The Express.
London, England, 1868-10-13 00:00:00

MR, LONCIFELLOWEI NEW ppm*

• - -
A hew poem by one of Calmest popular of living
poets is a welcome bueue at this dull season of the
literary year. and en sAilitional interest attaches to
the volume from the feet that its publication has
been superintended by the author while on his
villa to this country. Nothing can be more sin-
cere or more hearty than the welcome Mr. Long-
fellow has received from his English friends and
admirers, and it is pleasant to think that ho will
leave is l 1 him a permanent record of his
sunnier sojourn in these two " New England
Tragedies.'
Mr. Longfellow has long ago renounced the
effeminate sweetness of his early poetry, lint
it I:as been his misfortune to be most ad-
mired for the work which is in reality
the least worthy of admiration. Sentimental words
linked in some instances to very pretty tunes have
been learnt or sung by every young lady in the
kingdom; and these songs, dear to many from
association rather than from their intrinsic worth,
have been supposed to represent the genius of
Longfellow. There could not be a greater mis-
take. Mr. Longfellow's poetic life, like his natural
life, has been one of growth: and the youth that
produced such poems as the. " Psalm of 'Life " and
• Excelsior," gave utteninese in mature age to
•• Evangeline • and " Hiawatha." In thesse poems,
but especially in the latter, the author proved his
title to rank with national poets, and not
merely with uwlodious singers. In the work
before us he has very wisely, us we think, selected
two of the dark features of New England history,
two strange pages in the history of humanity, and
has given them a fresh vitality. The first of the
tragedies. entitled " Endioott, ' will carry back
the memory of the reader to the gover-
nor of that name, a stern God-fearing
Puritan, who ruled over Boston just two
centuries ago, and opposed the severe laws
of the colony to the obstinate resolution
of the Quakers. The worthy nonconformists
who left England in order that they might have
freedom to worship God after their own fashion
did their utmost to prevent any kind of worship
save their own in the home they had eclectod.
They banished Baptists, they banished Quakers,
they cut off the ears of delinquents, they hanged
some. they tortured others—they fined, scourged.
and imprisoned ; and all this they did fortheglory of
God. and in the firm persuasion that the religion
they professed admitted of no compromise with
the unorthodox. This belief the poet has put into
the mouth of the minister Norton : the - blessed
Norton." as old Cotton Mather terms him—a
brave. faithful Christian man, who left England
for conscience sake, and for conscience sake, no
doubt, persecuted the Quakers. Toleration, he
declares, _ _

is the first born child
of all abominations and deceits.
Then is uo room in Christ's triumphant army

For tolerationists.
We may observe that most of the characters intro-
duced into these tragedies are historical, and that
the poet has in many cases made them speak as
they are reported to have spoken in the chronicles
of the period. At the same time the order of
events is made subservient to the requirements of
the drama. and for this the autho: apologises in
the prologue to " Endicott." A quotation front
this prologue may be fittingly introduced here.
It shows the object of the dramatist in bringing
Once more to light " the mournful record of an
rarli* r age."
Whv touch upon such themes F" perhaps some friend
Nay ask, incredulous ; and to what good end I•
Wliy drag again into the light of day
The errors of an age lung passed away : "
I answer : For the lesson that they teach;
The tolerance of opinion and of speech.
Hope. Faith, and Charity. remain.—thewthree ;
And greatest of them all Charity."
Let us remember, if these words be true,
That unto all men Charity is doe;
Give what we oak ; and pity. while we blame,
Lest we become copartners in the shame,
Lest we condemn. and vet ourselves partake,
Mid persecute the dead for conscience' sake.
Therefore it is the author seeks and stalvee
represent the dead as in their lives.
And lets at times his characters unfold
Their thoughts in their own language, strong and bold.

