Where is Giles Corey? Do you know Giles Corey? Gardner. You Devil's dam! Tituba. Begone, you imp of darkness! Beware of Tituba! Gardner. How often out at sea on stormy nights, [Exit. When the waves thundered round me, and the wind Bellowed, and beat the canvas, and my ship Clove through the solid darkness, like a wedge, I've thought of him, upon his pleasant farm, Living in quiet with his thrifty housewife, And envied him, and wished his fate were mine! Drifting upon this sea of sorceries, And lost, perhaps, beyond all aid of man!` [Exit. SCENE II. The Prison. GILES COREY at a table, on which are some papers. Corey. Now I have done with earth and all its cares; I give my worldly goods to my dear children; My body I bequeath to my tormentors, (MARTHA is heard singing.) Arise, O righteous Lord! And disappoint my foes: They are but thine avenging sword, Whose wounds are swift to close. Corey. Hark, hark! it is her voice! She is not dead! She lives! I am not utterly forsaken! (MARTHA singing.) By thine abounding grace, I shall awake, and see thy face; I shall be satisfied. (COREY hides his face in his hands. Enter the JAILER followed by RICHARD GARDNER.) Jailer. Here's a seafaring man, one Richard Gardner, A friend of yours, who asks to speak with you. (COREY rises. They embrace.) Corey. I'm glad to see you, ay, right glad to see you. Gardner. And I most sorely grieved to see you thus. I thank you. There is something in your presence, Familiar with all dangers of the deep, Familiar with the cries of drowning men, With fire, and wreck, and foundering ships at sea! Corey. Do not speak like that. It is too late. I am resolved to die. Gardner. Why would you die who have so much to live for r Your daughters, and Corey. You cannot say the word. My daughters have gone from me. They are married; What would you have me do? Gardner. Confess, and live. Corey. That's what they said who came here yesterday To lay a heavy weight upon my conscience, By telling me that I was driven forth As an unworthy member of their church. Corey. 'Tis but to drown, And have the weight of all the seas upon you. Gardner. Say something; say enough to fend off death Till this tornado of fanaticism Blows itself out. Let me come in between you And your severer self, with my plain sense; Do not be obstinate. If I deny, I am condemned already, In courts where ghosts appear as witnesses, Which is not life, but only death in life. I will not bear false witness against any, Not even against myself, whom I count least. Gardner (aside). Ah, what a noble character is this! You would not do yourself. I have already I feel the pressure of the heavy weight That will crush out my life within this hour; A hair's-breadth from the Truth, I would not say it! Here is my body; ye may torture it, The hour has struck! [Exeunt. SCENE III. A street in the Village. Enter GLOYD and others. Gloyd. Quick, or we shall be late! Come here; come up this lane. That's not the way. I wonder now [A bell tolls. Hark! What is that? If the old man will die, and will not speak? A Man. The passing bell. He's dead! We are too late. GILES COREY lying dead, SCENE IV. A field near the graveyard. Hathorne. This is the Potter's Field. The bell tolling. Enter Behold the fate Of those who deal in Witchcrafts, and, when questioned, Refuse to plead their guilt or innocence, And stubbornly drag death upon themselves. Mather. O sight most horrible! In a land like this, Spangled with Churches Evangelical, Inwrapped in our salvations, must we seek In mouldering statute-books of English Courts Some old forgotten Law, to do such deeds? Those who lie buried in the Potter's Field Will rise again, as surely as ourselves That sleep in honoured graves with epitaphs; NOTES. Note 1, p. 64.-" The Blind Girl of Castel-Cuillè."-The following description of Jasmin, the author of this beautiful poem, is taken from the graphic pages of Béarn and the Pyrenees, by Louisa Stuart Costello : "At the entrance of the promenade Du Gravier is a row of small houses-some cafés, others shops, the indication of which is a painted cloth placed across the way, with the owner's name in bright gold letters, in the manner of the arcades in the streets, and their announcements. One of the most glaring of these was, we observed, a bright blue flag, bordered with gold; on which, in large gold letters, appeared the name of Jasmin, Coiffeur.' We entered, and were wel comed by a smiling, dark-eyed woman, who informed us that her husband was busy at that moment dressing a customer's hair, but he was desirous to receive us, and begged we would walk into his parlour at the back of the shop. "She exhibited to us a laurel crown of gold, of delicate workmanship, sent from the city of Clemence Isaure, Toulouse, to the poet, who will probably one day take his place in the capitoul. Next came a golden cup, with an inscription in his honour, given by the citizens of Auch; a gold watch, chain, and seals, sent by the king, Louis Philippe, an emerald ring, worn and presented by the lamented Duke of Orleans; a pearl pin, by the graceful Duchess, who, on the poet's visit to Paris accompanied by his son, received him in the words he puts into the mouth of Henri Quatre : 'Brabes Gascous ! A moun amou per bous aou dibes creyre; -a fine service of linen, the offering of the town of Pau, after its citizens had given fêtes in his honour, and loaded him with caresses and praises; and nicknacks and jewels of all descriptions, offered to him by lady-ambassadresses and great lords, English 'misses' and 'miladis, and French and foreigners of all nations who did or did not understand Gascon, "All this, though startling, was not convincing; Jasmin, the barber, might only be a fashion, a furore, a caprice, after all; and it was evident that he knew how to get up a scene well. When we had become nearly tired of looking over these tributes to his genius, the door opened and the poet himself appeared. His manner was free and unembarrassed, well bred and lively; he received our compliments naturally, and like one accustomed to homage; said he was ill and unfortunately too hoarse