Linda J. Holland-Toll

FemSpec

Bluestockings Beware:Cultural Backlash and the Re/Configuration of the Witch

in Popular Nineteenth Century Literature

What cultural work is underway when the image of women as witches is used to discuss educated women, women to whom the mildly opprobrious epithet “bluestocking” has also been applied? How does the popular reading of a culture influence and reflect the ways in which that culture thinks? These questions plagued mewhile I wrote my dissertation, and they plague me still. One of the “plague sites” was a group of stories I read in which bluestockings, i.e., educated women, were associated/linked in some manner with witchcraft. The linkage was interesting, but contradictory. Most bluestockings were middle to upper class urban women with formal education, while the most common, but notnecessarily the most accurate, cultural archetype of witches was either “village grannies,” or “the wise woman of the woods” good for spells and charms and herbal remedies as well as practicing evil in association with the Devil. On the face of it, these knowledge bases are so different that no immediate connection springs forth. So how did this conflation come to be? To examine this idea, I decided to view four nineteenth century short stories which reflect this cultural linkage through the looking glass of narratives of American witch-hunting, Puritan theology, and the history of women’s changing roles in mid-nineteenth century America. The main conflations stand revealed as possession of knowledge inappropriate for women, i.e., religious learning, or learning which could be used to empower women, i.e.,book knowledge or knowledge of healing. Women who were “cunning women,” i.e. healers (midwives in particular) or fortune-tellers,

and such women who could compete in wit and education with men were often at risk of being labeled witches.1 In Witch-Hunting in Seventeenth Century New England, David D. Hall states: “A few of the women and men who were accused of committing witchcraft [ . . .] had reputations as healers. These “cunning” persons as they were called played a role in the village community that mostof their neighbors tolerated–and may have welcomed. But the ability to heal [ . . .] was morally ambiguous: the power to healwas also the power to do harm” (5)

A witch in seventeenth century British and European culture is at least a practitioner of charms and spells and at worst a creature who practices maleficium2 and may well be allied with the Devil, but by linguistic generalization, a witch today may refer to anyone from a practitioner of Wicca to an evil-tempered woman.Who has not heard the contemporary comment, “She’s a real witch?”Who in twenty-first century America jumps to the conclusion that the subject has sold her soul to the devil for earthly power? In seventeenth century Great Britain or Salem, Massachusetts, however, such an accusation would be neither a metaphor nor an exaggeration but a literal accusation, one which would be taken very seriously. As Edward J. Ingebretsen points out in Maps of Heaven, Maps of Hell, “Even the term ‘witch’ in seventeenth century New England was a weapon: it functioned as a label peopleused to control or punish someone” (43) In Entertaining Satan: Witchcraft and the Culture of Early New England, John Demos

1 A “cunning person” is one who is either a healer or a fortune teller. Cunning derives from the Old English noun “cunnong”-- knowledge, experience.(J. R. Clark Hall, A Concise Anglo-Saxon Dictionary. Toronto: U of Toronto P, 1960. 76) Thus, a “cunning person,” one who has knowledge, provides another link to the dangers of knowledge. Most healers were women who functioned as midwives and had knowledge not only herbs to aid childbirth but of herbs to aid contraception and philtres, love charms and so forth. As discussed later in this article, such people were at grave risk of being executed as witches.

2 Black magic aimed at physical and spiritual harm to the victims. Curses, wax dolls, poppets, etc. were common “evidences” of maleficium.

reinforces this view when he argues, “[Witchcraft cases] might even perform ‘functions’ for the group – sharpening its boundaries, reinforcing its values, and deepening the loyalty of its membership”(14). Bluestocking as a label functions in much the same manner as witch: it both controls educated women and makes it clear they have transgressed the acceptable boundaries of the group. Expulsion being necessary, either exile or execution generally followed witchcraft accusations. While women were not, in nineteenth century America, either exiled or executed for being “blue,” they were often deemed unacceptable orfreaks. The contemporary reader must remember that the existence of witches was an accepted fact of life in medieval andearly modern Europe. Books on conducting witch-hunts, discoveringwitches, and prosecuting and punishing witches were quite common.The general population and extremely educated people alike took for granted the existence not only of witches but also of supernatural entities in general. “The Devil’s in that child” wasnot a statement lightly made since the colonists believed that the devil literally walked the earth possessing and ensnaring unwary Christian souls. Several Puritan narratives deal with preachers, most notably Cotton Mather, who ministered to children, who were supposedly “possessed by the devil.” 3

Since medieval Europe and the early modern era were intensely misogynistic as well as profoundly religious, it is unsurprising to note that the vast majority of people accused of witchcraft were women.4 Women were, after all, directly responsible for Mankind’s hasty and untimely exit from Paradise; they were considered deceitful, sinful, lustful, and natural allies of Satan Himself. Man’s duty toward woman was to control and make her submissive to His/his will. The Puritan theocracy,

3 See Hall, Witch-Hunting pp.265-79; Karlsen The Devil in the Shape of

a Woman,33-35.

with its close ties to the Old Testament, the writings of the Early Church Fathers and strong patriarchal structure, particularly stressed the necessity for man’s dominion over womenboth religiously and civically. One of the prerogatives of power is control of knowledge; as Foucault states, knowledge is power. It follows, therefore, that the Puritan theocracy would not only wish to control knowledge in the interests of wielding power but would also be very threatened by anyone who exercised knowledge which they did not control. As Eve’s “sin” was a desire for Knowledge, it also follows that the Puritans who removed themselves to New England to found “the New Canaan,” would have aparticular horror of knowledgeable and educated women, women who might contend and disagree with the patriarchy. A theocracy cannot, of course, tolerate any religious freedom whatsoever, butdisagreement from a woman is completely unacceptable. As David D.Hall points out, “It is possible to interpret witch-hunting as a means of reaffirming this authority at a time when women (like the charismatic religious leader Anne Hutchinson) were testing these constraints [ . . .]” (Witch-Hunting7). In fact, the use of “witch” occurs early in Puritan annals. Anne Hutchinson, a learned woman who disagreed on matters of theology with the reigning power structure, is automatically associated with witchcraft – not because she carried out witch-like behaviour (spells, charms, etc.) but because she was educated and outspoken. “When the Puritan clergy excommunicate her as a heretic, for example, they deliver her up to Sathan [sic], thus equating her challenge to religious and civil authority with a witch’s fate” (Ingebretsen 41). While Hutchinson is not tried, one of her ardent supporters, Mary Hawkins, a midwife, is executed for witchcraft. As Hall points out in Worlds of Wonder,Days of Judgement: Popular Religious Belief in Early New England,“Anyone who in later years prophesied against the orthodox ran the greater risk of being accused of witchcraft” (101). Since conservative estimates place most witchcraft accusations/executions at 75 - 80% women, an educated and outspoken woman ran a substantial risk of being treated as a witch. Thus, the conflation between witch and educated woman is established early in Puritan America. Transgressive women who have more knowledge than is permissible or acceptable are defined

