had been stowed papers filled with curious
records of the judicial and business doings
of past generations. Scattered over the floor,
was a heterogeneous collection of odds and
ends from all parts of the world;-- boxes, the
mystery of whose dust-hidden contents I
vainly endeavoured to penetrate; veritable
Turkish pipes; canes from the wide cane-
brakes of the Southern States; a bag of dates
and some bottles of sweet Eastern wine (to
the good quality of both of which I can
testify); several beautiful sea-shells; a large
square of tapestry; one of Raphael's cartoons,
which had been brought over from Palermo.
Lastly a strange-looking musical instrument,
now, for the first time for a long period, opened
for us to inspect. It was broken into one or
two pieces, was otherwise woefully damaged,
and was covered with dust. It had been the
property of a poor Frenchman, who had spent
many years in conceiving and working out
what was now a melancholy wreck; but which,
in its perfect state, had been an ingenious
piece of mechanism, in which a number of
little automaton figures appeared to be the
active agents in producing the music. The
Frenchman accomplished his labour, had just
begun to exhibit it to the world and to reap
the harvest of his patience and skill, when
he died; and by some chance, it had been sent
to fall to pieces in the obscure lumber-room of
the Salem Custom House. Here was the
tragedy! The barrels in the corner might
excite curious speculations as to their contents;
but the result of a man's life of thoughtful
effort, passing to decay unseen and unappreciated,
suggested many a sad and profound
reflection; and, with a tender pity, I laid my
hand upon this neglected child of the poor
Frenchman's toil, along whose wooden frame
and wire nerves the living spirit of his
thoughts had passed.

Quitting the chamber, I accompanied my
friends to the Court House; where we were
soon busily occupied with the object of our
visit. Most eagerly did we turn over the
sheets of yellow, time-stained paper, patiently
deciphering records written in a cramped and
ancient hand. Here we read depositions
as to the most extraordinary bewitchments
of cattle, the casting of divers persons into
grievous fits by the appearance (as the supposed
demon was termed) of those accused,
the torturing them with pins, and many
other diabolical appliances of the black
art. We were shown a large bottle full of
the very pins, now rusty and discoloured,
which had been taken from the bodies of those
afflicted. Of the occurence of all which I
saw chronicled here, I had heard, read and
believed; but in things which partake so much
of the supernatural and improbable, until
confronted by their postive evidences, we are
scarcely able to feel their actuality. But
here, in my sight, were the very pages
recording words that had sworn away lives
which, in these days of our better knowledge,
we must pronounce to be guiltless of their
alleged offences; and many were the thoughts
and questions they irresistibly forced upon
me. Who, in those mixed assemblages of
judges, witnesses, and the accused, were the
deceived parties ? Were all alike resting
under the same dark shadow of superstition?
We find men holding responsible positions,
-- amongst whom we expect to meet with
some of the best intelligences of their time
-- solemnly conducting examinations, issuing
committals, and framing death-warrants. Men
and women, as well as young persons down
to fifteen or sixteen years of age, making
depositions of a character so absurd, that we should
call them laughable did we not remember
human lives were staked on them. We cannot
think that so many people, from malice or
conscious ill-intent, could invent such
statements; neither can we understand how they
could possibly have believed what they say;
or, if they did, by what process of the
imagination they were wrought to such a pitch
of fantastic illusion. It is all a troubled
mystery.

We ascertained that these pages consisted of
fragments of many examinations, besides
some of the death-warrants of the unhappy
so-called wizards and witches; but we did not
find anything very distinctive to fix our
attention for some time, as the evidence and
accusations were for the most part the same
in all. At last we took up a paper headed
"The examination of Susannah Martin, May 2,
1692." The replies of this poor woman,
standing up for her life against a terrible
array of ignorance and superstition, surprised
us by the evidence they gave of the clearest
prudence and self-possession in a moment
of such imminent trial. My friend remarked
to me, "This paper corroborates the
opinion I expressed a few minutes ago:-- that
the men and women who suffered during this
period, were those whose higher mental gifts
and greater breadth of character, placed them
beyond the understanding of the common
natures around them." The document ran
thus-

The examination of Susannah Martin,
May 2, 1692:—

As soon as she came into the meeting-house
many persons fell into fits.

Judge. Hath this woman hurt you?

Abigail Williams said, " it is Goody Martin;
she hath hurt me often."

Others by fits were hindered from speaking.

Eliza Hubbard said she had not hurt her.

John Indian said he never saw her.

Mercy Lewis pointed to her and fell into
a fit.

Ann Putnam threw her glove in a fit at
her.

The Examinant laughed.

Judge. What! do you laugh at it?

Susannah. Well I may at such folly.

Judge. Is this folly to see these so hurt?