to read anything to us, or should have been delighted to do so. He spoke with a broad Gascon accent, and very rapidly and eloquently; ran over the story of his successes; told us that his grandfather had been a beggar, and all his family very poor; that he was now as rich as he wished to be; his son placed in a good position at Nantes. Then he showed us his son's, picture, and spoke of his disposition: to which his brisk little wife added, that, though no fool, he had not his father's genius; to which truth Jasmin assented as a matter of Course. I told him of having seen mention made of him in an English review, which he said had been sent him by Lord Durham, who had paid him a visit; and I then spoke of 'Me cal mouri' as known to me. This was enough to make him forget his hoarseness and every other evil; it would never do for me to imagine that that little song was his best composition; it was merely his first; he must try to read to me a little of L'Abuglo,-a few verses of Françouneto;' 'You will be charmed,' said he; but if I were well, and you would give me the pleasure of your company for some time, if you were not merely running through Agen, I would kill you with weeping,-I would make you die with distress for my poor Margarido, my pretty Françouneto!' "He caught up two copies of his book from a pile lying on the table, and making us sit close to him, he pointed out the French translation on one side, which he told us to follow while he read in Gascon. He began in a rich, soft voice, and as he advanced, the surprise of Hamlet on hearing the player-king recite the disasters of Hecuba was but a type of ours, to find ourselves carried away by the spell of his enthusiasm. His eyes swam in tears; he became pale and red; he trembled; he recovered himself; his face was now joyous, now exulting, gay, jocose; in fact, he was twenty actors in one; he rang the changes from Rachel to Bouffé; and he finished by delighting us, besides beguiling us of our tears, and overwhelming us with astonishment. "He would have been a treasure on the stage; for he is still, though his first youth is past, remarkably good-looking and striking; with black, sparkling eyes, of intense expression; a fine, ruddy complexion; a countenance of wondrous mobility; a good figure; and action full of fire and grace; he has handsome hands, which he uses with infinite effect; and, on the whole, he is the best actor of the kind I ever saw. I could now quite understand what a troubadour or jongleur might be, and I look upon Jasmin as a revived specimen of that extinct race. Such as he is might have been Gaucelm Faidit, of Avignon, the friend of Cœur de Lion, who lamented the death of the hero in such moving strains; such might have been Bernard de Ventadour, who sang the praises of Queen Elinore's beauty; such Geoffrey Rudel, of Blaye, on his own Garonne; such the wild Vidal : certain it is that none of these troubadours of old could more move, by their singing or reciting, than Jasmin, in whom all their long-smothered fire and traditional magic seems reillumined. "We found we had stayed hours instead of minutes with the poet; but he would not hear of any apology,-only regretted that his voice was so out of tune, in consequence of a violent cold, under which he was really labouring, and hoped to see us again. He told us our countrywomen of Pau had laden him with kindness and attention, and spoke with such enthusiasm of the beauty of certain 'misses,' that I feared his little wife would feel somewhat piqued; but, on the contrary, she stood by, smiling and happy, and enjoying the stories of his triumphs. I remarked that he had restored the poetry of the troubadours; asked him if he knew their songs; and said he was worthy to stand at their head. I am, indeed, a troubadour,' said he, with energy; but I am far beyond them all; they were but beginners; they never composed a poem like my Françouneto! There are no poets in France now,-there cannot be; the language does not admit of it: where is the fire, the spirit, the expression, the tenderness, the force, of the Gascon? French is but the ladder to reach to the first floor of Gascon,-how can you get up to a height except by a ladder ?' returned by Agen, after an absence in the Pyrenees of some months, and renewed my acquaintance with Jasmin and his dark-eyed wife. I did not expect that I should be recognised; but the moment I entered the little shop I was hailed as an old friend. Ah!' cried Jasmin, 'enfin la voilà encore!' I could not but be flattered by this recollection, but soon found it was less on my own account that I was thus welcomed, than because a circumstance had occurred to the poet which he thought I could perhaps explain. He produced several French newspapers, in which he pointed out to me an article headed 'Jasmin à Londres,' being a translation of certain notices of himself, which had appeared in a leading English literary journal. He had, he said, been informed of the honour done him by numerous friends, and assured me his fame had been much spread by this means; and he was so delighted on the occasion, that he had resolved to learn English, in order that he might judge of the translations from his works, which, he had been told, were well done. I enjoyed his surprise, while I informed him that I knew who was the reviewer and translator; and explained the reason for the verses giving pleasure in an English dress to be the superior simplicity of the English language over modern French, for which he has a great contempt, as unfitted for lyrical composition. He inquired of me respecting Burns, to whom he had been likened; and begged me to tell him something of Moore. The delight of himself and his wife was amusing at having discovered a secret which had puzzled them so long. "He had a thousand things to tell me; in particular, that he had only the day before received a letter from the Duchess of Orleans, informing him that she had ordered a medal of her late husband to be struck, the first of which would be sent to him; she also announced to him the agreeable news of the King having granted |