“In 1747,” proceeded Grandfather, “Governor Shirley was driven from the Province House, not by a hostile fleet and army, but by a mob of the Boston people.  They were so incensed at the conduct of the British Commodore Knowles, who had impressed some of their fellow-citizens, that several thousands of them surrounded the council-chamber, and threw stones and brick-bats into the windows.  The governor attempted to pacify them; but, not succeeding, he thought it necessary to leave the town, and take refuge within the walls of Castle William.  Quiet was not restored, until Commodore Knowles had sent back the impressed men.  This affair was a flash of spirit, that might have warned the English not to venture upon any oppressive measures against their colonial brethren.”

Peace being declared between France and England in 1748, the governor had now an opportunity to sit at his ease in Grandfather’s chair.  Such repose, however, appears not to have suited his disposition; for, in the following year, he went to England, and thence was dispatched to France, on public business.  Meanwhile, as Shirley had not resigned his office, Lieutenant-Governor Phips acted as chief magistrate in his stead.

Chapter IX

In the early twilight of Thanksgiving eve, came Laurence, and Clara, and Charley, and little Alice, hand in hand, and stood in a semi-circle round Grandfather’s chair.  They had been joyous, throughout that day of festivity, mingling together in all kinds of play, so that the house had echoed with their airy mirth.

Grandfather, too, had been happy, though not mirthful.  He felt that this was to be set down as one of the good Thanksgivings of his life.  In truth, all his former Thanksgivings had borne their part in the present one; for, his years of infancy, and youth, and manhood with their blessings and their griefs, had flitted before him, while he sat silently in the great chair.  Vanished scenes had been pictured in the air.  The forms of departed friends had visited him.  Voices, to be heard no more on earth, had sent an echo from the infinite and the eternal.  These shadows, if such they were, seemed almost as real to him, as what was actually present—­as the merry shouts and laughter of the children—­as their figures, dancing like sunshine before his eyes.

He felt that the past was not taken from him.  The happiness of former days was a possession forever.  And there was something in the mingled sorrow of his lifetime, that became akin to happiness, after being long treasured in the depths of his heart.  There it underwent a change, and grew more precious than pure gold.

And now came the children, somewhat aweary with their wild play, and sought the quiet enjoyment of Grandfather’s talk.  The good old gentleman rubbed his eyes, and smiled round upon them all.  He was glad, as most aged people are, to find that he was yet of consequence, and could give pleasure to the world.  After being so merry, all day long, did these children desire to hear his sober talk?  Oh, then, old Grandfather had yet a place to fill among living men,—­or at least among boys and girls!