as witches – enemies of God and the State and active minions of Satan. Hence, the idea of women as witches is easily connected toother kinds of knowledge in other kinds of women and infiltrates American society on a number of levels. A contemporary commentarythat makes this link apparent is Stephen King’s comments in DanseMacabre on the importance of maintaining the norm and “watching for the mutant,” both ways of describing the importance of accepting societal boundaries and social order (39). As I note in As American As Mom, Baseball, and Apple Pie: Constructing Community in Contemporary American Horror Fiction, one way to construct community is to deploy “the strategies of exclusion,” aprocess by which “others” are demarcated, demonized, scapegoated and sacrificed in order to maintain the dominant community (25). In colonial America, Salem in particular, the “others” happened to be disruptive women, women who didn’t play by the rules, womenwho challenged patriarchal assumptions. Puritans argue that any woman who uses disruptive knowledge to challenge the theocracy isa witch; the accusation demarcates and demonizes the woman, who is then accused and often executed. Such action not only demonizes the woman but also sends out a message which reinforcesthe risk of possessing or using disruptive knowledge. In The Devil in the Shape of a Woman, Carol F. Karlsen notes that witches are “almost always described as deviants–disorderly womenwho failed to, or refused to, abide by the behavioral norms of their society” (118). The behavioral norms of Puritan society were very exacting; no religious dissent was tolerated and no presumption of woman’s equality with men was tolerated either, because the Puritan theocracy depended on a rigidly structured social order. As Hall points out, “anyone who threatened established authority–that is, anyone who threatened social order– could be perceived as engaged in witchcraft” ( Witch-Hunting 6).

What further piqued my interest was the subtext in these stories, which related in one way or another witch-hunting in colonial New England, the best known of which are the Salem Witchcraft trials. One can scarcely discuss witchcraft in Americawithout discussing the Salem Witchcraft trials, not only the seminal definitive American experience with witchcraft, but also

an experience which is still troublesome today.5 What does clearly emerge from these narratives is the belated awareness that many innocent people were unjustly executed in rites in which mass hysteria and accusation as proof predominated. Unsurprisingly, theSalem Witchcraft trials, supposedly safely in the Past, resonate through these stories. Also, unsurprisingly, many Americans are still uneasy at the outcome of those trials.6 If the Salem Witchcraft Trials can serve as a reminder to transgressive women,but at the same time mitigate the effects of the Salem WitchcraftTrials, well and good. Thus, these texts do two things simultaneously. They point out the consequences to women who possess and utilize disruptive knowledge. They also reflect the cultural dis/ease arising from the Salem Witchcraft trials as a result of the active complicity of the community therein. While the Salem Witchcraft trials are often considered an aberration oran anomaly in American history, and nineteenth century Americans no longer believe in Cotton Mather’s “invisible world” or spectral evidence, or “afflicted children,” the discomfort with disruptive women still lingers. Nineteenth century women are becoming increasingly more educated, more vocal, and more aware of their power to change society, and thus more of a threat to the status quo. While women do not gain suffrage until 1920 and are arguably still unequal in many areas of society, nineteenth century women have begun agitating for increased civil rights.7 Certainly the level of women’s education has risen and certainly more and more women are able to become “bluestockings.”

Thus, nineteenth century America is less superstitious, lessready to accept the supernatural, more self-aware, and also more self-exculpatory. Obviously, the Salem Witchcraft Trials stills resonate in the culture, today as in the nineteenth century -- but why? -- certainly worse things have happened; arguably the Salem Witchcraft Trials are little more than a footnote in history, a rill in the Zeitgeist. I would contend that the shift in cultural models comes into play: Americans self identify themselves and identify their culture at large in terms of freedom of individual expression and freedom of religion -- and herein lies the problem. The Puritan model, one of the pillars upon which American society rests, was not interested in the

above items, as it was a theocratic community in which neither individual freedom nor freedom of expression was valued. But by the mid-to-late nineteenth century, the Puritan model is vitiatedand largely displaced, secularly based knowledge has become the “right” model, educated women are seen both as more and less of athreat and people want to reject their uncomfortable history. On the other hand, during the period these stories are written, women are agitating for civil rights and this does cause dissonance in the society at large. And since it is the educatedwomen who are undertaking this crusade, it is the educated women who must bear the brunt of society’s disapproval. As I noted above, one of the handy markers for women of whom society disapproves is witch. Even today, the child’s comment that “My teacher is an ol’ witch!” generally means that the teacher in an educated woman with some force of authority.

In many ways what I see going on is a paradoxical process: witches are being simultaneously erased and re-inscribed. The belief in witches per se has been discarded, or relegated to fairytales and popular fiction, but the idea of a witch as a transgressive, disruptive force has been co-opted to talk about bluestockings. Instead, a new coding arises: disruptive women arebluestockings who are, in many ways, just as dis/ease-provoking as the witches. These stories thus expose the deep-seated sense of cultural dis/ease generated by both witches and educated women. By shifting the paradigm from witch to bluestocking, the texts both re/define the role of the educated woman and palliate cultural dis/ease .

In The Weird Gathering: Supernatural Women in American Popular Fiction, 1800-1850, the anthology which caught my attention with four transgressive “women- as- witch” tales, editor Ronald Curran rightfully points out the interrelationship between popular culture and the use of “witch” as a way to reinforce certain behaviour patterns and vilify others. Curran argues that witches “reflect significant social attitudes” and further argues that [. . . ] the repetitive use of these figures[to] reinforce behavior patterns [. . . ] serves to illuminate the interrelationships of popular literature, culture and

cognition [ . . ] and to recognize the patterns in sex role and personal identity which were vilified and which were then reinforced” (13).

