A few days after the adventure in the woods, Lyford obtained leave to visit his friends in Hadley. At that time such a journey was no small affair; and the road was so new, so little travelled, and the settlements on the way were so thinly scattered, that it required a good deal of preparation, and was usually performed on horseback. There were no inns on the road, except a small house in the settlement at Worcester, and a log cabin in the neighborhood of Brookfield, where food and lodging might be had.

The journey was undertaken in company with a friend, and the ride of four days among the forests of New England was characterized by a variety of romantic and pleasing incidents. It was not without peril of life and limb, for the road was often precipitous, and though sometimes travelled in sleighs and wheel carriages, these conveyances were little adapted to its rugged surface, and afforded small comfort to their riders. The road was perfectly known to Lyford, and the scenery on the way was so picturesque and beautiful that he often paused in admiration on some of the cliffs over which his path led him, and gazed long and with lively interest at those wild and rugged features of nature which the labor of man has since softened into the calmer lineaments of pleasant meadows, flourishing gardens and cultivated fields.

The village of Hadley had been the residence of the venerated Gen. Goffe. Every incident in his grandfather's history, every spot which the illustrious exile loved, was dear to the memory of Lyford. In their early childhood, James and his sister were the solace of many a weary hour, and threw around the aged patriot the last gleams of sunshine which fell on his troubled career. Every one loved the old man; and the mandate of the royal Stuart and his bribe of gold were of no force among the peaceful villagers, who well knew the veteran's retreat, and could never be persuaded, by promise or threat, to betray him. The sympathies of the community in which he lived were wholly on his side, and all those friendly offices which affection could suggest, or kindness confer, were liberally bestowed. But the tyrannical Charles was then in the zenith of his power, and the last days of Goffe were imbittered by the tidings of his constant and successful aggressions on the laws and liberties of England. Whatever were his errors in pronouncing judgment upon the only Stuart who commands the sympathy and affection of posterity, it is certain that Gen. Goffe deplored the necessity of such a sacrifice, and acted under a strong, but misguided sense of duty. His name is yet held in honored and grateful remembrance; his ashes rest in a land where no kingly prerogative tramples with its iron foot on the sacred rights of man, and where the blessed vision that shone so brightly on his eye, is a living and glorious reality.

During Lyford's absence, his sister returned to Salem, and Walter applied himself with new vigor to his studies. Before Mary left Boston, however, their mutual vows had been pledged, with the full consent of Walter's parents, whose reply to his earnest request was as kind and affectionate as he could desire. Strale had never requested Miss Graham to explain the circumstances of Trellison's long interview with her on his way home from Mr. Elliott's, but as she was aware of the difficulties which occurred at Cambridge on the next day, and of the singular and suspicious attitude in which Trellison's declaration had placed her, she now thought it proper to make Walter acquainted with all the facts in the case. It appeared that Mr. Trellison had long persisted in a class of attentions which were exceedingly annoying and disagreeable, and Miss Graham determined to accept his offer to accompany her home, with a view to put a final end to his importunities. On this occasion Trellison again renewed his request, that she would so far permit his attentions as to allow him the hope of a future union, declaring that his love was stronger than death, and that no conceivable suffering could be equal to that which must follow the abandonment of his hope. Miss Graham had long known the strength of his attachment, and in reply assured him that in many points he possessed her esteem and respect, but beyond that, she could give no response to his feelings, and begged he would cease his attentions, declaring once for all, that all hope and expectation on his part were entirely groundless, and must terminate, as her affections were already fixed upon another, and his duty to himself and to her required that he should no longer molest her with such attentions as she could never reciprocate.

The result of this interview accounted for the haggard and troubled appearance of Trellison on his return to Cambridge. It was a fatal blow to his hopes, it struck deeply at his pride, and aroused a train of reflections and purposes which, under various disguises, were so interwoven with the severity of his religious views, as to conceal from him in part their real turpitude. He could not forgive Strale for supplanting him, as he supposed, in Mary's love. He began to think Miss Graham herself was not the angelic being his fancy had pictured, and a feeling of bitterness against both soon passed over his mind, which he chose to indulge, as furnishing some antidote to the disappointment and shame which had nearly overwhelmed him.

