Chapter IV: Part 4

'We must deal with him in all charity,' said Mary; 'he aims to do good, and I have a prevailing opinion of his piety, though I must confess, the picture is shaded by many a sombre line.'

The young friends soon reached home, and agreeably to the pious custom of those days, each one retired to his chamber for meditation and prayer. These duties were kept up till nearly sunset, when the family assembled at the tea table, where no secular conversation was permitted to intrude. The evening was usually occupied in religious conversation or sacred music. On the present occasion, some appropriate selections were made from the version of Sternhold and Hopkins, at that time used by the Church of England, and the sweet voices of the young maidens gave utterance to strains of melody which for culture and expression, were seldom heard in the primitive days of New England.

The later hours of the evening were spent in the garden. The moon was riding with her starry train, in peerless beauty above them. The fragrance of the apple blossoms filled the air, and the sweet tranquillity of a Sabbath eve came down upon this lovely circle of friends, as they contemplated that better land, whose vivid emblems were shining above and around them.

CHAPTER ELEVENTH.

The beautiful month of June was now spreading its green ornaments over the face of New England. Never did the early summer unfold a more luxuriant foliage, or cover the fields with a fresher beauty, than that which now adorned the land. The forests and gardens were vocal with the music of birds, the rose and violet came forth in unwonted fragrance, and a cloud of incense went up from every valley and hill, to the praise of their Creator and Lord. The world of nature was moving on in perfect harmony and beauty. But the world of mind was in ruins, its stately palaces had fallen, Reason was dethroned, and a dark mass of chaotic elements moved over its surface in mingled confusion and horror. Spirits of evil were riding on the blast, unnatural and distorted shapes occupied every field of thought and reflection, and Superstition held in her mighty grasp whatever element opposed her power, and scowled in triumph and scorn over a perverted understanding and a misguided conscience.

On the 10th of June, 1692, the first victim of this mournful delusion died at the scaffold and by the hands of the public executioner. Her indictment stated, that she had made a covenant with Satan, and in obedience thereto, was engaged in the practice of wicked arts, to the great annoyance of godly persons. The nature of these practices was described at length, and consisted in the infusion of wicked and devilish thoughts into minds hitherto pure and uncorrupt, in the infliction of sharp pains on the hands, the neck and the limbs of the sufferer, in various temptations to assist the devil in his nefarious designs upon the peace and order of society, and in promises of future rewards if the party would consent to become a subject and servant of Satan.

A company of nervous and agitated witnesses supported the indictment, by testifying to the power she exerted over their minds and bodies, and the wild actings of their own fanaticism, and its physical effects, were imputed by them to a mysterious energy derived by the supposed witch from the master of apostate spirits. On such evidence as this, she was condemned by the highest court in New England, and, by a sentence most unjust and cruel, was consigned to an ignominious death. As the multitude, who witnessed the execution, retired from the dreadful spectacle, it was only to tremble for themselves and for each other: even the pleadings of mercy and the voice of pity were suppressed, and those who dared to intimate a belief in opposition to the prevalent opinions, were the first to be suspected and arrested.

On the evening of this day, two persons were seen on their way to the house of Mr. Parris, the clergyman of Danvers, at that time called 'Salem village.' One of these was a young man of genteel appearance, and the other a female, whose dress was that of a country maiden, but whose sharp countenance and cunning, selfish aspect denoted that she was intelligent beyond her apparent condition. The conversation was earnest and vehement on both sides; and as they approached the house, the slowness of their pace indicated that their plans, or purposes, were not fully matured.

'This business looks too serious to me,' said the female; 'I hardly dare undertake it. Miss Graham must be innocent; and how can I be the cause of her death?'

'Did you not say,' said Trellison, 'that she had been the cause of constant torment and vexation, that she controlled your movements, and by a look suspended your purposes; that in her presence, you would weep or smile, without any cause whatever? Moreover, did you not see her at that cursed sacrament of devils, where every vow is sealed by blood, and where she solemnly ratified the hellish compact? What are all these but proofs of her damnable affinity with Satan? You cannot go back. The Lord requires your service, and it must be done.'

'But, Mr. Trellison,' replied the female, 'if I take this course, what will become of me? I shall be shunned by the good; and if Miss Graham is acquitted, where shall I find recompense and security?'

'Have I not told you of recompense? Is it nothing to free the world from the possessed of Satan? Is it nothing to foil the great adversary of soul and body? Is it nothing to free yourself from these annoyances? Is it nothing, Clarissa, to save your own life?'

'My own life--what is that worth, Mr. Trellison, if the mind is loaded with conscious guilt? Even now, I start at every shadow, and imagine a foe in every one I meet. And what is the amount of this victory over Satan, as you call it? Why it seems to me, such a victory would be my ruin. But I have started in the race, and fate seems to press me onward. I may be doing God service. Will you, Mr. Trellison, pledge yourself that my reward shall be reasonable and sure?'

