It will be a contest between the Abolitionists and the friends of the Union. A purse of one hundred dollars has been raised by a number of patriotic citizens, to reward the individual who shall first lay violent hands on Thompson, so that he may be brought to the Tar Kettle before dark. Friends of the Union, be vigilant!"

One of the morning papers, "The Commercial Gazette," thus alluded to the meeting appointed for the day :

"It is in vain to hold meetings in Faneuil Hall; in vain that speeches are made and resolutions are adopted, assuring our brethren of the South that we cherish rational and correct notions on the subject of slavery, if Thompson and Garrison, and their vile associates in this city, are permitted to hold their meetings in the broad face of day, and to continue their denunciations of the planters of the South. They must be put down if we would preserve our consistency. The evil is one of the greatest magnitude; and the opinion prevails very generally, that, if there is no law that will reach it, it must be reached in some other way."

Such language served its purpose. Before the hour appointed for the opening of the meeting, the streets in the vicinity of the hall were filled with men, with their every breath freighted with vengeance. Even a blind man would have detected trouble ahead.

Through this elegantly dressed, culture-boasting crowd, taunted by the insults and vulgarities of these chivalrous friends of their "brethren of the South," the ladies passed into the hall. About thirty responded to the call of the roll.

Then Miss Mary S. Parker read a selection from the Scriptures, and in fervent tones offered up a prayer to Almighty God "for his blessing upon the cause of the bondmen, his forgiveness of his and their enemies, and his succor and protection in the hour of peril."

"It was," says Mr. Garrison, who was present at the meeting by invitation, "an awful, sublime, and soulthrilling scene,-enough, one would suppose, to melt adamantine hearts, and make even fiends of darkness stagger and retreat. Indeed, the clear, untremulous voice of the Christian heroine in prayer occasionally awed the ruffians into silence, and was heard distinctly, even in the midst of their hisses, yells, and curses."

At the close of the prayer, Mr. Garrison, by the advice of the president, in company with Mr. C. C. Burleigh, went into the anti-slavery office, which adjoined and was separated from the hall by a board partition. His object in thus departing was to preserve the contents of the depository from being destroyed in case the mob should suddenly become furious.

He had just closed the door behind him, and the secretary of the society had just begun to read the annual report, when Mayor Lyman entered the room, and commanded the ladies to disperse. They humbly besought his protection, as they had a right to do: he assured them, that, as they were disturbers of the peace, he was powerless to afford them any protection. Thus baffled by "gentlemen of property and standing," and

by their representative the mayor, the ladies quietly adjourned their meeting.

The rioters now rushed into the hall, after having bravely demolished the anti-slavery sign. They appropriated the Testaments and prayer-books, and then turned their attention to Mr. Garrison. By advice of the mayor, in order to escape the mob, he crossed the roof in the rear of the second story of the hall, to a carpenter-shop in the second story of a building in Wilson's Lane. There a friend tried to conceal him, but it was too late. The rioters had discovered his hidingplace, and, amid yells which were heard afar off, dragged him to a window, and were about to throw him out, when the conscience of one of them caused him to interfere. Then they drew him back, and coiled a rope around his body, evidently with the intention of dragging him through the streets of Boston.

Just at that moment a ladder was raised to the window, and Mr. Garrison was permitted to descend. From Wilson's Lane he was dragged, bareheaded, and with his garments torn, into State Street, in the rear of City Hall (now "the Old State House"), over ground stained with the blood of the first martyrs in the cause of liberty and independence in the memorable massacre of 1770.

Arriving at the south door of the hall, an attempt was made by the mayor to protect Mr. Garrison; but only until several respectable citizens lent their assistance,

did the attempt prove successful. Finally rescued, Mr. Garrison was taken up to the mayor's room, where he was provided with needful clothing, and was told, that, to preserve his life, he must be committed to jail "as a disturber of the peace." A closed carriage was summoned, and into it the prisoner was put without much difficulty.

"But now," says Mr. Garrison, "a scene occurred that baffles description. As the ocean, lashed into fury by the spirit of the storm, seeks to whelm the adventurous bark beneath the mountain waves, so did the mob, enraged by a series of disappointments, rush like a whirlwind upon the frail vehicle in which I sat, and endeavor to drag me out of it. Escape seemed a physical impossibility. They clung to the wheels, dashed open the doors, seized hold of the horses, and tried to upset the carriage. They were, however, vigorously repulsed by the police; a constable sprung in by my side; the doors were closed; and the driver, lustily using his whip upon the bodies of his horses and the heads of the rioters, happily made an opening through the crowd, and drove at a tremendous speed for Leverett Street. But But many of the rioters followed, even with superior swiftness, and repeatedly attempted to arrest the progress of the horses. To reach the jail by a direct course was found impracticable; and after going by a circuitous direction, and encountering many hairbreadth escapes, we drove up to the new and last refuge

of liberty and life, when another desperate attempt was made by the mob to seize me, but in vain. In a few moments I was locked up in a cell, safe from my persecutors, accompanied by two delightful associates, a good conscience and a cheerful mind. In the course of the evening several of my friends came to my grated window, to sympathize and confer with me, with whom I held a strengthening conversation until the hour of retirement, when I threw myself upon my prison-bed, and slept tranquilly."

In the morning the prisoner wrote with a pencil the following inscription upon the walls of his cell:

"William Lloyd Garrison was put into this cell on Wednesday afternoon, Oct. 21, 1835, to save him from the violence of a 'respectable' and influential mob, who sought to destroy him from preaching the abominable and dangerous doctrine, that all men are created equal,' and that all oppression is odious in the sight of God. Hail, Columbia!' Cheers for the autocrat of Russia and the sultan of Turkey!

"Reader, let this inscription remain till the last slave in this despotic land be loosed from his fetters."

In the course of the forenoon Mr. Garrison was subjected to the mockery of an examination for form's sake, and then released from custody.

While seated by his study-window in Court Street, the young Boston lawyer, glancing up from the pages of his book, and out into the thoroughfare, caught sight of an assembling crowd of people. Men were hurry