not an atom of respect being shown to the gray hairs of the old man who had occupied for years the highest position in the king’s cabinet. Who was the man, and where is he now, who knocked off the hat, and struck the loyal old man, as he silently accepted his changed position?
So these two citizens were forced along into a small structure on the wharf, where hung two ropes with nooses already prepared, and a man of widely known missionary ancestry, led the outcry, vociferating loudly and lustily, “Hang them! Hang them!” Could it be possible, I thought, that a son of one of my early instructors, the child of such a lovely and amiable Christian mother, could so far forget the spirit of that religion his parents taught, and be so carried away with political passion, as to be guilty of murder?
Yet he was not the only one, by any means, who seemed to have forgotten those principles of our Lord, to teach which their parents had come to our shores. For while this was going on in the city, another missionary boy rode out to the country residence of Mr. Gibson, at Kapiolani Park, and entering abruptly into the presence of his daughter, Mrs. Hayselden, threw a lasso over her head, as though the gentle woman had been a wild animal, and avowed his intention of dragging her into town. While he held her, those with him searched the house, hoping that they might discover arms or some other evidence by which Mr. Gibson and the members of his family could be convicted and hung, but they were disappointed. After subjecting her to this brutality, which she bore most bravely,
