ing that strict justice
should be done. A day or two afterward the British troops were withdrawn
from town and stationed at Castle William. Captain Preston and the eight
soldiers were tried for murder. But none of them were found guilty.
The judges told the jury that the insults and violence which had been
offered to the soldiers justified them in firing at the mob."

"The Revolution," observed Laurence, who had said but little during the
evening, "was not such a calm, majestic movement as I supposed. I do
not love to hear of mobs and broils in the street. These things were
unworthy of the people when they had such a great object to accomplish."

"Nevertheless, the world has seen no grander movement than that of our
Revolution from first to last," said Grandfather. "The people, to a man,
were full of a great and noble sentiment. True, there may be much fault
to find with their mode of expressing this sentiment; but they knew no
better; the necessity was upon them to act out their feelings in the
best manner they could. We must forgive what was wrong in their actions,
and look into their hearts and minds for the honorable motives that
impelled them."

"And I suppose," said Laurence, "there were men who knew how to act
worthily of what they felt."

"There were many such," replied Grandfather; "and we will speak of some
of them hereafter."

Grandfather here made a pause. That night Charley had a dream about the
Boston massacre, and thought that he himself was in the crowd and struck
down Captain Preston with a great club. Laurence dreamed that he was
sitting in our great chair, at the window of the British Coffee House,
and beheld the whole scene which Grandfather had described. It seemed to
him, in his dream, that, if the townspeople and the soldiers would but
have heard him speak a single word, all the slaughter might have been
averted. But there was such an uproar that it drowned his voice.

The next morning the two boys went together to State Street and stood on
the very spot where the first blood of the Revolution had been shed. The
Old State House was still there, presenting almost the same aspect that
it had worn on that memorable evening, one-and-seventy years ago. It is
the sole remaining witness of the Boston massacre.

CHAPTER VI. A COLLECTION OF PORTRAITS.

THE NEXT evening the astral lamp was lighted earlier than usual,
because Laurence was very much engaged in looking over the collection of
portr