“The meeting broke up about 10 o’clock, and we all got safely home.  The next day the street was thronged with profane ruffians and curious spectators—­the women, however, holding their meetings in the hall all day, till towards evening.  It was given out by the mob that the hall would be burnt to the ground that night.  We were to have a meeting in the evening, but it was impossible to execute our purpose.  The mayor induced the manager to give the keys of the building into his hands.  He then locked the doors, and made a brief speech to the mob, assuring them that he had the keys, and that there would be no meeting, and requesting them to retire.  He then went home, but the mob were bent on the destruction of the hall.  They had now increased to several thousands, and soon got into the hall by dashing open the doors with their axes.  They then set fire to this huge building, and in the course of an hour it was a solid mass of flame.  The bells of the city were rung, and several engines rallied; but no water was permitted to be thrown upon the building.  The light of the fire must have been seen a great distance.”

At midnight Garrison was spirited out of the city, and conveyed in a covered carriage by a friend to Bristol, about twenty miles, where in the morning he took the steamboat for Boston.  The light of that fire was visible a great distance in more senses than one.  The burning of Pennsylvania Hall proved a public enlightener.  After that occurrence the gentlemen of property scattered through the free States devoted themselves less to the violent suppression of Abolitionism and more to the forcible suppression, upon occasion, of the alarming manifestations of popular lawlessness, which found significant demonstration just a week later in the city of Boston.

Mr. Garrison has preserved for us an instructive account of this affair, too, and here is the story as told by him to his brother-in-law, George W. Benson, in a letter dated May 25th:  “The spirit of mobocracy, like the pestilence, is contagious; and Boston is once more ready to reenact the riotous scenes of 1835.  The Marlboro’ Chapel, having just been completed, and standing in relation to our cause just as did Pennsylvania Hall, is an object of pro-slavery malevolence.  Ever since my return, threats have been given out that the chapel should share the fate of the hall.  Last evening was the time for its dedication; and, so threatening was the aspect of things, four companies of light infantry were ordered to be in readiness, each being provided with 100 ball cartridges, to rush to the scene of riot on the tolling of the bells.  The Lancers, a powerful body of horsemen, were also in readiness.  During the day placards were posted at the corners of the streets, denouncing the Abolitionists, and calling upon the citizens to rally at the chapel in the evening, in order to put them down.  An immense concourse of people assembled, a large proportion doubtless from motives of curiosity, and not a few of them with evil designs; but owing to the strong military preparations, the multitude refrained entirely from any overt acts of violence.  They did not disperse till after 10 o’clock, and during the evening shouted and yelled like a troop of wild savages.  Some ten or twelve were seized and carried to the watch-house, and this morning fined for their disorderly conduct.”