seen streaming, from all quarters, to Hanover Square, every man and boy with his lamp or lantern. In a brief space, Liberty Tree was converted into a brilliant constellation. Like the sparkling waters, during the burning of Ucalegon’s palace, described by Homer, the boughs, the branches, the veriest twigs of this popular idol
————“were bright,
With splendors not their own, and shone with sparkling light.”
It appears, by the journals of that day, from which most of these particulars are gathered, that our fathers—what inimitable, top-gallant fellows they were!—took a pleasant fancy into their heads, that these lamps would shed a brighter lustre, if the poor debtors, in jail, could join in the general joy, under Liberty Tree. Accordingly they made up a purse and paid the debts of them all! There was a general jail delivery of the poor debtors, for very joy. Well: a Boston boy, of the old school, was a noble animal—how easily held by the heart-strings!—with how much difficulty, by the head or the tail!
An antiquarian friend, to whom I am already under sundry obligations, has obligingly loaned me an interesting document, in connection with the subject of Liberty Tree; under whose shade I propose to linger a little longer.
No. XLII.
March 22, 1765. George III. and his ministers took it into their heads to sow the wind; and, in an almost inconceivably short time, they reaped the whirlwind. They scattered dragons’ teeth, and there came up armed men. They planted the stamp act, in the Colonial soil, and there sprang into life, mature and full of vigor, the Liberty Tree, like Minerva, fully developed, and in perfect armor, from the brain of Jupiter. Whoever would find a clear, succinct, and impartial account of the effect of the stamp act, upon the people of New England, may resort to Dodsley’s Annual Register, page 49, of that memorable year. “The sun of liberty has set,” wrote Franklin home, “but you must light up the candles of industry and economy.”
The life of that act of oppression was short and stormy. March 18, 1766, its miserable requiem was sung in Parliament—“an event,” says the Annual Register, of that year, page 46, “that caused more universal joy, throughout the British dominions, than, perhaps, any other, that can be remembered.” How such a viper ever found its way into the cradle of liberty is quite a marvel—certain it is, the genius of freedom, with the power of Hercules, speedily strangled it there.
In America, and, especially, in Boston, the joy, as I have already stated, was very great; and some there were, beyond all doubt, who were delighted, to find an apology, for going back to monarchical usages. Even liberty may be, sometimes, irksome, at first, to him, who has long lived a slave; and it is no small grievance, I dare say, to such, to be deprived of the luxury of calling some one, Lord and Master, after the flesh. However monstrous, and even ridiculous, the idea of a king may seem to us, republicans, born in this wonderfully bracing atmosphere—there are some, who have a strong taste for booing and genuflection, and the doffing of beavers, and throwing up of “greasy caps,” and rending their throats, for very ecstacy, when the royal coach is coming along, bearing the heir apparent, in diapers. This taste, I suppose, like that for olives, must be acquired; it cannot be natural.
May 19, and 20, 1766, the face of the town of Boston was dressed in smiles—a broad grin rather, from ear to ear, from Winnisimmet to Roxbury. Nothing was talked of but “a grateful people,” and “the darling monarch”—which amounts to this—the “darling monarch” had graciously desisted, from grinding their faces any longer, simply because he was convinced, that the “grateful people” would kick the grindstone over, and peradventure the grinder, should the “darling” attempt to give it another turn.
Under Liberty Tree, there was erected, during the rejoicings, an obelisk with four sides. An engraving of those four sides was made at the time, and is now, doubtless, very rare. A copy, loaned me by the friend, to whom I referred, in my last number, is lying before me. I present it, verbatim, literatim, et punctuatim.
It is thirteen and an half inches long, and nine and an half wide. On top are these words—“A view of the OBELISK erected under LIBERTY TREE in Boston on the Rejoicings for the Repeal of the—— Stamp Act 1766.” At the bottom—“To every Lover of Liberty this Plate is humbly dedicated by her true born Sons in Boston, New England.” The plate presents, apparently, four obelisks, which are, in reality, the four sides of one. Every side, above the base, is divided horizontally, and nearly equally, into three parts. The superior division of each contains four heads, many of which may be readily recognized, and all of which have indicating letters. The middle division of each contains ten decasyllabic lines. The inferior division of each contains a sketch, of rude execution, and rather more patriotic, than tasteful, in the design. The principal portraits are of George III.; Queen Charlotte; Marquis of Rockingham; Duke of York; Gen. Conway; Lord Townshend; Colonel Barré; W. Pitt; Lord Dartmouth; Charles Townshend; Lord George Sackville; John Wilkes; Alderman Beckford; Lord Camden; &c. The first side is subscribed thus: “America in distress, apprehending the total loss of Liberty;” and is inscribed thus:
Oh thou, whom next to Heaven we most revere
Fair Liberty! thou lovely Goddess hear!
Have we not woo’d thee, won thee, held thee long,
Lain in thy Lap and melted on thy tongue.
Thro’ Deaths and Dangers rugged paths pursu’d
And led thee smiling to this Solitude,
Hid thee within our hearts’ most golden cell
And brav’d the Powers of Earth and Powers of Hell,
Goddess! we cannot part, thou must not fly,
Be Slaves! we dare to scorn it, dare to die.
Beneath is the sketch—America recumbent and dejected, in the form of an Indian chief, under a pine tree, the angel of Liberty hovering over; the Prime minister advancing with a chain, followed by one of the bishops, and others, Bute clearly designated by his Scotch plaid, and gaiters; over head, flying towards the Indian, with the stamp act in his right claw, is the Devil; of whom it is manifest our patriotic sires had a very clever conception.
The second side is subscribed thus: “She implores the aid of her patrons;” and is inscribed thus:
While clanking chains and curses shall salute