It was now the clear sunshine of happiness with Walter. His long cherished object had been attained, and he looked forward with pride and pleasure to the day when he could call Miss Graham his own, and present her to his parents as the object of his warmest love.

Mary, too, was happy; but there was one blot in the beautiful picture she was contemplating. Strale was not decidedly religious. His principles were firm, his views of religion serious and respectful; but this was not sufficient or satisfactory. She was desirous most of all, that he might possess that inestimable pearl, which he who obtains will never give up, and he who refuses to seek will never obtain. Her conversations with Walter on religious subjects were frequent and serious; and every day, while they were together, she had the happiness to find him more deeply interested, and more determined that his future well being should become a matter of personal concern and solicitude.

On the last evening before Mary left Boston, the conversation was more than usually interesting. The day had been clear and cold—there was little snow on the ground, but it presented a smooth surface of ice over which they found a pleasant walk on the borders of the forest which then occupied, in the wildness of its original growth, the present site of the Boston common. The moonlight was falling among the trees, and was also reflected from the ice and snow, whose beautiful expanse was visible on the south. The subject of conversation was the character of New-England piety. Walter had serious objections to its general features, which he thought were unnatural and unwarranted by the scriptures. He objected to its harshness and severity, its alliance to bigotry and superstition, its restraint upon the buoyancy and cheerfulness of youth, and its rigid demands upon the time and attention of its professors.

'These, Mary,' said he, 'are difficulties which I cannot get over. Surely religion was never intended to strip the world of its beauty and clothe it in unnatural gloom. It must animate all our joyous sensibilities, and not suppress them—it must give us bright pictures of the future life, and not such as will cast shadows and gloom over the present.'

'Religion, Walter,' replied Mary, 'must strip the world of its false beauty, and present it in its true light. It must frown upon every sensibility, however joyous, which is sinful. It claims our supreme regard, and demands the first place in our pursuits, the first in our affections. The beauty and color of the richest wine are often heightened by the poisonous drug—shall we therefore press the chalice to our lips? Will you not agree with me that most of that which charms the youthful mind is false and illusive?'

'I have often found it so. But on the other hand, is there no excess in religious sensibility? Do not insanity and despair sometimes follow in the train of excited apprehensions of future wrath, and is not the imagination often terrified and distracted by groundless alarms?'

'This excess of sensibility is not peculiar to religious subjects. The intense application of the mind to any subject of absorbing interest will often destroy its balance, and unfit it for usefulness and happiness. How is it with the men of pleasure, of wealth, of talent and fame? Are they not overthrown sometimes by the excitement of their several vocations? And can religion, Walter, which is of all themes the most exciting, be always contemplated with such calmness as never to distract the mind?'

'It is not religion, dear Mary, that I object to; but to those distorted and unnatural shapes which it seems to wear in the community. Look now at the strange delusion which prevails at Salem. Under color of religion, several innocent persons have been imprisoned, charged with crimes which they cannot commit if they would; and yet we are told the interests of true religion require their punishment.'

'These are the excrescences of religion,' replied Mary, 'not the thing itself. As to the witch stories, and the proceedings of the magistrates, there is folly enough about them; but I am quite sure no part of it is to be laid to religion. Superstition affects all minds more or less. It has a most powerful agency in the papal church, and is an important part of the machinery by which that evil system is supported. I believe there is less of it here than elsewhere; and yet if its elements are once in commotion, there is no absolute protection against its power. Not many years since several persons were punished in England for witchcraft, and it is unfortunate that the relations between the physical and mental states are not better understood. The ignorant and credulous too often mistake the disorders of their minds for the influence of mysterious spirits and malignant demons, and for want of a just discrimination, the most disastrous results will sometimes follow.'

'I am ashamed to confess, Mary, that my own experience goes to confirm the truth of your remarks. I am not wholly free from superstitious feelings. There have been times in my life when I was ready to start at the fall of a leaf, and have felt an undefinable and mysterious awe, for which I could trace no sufficient cause. I have been at times almost ready to sympathize with those who look at the blooming of a flower out of its season, or the sudden blighting of blossoms on the tree, as intimations of death or some other calamity. I remember a family of six brothers in Virginia, the youngest ten years of age, and all of them in sound and vigorous health. A number of peach trees in fine condition were growing in front of the house. They were very remarkable for the abundance and excellence of their fruit. Early in the spring before I left, those trees were observed to be full of blossoms, when suddenly, and without apparent cause, the bloom of three of them was blighted, and in a few weeks they died. Soon after I reached Boston I was informed by letter, that three of those brothers were successively seized with fever and died. Was not this, Mary, a shadow of things to come, a significant token of the desolation which so soon fell upon the family? Was it not at least remarkable in its circumstances?'

