The advent of the mayor and the constables upon the scene at this point rescued Garrison from immediately falling into the hands of the mob, who were cleared out of the hall and from the stairway.  Now the voice of the mayor was heard urging the ladies to go home as it was dangerous to remain; and now the voice of Maria Weston Chapman, replying:  “If this is the last bulwark of freedom, we may as well die here as anywhere.”  The ladies finally decided to retire, and their exit diverted, while the operation lasted, the attention of the huge, cat-like creature from their object in the anti-slavery office.  When the passing of the ladies had ceased, the old fury of the mob against Garrison returned.  “Out with him!” “Lynch him!” rose in wild uproar from thousands in the streets.  But again the attention of the huge, cat-like creature was diverted from its object in the second story of the building before which it was lashing itself into frenzy.  This time it was the anti-slavery sign which hung from the rooms of the society over the sidewalk.  The mob had caught sight of it, and directly set up a yell for it.  The sensation of utter helplessness in the presence of the multitude seemed at this juncture to return to the chief magistrate of the city.  It was impossible to control the cataract-like passions of the rioters.  He heard their awful roar for the sign.  The din had risen to terrific proportions.  The thought of what might happen next appalled him.  The mob might begin to bombard the sign with brickbats, and from the sign pass to the building, and from the building to the constables, and then—­but the mayor glanced not beyond, for he had determined to appease the fury of the mob by throwing down to it the hateful sign.  A constable detached it, and hurled it down to the rioters in the street.  But by the act the mayor had signified that the rule of law had collapsed, and the rule of the mob had really begun.  When the rioters had wreaked their wrath upon the emblem of freedom, they were in the mood for more violence.  The appetite for destruction, it was seen, had not been glutted; only whetted.  Garrison’s situation was now extremely critical.  He could no longer remain where he was, for the mob would invade the building and hunt him like hounds from cellar to garret.  He must leave the building without delay.  To escape from the front was out of the question.  A way of escape must, therefore, be found in the rear.  All of these considerations the mayor and Garrison’s friends urged upon him.  The good man fell in with this counsel, and, with a faithful friend, proceeded to the rear of the building, where from a window he dropped to a shed, but in doing so was very nearly precipitated to the ground.  After picking himself up he passed into a carpenter’s shop, meaning to let himself down into Wilson’s Lane, now Devonshire street, but the myriad-eyed mob, which was searching every portion of the building for their game, espied him at this point, and with that set