'I have pledged my word, and the assurances of all the faithful are yours, that whatever injury any one suffers in this righteous cause, shall be fully recompensed. You shall be rewarded.'

They now separated as they approached the house, and Clarissa, who had been fully instructed in the part she was to act, entered the kitchen, and took her place with the servant, with whom she had long been acquainted. Trellison, as he entered the parlor, saw Mr. Parris, through an open door, seated in his library alone. They had long been familiar acquaintances, and though the clergyman was many years his senior, yet he was fully aware of the reputation of his friend for piety, and had known him personally since his first entrance at Harvard College. After some desultory conversation, the mournful events of the day were called up, and Mr. Parris remarked, that he looked back upon its scenes with extreme agitation and horror. 'Surely, Mr. Trellison,' said he, 'it was a dreadful sacrifice. But how could it be avoided?'

'It was a sacrifice well pleasing to the Lord,' said Trellison. 'Why start, Mr. Parris, at the sternness of the divine command? Must our pity overcome our sense of obligation?'

'No indeed,' said Mr. Parris; 'and here is the bitterness of the trial. He that putteth his hand to the plough, is forbidden to look back: but how can I behold such misery without a tear of pity?'

'When Abraham was commanded to slay his son,' said Trellison, 'he laid him on the altar and took the knife in his hand. Was there any misgiving? Doubtless pity moved his heart; but his hand was true to the divine mandate, and he only forbore at the express command of God.'

'But are we equally sure, that God commands us to this work of violence? Might we not by prayer disarm the Tempter, and drive him from our midst?'

'Faith without works is dead; and how can we expect the blessing of God, but in the use of means? Shall Satan rage in our land, and the servant of God remain idle at his post? Every thing depends on the energy and zeal with which this arch-apostate is hunted and driven from his hiding places; and those, who harbor him and practice his wicked devices, must perish without mercy.'

'True, most true, Mr. Trellison: forgive the momentary, the sinful pity, which would, if indulged, unnerve my hand, and draw me back from the service of God. I would not shrink from my duty; but I am startled and confounded at the numbers who have engaged in this cursed league with Satan. They must be punished. You are aware, that a society has recently been formed for the discovery and punishment of witches. This scroll was brought to me to-day by a member, and all the persons on this list will be watched, and probably most of them arrested. If you know of other cases, where the charges can be supported by competent evidence, it will be my duty to present them to the society.'

Trellison took the list, which contained the names of seven or eight persons. Most of these had long been suspected; but the last name on the scroll was that of one, whose blameless life and holy profession had hitherto given him a high rank in the community. It was the Rev. George Burroughs, a minister of the gospel, of the same religious faith as that of Mather, Parris and their associates, and perfectly exemplary in his deportment and conversation.

'And has it come to this?' said Trellison. 'Oh, the power of these hellish arts, that have profaned even the house of God, and turned the servant of Christ to a minister of Satan! But I can hardly credit what you say. Is the proof convincing?'

'Perfectly so,' said Mr. Parris. 'He was Satan's minister at that dreadful sacrament, in which most of those now in prison bound themselves to his service by their own signature, under the bloody seal. Moreover, he has the promise of being a prince in Satan's kingdom; and he took one of those faithful maidens, who have put their lives in jeopardy for the service of God, and carried her to a high mountain, where, after the fashion of his master, he showed her the glory of the world, and promised to give her all, if she would but sign her name. But she wisely told him, those things were not his to give, and refused to sign. Such is the evidence against Mr. Burroughs. There is no alternative; we have canvassed the whole matter, and he must die.'

'So perish all the enemies of the Lord!' said Trellison. 'And now, Mr. Parris, there is yet one name to be added to that gloomy catalogue. Until now, I have not been nerved with strength to go forward in this divine work, and while my heart rebels at every step and my whole frame is convulsed with agony, I pronounce the name of Mary Graham.'

Mr. Parris started from his seat. 'Such a name, and from you, Mr. Trellison?'

'Tremble not, my friend, nor wonder at what seems so strange. I have had such revelations from the Lord, such experience of her dreadful compact with the Prince of darkness, and such proofs from others who know her well, that, upon the peril of my soul, I dare not disobey a voice louder than seven thunders to my ears. Miss Graham is bound over to Satan!'

'I cannot credit your assertions, Mr. Trellison: Miss Graham is above all suspicion. If such a mind is affected by this dreadful influence, who of us shall escape?'

'Nevertheless you must,' said Trellison. 'I was once held in bondage by her magic arts: but, thanks to God, my soul is now at liberty; escaped, as a bird out of the snare of the fowler. But others are still entangled in her yoke of bondage, and they must be liberated. Some of our students have fallen under her power, and under this roof is one who is daily persecuted by her devices. Clarissa Snow, the faithful servant of Mr. Ellerson, is now here, and will tell you in person what she has suffered.'

'Oh, righteous God!' said Mr. Parris, 'spare me this heavy blow! let not thy wrath wax hot against thy servant; and if this work of judgment must proceed, consign it, I beseech thee, to other hands, and let no more blood be found in my skirts!'