In this drama the genius of the poet has been
in some degree repressed by his historical instincts.
The warmth of colour, the lively play of fancy, the
linked sweetness of oompositiontowhich the reader
is accustomed in many of Mr. Longfellow's poems,
will not be found in ' Endicott." Like its com-
panion tragedy, of which weshallbavesomcthing to
say presently, it is marked by severe simplicity
of diction, and by the absence of what is some-
times described as poetical embellishment. The
poetry must be sought for in the action, not in
the expression, in the pervading thought rather
than in the sweetness and melody of particular pas-
sages. The story is a simple and a gloomy one.
The Governor of Massachusetts is determined to
repress the Quakers, and the Quakers will not be
repressed. What can magistrates do with men
and women wholaugh at flogging, and impri.ten-
mont, and court nourtyroloue (if course we all
know in those days that the best cure for
fanaticism is contempt and inolifferenee, but not
with the, wertpoes did the New England fathers
al:. rropt to cloc,:k the wild vagaries of the Quakers
who lilted up their voices against them. The fol-
lowing passage reads like a page from the
chronicles of the period. Edward Wharton, a
Quaker, is called to the bar, and the governor
orders him to take off his hat :
WAerten.—My hat amide& not.
If it offendeth any, let him take it;
For I shall not resist.
Eadirott.—Take off his bat.
IA him be tined ten shillings for contempt.
[Merry takes off Wharton's hat.
WAseetese—What evil have I done t
Esidicett.—Your hair's too long ;
And in not putting off your hat to us
You've disobeyed and broken that commandment
Which sayeth " Honor thy father and thy mother."
Wlearton.—John Endicott, thou art become too proud ;
And lovest him who putteth off the hat,
And honoreth thee by bowing of the body,
And layette, " Worshipful sir!" 'Tie time for the,
To give such follies over, fur thou mayest
Be drawing very near unto thy grave.
.F.Sidiceu.— Now,sirral,leave your canting. Take the oath.
H"aarton.—Nay, sirrah me no HU-Ishe!
you swear
Wharton.—Nay, I will not.
Apdirott.—You made a great disturbance
And uproar yesterday in the Meeting-house,
Baying your hat on.
Wliarton.—l made no disturbance;
For peacefully I stood, like other people.
I slake no words; moved against none my hand ;
But by the hair they baled me out, and dashed
Their books into my face.
Aisdiceil.—You, Edward Wharton,
On pain of death, depart this jurisdiction
Within tea days. Such is your sentence. Go.
"'As:recs.—John Endicott, it had been well for thee
If this day's doings thou hadat left undone.
But, banish me as far as thou hest power,
Beyond the guard and presence of my God
Thou ean'st not banidi me'.
Dail-oil. -Depart the Court ;
We have no time to listen to your babble.
Who's next 1* [Exit Wharton.
Then Edith Christison is brought forward, whose
father has been banished under pain of death, and
when Endicott asks her where she is living, she
rplies, " In the Lord," and that she has come
upon the Lord's errand.
Ledirell.—' Tin not the business of the Lord you're
doing;
It W the bevirs. Will you take the oath t
Give her the hook [Perry omen the hook.

offer_ll;o tbirbOOk

swear on ; and it with, •• Swear not at all,
Neither by heaven, he *use it is God's Throat,
Nor by the earth, because it is His footatool
I dare not swear.
tedirerr.-- You dare not ? Yet you Quakers
Deny this hook of Jlulyy Writ, the Bible,
To be the Word of lled.
Edith (reverentially).-Christ is tLu Word,
The everlasting oath of God. I dare not.
Behalf.—You own yourself a Quaker—do you not
own that in derision and reproaefi
I as ao called.
Indian.—Then you deny the Scripture
To be We rule of life.

ildrih.—Yen, I believe
T). Inner Light, and not the Written Word,
Tu Le the rib: of

isndieett. —And you deny
That tb• Lord's day is Loly.

• TAr New Eiwtgakd Tragedies. By Henry Wadsworth
Longfellow. London: &Wedge and bons. 1866.

