with only a scarf or shawl lightly protecting their fair shoulders. Doña Mercedes looks charming in a pink grenadine dress, and with her luxuriant black hair tastefully arranged, as a Cuban señora alone knows how. Each lady adopts her most insinuating manner in order to dispose of her twisted tickets, the greater portion of which contain, of course, blanks, or a consolatory couplet like a motto in a cracker, for the gratification of the unsuccessful purchaser. There is loud cheering when a prize is drawn, especially if it happen to be of importance, like the "grand prize," which consists of a prettily worked purse containing six golden onzas (twenty pounds sterling).

Crowds of beggars are assembled within range of the plaza, and some of them occasionally invest in a medio or peseta's worth of tickets, but as coloured people are never permitted to mix with white folk in public, their tickets are handed to them by officials appointed for that purpose. Some of those blacks are 66 retired slaves in other words, negroes who have become free, either by devoting their savings of many years to the purchase of their liberty, or by having the latter left them as a legacy by an indulgent master. Those who have ability and industry make the most of their precious gift by devoting their energies to trade or to music, for which accomplishment negroes have often a natural inclination; but the infirm or the inactive-and of these there is always a majority-are reduced to penury, in which condition they fall naturally into begging ways, and prosper accordingly.

That intelligent-looking black who craves of me a peseta in order to buy a small bundle of tickets for the raffle, is a wellknown beggar. His name is Roblejo, and he owes his freedom to the publication of a book of poems written by himself. Assisted by a benevolent littérateur, Roblejo was enabled to transfer his poetic lucubrations into readable form, and the novelty taking the public fancy, subscribers were found sufficient for the purpose of printing the book, and effecting the author's emancipation.

cannot be prevailed upon to sit either to an artist or to a photographer. Whenever the subject is broached by me, El Rey del Orden grins, shakes his head knowingly, and observes, in the only English with which he is conversant :

"Oh ye―s; vary vel, no good, good mornin'."

Pancho is a genuine white man, but age and exposure to the sun and wind have bronzed him to a mulatto colour. He has a picturesque Saint Francis beard, and a benign, strongly marked countenance. He wears a coat of many shaded cloths, which, buttoned up to his neck, gives him a military appearance, while it economises his linen. Upon his head is a tall beaver hat, which has seen better days, but which the Order King is careful to keep well brushed. Pancho is slightly crazed in his intellect, and his monomania consists in the belief that he is not a beggar, but a benefactor to his country. With this notion, no persuasion will induce him to accept a donation in the shape of coin. Those who are acquainted with Pancho's weakness, and are desirous of relieving his wants, must do so through the medium of stratagem. If they succeed in imposing upon El Rey del Orden by prevailing upon him to "borrow" food or raiment, they consider themselves amply rewarded for their act of charity. The only article which the King of Order will deign to accept is foolscap writing-paper, because he believes that the use to which he applies it will be beneficial to mankind in general, and to Cuba in particular. He fills his foolscap with correspondence, which he addresses to the highest authorities; the favoured recipients being his excellency the governor, the alcalde mayor, and members of the town council. Whenever any political or social question is raised, the Order King is sure to despatch an important document bearing his opinion and advice. His majesty is usually his own letter-carrier, unless he can meet with a trustworthy messenger in the shape of a priest, an officer, or a policeman. The matter contained in these momentous memorials occupies from eighteen to twenty closely-written sheets, and is always prefaced with the imposing heading: "Yo, el Rey " (I, the king).

Pancho's indigence and infatuation have a romantic origin. This old, shabby-looking object before me was at one time a well-to-do planter, and held a high position among merchants. One fatal day he became enamoured of a Creole coquette, who

streets, and by frequent wounds received by citizens in scuffles with the strangers. Matters could not long continue in this way. Rough words preceded rough blows, and Boston mon were not the sort of people to be cowed by the sight of a red coat, a cocked-hat, or a bayonet. On the 22nd of February, 1770, some boys appeared in the streets carrying coarsely painted caricatures of the obnoxious, and, as they were generally considered, unpatriotic importers of British goods. A Custom House informer passing by endeavoured to prevail on a countryman to destroy the boy's pictures. The man refusing, the informer attempted himself to tear them down. A mob soon collected. The informer, getting violent, threatened to prosecute some of the citizens who abused him, but the boys hustled him, and followed him to his house with laughter and reproaches. Angry and alarmed, the moment he reached home he snatched up a gun and threatened the lads, who, nothing scared, still pelted the house with snow-balls and stones. The informer, frantic with rage, then fired from one of the windows, and a poor boy of eleven fell dead on the pavement below. A great excitement was produced among the people by this wanton act, and the funeral of "the young martyr in the cause of liberty," as he was called, was attended by an immense concourse of inhabitants.