'What means this language?' said Trellison. 'Has not God vouchsafed to you his peculiar presence and blessing? has he not revealed to you these mysteries of iniquity, and made you the honored instrument of bringing to light the hidden things of darkness? will you pause in the work to which he calls you?

'I cannot pause,' replied Mr. Parris; 'but I know not how to proceed. Once more, I appeal to Heaven for the rectitude of my purposes; and if I am the chosen instrument to sweep the chaff from his threshing floor, I can only say--Oh God, thy will be done! let me not turn back from this work; let me not blench in this terrible conflict with the powers of darkness; let me not turn my hand from the shedding of blood, till a voice from the excellent Glory tells me to forbear!'

'And now,' he added, 'your testimony shall be examined, and if it be such as the revelations of God to my own soul shall approve, Miss Graham, whatever may be the consequences, must be arrested.'

In a few moments, Clarissa was introduced, and to the several questions that were asked, she replied in such a manner as confirmed the statements of Trellison. She complained of various torments in the presence of Miss Graham, which torments ceased when she was absent. She also complained of dark purposes and evil thoughts, which always vanished when Miss Graham was out of sight.

It is not necessary to repeat more, for the credulous clergyman was easily convinced; and moreover, these results accorded with those inward revelations which to him were conclusive evidence of her guilt; and he now, though with a trembling hand, added her name to the list of victims.

This was but the first step in the dark machinations of Trellison. He knew the ground he occupied was treacherous: but confiding in the strength of the public delusion, and perhaps believing, in part, he was doing God service, he was emboldened to proceed and carry on his designs of blood. In the picture, which the conversation we have related gives of his character, the lines are deepened to an uncommon shade of guilt. But in the midst of the revenge he sought, there were feelings of gloomy fanaticism, which probably concealed from his own view the enormity of his purposes, and even clothed them with a false lustre. He was a believer in these compacts with Satan; and the very unaccountable testimony of credible witnesses had led him to look upon those who practiced witchcraft, as persons who must be cut off, and the land be purged, in this way, from the demons who had broken loose upon it. Yet in the midst of all, there must have been moments, when the accuser Conscience broke in upon his refuge of lies, and upbraided him with a purpose, which came nearer to the acts of Satan, than any which visible evidence had yet developed.

CHAPTER TWELFTH.

Soon after the return of Lyford from Hadley, Strale having no longer any special occasion for Pompey's services, determined to give him his liberty, in advance of the time specified by his father. He accordingly informed Pompey that he now wished him to enjoy the luxury he had so long desired, that of being his own master. Walter furnished him with a small sum of money, and Mr. Gardner assured him he should have employment about the wharf at reasonable wages. Pompey was in raptures in the possession of his newly acquired liberty, and for many days his enjoyment was unbounded. But he had no notion of being employed as a laborer; and having procured a fashionable hat, with silk stockings and a coat well covered with gilded buttons, and silver buckles on his shoes, Pompey strutted up and down King street for a month or more, to the great amusement of the shop keepers, and with such vast opinions of his own consequence, as no amount of ridicule could possibly diminish. But the golden dream could not last always; it was not broken, however, till the last penny of his cash had disappeared, when he awoke to the consciousness that he had played the fool, and that his pretensions to the character of a gentleman of leisure must be abandoned. In this condition, he had recourse to Strale as his only friend, and begged him to find employment for him on a farm, at a distance from town, where he was willing to go back to his old habits of labor and care. Walter had taken no pains to arrest him in his course of folly, believing that experience was the only cure for his extravagant dreams; but he was very willing to assist him in any way, that might promote his good, and accordingly procured for him a situation on a farm in Danvers, occupied by Mr. Putnam, a highly respectable man, who promised to watch the motions and check the follies of Pompey, as much as might be in his power.

It was a new and not very agreeable scene to Pompey. He had no chance for the display of authority; but was ordered to mind his own business, whenever he presumed to step out of his sphere. This life of discipline was too severe to be endured, and he gradually became remiss in his labors, until at length, it required the constant exercise of authority to induce him to labor at all. In this condition, he contrived various methods of escape from a post that was every way disagreeable; but he well knew, that if he left Mr. Putnam without good reason, he had nothing further to expect from Walter. Happily for him, as he thought, the witch delusion was now advancing with a power which nothing could resist; he saw the influence and importance which had been gained by the impostors who pretended to be afflicted; and there seemed no way so likely to mend his fortunes as to be afflicted himself, and then turn informer.

With a view to carry out this policy, Pompey went to Mr. Parris and entered a complaint against his master. He declared, that Mr. Putnam tormented him night and day, and that strange things were going on at the farm; that one morning a field of grass was cut without hands, and the hay was put into the barn, perfectly dry in one hour after cutting; and that only the day before, as he was at work loading hay, Mr. Putnam stood at a long distance from him, with a hayfork in his hand, and that, in a mysterious manner, the fork entered his arm, inflicting a severe wound, the effects of which were now visible. These wonderful events excited the astonishment of the clergyman, who sent for the farmer, and requested his attendance on the afternoon of the next day.