Several stories in Curran’s anthology reflect shifts in the cultural coding of witches which occurred in the early and mid-nineteenth century, shifts which link learned women to witches and which often stress the dangers of too much unwomanly or inappropriate knowledge. These stories, published in various mid-nineteenth century magazines, between 1828 and 1873, but all set around the time of the Salem Witchcraft Trials, function to reconfigure the role of the witch from ignorant old woman or illiterate wise woman to include bluestocking, defined as women who are transgressive, who have more knowledge than is acceptablefor her gender in the period under discussion. Like “witches,” bluestockings can access knowledge that other people cannot. Likewitches, their knowledge gives them power; thus disruptive knowledge and transgressive behavior are the linkages between witches and bluestocking. The mid-nineteenth century does not believe in witches anymore, but disruptive women are not only present but steadily increasing in both numbers and influence, aswomen realize that they can take a part in shaping the society inwhich they live. All four of these texts examine the intersection between educated women and witches in terms of knowledge that threatens the society they inhabit. “The Witch”(1828) tells a tale in which a virtuous young bluestocking unjustly accused of bewitching a young village man, not only escapes entirely on her own, but also proves to have an excellentreason for her actions, reasons about which the jealous village women know nothing. In “Miriam Power”(1838) an evil Native American attempts to have a virtuous and educated young woman executed, but she is foiled by the brave townspeople, who rescue the deplorably passive Miriam. Mrs. Volney E. Howard’s “The Midnight Voyage of the Seagull,”(1842) concerns an actual witch practicing earlier than the 1692 trials who presents herself as an educated woman, thus displacing the blame from the citizens ofSalem onto the witch. Clara F. Guernsey’s “The Last Witch,” (1873) concerns the presence of witchcraft as a system of knowledge both evil and good, both of which stand in opposition

to “book-learning.” The linkages range from two innocent bluestockings perceived as witches to an actual witch to an actual witch duo who both hold bluestockings in slight contempt. Thus, bluestockings are unjustly accused as witches, feared for their malevolent powers, and finally mocked and ridiculed for having the wrong kind of knowledge. The tales are generally didactic, in warning bluestocking to be ware or careful of how they are perceived by their neighbors.

My first text, “The Witch,” written by an anonymous author in 1828, is somewhat different from the succeeding texts, as it not only deals with an unjustly accused bluestocking but is the only text which shows the bluestocking as very independent and capable. This story also directly states the risks of being a bluestocking: “[. . .] female literature excited serious suspicion, and was taken under the cognizance of that memorable and never to be forgotten synod of pious, enlightened worthies, who would have fain have condemned all the ugly old women and allthe intelligent young ones, to be hanged or drowned as witches” (255). In this tale, a young and very well-educated girl, Ann Jones, is accused of witchcraft. The narrator somewhat sardonically points out the perils of being a bluestocking:

[E]ven now, a woman gifted with an uncommon literary acquirements falls under the displeasure of the well dressed but illiterate dandies of the day, but their jurisdiction is a harmless one, and seldom extends beyond . . . the opprobrious epithet of blue. But thiswas not the case in 1669 (255).

Ann Jones falls under suspicion because she has a remarkablefacility for learning and a mother who constantly boasts of her daughter the prodigy. When a Dutch woman moves into New Haven, Ann becomes fluent in Dutch quite quickly. Ann Jones is immediately set apart from the villagers, reflecting a pattern inwhich bluestockings stand without the group boundaries. She is then befriended by Mrs. Eyers, the sole other educated woman of the village, creating more envy, and because she walks out alone in all weathers to remote places, falls under even more

suspicion. Ann is also accused of witchcraft because a concern with witchcraft is on the rise in New England, and she speaks English, Dutch, and an unknown third language. She is in other words, a bluestocking: intellectually inclined, intelligent, and possessing knowledge too arcane for everyday residents of New Haven. Her love of learning, in effect, demonizes her, as does her ability to behave as she, and not a bunch of village matrons,judges fit. Even worse, “a young man by the name of Hall, [ . . ]a steady “business-like young man,” a good marriage prospect, in other words, begins to act as though Ann has bewitched him, as since he had known her, “he neglected all work and would saunter whole nights under her window” (258). In short order, the village matrons are buzzing busily about her witch-like behavior;the more interest the marriage prospect shows, the louder the whispers grow. Ridiculous stories claiming she is riding the broomstick, has sunken alive into the earth, rides through the night, is stopped dead by horseshoes, etc. all proliferate in thevillage despite strong empirical evidence to the contrary. More seriously, she speaks words that even Dutch speakers claim they cannot understand in an entirely unfamiliar language, and “one ifthe strongest evidences against them [witches] was speaking in anunknown tongue” (258). She is accused as a witch in New Haven butacquitted; this may satisfy the magistrates but it does not satisfy the “goodwives” of New Haven.

Finally one day, matters come to a head. The goodwives of New Haven actually witness Ann Jones sitting in Mrs. Eyers’ kitchen, conversing with her dæmon lover. With great presence of mind, Mrs. Eyers has the shutters closed and the door locked, so Ann and her evil paramour cannot get away. A warrant is procured,but when the door is opened, Ann Jones and the dæmon have vanished! As the narrator informs us, “The strictest investigation was made, they scoured every corner and every closet, up chimney and down cellar; no traces could be found and,it was clear, Beelzebub had claimed his wife!” (261). Ann’s mother and her would-be swain depart New Haven, Mrs. Eyers will not mention her name, and time passes. Years later, a clergyman traveling to Vermont is asked to deliver a letter to a “Mrs. Hall” who is no other than Ann Jones. Ann explains that she had ahard time at New Haven but does not hold it against the citizenry

because her actions did look suspicious. Mrs. Eyers and the minister, Mr. Davenport, employed her to feed an old man who lived in a cave. He taught her Latin, that evil unknown language,and every once in a while would come sit in Mrs. Eyers’ kitchen “like a Christian.” After Ann and the “dæmon” were forced to hidein the closet, she decided New Haven was no longer a healthy environment for her and left. Asked who the man she was feeding was, she says she can now explain her actions, “for he has gone to his account. He is beyond the reach of friends or enemies. [. . . ] It was GOFFE, the regicide judge” (263). Like Ann herself, he is safe from the villagers of New Haven.

