The most agreeable picture ever afforded by this remarkable community is
that which our eyes rest on at the close of the story. One of the church
members had refused to help to send Mr. Parris away, on the ground that
the village had had four pastors, and had gone through worse strifes
with every one; but he saw a change of scene on the advent of the fifth.
The Rev. Joseph Green was precisely the man for the place and occasion.
He was young--only two-and-twenty--and full of hope and cheerfulness,
while sobered by the trials of the time. He had a wife and infants, and
some private property, so that he could at once plant down a happy
home among his people, without any injurious dependence on them. While
exemplary in clerical duty, he encouraged an opposite tone of mind to
that which had prevailed--put all the devils out of sight, promoted
pigeon-shooting and fishing, and headed the young men in looking after
hostile Indians. Instead of being jealous at the uprising of new
churches, he went to lay the foundations, and invited the new brethren
to his home. He promoted the claims of the sufferers impoverished by the
recent social convulsion; he desired to bury not only delusions, but
ill offices in silence; and by his hospitality he infused a cheerful
social spirit into his stricken people. The very business of "seating"
the congregation was so managed under his ministry as that members
of the sinning and suffering families--members not in too direct
an antagonism--were brought together for prayer, singing, and
Sabbath-greeting, forgiving and forgetting as far as possible. Thus did
this excellent pastor create a new scene of peace and good-will, which
grew brighter for eighteen years, when he died at the age of forty. At
the earliest moment that was prudent, he induced his church to cancel
the excommunication of Rebecca Nurse and Giles Corey. It was ten years
more before the hard and haughty mother church in Salem would do its
part; but Mr. Green had the satisfaction of seeing that record also
cleansed of its foul stains three years before his death. Judge Sewall
had before made his penitential acknowledgment of proud error in full
assembly, and had resumed his seat on the bench amid the forgiveness and
respect of society; Chief Justice Stoughton had retired from the courts
in obstinate rage at his conflicts with Satan having been cut short;
the physicians hoped they should have no more patients "under the evil
hand," to make them look foolish and feel helpless; and the Tragedy was
over. There were doubtless secret tears and groans, horrors of shame and
remorse by night and by day, and indignant removal of the bones of the
murdered from outcast graves; and abstraction of painful pages from
books of record, and much stifling of any conversation which could grow
into tradition. The Tragedy was, no doubt, the central interest of
society, families, and individuals throughout the Province for the life
of one generation. Then, as silence had been kept in the homes as well
as at church and market, the next generation entered upon life almost
unconscious of the ghastly distinction which would attach in history to
Massachusetts in general, and Salem in particular, as the scene of the
Delusion and the Tragedy which showed the New World to be in essentials
no wiser than the Old.
How effectually the story of that year 1692 was buried in silence is
shown by a remark of Mr. Upham's--that it has been too common for the
Witch Tragedy to be made a jest of, or at least to be spoken of with
levity. We can have no doubt that his labors have put an end to this.
It is inconceivable that there can ever again be a joke heard on the
subject of Witchcraft in Salem. But this remark of our author brings us
at once home to our own country, time, and experience. It suggests the
question whether the lesson afforded by this singular perfect piece of
history is more or less appropriate to our own day and generation.