On Friday, the 2nd of March, 1770, a swaggering soldier of the Twenty-ninth Regiment, armed with a club, came to Mr. John Gray's rope-walks, and, looking into one of the windows of the long shed, called out to a man named Feriter:

"By - I'll have satisfaction; d me, I'm not afraid of any one in the ropewalks!"

at a door in a passage leading from Atkinson-street, called out to the gigantic drummer, "You black rascal, what have you to do with white people's quarrels ?" On which the drummer replied, "I suppose I may look on."

Soon after this negro cut Feriter over the head with his cutlass. Hill, interfering to save a rope-maker, who was down, and being beaten with clubs by two or three soldiers, was himself struck at. Then came a rush of more rope-makers, and the soldiers were again driven back down the passage by the tar-kettles.

The next day the soldiers were seen busy in the barracks shaping clubs, and a party of them went to M'Neill's rope-walk, challenged the workmen, and struck several of them, but were soon driven away. On the Monday morning Colonel Carr and some officers forced their way into Gray's ropewalk, declaring they were searching for a sergeant of their regiment, who had been murdered. On Mr. Gray complaining of this, Colonel Carr told him he was daily losing his men, that three grenadiers had been beaten by the rope-makers, and that one of them was dying.

From many hints of the soldiers, the Boston people began to foresee riot coming. On the next Sunday evening a soldier called on Mr. Charles Thayer, a carpenter, and said to Miss Thayer: "Your brother is a man I have drank with, and have a great regard for, and I came here to desire him to keep out of harm's way, as before Tuesday night at twelve there will be a great deal of blood shed, and many lost."

lives

A man named Broaders the same evening heard a Sergeant Daniels say in conversation: "The soldiers won't bear the affronts of the inhabitants any longer, but resent them, and make them know their distance. I'd like to make the plumbs fly about their ears, and set the town on fire round them, and they'd know who and who were of a side.”

About the same time a soldier named Rumbly was heard swearing in Boston to

On which a brutal soldier's wife said, "If there is a riot in the town, and any of the people are wounded, I'll put a stone in my handkerchief and beat their brains out, and plunder the rebels."

Another day four soldiers, walking between the market and Justice Quincey's, were heard saying: "There are a great many that will eat their dinners on Monday next that will not eat any on Tuesday."

An officer's servant on the Monday morning was heard from an open window to say that "he hoped he should see blood enough spilt before morning." A man named Adams going to the house of Corporal Pershall, of the Twenty-ninth Regiment, near Quaker-lane (now Congressstreet), was desired, with great earnestness by the corporal, to go home as soon as possible to his master's house, and not venture abroad that night, for that the soldiers were determined to be revenged on the rope-walk people, and much mischief would be done.

It was evident that the soldiers were determined to drive the citizens to retaliation, and then to take a cruel and desperate revenge. About nine o'clock on Monday, the 5th of March, large parties of riotous soldiers came pouring out of Murray's Barracks in Brattle-street (the site of the City Tavern) armed with large naked cutlasses, and, on some boys shouting, began cutting and slashing at everybody that came in their way, and also stabbed at several inoffensive persons with their bayonets. A sailor named Atwood, of Welfleet, seeing this, went up to a party of the ruffianly soldiers and asked them if they intended to murder people.

"Yes, by," they cried," root and branch-here is one of them." At the same time three of the soldiers struck the man with clubs, and partly disabled him. A few steps off, meeting two officers, Atwood said, "Gentlemen, what is the matter?" They replied, "You will see by-andbye." Soon after he heard a cry at an officer's door, "Turn out the guards!" and the soldiers were shouting, "Where are the cowards! where are your liberty boys!"

Two officers came out of Murray's Barracks as the soldiers were rushing through Boylston's-alley into Cornhill, and said to the men, "My lads, come into the barracks, and do not hurt the inhabitants." But the moment the two officers had retired into the mess-house a hot-headed

young ensign ran to the barrack gate and called to the maddened men, "Turn out, and I'll stand by you. Kill them, stick them, knock them down, run your bayonets through them."

The officers came out, and again interfered, but again the ensign led the men forth, sword in hand. Soon after, a party of soldiers came rushing from Green's Barracks in Atkinson-street, crying, "This is our chance," and seemed so greedy for blood, that the sergeants could hardly keep them in their ranks. A citizen telling a soldier, who was flourishing a cutlass in an alley that led from Cornhill to Brattlestreet, that it "wasn't clever to carry such a weapon in the night without it was in a scabbard," the ruffian swore at him, thrust his cutlass at a young man near, and struck at him. Some lads then collecting at a halloo from near the Town House, drove back the clump of soldiers to the barracks. A few moments after, however, more of the English poured out with cutlasses, clubs, tongs, bayonets, and shovels, crying, "Where are the Yankees!"