What is interesting in this tale is that the bluestocking, while she does have help within the community, basically manages to escape herself and also applies a fair-minded logic to the superstitious and bigoted attitudes of the citizens of New Haven.Such an attitude is subversive in the extreme, considering that as a woman she should have been incapable of reason. As Judith Sergeant Murray writes, women are banished from Reason and Judgment at an early age and must make do with Fancy, instead. She satirically points out that women are wonders at fashion and character assassination (782). This particular tale both enforces this stereotype and deconstructs it. Clearly by tale’s end, Jones is vindicated and the rhetorical tone and position of the narrator, which has been somewhat satiric in writing as though Ann were indeed a witch becomes clear. Clearly, the author, a bluestocking herself, possibly one of that pack of “damned scribbling women” so beloved of Hawthorne, has no hesitation poking fun at superstitious women and “pious worthies”who would execute bluestockings as witches. In this reworking of the woman as witch, the less well-educated and envious women of New Haven are the ones who are determined to prove Ann Jones a witch. The commentary on her supposed supernatural feats, the claims that “she found her path impeded by broomsticks and horseshoes, and, though she skipped over them good-humoredly, it was confidently asserted that she was always stopped by their infallible power,” clearly reveal the shallow and illogical mindsof the other New Haven women, while Ann Jones, a bluestocking, applies her intellectual powers to their small-minded attitudes

and can dismiss their behaviours (260). This text does not directly mitigate the community’s attitude but does validate the woman as bluestocking, both by ridiculing her persecutors and valorizing Ann Jones. She is neither strangled nor released by the townsmen, as are Mrs. Carew and Miriam Power respectively, but effects her own release.

“Miriam Power,” another anonymous short story written in 1838, enacts a witchcraft narrative in which “the victims were selected among those who were distinguished by rare gifts of mindor person, and even the persons most eminent for piety and excellence of character were most likely to be accused of interference with the author of evil” (250). Miriam Power, tradition has it, lived in Salem during the time of the Witchcraft trials. At first glance, she is not a likely candidatefor accusation. She and her brother are orphans, living on the “bitter bread of dependance” (250). The boy is not only epileptic but feeble-witted and Miriam has for years taken care of him. She is learned and beautiful and poor: whose eyes should target her? She is, in other words, a powerless and poverty-stricken bluestocking, a woman who is more educated than most of her society without the protection which wealth, marriage, or social status would provide her.

Again, as in previous narratives, an outside force surfaces.An evil old Indian woman surfaces, a woman whose “cruel prescription of a woodchuck baked alive” Miriam rejects “with horror” (251). This remedy, linked as it is with older knowledgeand knowledge based in the dark woods, links Native American “wise women” with witches. The old Indian woman, motivated by envy and malevolence, accuses Miriam of throwing her brother intofits and bringing him out of them “by the assistance of the Devil.” The narrator notes, correctly, that “It is well known howreadily the people and even the magistrates lent an ear to such accusations” (251). Miriam is forcibly separated from her brother; when she begs that he be allowed to accompany her, her request is brusquely refused. She is hauled off to Salem and charged before a group of magistrates who conduct the “trial” “with the mockery of a religious solemnity.” The Indian woman, described in conventionally witch-like terms -- “old, bent,

withered, [with] a malignant expression in her snake-like eyes”--testifies against Miriam but presents nothing more than circumstantial evidence, in this case faulty cause-and-effect, typical of an ignorant person (252). Miriam explains her treatment of her brother, indicating an understanding of the ailment and the necessity for calm behavior, and “her youth, her beauty, her humility, the tone of her voice moved the crowd to pity,” but one of the magistrates wishes to see her effect on herbrother. When the boy, dim-witted and terrified, is brought to the court, he sees his sister, “a prisoner between two savage men[and] seized with the most intense terror, uttered a piercing shriek and fell down at her feet in strong convulsions” (253-4). Miriam, of course, struggles madly to reach her brother, soothes him into quiet, as she has always done, and seals her own fate. The judges share the Indian woman’s ignorance: “The iron-hearted judges, unmoved by a scene which brought tears to many eyes, cried out, “We need no other proof that an agency of the Evil Oneis among us. The most winning forms are often chosen as his agents.” Miriam swears she is innocent, of course, to no avail, of course, is found guilty and hauled off to prison, of course, and condemned to death, of course. Fortunately for Miriam, “Therewere in the crowd at her trial hearts made of other materials than those of her inexorable judges” (254). Eventually some unnamed townspeople effect Miriam’s escape; afterwards it transpires she has gone to Boston, where “with her own industry, she supported herself and her unfortunate brother” (255). Oddly enough, the witch-like old woman is not then accused of witchcraft, which would be an expected outcome. It is also one ofthe few stories I have encountered where the citizens act to savean accused witch, probably because of her beauty and saintly aspect rather than her learning. In this tale, the role of the townspeople shifts from inside accusers to citizens who refuse complicity in the accusations and who must resist the magistratesand the outsider accusers. This model refutes the reality, whichwas, of course, that the insiders were not only the accusers but often the magistrates as well. As Robin Briggs points out in Witches and Neighbors, initial accusations of witchcraft are almost invariably generated by community members and not, alas,

by the outsider either as individual or as institutions of power.Like vampires, some community force must bid them enter.

In this tale, unlike “The Witch,” discussed above, the bluestocking cannot be an independent woman, nor, like “The Witch” can she remain in her community. Ann Jones’ pattern holds true; she is not a part of the community, however innocent she may be. Since no one believes she is a witch and the magistrates are outside forces, it is an oddity that Miriam cannot remain in Salem, but must relocate. If it is not her status as an accused witch, but fear for her safety, in what other way has she transgressed? She is poor, beautiful, pious–and learned. No portion of the narrative indicates she is a charge on her neighbors, nor like Ann Jones is she openly transgressive. She ishowever, educated, and clearly it is unsafe for her to remain in her community. No mention is made of how Miriam Power supports herself in Boston, but I am tempted to guess that it is by womanly occupations rather than by an occupation that might link her with witchcraft.