A few minutes after Trellison's departure, the farmer entered the room, and found his minister in a reclining posture, and apparently absorbed in deep meditation. 'I have come,' said he, 'Mr. Parris, in obedience to your summons, and wish to know your pleasure.'

'Satan is among my flock, Mr. Putnam, and as the good shepherd careth for his sheep, I have feared you may be entangled in his wiles.'

'In my belief, and I am sorry to say it,' said the farmer, 'Satan has more to do with the minister than among the people.'

'Dare you speak thus to the Lord's ambassador, his commissioned and anointed servant, whom he has clothed with the helmet of salvation, and the shield of faith, that he may quench the fiery darts of the devil?'

'You claim a high character, Mr. Parris; but I have heard of wolves in sheeps' clothing, and the course you are pursuing, leaves me in little doubt whose servant you are.'

'What other language than this is to be expected from those who have signed the black book, and eaten the sacrament of devils. You have sold yourself to the service of Satan, and these are the cursed fruits of your compact; it was to question you on this point, that I sent for you to-day, and you owe it to my forbearance, that your name is not now on the scroll of the accused. I wished to know whether the evidence of your servant Pompey could be relied on. Your own language now convinces me of its truth, and you will soon reap the wages of your iniquity.'

'I well know,' replied Mr. Putnam, 'how little evidence it takes to satisfy you, when you are resolved to carry out your purposes. Your own inward convictions, you say, support the evidence of my servant. It will, however, be well for you to inquire, how far his testimony may be trusted. I have brought him with me, that you may question him in my presence.'

'It is a grace you do not deserve, but to show you my forbearance and lenity, I will admit and question him now. You shall not be condemned without a hearing.'

This concession from Mr. Parris was sudden and unexpected; but he knew the sturdy character of Putnam, his excellent reputation, and the danger of pushing matters to extremity. He was therefore glad of the opportunity to come down from the high ground he had taken, and to assume the appearance of fairness and liberality.

Pompey was now introduced, and the poor African was in no very enviable position, between the two inquisitors; but he made the best of his circumstances, and sat down quietly to undergo the examination.

'You seem to be in a calmer state to-day, Pompey,' said the clergyman; 'I hope the cause of your trouble is removed.'

'Witch gone, Massa Parris, all gone; Pompey well as ever.'

'Thanks be to God!' said the clergyman; 'he has heard my prayer. I wrestled with him a full hour on your account, and he gave me faith to believe that the devil would be cast out.'

'Massa Putnam got the witch out; he did it all himself--nobody helped him.'

'What do you mean, Pompey? I do not understand you.'

'I must now explain,' said Putnam, 'and am willing to apologize for the language I used when I came in, so far as to express my belief that you are under a strong delusion, and I do not wish to impute to you corrupt and wicked motives. You have been a good minister, and a kind man in past years, and you well know that in the contest for your parish rights, I have taken your side and supported your claims; but in these witch prosecutions, I have been astonished at the madness of your course, and can only account for it on the ground that you are partially insane; and now in regard to the change in Pompey, I will tell you all the facts. I went out this morning to oversee some men whom I had employed to dig a well. Pompey was there, dancing about in strange attitudes, and presently he threw himself on the ground and began to bite the roots of a tree, and fill his mouth with gravel. I asked him the cause of his strange conduct, and his only reply was, 'Witch, Massa, witch got into Pompey.'

'Who put the witch in, Pompey?' was my next question.

'You, Massa; all well, when you go away.'

'Well, Pompey,' said I, 'if I made you sick, I ought to cure you. The same person who put the witch in, ought to drive the witch out; and taking him to a tree, I gave him, at least, forty stripes, every one of which seemed to possess a magic power. The witches fled in every direction, and I have brought him to you to-day, clothed, and in his right mind. Now, Mr. Parris, I would not detract from the efficacy of your prayers; you know my reverence for religion; but in my poor opinion, if you would take those four wicked girls, (one of whom, I grieve to say it, is my niece, and bears the honest name of Putnam,) and apply the same remedy which has done so much for Pompey, no sign of witchcraft would be seen, and the community would be restored to reason and common sense.'

So saying, the farmer took his departure with Pompey, leaving the minister to his own reflection, and to the deep mortification and shame, in which his own credulity and folly had involved him.

The position of Mary Graham was now critical and alarming. Since her return to Salem, she had boldly condemned the witch proceedings, and in every circle where she moved, her whole influence was directed against the prevailing delusion. Unappalled by the dangers that surrounded her, she extended her sympathy and pity to those who were in prison, and favored the escape of some who were in imminent danger of arrest. In these offices of love and charity she was nearly alone; for though her friends admired her courage and fortitude in the cause of humanity, yet few of them dared to imitate her example. She wrote to Walter and her brother, begging them in concert with Mr. Willard to see Dr. Mather, who had returned from England, and enlist his influence to suspend all further prosecutions. But this good man, though he deplored the excesses into which the community was rushing, either believed the evil would soon be cured, or was so far influenced by his son, that he could not be induced to take a bold stand against the courts; yet it is believed he used much private remonstrance and expostulation, and it was generally supposed the public movements had none of his countenance and support.