One of the soldiers being knocked down by a citizen whom he threatened, struck the man, and broke his wrist. Near the Liberty Tree, also, several citizens were hustled and struck by the soldiers. A citizen named Appleton, standing at his own door in Cornhill talking with Deacon Marsh, with difficulty saved himself and friend from the soldiers' cutlasses. Soon after, Appleton's son, a boy of twelve, came running in, pale and scared, and said that he had just met some soldiers with drawn cutlasses. One of them struck at him, upon which he cried, "Pray, soldier, save my life." The soldier replied, "No, you! I will kill you all," and struck him down; but providentially the sword glanced on the boy's arm, and he was only bruised.

A serious conflict between the soldiers and the people was now inevitable, and it soon took place. An apprentice named Broaders, on his way with a barber's lad to an apothecary's, began talking to the sentinel at the Custom House steps. The barber's boy called out to the soldier that a captain of the Fourteenth, then passing, was so mean a fellow as not to pay his barber for shaving him. Upon this the sentry, in a rage, left his post, and following the boy into the middle of the street, told him to show him his face. The boy replied saucily, "I am not afraid to show my face to any man." Upon this the sentry gave him a sweeping blow on the

head with his musket, which made him reel, stagger, and scream. Broaders, enraged at this cruelty, asked the sentry what he meant by this. The soldier replied, "Your blood; if you don't get out of the way, I will give you something." And then fixing his bayonet, made a drive at the lads, who both ran away. A crowd presently collected, and more soldiers came running up. Thirty or forty boys and youngsters then assembled round the Custom House, gave three cheers, began to throw snow-balls at the sentinel, and told him to fire if he dare. The sentinel then went up the steps of the Custom House, loaded his piece, and first striking the butt of it on the steps, presented it several times at the people, who were now only about ten feet off. A man named Knox, who had crossed from the Royal Exchange to Quakerlane, seeing the sentry snap his piece, told him if he fired he would be killed. The sentry growled out that he did not care, and ᎥᏝ any one touched him he would fire. The boys shouted again, "Fire and be the mean time the fire-bell had begun to ring, and was rousing the mob who had been fighting with the soldiers near Justice Quincey's. The crowd then drawing nearer the sentinel, he knocked at the Custom House door, and spoke to a servant who came out without a hat, his hair tied and hanging down loose.

-" In

The last fatal act of the tragedy was fast approaching. In about five minutes a party of seven or eight soldiers, headed by a Captain Preston, came from the main guard directly through the crowd with loaded muskets and fixed bayonets, pushing roughly to and fro, and shouting, "Make way!" When they got abreast of the Custom House they drew up in a line from the corner of the Royal Exchange-lane to the sentry-box at the Custom House door. At this crisis Knox took Captain Preston by the coat, and begged him for God's sake to take his men back again, for if the men fired, his (Preston's) life would have to answer for the consequences. The captain replied he knew what he was about, and seemed agitated. There were only about seventy or eighty people then, who were throwing snow-balls, shouting, whistling boatswain's calls, and waving sticks. The soldiers struck some of the citizens with the butt-ends of their muskets, upon which an officer cried out, "Why don't you prick the beasts!" The most graphic view of the sad sequel of this affray may, however, be given by the evidence of two or three of the

bystanders, afterwards taken down by the Boston justices.

William Wyat, of Salem, coaster, deposed: "Then the said officer retired from before the soldiers, and, stepping behind them, towards the right wing, bid the soldiers fire; they not firing, he presently || again bid 'em fire. Then the second man on the left wing fired off his gun; then, after a very short pause, they fired one after another, as quick as possible, beginning on the right wing; the last man's gun on the left wing flashed in the pan; then he primed again, and the people being withdrawn from before the soldiers, most of them further down the street, he turned his gun toward them, and fired upon them. Immediately after the prin cipal firing, I saw three of the people fall down in the street; presently, after the last gun was fired off, the said officer, who had commanded the soldiers (as above) to fire, sprung before them, waving his sword or stick, said, 'Damn ye, rascals! what did ye

fire for?' and struck up the gun of one of the soldiers, who was loading again, whereupon they seemed confounded, and fired no more. I then went up behind them to the right wing, where one of the people was lying, to see whether he was dead, where there were four or five people about him, one of them saying he was dead. And I remember, as the said officer was going down with the soldiers towards the Custom House, a gentleman spoke to him, and said, 'Captain Preston, for God's sake keep your men in order, and mind what you are about.' And further I say not."

A man named Hickling stood close to several of the poor fellows who were killed. His account of what he saw is very minute and apparently truthful. "At that instant Mr. Richard Palmes came up and asked the officer if he intended to fire upon the people? He answered, 'By no means. Palmes asked if the guns were loaded? Preston answered in the affirmative. Palmes further asked, 'With powder and ball?' Preston answered they were. The soldiers during this conversation assumed different postures, shoving their bayonets frequently at the people, one in particular, pushing against my side, swore he would run me through; I laid hold of his bayonet and told him that nobody was going to meddle with them. Not more than ten seconds after this I saw something white, resembling a piece of snow or ice, fall among the sol diers, which knocked the end of a firelock to the ground. At that instant the word