Thus “Miriam Powers” creates dis/ease by targeting the most seemingly unlikely suspect, condemning her on the word of an ignorant and superstitious old woman who fits into the archetypalwitch model much better than Miriam, having her condemned on evidence both circumstantial and faulty by the evil magistrates, and mitigates it by having her rescue effected by the citizenry. As in “The Witch,” the patriarchy plays a prominent part; women who are learned are automatically linked with witchcraft and the Devil. Similarly to Ann Jones, she stands outside the acceptable boundaries of her community and must accept exile to save her life.

My next text, Mrs. Volney E. Howard’s “The Midnight Voyage of the Seagull,” functions, so to speak, as the “prequel” to the Salem Witchcraft trials. This story is an exculpatory narrative, one purpose of which is to exonerate the Salem citizenry for executing so many innocent souls and displace the blame for hysteria onto the witch, who, conveniently enough, is also a bluestocking:

I do not affirm that the following tale is true but I assure the reader it is a veritable legend, handed down by oral testimony from parent to child and was believed to be true by our pious ancestors [ . . .]it is a little more imaginative than the generality of those pinching, pinsticking, abortive effort at the supernatural, which yet - frightful to think - gave to the stake and the halter so many poor wretches at a subsequent period [. . . .] (55).

So says Howard’s narrator, neatly skirting issues of truth and mass hysteria. “Veritable, oral, believed to be true, more imaginative, and abortive efforts” work to both valorize and denigrate the following tale.

In this tale, Mr. Carew, a widower of Salem, marries, ratherunexpectedly, a woman who appears young, attractive and well-educated. His daughter Sarah has an immediate antipathy to her stepmother, an antipathy for which no one, least of all Dr. Harden, her physician fiancé, can account. After all, the second Mrs. Carew is always charming, witty and genteel - admirable traits all. Although Sarah claims she is old, Harden sees her differently: “When I look at her suddenly I receive the impression she is old, but I suppose it is fancy [. . . ] her redlips and roseate cheeks tell that the blood of youth is coursing through her veins” (62).

Meanwhile, to the horror and despair of her fiancé, Sarah sinks relentlessly into apathetic idiocy, a condition for which no one can account, while simultaneously Mrs. Carew blooms. More and more, Harden enjoys her educated and sophisticated conversation, admiring her ability to converse “pleasantly on various subjects,and discovering a richly stored memory and cultivated mind” (59) Harden also describes her “conversation and manners as particularly fascinating. It is a brilliant mix of masculine sense and information with feminine softness and delicacy” (63). Mrs. Carew’s speech is indeed elegant and polished and her learning is, initially at least, admired by Dr. Harden–until he discovers the true state of affairs.

A young sailor, a good but slow-witted boy, comes to Dr. Harden’s house one evening in a state of peculiar agitation. He tells a tale of ensorcellment, bewitchment and sheer terror. At first Harden is extremely dubious, but he realizes that while thetruth of the tale is open to question, Jim’s belief in it is not.But tales, however weird, are susceptible to proof and the wild tale - involving Mrs. Carew, a midnight voyage to a warm clime, thousands of cat-like creatures, a dark and maleficent presence, and a ship which pilots itself at very nearly warp speed - turns out to be absolutely true. Harden, having hidden aboard the ship,also discovers that he is the object of Mrs. Carew’s lustful fancies, and she is inducing idiocy in Sarah, in the belief that Harden will eventually reject Sarah and turn to her. Mrs. Carew’scompanion, an agéd crone, turns out to be not only her mother butalso a witch. Obviously, Mrs.Carew believes that her wit and airof learned behavior make her attractive to him; just as obviouslyshe is willing to use maleficium to ensnare him.

Upon his return, Harden makes his accusation, an accusation which the community is loth to believe as Carew is a power with whom to reckon; furthermore, Mrs. Carew makes it clear that her husband will wreak vengeance on her accusers. But Harden finds the marsh rosemary, bundles of which have been loaded on The Seagull; the story is thus true, and Mrs. Carew and her aged crone of a mother are imprisoned as witches. Before the trial cantake place, four unnamed members of the community show a forged writ from the town magistrates, gain access to the cell, and strangle the witches. But the kicker is yet to come.

It was long before the people could settle down into their usual state of security, if indeed they ever did.When, some years after, the “Salem Witchcraft” as it was called broke out, much of the ferocity and credulity of the populace at that period may be traced to the impressions left by the Midnight Voyage of the Seagull.(90).

Howard provides a narrative which exculpates the citizenry of Salem by telling a tale which, claimed as truth, provides a

handy, dandy explanation for the hysteria; one which displaces the responsibility onto the witch figure, an educated woman, who is to blame for the Salem Witchcraft hysteria because she has used her superior knowledge to gull the community. Mrs. Carew hasknowledge, but it is the wrong kind of knowledge and thus is safely inscribed as a witch. She is, however, also a witch in practice, and thus any fate which overtakes her is perfectly justified. She is guilty of turning Sarah into a mindless imbecile; she reflects the very womanly sin of lust, providing a neat example of a lust-ridden hag masquerading as a younger womanOn another level, she is witty and educated and the source of discomfort to the town - another reason for disposing of her transgressive presence.

When the witches do surface in Salem, the community is both forewarned and forearmed. They’ve heard protestations of innocence before; what is more, they very nearly believed those protestations. After all, the community accepted this woman intotheir midst as one of their own, a creature of evil who very nearly caused the destruction of one who actually was one of their own. The figure of the malevolent witch/ knowledgeable woman is therefore responsible for the citizens’ actions, and they themselves bear no responsibility. The witches brought theirdeaths upon themselves; in fact, the community has acted morally in executing the witches for their crimes. Clearly, it is Mrs. Carew’s learning which is at the root of the problem. The text provides a dire warning, transmitted by both legend and the author as to the consequences of being too learned a woman. At the same time, Howard has provided a narrative cloaked in legend and stoutly maintained as truth, passed down through the generations, which allows the Salem inhabitants to wriggle off the hook and ensuing generations to ignore their actions. This tale is rather hard to read in terms of cultural influences. Do the townsmen strangle Mrs. Carew because she is a witch masquerading as an appealing woman, or because she has access to disruptive knowledge? Either explanation is possible; while Mrs. Carew is appealing, genteel, and attractive, she is also witty and learned in ways unacceptable to the society of which she pretends to be a part. How much of the sentiment against her arises because she gulled the brave townsmen by pretending to be

some “proper women” and how much because she had knowledge considered dangerous?