RditS.—Every day
Is the Lord's day. It rins through all our lives,
As through the pages of the Holy Bible
"Thus aaith the Lard."
Bashosit.—You are accused of making
An horrible disturbance, and affrighting
The people in the Meeting-home ou Sunday.
What answer make you
Edith.-1 do not deny
That I was present in your Steeple-house
On the First Day; but I made no disturbance.,
ENdieoll.—Why came you there ?
Eh/h.—Because the Lord commanded.
His word was in my heart, a burning fire
Shut up within MO and consuming me,
And I was very weary with forbearing;
1 could not stay.
Endiroft.—'Tsras not the Lord that sent you ;
As an incarnate devil did you come!
On the First Day, when, seated in my chamber,
I heard the bells toll, calling you together,
The sound struck at my life, as once at his,
The holy man. our Founder, when ho heard
The far-off bells toll in the Yale of Beavor.
It sounded like a market bell to call
The folk together, that the Priest might set
Ilis wares to sale. And the Lord said within me,
'• Thou must go cry aloud against that Idol,
And all the wondiippers thereof." I went
Barefooted, clad in sackcloth, and I stood
And listened at the threshold; and I heanl
The praying and the sr' i4rfrog and the preaching,
Which were but outward forms, and without power.
Then rose a cry within me, and my heart
Was tilled with admonitions and reproofs.
liemembering how the Prophets and Apostles
Denounced the covetous hirelings and diviuere,l
I entered in, and spake the words the Lord
Commanded me to speak. I could no less.
Endievtt.—Are you a Prophetess ?
Edith.—ls it not written,
"upon my handmaidens will I pour out
My spirit, and they shall prophesy ? .
/induced.—Enough •
For out of your own mouth are you condemned!
Nied we hear further ?
The Judy es.—We are satisfied.
Endicolt.—lt is sufficient. Edith Christison,
The sentence of the Court is, that you be
Scour in three towns, with forty stripes save one,
Then ged
iahed upon pain of death!
.Edith.—Your sentence
Is truly no more terrible to me
Than had you blown a feather into the air,
And, se it fell upon me, you had said,
"Take heed it hurt thee not!" Clods will be done !
John Endicott, the son of the governor, is con-
verted by the silent submission of Edith, and haply
by the beauty of the maiden. He asks her to fly
with him from the prison, but she will not :
If all these prison doors steed opened wide,
I would not cross the threshold—not one step.
There are invisible bars I cannot break;
There are invisible doors that shut me in,
And keep me ever stedfast to my purpose.
She endures the scourging and exclaims, " They've
struck me as with roses," an expression, by the
way, used by Holmes, a baptist who was whipped
at Boston in 1(47. We must find space for one
more scene from this drama, in which Edith is dis-
covered in the wilderness :
Edith.—How beautiful are these autumnal woods!
The wilderness doth blossom like the rose,
And change into a garden of the Lord!
Bow silent everywhere! Alone and lost
Here in the forest, there comes over me
An inward awfulness. I recall the words
Of the Apostle I'aul : "In journeying* often,
Often in perils in the wildernes•
In weariness, in painfulnea, in watchings,
In hunger and thirst, in cold and nakedness:"
And I forget my weariness and pain,
My watching', and my hunger and my thirst
The Lord bath said that he will seek his flock
In cloudy. end dark days, and they shall dwell
Securely in the wilderness, and sleep
Safe in the woods ! Whichever way I turn,
I come back with my face towards the town.
Dimly 1 see it, and the sea beyond it.
0 cruel town ! I know what waits me there,
And yet I meet go back; for ever louder
I hear the inward calling of the Spirit,
And must obey the voice. 0 wood., that wear
Your golden crown of martyrdom. blood-stained.
Prom you I learn a lemon of submission.,
And am obedient even unto death,
If God so wills it. (FAIL
John Esdirott (within).—Edith ! Edith ! Edith
[lle enters.
It is in vain! I call. she answers not ;
I follow, but I find no trace of her!
Blood! blood! The leaves above me and around me
Are red with blood : The pathways of the forest,
The clouds that canopy the setting rue,
And even the little river in the meadows,
Are stained with it ! Whereer I look, I see it
Away, thou horrible vision! Leave me ! leave me!
Alas : yon winding stream, that gropes its way
Through mist and shadow, doubling on itself,
At length will find, by the unerring law
Of nature, what it seeks. 0 soul of man,
Groping through mist and shadow, and recoiling
Back on thyself, arc, too, thy devious ways
Subject to law and when thou seemest to wander
The farthest from thy goal, art thou still drawing
Nearer and nearer to it. till at length
Thou findest, like the river, what thou meekest?

Giles Corey, of the Salem Farina, reveals a
still darker passage in the early history of New
England. In 1692 Sir William Phipps was the
Governor of Massachusetts a person, says
Mather, of so sweet a temper " that they who
were most intimately acquainted with him would
commonly pronounce the best-conditioned gentle-
man in the world." Unfortunately this delightful
Governor had a firm belief in witchcraft, and
encouraged to the uttermost the secret exami-
nation of witches. In the month of May—the
very month of Lis arrival at the colony—two
women were hanged ; in July five women ; and in
August six persons, including Mr. George Bur-
roughs, a minister, were sent to the gallows. In
September eight more were put to death, and one
Giles Corey, who refused to acknowledge his guilt,
was pressed to death—one of the most horrible of
tortures. This Gies Corey forms the hero of
Mr. Longfellow's second y. lie is repre-
sented as an honest countrytr afatter, with a good
Christian wife, who is sensible enough, which her
husband is not, to doubt the possibility of witch-
craft, and to consider that the children who profess
that they are bewitched ought to be well punished.
So this delusion grows from bad to worse.
First, a forsaken and forlorn old woman
Ragged and wretched, and without a friend ;
Then something higher. Now it's Bridget Bishop
God only knows whose turn it will be next:
The Magistrates are blind, the people mad!
If they would only seize the Afflicted Children.
And put them in the workhouse, where they should be,
There 'd be an end of all this wickedness.

