le the rattle of the soldier's
musket was heard as he presented it against their breasts. There was
no quiet even on the sabbath day. The quiet descendants of the Puritans
were shocked by the uproar of military music; the drum, fife, and bugle
drowning the holy organ peal and the voices of the singers. It would
appear as if the British took every method to insult the feelings of the
people.

"Grandfather," cried Charley, impatiently, "the people did not go to
fighting half soon enough! These British redcoats ought to have been
driven back to their vessels the very moment they landed on Long Wharf."

"Many a hot-headed young man said the same as you do, Charley," answered
Grandfather. "But the elder and wiser people saw that the time was not
yet come. Meanwhile, let us take another peep at our old chair."

"Ah, it drooped its head, I know," said Charley, "when it saw how the
province was disgraced. Its old Puritan friends never would have borne
such doings."

"The chair," proceeded Grandfather, "was now continually occupied
by some of the high tories, as the king's friends were called, who
frequented the British Coffee House. Officers of the Custom House, too,
which stood on the opposite side of King Street, often sat in the chair
wagging their tongues against John Hancock."

"Why against him?" asked Charley.

"Because he was a great merchant and contended against paying duties to
the king," said Grandfather.

"Well, frequently, no doubt, the officers of the British regiments, when
not on duty, used to fling themselves into the arms of our venerable
chair. Fancy one of them, a red-nosed captain in his scarlet uniform,
playing with the hilt of his sword, and making a circle of his brother
officers merry with ridiculous jokes at the expense of the poor Yankees.
And perhaps he would call for a bottle of wine, or a steaming bowl of
punch, and drink confusion to all rebels."

"Our grave old chair must have been scandalized at such scenes,"
observed Laurence; "the chair that had been the Lady Arbella's, and
which the holy apostle Eliot had consecrated."

"It certainly was little less than sacrilege," replied Grandfather; "but
the time was coming when even the churches, where hallowed pastors had
long preached the word of God, were to be torn down or desecrated by
the British troops. Some years passed, however, before such things were
done."

Grandfather now told his auditors that, in 1769, Sir Francis Bernard
went