Walter replied to Mary's letter, and informed her that no measure had been left untried with Sir William Phipps and his advisers; but nothing could be done; the delusion had seized the minds of the most gifted men in the land, and it was vain to hope for relief until the public malady had run its course; and he expressed his fears that her own standing in society, and the general esteem in which she was held, might not prove a sufficient protection against the envy and malice of some, and the credulity and superstition of others. He expressed his admiration of the course she had taken, but in the present violent stage of the delusion he thought it would be best for her to retire from active participation in any remedies which might be applied, as they could not benefit others, and might be attended by the worst consequences to herself.

Stoughton's court was now in full operation. His associates were Gedney, Winthrop and Sewall. This court was confessedly illegal, but the urgency of the occasion was considered a sufficient warrant for its organization. It was, in fact, an exparte tribunal, as all the judges were known to favor the superstition, and the only hope for those who were brought before it was in the jury, who were so perplexed and overawed, as in general to conform their verdicts to the known opinions of the court.

While affairs remained in this state, there was little prospect of relief from courts and judges. No other hope remained than that the delusion would soon show itself in forms so extravagant and revolting as to excite the contempt and rouse the indignation of the public. This conviction soon reached the mind of Miss Graham, and she forbore to remark upon the subject with her accustomed freedom. In fact it was no longer safe to ridicule or condemn; and with all her popularity and the universal esteem in which she had been held, it was evident she was now regarded with distrust and suspicion. Mr. Ellerson, whose views in general agreed with those of Mary, was extremely guarded and cautious, and often suggested to her his fear that she spoke with too little reserve. In fact, she was soon painfully convinced on this point: many of those whom she loved, began to withdraw from her society, and in various methods discovered their coolness and reserve. She was no longer welcomed with the smile of confidence and affection, and her evening walks, in which she was usually attended by several young ladies and gentlemen, were either wholly omitted or kept up in solitude. This change of the public feeling towards Mary was equally sudden and startling. She was unable to perceive the causes, or trace the insidious agents, who were fastening their toils around her. Neither explanation nor satisfaction could be had, and the mysterious reserve still gathered and increased, wherever she went. Some of her friends, particularly the Higginsons, confessed they dared not be seen in her society, while they privately assured her that their friendship was unabated, and begged she would still regard them with confidence and love.

There was a beautiful walk on the ground now occupied by the Salem Common and the buildings on its left, in the direction towards Beverly. This was a favorite resort for Mary, a place where she indulged in many a happy contemplation on the works of nature, and the wonders of Providence: here too, in the sweet interchange of sympathy and affection with her young companions, she found sources of innocent and unalloyed satisfaction, and sometimes when alone, as she penetrated the depths of the forest and sat down on the green border of the rivulet, or under the shade of the magnificent elm, she realized what the poet many years after sung, in numbers that will never cease to move the contemplative and pious mind:

'The calm retreat, the silent shade
With prayer and praise agree;
And seem by thy sweet bounty made,
For those who follow thee.'

Though forsaken in great measure by her friends, Mary continued her visits to this chosen retreat, and there, in pensive recollection of other days, and a humble trust in Providence, she found solace and support for her disturbed and anxious mind. Mr. and Mrs. Ellerson, conscious of her innocence, did every thing in their power to soothe her feelings and sustain her sinking courage, but her sensitive mind drooped under the cold neglects of the world, and she even imagined that Walter's letters, though written in all the warmth of affection, began to show symptoms of coldness. Mr. Ellerson thought it his duty to inform Lyford of the state of things, and request his immediate attendance at Salem: this was accordingly done without her knowledge, and on the evening of the twenty-sixth of June, she found herself in the arms of her affectionate and sympathizing brother.

Lyford was soon convinced that some deep laid plan had involved Mary in the suspicion and distrust of the community; but while he trembled at the dangers which surrounded her, his first object was to soothe her feelings, by the kindest offices which affection could suggest, while he constantly revolved in his mind the most probable methods for her deliverance. He wrote immediately to Strale, concealing none of the difficulties and dangers of the case, but requesting he would not now visit Salem, as he feared it might increase the danger, and excite a greater watchfulness against any means that might be devised for her escape.

The next evening, Lyford and his sister walked together and visited the place which was so much endeared to her, by its many delightful associations. It was a fitting occasion to reveal all her griefs, and Lyford no longer wondered at the unbroken sadness of her feelings. She informed him, that as she walked on the borders of a little stream in the forest, she had several times heard voices, pronouncing her real name, and sometimes accompanied by a soft strain of music, inviting her to new habitations among the immortals, and making promises of every kind of enjoyment, if she would but consent to join a company of spirits now on a visit to earth, and offering her distinctions and honors in a new kingdom, which was about to be established in the world. In conclusion, she had no doubt a conspiracy had been formed against her reputation and life, and she believed Trellison had set in motion these unseen agencies, which she feared would soon betray her to prison and death.