Her husband is happy in his ripening corn, in
his well-filled barns, in his orchard which groans
with russets and pearmains, and in his woods on
which the rising sun " shines as if beloved them."
He nails a horse-shoe upon the threshold to pro-
tect his home from evil, but as the witch-plague
spreads both he and Martha are disturbed with
omens of evil. Corey loses his cattle, and believes
they have been lured to their destruction; he meets
an Indian crone in the wood, when suddenly " a
tree shook down some crimson leaves" upon him
" like drops of blood." Yet Rio is not frightened,
for he is " not one of those who think the Lord is
waiting till he catches them some day in the back-
yard alone." Then he is tempted to suicide, and
his wife dreams they have both been condemned
to death for witchcraft, and all these are the
shadows which foretell coming events.
Here is a fine scene in gaol, between the un-
happy Corey and an old seafaring friend named
Gardner. The gaoler introduces them, and they
embrace:
Carry.—l'm glad to see you, ay, right glad to sae you.
Gardner.—And I most sorely grieved tomes you thus.
ei,rey.-4.g all the friends I had in happier days,
You are the first, ay, and the only one,
'flint comes to seek me out in my disgrace!
And you but come iu time to say farewell.
They dug tnygrave already in the field.
I thank you. There is something in your presence,
I know not what it is, that gives me strength.
Perhaps it is the bearing of a man
Familiar with all dangers of the deep,
Familiar with the cries of drowning well,
With fire, awl wreck, and foundering ships at sea
Gardner.—Ah, I have never known a wrack like
yours!
Would I could save you!
awry. —Do not speak like that.
It is too late. lam resolved to die.
Gardens.—Why would you die who have so much to
live for i
Your daughters, and --
Corey.—You cannot say the word.
My daughters have gone from mo. They are married ;
They have their homes, their thoughts, %rut from me;
I will not ray their hearts—that were too cruel.
What would you have ice do?
Gardner.—Conteme and live.
(brrtery.—That's what they said who came here yes-
day
To lay a heavy weight upon my conircients,
My telling nit, that I war driven forth
As an unworthy member of their church.

Chtririsr.—lt is an awful death.
Cbrey.—"Tis but to drown,_ _ ,
And havi ffie weight of aff the seas ore
' Osrokon--Itsy eomethlng; say Ito fend off:
death
'Till this tornado of tensed=
Blows itself of Let me come In between you
And your severer self, with my plain sense ;
Do not be obstinate.
Oorry.—l will not plead.
If I deny, I am condemned already,
In courts where ghosts appear as witnesses,
And swear men's lives away. It I confess,
Then I confess a lie, to buy a life
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 ,snide).—Ali, what a noble character is this!
Corry.—l pray you, do not urge me to do that
You would not do yourself. I have already
The bitter taste of death upon my lips!
I feel the immure of the heavy weight
That will crush out my life within this hour ;
But if a word could lave me, and that word
Were not the truth ; nay, if it did but swerve
A hair's-breadth from the Truth, I would not say it!
Gardovr (aside).—How mean I seem beside a man
like this!
Corry.—Aa for my wife, my Martha. and my Martyr—
Whose virtues, like the stars, unseen by day,
Though numberless, do but await the dark
To manifest themselves unto all eyes—
She who first won me from my evil ways,
And taught me how to live by her example,
By her example tenches me to die,
And leads me onward to the better life!
aryl." (without).—Giles Corey! Come! Tho hour
has struck !
Corry.-1 come.
Here is my body ; ye may torture it,
But the immortal soul ye cannot crush!
From the prologues to these New England
tragedies it would seem that the author considers
them adapted for representation on the ste.
We do not think, however, that the simple machi-
nery of "Endicott" and of "Giles Corey" will
satisfy an audience accustomed to sensational
effects. The beauty which marks these tragedies
is more likely to be appreciated in the closet than
on the stage.—Daily News.