In my final text, Clara F. Guernsey’s “The Last Witch,” written in 1873, the setting is the Cape Cod area of Massachusetts, and the setting, while substantially past the daysof the Salem witchcraft trials, is the mid to late eighteenth centuries. The cultural shift under consideration here is Manichean in nature, achieved through a dual characterization of the good witch/bad witch paradigm as well as the natural/book learning types of knowledge. The tale opens with a fear-ridden scenario: six months’ old Tristram Coffin, previously a healthy robust child, is ailing from an unspecified illness. Nor is maternal anxiety is unwarranted; these were, after all, days of high infant mortality allied with rather a primitive understanding of disease. The mother, Hepzibah Coffin, however, told by Clementina Coffin, her aunt by marriage, that the infant is “suffering from the mysterious dispensation of providence,” answers that “dispensation or no dispensation, I’d go to any one that could cure him if it was one of the Salem witches,” an indication that she not only fears more than natural physical illness but also acknowledges the power of witchcraft (227). Whatis more, she is willing to risk using witchcraft to cure her child. Witchcraft tends to ally itself with the unwritten oral traditions, the folk traditions, and the wise-woman traditions asopposed to accepted written discourse. Hepzibah’s unlearned status as well as the link to her acceptance of folk traditions is made quite clear in the first paragraph as she walks her ailing child. “I’m ee’n ‘most clear beat out. Sometimes I ‘most wish he was at rest, for he don’t seem to have nothing before himbut suffering and trouble” (227). Her aunt’s bluestocking statusis indicated immediately following the distraught mother’s speech. “The slightest possible frown contracted Aunt Clementina’s smooth forehead. Hepzibah’s grammar was always a trial to the lady; [. . .] she had been a schoolmistress . . .”(227).

Clementina, a blue-stocking and a former schoolteacher who reads Pope’s Essay on Man to soothe her misgivings (I ask you! Pope! What could be more blue?), is inexpressibly shocked and

puts such an attitude down to Hebzibah’s “wild Folger blood” and misuse of the subjunctive. Keturah, the old nurse who is “part Indian” and possessed of more natural or intuitive knowledge, knows better and says so. “What did tell you, Clemency Coffin? What did I tell you when you would lecture old Lyddy Russell about going to meeting?” (230). And while Clementina (Clemency),very orthodox and educated woman, prides herself on her freedom from heathen superstitions, she is obviously fearful. Ezra Coffin, captain of the schooner Colony, also manfully attempts toaccept God’s will, but Keturah sets the boundaries quite firmly. “You’d better say Lyddy’s and the devil’s work [ . . .] it’s her doing. I told your aunt something would happen when she would provoke Lyddy, but she’s book-learned is your aunt and don’t believe things.” Keturah is not book-learned; nevertheless, she knows that Lyddy Russell is a witch: “Talk to a witch of holy things! It’s like offering water to a mad dog!” (233). Ezra treats the accusation lightly, but like his aunt, suggests buyingher off. Keturah doesn’t think that a petticoat, tea, sugar, or wood will do the trick. She is in favour, in a highly Protestant society, of a silver bullet made from a silver cross blessed by the pope. Ezra Coffin confronts Lyddy in the dark woods and orders her to lift the curse in three days’ time or face the consequences. The child mends after Lyddy comes to the cottage, picks it up, and says nothing ails it. But this is not the end ofthe tale.

When Ezra Coffin goes to sea in November, a strange whirlpool which threatens his ship rises seemingly from nowhere, a whirlpool with a womanly shape. He shoots the whirlpool and Lyddy Russell’s body washes ashore, drowned, folks say, but Keturah, who laid her out, knows differently. “No hands but mine touched her, Ezra Coffin. You’re a good shot and a brave one. Thesilver bullet did its work!” (243). The good witch is exempted from any penalty at all although the text makes it clear that Keturah is the alter ego of Lyddy Russell, who indeed tries to recruit her earlier in the story. Again, the narrative of mitigation comes into play as the “good witch” is unharmed, despite her knowledge and deployment of supernatural forces, and the evil witch receives her just deserts. The evil witch,

however, is not a safely converted heathen but a disruptive womanwho lives on her own and refuses to accept the dominant culture’sright to exercise control over her. The linkage between Lyddy, who lives outside town in close connection to the land and has supernatural powers, and Keturah, who has become a town Indian and a Christian, emphasizes the dichotomy between not only good and bad knowledge and good and bad women, but also emphasizes thenegative aspects of the “uncivilized Indian.” Native Americans are popularly supposed to be in closer contact with the folk/oraltraditions; in addition, Native Americans were feared in Puritan society. The associations forged - the dark woods, the heathen status and the access to forbidden knowledge conflate the evil old woman/witch stereotype with the evil Native American. An old wise woman, Native Americans, and strong independent women have several qualities in common; they are disruptive of the established accepted order of society because they have access to“improper” knowledge. Improper or disruptive knowledge is that knowledge which women should not have: book learning comes to mind as does knowledge of witchcraft. As Annette Kolodny points out in passing in The Lay of the Land, the beautiful Indian maiden, a metaphor for unspoiled America at the beginning of the seventeenth century has shifted radically: by the end of the seventeenth century Indian women were considered “hag-like, ugly and immoral” (5). So, of course, are witches. In fact, the discourse Kolodny contends define Indian women also commonly describes witches. Lyddy Russell, with her claims to older and dangerous knowledge, her refusal to accept Christianity and subjugation, her ability to live on her own outside of the community in the woods, and her attempts to persuade Keturah to join her, reflects the fear and dislike of Native American women as well as witches. Such women have knowledge derived from the dark and uncivilized woods and an older tradition, which makes them very dangerous. Obviously, she must be permanently contained. The didactic element serves to remind the bluestocking that “book-learning” (oh, opprobrious epithet) is not necessarily the only correct knowledge. Neither Clementina’s vast store of knowledge nor her exquisite control of grammar can aid her nephew’s ailing child. She is presented as a slightly comic, ineffectual but well meaning figure. The “ignorant” or

less book learned women are the ones who know what must be done. The mocking tone Guernsey uses clearly indicates at the least an awareness of the attitude toward educated women: what do these creatures know that is worth anything at all in the real world?