'And now, dear brother,' said she, 'what can I do? friends have deserted me on every side; wherever I turn, I meet no response to the most common offices of friendship and good will. When the Sabbath comes, that day of holy rest, whose heavenly influences have fallen so peacefully on my heart, it brings no relief to my troubled spirit: in the very temple of God, I see nothing but averted faces or disturbed looks, and I go and come more lonely and neglected than even the sparrow, who finds a nest for herself among the altars of God.'

'I know not what it means,' said James; 'I am sure, Mary, it is not safe for you to remain here, and yet to attempt flight would probably be followed by instant pursuit, and go to confirm the suspicions that already exist. I shall not leave you, but we will consult together, and our earnest prayers must go up to Heaven for light and deliverance.'

'I have thought, James,' said Mary, 'that it is no longer of any use to conceal my name. The purpose intended by this concealment has been answered; and though it may prejudice my cause still more with the authorities at Boston, yet, in my present circumstances, I wish there may be no ambiguity or deception in any part of my conduct: besides, it is already known to some extent, for it has been repeated in yonder woods in my hearing.'

'You are right, Mary,' replied her brother. 'I believe more good than evil will result from the disclosure: I will get Mr. Ellerson to mention the facts to a few of his friends, and they will soon become generally known; but dear Mary, do not sink under this load of sorrow; Walter and myself will love you even unto death. It is a dark day, but light may arise, and I feel assured that your deliverance will in some way be effected.'

'Ah! my brother,' said Mary, 'I would that such a hope could send its reviving influence to my heart, but I have the most gloomy anticipations and painful forebodings of the result. As I was walking, a few evenings since, by the side of this beautiful stream, I was enabled to cast my eye forward to the land of perfect and eternal repose; the lovely images of nature reflected to my mind the glories of the heavenly world, and I longed to put on the garments of immortality and walk among those pleasant landscapes, where the storms of trouble never blow. But the strife will soon be over, and 'mortality will then be swallowed up of life.''

'Why speak so mournfully, dear Mary? This world is not yet a desert, which no flower of hope nor green beauty of summer can adorn. Winter may come with its frost, but spring will return and bring freshness, blossoms and life in its train. There is a bright side to the picture; do not refuse to behold it.'

'Hush,' said Mary, 'hear you not the voices in yonder forest?' James paused, but no sound reached his ear. The wind sighed mournfully along, as if in sympathy with the sadness which had fastened deeply on the minds of brother and sister, as, arm in arm, they walked on the borders of the forest.

'Listen again,' said Mary; 'surely you must hear them, James.'

A low strain of music, like a faint chorus of voices, now fell upon his ear; in a moment it swelled to a distinct sound and sent its notes of melody among the valleys and rocks. A few words only of the first and second verses were distinguished, but every sound became more clear and impressive, until the following lines were distinctly understood:

'On the bright and balmy air,
On the summer clouds we ride,
From our golden realms we bear
Jewels for our master's bride.

'Mary, in the bowers above,
Sweetest groves of fairy land,
We will crown thee Queen of Love,
Princess of the fairy band.

'Where the living palm-trees grow,
Where the crystal waters glide;
Realms untouched by want or wo,
Thou shalt be our master's bride.

'Far below the sunny waves,
We have gems and jewels rare,
Pearly grots and coral caves,
Thou shalt be our mistress there.'

At this stage of the music the words became inaudible, until the sound died away in the forest, and the quiet stillness of the evening again rested on the landscape.

'These are strange things, Mary,' said her brother, 'but they are only a part of the snares which are intended to betray you. Time will soon disclose all; meanwhile, have courage, my dear sister; in your conscious rectitude you will find consolation and support; in God there is abundant strength, and what man can do shall be faithfully done. Have no distrust of Walter; his love to you is all you can desire; he would be here to-day but for my cautions and warnings. As the danger thickens around you, we will watch and protect you at every step; but let us not trust in ourselves; it is not to be denied that your danger is great, and I am now of opinion that immediate flight is necessary: we will consult our friends to-night, and what we do must be done quickly.'

They soon returned home; it was too late for any hope of flight, and that very evening, Mary Lyford, by a warrant from the magistrate, was placed in the custody of the sheriff, to await her trial for the practice of witchcraft and sorceries.

CHAPTER THIRTEENTH.

