ge's head from harm. But now, there is scarcely a tongue in all New
England that does not imprecate curses on his name. It is ruin and
disgrace to love him. Can it be possible that a few fleeting years have
wrought such a change!"

It did not occur to the chief justice, that nothing but the most grievous
tyranny could so soon have changed the people's hearts. Hurrying from the
spot, he entered Cornhill, as the lower part of Washington Street was then
called. Opposite to the town house was the waste foundation of the Old
North church. The sacrilegious hands of the British soldiers had torn it
down, and kindled their barrack fires with the fragments.

Further on, he passed beneath the tower of the Old South. The threshold of
this sacred edifice was worn by the iron tramp of horse's feet: for the
interior had been used as a riding-school and rendezvous, for a regiment
of dragoons. As the chief justice lingered an instant at the door, a
trumpet sounded within, and the regiment came clattering forth, and
galloped down the street. They were proceeding to the place of
embarkation.

"Let them go!" thought the chief justice, with somewhat of an old puritan
feeling in his breast. "No good can come of men who desecrate the house of
God."

He went on a few steps further, and paused before the Province House. No
range of brick stores had then sprung up to hide the mansion of the royal
governors from public view. It had a spacious court-yard, bordered with
trees, and enclosed with a wrought-iron fence. On the cupola, that
surmounted the edifice, was the gilded figure of an Indian chief, ready to
let fly an arrow from his bow. Over the wide front door was a balcony, in
which the chief justice had often stood, when the governor and high
officers of the province showed themselves to the people.

While Chief Justice Oliver gazed sadly at the Province House, before which
a sentinel was pacing, the double leaves of the door were thrown open, and
Sir William Howe made his appearance. Behind him came a throng of
officers, whose steel scabbards clattered against the stones, as they
hastened down the court-yard. Sir William Howe was a dark-complexioned
man, stern and haughty in his deportment. He stepped as proudly, in that
hour of defeat, as if he were going to receive the submission of the rebel
general.

The chief justice bowed and accosted him.

"This is a grievous hour for both of us, Sir William," said he.

"Forward! gentlemen,"