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 powdered wig, and had on a loose flowing gown and purple velvet cap.  He had likewise laid aside the cares of state, and all the thoughts that had wearied and perplexed him throughout the day.

Perhaps, in the enjoyment of his home, he had forgotten all about the Stamp Act, and scarcely remembered that there was a king, across the ocean, who had resolved to make tributaries of the New Englanders.  Possibly, too, he had forgotten his own ambition, and would not have exchanged his situation, at that moment, to be governor, or even a lord.

The wax candles were now lighted, and showed a handsome room, well provided with rich furniture.  On the walls hung the pictures of Hutchinson’s ancestors, who had been eminent men in their day, and were honorably remembered in the history of the country.  Every object served to mark the residence of a rich, aristocratic gentleman, who held himself high above the common people, and could have nothing to fear from them.  In a corner of the room, thrown carelessly upon a chair, were the scarlet robes of the chief justice.  This high office, as well as those of lieutenant-governor, counsellor, and judge of probate, was filled by Hutchinson.

Who or what could disturb the domestic quiet of such a great and powerful personage as now sat in Grandfather’s chair.

The lieutenant-governor’s favorite daughter sat by his side.  She leaned on the arm of our great chair, and looked up affectionately into her father’s face, rejoicing to perceive that a quiet smile was on his lips.  But suddenly a shade came across her countenance.  She seemed to listen attentively, as if to catch a distant sound.

“What is the matter, my child?” inquired Hutchinson.

“Father, do not you hear a tumult in the streets?” said she.

The lieutenant-governor listened.  But his ears were duller than those of his daughter; he could hear nothing more terrible than the sound of a summer breeze, sighing among the tops of the elm trees.

“No, foolish child!” he replied, playfully patting her cheek.  “There is no tumult.  Our Boston mobs are satisfied with what mischief they have already done.  The king’s friends need not tremble.”

So Hutchinson resumed his pleasant and peaceful meditations, and again forgot that there were any troubles in the world.  But his family were alarmed, and could not help straining their ears to catch the slightest sound.  More and more distinctly they heard shouts, and then the trampling of many feet.  While they were listening, one of the neighbors rushed breathless into the room.