The news of Miss Lyford's arrest, and the disclosure of her real name, produced a deep sensation in the community. The victims of this delusion had been hitherto taken from the lower walks of life, and this first attack upon the high places of society, while it shocked the feelings of many, served to reconcile the populace to the action of the courts, as it indicated that no influence of wealth or standing would be allowed to protect the guilty from punishment. Such was the state of the public mind, that except among Mary's immediate friends, no effort was made, or contemplated, for her deliverance. The sin of witchcraft was of too deep a dye to be forgiven; and the common doctrine was, that religion itself must turn away from such deadly foes to God and man. When the warrant was served, she was immediately removed from her friends, and placed in the care of an officer, who was directed to furnish an upper room in his house for her reception, and to guard her with ceaseless vigilance. There was little occasion for this warning, for the officer, whose name was Harris, would have thought himself bound over to perdition, had he suffered any prisoner in charge for a crime so enormous, to escape. All access to Miss Lyford was forbidden, except to her brother and Mr. and Mrs. Ellerson, who, assured of her innocence, did not scruple to express to the officer the utmost indignation and horror, at the violence thus done to one of their own family.

It was scarcely possible to realize the change which the period of a single month had produced. The whole affair of Mary's arrest and confinement seemed so like a dream, that they could hardly persuade themselves of its reality. But in a short time they saw the full extent of her danger, and had little doubt her death would be demanded by the populace, and that the court, whatever might be its wishes, would not dare to refuse the victim. The kind of evidence which was then current and considered valid, was so completely interwoven with every feature of her case, that her guilt, in the public view, was already proved. In these circumstances, Mr. Ellerson and his lady forbore to excite the populace, by public denunciation; but in their own circle of high respectability and influence, they were loud in their demands for her release, and insisted that some sinister motive had betrayed her into the toils of the accuser.

Lyford had accompanied his sister to the jailer's room, where he provided every convenience which the rough and superstitious keeper would allow. For several days before her arrest, Mary had been prepared for the worst; and she calmly resigned herself into the hands of the law, to await an issue, which she from the first apprehended would be fatal. There was no visible emotion in her countenance, but a deep melancholy had fallen upon those lovely features, which in their mild and beautiful, yet pensive and solemn aspect, would have excited in any heart, not steeled by fanaticism, the liveliest interest and sympathy. No ray of light could penetrate the cloud that shaded her earthly hopes, and her spirit was now struggling to free itself from worldly ties, and to move in a calmer region, beyond this stormy and distracted world.

The next day after Mary's arrest, Lyford returned to Boston, to communicate the tidings to Walter, and prevent any rash or violent measure, to which his vehement temper might prompt him. No language can describe his feelings, when the facts were disclosed by Lyford; but the strong excitement of his mind was soon subdued by the calm remonstrances of his friend, who assured him that every thing depended on coolness and deliberation. Walter immediately laid upon himself the most severe restraints, and while he vowed to effect her deliverance, or perish in the attempt, he soon became so entirely the master of his own feelings, that no perceptible change was visible in his deportment. His first impulse was to proceed directly to Salem; but Lyford convinced him that such a step would be worse than useless, as he would not be permitted to see Mary, and it might throw serious obstacles in the way of her escape. It was therefore concluded he should remain at home, and that no interview with Mary should be attempted, but through the medium of her brother.

The trial of Miss Lyford took place about the middle of July. Several witnesses were examined, whose testimony was considered conclusive of her guilt. Clarissa, Mr. Ellerson's servant, testified to the strange influence she exerted over her, and even in court took care to exhibit one of those remarkable fits of agitation and nervous excitement, which were universally satisfactory to the judges. Another witness declared she had seen Miss Lyford walking alone in the neighborhood of the forest, and that mysterious voices were heard in the woods, and unearthly music, and she remembered and repeated some lines, which intimated that she had consented to become one of a band of spirits, on account of which, she was soon to be crowned queen of a new kingdom, and to receive an untold amount of riches. Other testimony of a similar character was produced, but Trellison took care not to appear in the case; he did not choose to involve himself in unnecessary difficulties, and was probably aware that revenge for his known disappointment might be assigned as a motive for his testimony, and thus defeat the great object he had in view.

Such was the nature and amount of the evidence, it was scarcely possible to expect an acquittal. The examination was indeed prolonged, beyond the usual time, perhaps with a view to give some notion of the lenity of the court; but when the case was given to the jury, they scarcely hesitated, and when the verdict was demanded, it was with a bolder voice than usual, that the foreman pronounced the fatal word, "Guilty!" There was a deep solemnity and silence in the thronged court room, though little sympathy was manifested for the unoffending and beautiful maiden, whose fate was now so certain. The public frenzy had sealed the fountains of compassion, and the judge soon after pronounced sentence of death, to be executed on the twentieth of the following August.

We have not yet spoken of the demeanor of Miss Lyford, during this fearful period. Suffice it to say, it was calm and dignified, worthy her illustrious descent, and adorned by every christian virtue. Her confidence was not in man; and though her ties to life were of the strongest character, she could contemplate death without dismay. The shock attending the trial and sentence was indeed great, but the gospel was present to her aid with its well-springs of consolation, its life of immortality, and 'its exceeding weight' of future and eternal glory. Her eye of faith looked beyond the tempests of that awful night, whose fearful horrors thickened over her, and beheld the rising day of celestial glory.