'Just now, Walter, you seemed to warn me against superstition, and then suggested a train of thought which could not fail to awaken it, if I had any. Indeed, Walter, I have no belief in its being a wonder, even as you state it. What is more common than for a peach tree to be full of blossoms, and then suddenly die. A worm at the root, a thousand blighting influences, are constantly at work to undermine its little life; and if the incident contains an impressive lesson, it does not warrant us in believing it the design of Providence to reveal thereby the deaths which soon after occurred.'

'You are not so credulous even, as I am,' said Walter, 'and I certainly am not so religious as you are. This would seem to prove there is no tendency in your religion to blend itself with superstition. It is therefore but reasonable that I should give up this point. Yet that superstition now reigns to an alarming degree in this very religious community is not to be denied. The singular antics and wild fancies of those who are so strangely affected, will easily satisfy the multitude of the presence and power of evil spirits; and where shall we look for a remedy? Now, strange as it may seem to you, it is my belief, if public amusements were introduced, assemblies for dancing, and even theatrical exhibitions, these would do more to banish the delusion than any thing else. The truth is, I hear so many strange things, so well accredited from sources so respectable, that I half believe Satan has been let loose upon the community, and is moulding the opinions and conduct of men according to his own will.'

'The measures you propose, to drive him off,' said Mary, laughing, 'would rather induce him to stay. He is said to be very much at home in places where these amusements abound. Nevertheless, if I were sure he would be so well satisfied with the means you propose, as to let go his hold upon the fancies of the community, I think we might be gainers by the exchange. It would be substituting the lesser for the greater evil.'

'What surprises me most,' said Walter, 'is the ready credence which is given to those who say they are affected by witches. Judge Sewall, who is certainly a wise and cool tempered man, Gov. Stoughton, and other distinguished men, are firm believers in the reality of these affections; and there is even now an appeal to the Mosaic scriptures to punish witches with death. One of its commands, 'Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,' is quoted as a divine warrant for judicial proceedings; and such is the zeal manifested in the cause, I fear it will lead to the death of those individuals who are now in prison.'

'Well, Walter, whatever comes of it, do not, I pray you, impute it to religion. It has nothing to do with it. Some of the most pious in the land are doing all in their power to divert the public feeling into a different channel. There is Mr. Higginson, my own minister, of Salem, venerable and beloved by all; Mr. Willard, here, Mr. Brattle and Mr. Leverett, the latter your own tutor at Cambridge; all these, and many others, though to some extent believers in witchcraft, are entirely opposed to the interference of the law, and think the evil will soon cure itself. Let us trust in Providence that all will come right. And for you, dear Walter, I dread the thought that this mental epidemic should lead you to distrust for a moment the efficacy and power of the gospel. Believe it, Walter, for it is assuredly true: the gospel, received and trusted, is the best remedy for every mental and moral disorder.'

'It would be happy for me, dear Mary, could the same christian graces which adorn your character, shine forth in mine. I know that true piety towards God is my only safeguard from the ills of life, my only hope for the life to come. I believe in the great truths you profess. I long to experience their power in my own heart, and whatever sacrifice of the world it may cost, I hope through the mercy of a Redeemer, I shall be his willing and obedient disciple.'

The conversation closed as they reached the door of Mr. Hallam, with whose family Mary was to spend the last night of her stay in Boston.

It was not surprising that a superstition so unwarrantable should give to a mind like Strale's, false and unfavorable notions of religion. He imputed the delusion to what he thought the sternness and severity of the popular religious feeling, not considering that a simple analysis of the mind will develope a multitude of causes, upon which the imputation may far more justly rest. The conversation we have related tended very much to dispel this error, and in the painful scenes which were soon to be developed, he was enabled to distinguish with great accuracy between the religious principle and the wild and dreadful fanaticism with which it was attended.