In this narrative, good and evil are clearly demarcated and old wise women and learned bluestocking are also clearly demarcated. Keturah, a Christianized and civilized Indian, remains a valued servant until she dies, Lyddy Russell is properly disposed of when simple containment doesn’t work, and Clementina, the old maid bluestocking who judges people accordingto either use of grammar or belief in superstitions, also learns something about the dangers of dismissing other systems of knowledge. While she is not actually perceived as a threat, neither does her particular brand of knowledge have particular value. What good does her knowledge of Pope do an ailing infant? Indeed, Clemency, by scolding Lyddy Russell for missing church, may well have been the catalyst for Lyddy Russell’s curse. As I noted earlier, Keturah has already told Ezra that Clementina has provoked Lyddy by scolding her for her absence from church. Obviously, if Clementina had any common sense at all, she would refrain from angering Lyddy Russell, “but she’s book learned is your aunt, and she don’t believe things.” (230). Hepzibah may be“a terrible little dunce, use bad English and care nothing for books,” but uneducated as she is, she knows which knowledge womenshould have, knowledge based on folkways and oral tradition -- knowledge of “cunning women,” in particular. (228). As the narrator makes quite apparent, Hepzibah restricts herself to knowledge appropriate to women Thus the dis/ease with educated women is foregrounded, and a pattern for acceptability is also delineated. Hepzibah possesses the proper knowledge for an eighteenth century woman as Keturah possesses proper knowledge for a Christianized Indian; ironically, both Clementina and Lyddypossess inappropriate knowledge and while their fates differ, both are considered out of line. Clementina is clearly put in herplace by the uneducated Keturah, who scolds her for confronting Lyddy Russell:

‘Education!’ said Keturah, with unmistakable scorn. ‘When folks get educated to that point where they can’t believe

what they sees with their own eyes, unless someone in a booktells them they may, I think they’d better begin to be ignorant. If I’d told Hepzibah, she’d have been to Lyddy before this, and she wouldn’t have forgiven you in a hurry for bringing this sickness on the innocent, after all the warning you had.’(230).

Both the narrator and Keturah make the uselessness of book learning clear, Keturah in her forthright speech and the narratorby pointing out at various times Clementina’s fear of her nurse, ghosts, and utter uselessness nursing a sick baby. While Hepzibahsoothes the fretful child, “Miss Coffin (Clementina) resumed her knitting and attempted to tranquillize her mind by the perusal ofPope’s Essay on man [sic]” (231). While Clementina is a harmlessold maid with a head packed full of useless knowledge, Lyddy Russell is far other. Lyddy must function as more than an old maid laughing stock character; Lyddy is dangerous and must be removed from society regardless of the risk.

As the nineteenth century progresses, women have become moreand more active in society; while they are still years away from achieving suffrage, their influence is well-established, but not always well-accepted. Is Guernsey writing a narrative mocking bluestocking, one pointing out the limits of education, or one supporting domesticity for women? Or, as a published woman, is she pointing out how many kinds of knowledge women possess? Certainly, she commands rhetoric well enough to understand the importance and use of education. Clementina, after all, means well, but it is Hepzibah who understands the necessity for using any remedy to hand to save her child and Keturah who saves the day. Lyddy Russell, the bad witch, is laid to rest only because Ezra Coffin knows that unlearned women’s speech is valuable. He listens to Keturah, threatens Lyddy with death if the curse is not lifted and later kills her with the silver bullet-- and not because he gives any weight to his Aunt Clementina.

In some ways “Miriam Powers”is very similar to Guernsey’s “The Last Witch.” The bluestocking is devalued in the society, even to the extent of having an obvious witch figure make an accusation which sticks. Why the magistrates would accuse Miriam

Powers is as unclear as is their failure to arrest the clearly malignant “Indian.” Unlike the Indian woman, Miriam Power is not a healer, per se, she owns no property for covetous hands to seize, and she is neither disruptive nor transgressive. Clearly, the Native American woman should be more likely to be accused. One possible explanation lies in the status of women in the mid-nineteenth century: “Nowhere was she accorded a higher place so far as lip service went,” as Carl Russell Fish points out, but the status of American women was considerably less than many of their European sisters and had even dropped after the Revolution.At this time, women were involved in temperance, abolition and beginning to form organizations dedicated to achieving suffrage. “They soon discovered they were not wanted . . .” (599-600). Midcentury, the Seneca Falls Convention issues a “Declaration of Sentiments” obviously influenced by the Declaration of Independence. One of the sentiments expressed notes that Man has “endeavoured, in every way he could, to destroy her confidence inher own powers to lessen her self-respect, and to make her willing to live a dependent and abject life” (122). One way to read Howard, Guernsey and the anonymous authors of both “The Witch” and “Miriam Powers” is in terms of the threat that the bluestocking already pose to American society. To inscribe a woman as a witch is to set her apart from the body politic, and this denial negates any commentary she may make. As most authors make abundantly clear, accusations of witchcraft were functions of social ordering. If one removes the disruptive influence, the community remains unruffled by new and threatening ways of thinking and can safely hold to its common beliefs. Women who areejected from the community cannot therefore effect changes. Neither Clementina’s nor Miriam’s discourse has any power; one issilenced by faint ridicule, the other by prison. Both are enlightened rational beings, women who believe neither in witchesnor in superstitions in a society which still holds these beliefsas an integral part of the body politic. Ann Jones is clearly considered a witch, a threat which must be removed for the safetyof the village. Mrs. Carew is not only learned and witty; she actually us a witch, and her fate reflects the degree of threat –she is strangled in her cell by members of her own community.