The friends of Mary now sought from Gov. Phipps, through the kind offices of his lady, the executive clemency: but the faint hope they entertained of a pardon, soon died away in total despair. Sir William absolutely refused to interpose, and his purpose was strengthened by his knowledge of her name and descent, which were more odious to him, if possible, than her imputed witchcraft. But when it came to be announced that the young lady hitherto known as Miss Graham, was a relative of the venerated Goffe, a feeling of sympathy and pity was strongly and generally manifested; but its public exhibition was soon hushed by a sense of personal danger; every one was too deeply concerned for himself, to bestow much solicitude upon the fate of others.

Other methods were now adopted, and high rewards were offered in private, to bold and adventurous men, if they would procure her escape from prison: but no one could be found of sufficient courage to make the effort. Walter then attempted to bribe the jailer; but that resolute officer would not be tampered with. He was too much concerned for his own soul, he said, to suffer a witch to escape. He redoubled his vigilance; other sentinels were also placed on guard, and no access to Miss Lyford was permitted, except an occasional visit from James, who now spent all his time at Salem; and even this boon was with great difficulty obtained.

On these occasions, James bore to his sister the most affecting memorials of Walter's continued love, and assured her of his belief that some way of escape would yet open, and that all his time and thoughts were employed in devising plans for her deliverance. Mary, however, placed little reliance on such deceitful grounds of hope, and remitted nothing of her endeavors to prepare for the awful scene that awaited her. It was indeed grateful to see such proofs of Walter's affection, in the midst of all the obloquy which had clouded her name, and made her the reproach and scorn of the community; but her ties to earth were loosening, the glorious visions of the heavenly rest absorbed her mind, and she looked beyond the troubled stream she must soon cross, to a land of undecaying beauty and eternal repose.

All the efforts of James and Walter were warmly seconded by the Ellersons; and in their frequent conversations, every suggestion that prudence could make, was carefully balanced and weighed. But it was reserved for the fertile invention of Strale, to devise the only expedient which seemed to offer the least chance of success; and though this was confessedly romantic and extremely difficult to manage, it was resolved to make the trial.

Near the house of Mr. Harris, who had charge of Miss Lyford, there was a small cottage, occupied by a poor but honest laborer, named William Somers. This man was an ardent admirer of Gen. Goffe, and had once seen and conversed with him at his retreat in Hadley. Moreover, he was a sturdy Puritan, and in high reputation for honesty and piety: no one ever questioned his integrity, and he was the last person to be suspected of any plot against the peace of the community, Somers was just the man for the present emergency; and as soon as Miss Lyford's name was publicly disclosed, he went to Mr. Ellerson, and volunteered his services in any proper measures for her release, assuring him he might rely on his fidelity. There was little need of this assurance, for Somers was never known to break his word or slight his engagements. The location of Somers' cottage was very favorable, and in fact essential to the success of the plan, as no other house near that of Harris could possibly be obtained. His offer of assistance was therefore gratefully accepted, and he was at once admitted to the councils of Mary's friends. The progress of our narrative will develope the means that were employed, and the consequences that followed.

The policy now to be adopted, required that Walter should no longer keep up his relations to Miss Lyford, and that he should so far acquiesce in the public feeling, as to offer no vindication, or even suggest a wish in her behalf. It was no easy task to pursue this line of conduct; but as it did not require a positive disavowal of his engagement, he felt justified in assuming such a degree of indifference to her fate, as might be necessary for the successful prosecution of his designs.

Among Mary's friends in Boston, there were very few who did not follow the fashion of the world, in deserting the unfortunate, and leaving them to struggle alone in their wretchedness, without sympathy or consolation. Miss Hallam, Mary's earliest and most intimate friend, was one of the first to forsake her. In fact, this young lady was never pleased with the attentions which were so liberally bestowed on Miss Lyford, and it was more than suspected that her own attachment to Strale, reconciled her to the impending fate of her friend. She saw, with scarcely disguised pleasure, that Walter seemed to regard Mary with little interest, and as he was now a frequent visiter at her father's, she began to hope his affections were already enlisted in her behalf. There were some, however, whose feelings and conduct were far different. Among these, Miss Elliott was deeply affected at the situation of her friend, and did not hesitate to condemn the proceedings, as in the highest degree cruel and unjust. She made repeated visits to Mr. Willard, in the hope that he might do something in her behalf; and the benevolent clergyman employed all the power he possessed in her favor. She made the same application to Cotton Mather, but the stern fanaticism of this man was proof against all her entreaties. He declared he had no malice, and nothing but kindness towards Miss Lyford in his heart; but he solemnly believed in the allegations against her, and that God and man required the sacrifice. The proof he said was clear, and an exception in her favor would be cruelty to the community and treachery to his divine Master. All he could do was to pray, that notwithstanding her sorceries, she might, if possible, be forgiven, and he would not refuse her the tribute of a tear. Such were the feelings of this remarkable man, and such the power of superstition over his vigorous but ill governed mind. He was not naturally cruel, but in whatever devious course his perverted sense of duty impelled him, no consideration of reason or humanity could bring him back.