As for the malignant figure of Lyddy Russell, perhaps Kolodny’s pattern comes into play. This narrative is set at the end of the eighteenth century, some time after Kolodny notes the change from fair Indian maidens and a virgin land to hag-like creatures, which she links to the unavoidable conflict between the colonists and the Native Americans. Lyddy Russell lives in the wilderness and does not participate in community rituals, such as churchgoing. It is also within the same general time thatthe Puritans referred to Indians as evil; Mary Rowlandson specifically refers to them as heathens, devils and the spawn of Satan when she is captured and removed to the desolate and howling wilderness. (27ff). Perhaps Lyddy Russell, the evil Indian, serves as no more than handy cultural shorthand; she is an old hag-like woman and therefore it is safe to inscribe her asevil and execute her. In “Miriam Power,” however, this same figure is “the Doctress” of the village; perhaps she is a respected figure whose observations of the epileptic’s condition have authority, though the narrator’s description gives no reasonto believe so. In fact, the Indian woman is an example of a “cunning woman,”as discussed earlier. Perhaps the old woman accuses Miriam Power to divert attention from her own risky status; her remedies have been straitly rejected, and this affects her standing in the village. She is also a far likelier candidate for execution than Miriam Power, and during the Salem Witchcraft Trials, even a complaint could lead to arrest, imprisonment and condemnation. If, as a healer, especially a healer relying on folklore who may well be in opposition to civilor religious authority, she feels at risk, Miriam Power would be a safe and convenient target.

As in previous tales, a didactic note intrudes. Women who are witty, like Mrs. Carew, or gifted in mind and form like Miriam Power, or well-educated like Ann Jones, are all liable to be accused of witchcraft. In these tales they never suffer unjustly but beneath the validation of learning lies a dis/ease with educated women not entirely played out in nineteenth centurysociety. Like witches, they make uncomfortable neighbors, they disrupt the settled social order, and they own knowledge that others envy and fear.

Nor are things so terribly different today; while the term bluestocking is now obsolete, the distaste for a woman who is more intelligent than a man is still pronounced, and girls are still discouraged from trespassing on masculine domains of knowledge such as engineering and mathematics.8 Few women achievepositions as CEO’s of large corporations and few women achieve high positions of political power Indeed, with the increasing power of the conservative movement in America, which is reflectedin attempts to outlaw abortion, restrict contraception, dismantleaffirmative action, to the Baptist Church recently voting that women’s place is in the home, women’s equality is coming increasingly under fire. In addition, witchcraft, a knowledge

4 While percentages vary widely with the times and incidents, consensusexists that the majority (usually in the 80+% range) of victims were women. In fact, as Carol F. Karlsen points out, say witch, see woman. Women and witchcraft cannot be separated either religiously or civically.

5 While there were outbreaks of witch-hunting in colonial America in several sites, the Salem Witchcraft trials were the most extensive andare, by far, the best known. The Salem Witchcraft Trials, which occurred in Salem Massachusetts in 1692, resulted in the deaths by hanging of 19 people, fourteen of whom were women; one, Giles Corey, refused to plead and was pressed to death. As is commonly known, the outbreak started when several adolescent girls, influenced by tales ofmagic related to them by Tituba, a Carib Indian slave, fell into hysterical fits and accused large numbers of Salem residents of witchcraft. Since witchcraft was accepted as real, and any type of proof, including gossip, innuendo, assertion and the infamous spectralevidence, were all accepted as valid, an accusation was tantamount to a guilty verdict. Such reputable and admired Puritan clergy as Increase and Cotton Mather and Samuel Sewall readily accepted the guilt of the “Salem witches,” and unhesitatingly agreed with their executions, regardless of how uselessly remorseful they later showed themselves. Historical viewpoints differ, with some historians regarding the SalemWitch Trials as valid attempts to stamp out witches since the culture at large accepted witchcraft. Chadwick Hansen’s Witchcraft at Salem. (New York: George Braziller, 1969) for example, argues that witchcraft

still often associated with women’s knowledge, has been somewhat trivialized in the media with the fearful figure of the witch reduced to Samantha’s cute nose-wrinkling in Bewitched and the soppy soap opera-like Charmed. Such films as The Craft and Practical Magic, among others, also place witchcraft in a somewhat playful mode. It’s something young girls do for a while before they grow up. It is not something to be taken seriously, the opinions of outraged Wiccans to the contrary, but something did occur (whether effective or not is another point), that black and white magic on the order of ill-wishing and wax dolls did occur, and that at least 2 of the executed Salem residents were actually practicing witches. His point is not that witchcraft existed but that the culture of the seventeenth century believed in witchcraft. Thus, he views the ‘afflicted children” not as liars who wanted power and attention but as victims of pathological hysteria and the townspeopleas victims of a mistaken belief and mass hysteria/mob mentality. He refutes the idea that a corrupt religious leadership, aware of declining influence, used the trials to buttress their own power. Hansen also acquits Cotton Mather of any malice, claiming he was one of the fairest and least biased participants. To argue this point requires mental gymnastics on par with the physical tribulations of the alleged afflicted children, considering Mather’s The Wonders of the Invisible World. Hansen’s point that the society as a whole did believe in witchcraft must be acknowledged as correct, but his arguments exonerating the Puritan leadership are unconvincing. Carol Karlsen, author of The Devil in the Shape of a Woman argues that witchcraft must be seen as an attempt by the patriarchy to control women. She points out that the vast majority of witchcraft accusationswere levied against women, and that “woman-as-witch” is the primary element by which to define Salem . She also analyzes the victims in terms of marital status and economic status, pointing out that moderately poor women were at greater risk than any one else. She notes that widows and single women, who stood in the way of male inheritance were especially vulnerable to accusations of witchcraft.

In Maps of Heaven, Maps of Hell, Edward J. Ingebretsen sees the witchcraft trials as a religious/ political spectacle to enforce civicobedience and conformity. All three of these authors note that when the upperclass women, such as minister’s wives, the governor’s wife, etc., are accused, it suddenly occurs tot he power structure that something is radically wrong. A bit late for such victims as Rebecca Nurse, by all other accounts a saintly woman or four year old Dorcas Wood.

that one plays with for a while. Such treatment of witchcraft trivializes a recognized source of women’s power as society itself still often trivializes women’s concerns and knowledges. Intelligence in women is still not a valued trait and girls are still encouraged to take the less well paid nurturing positions and to hide their brains. Thus, Bluestocking Be Ware!

6 Every time I teach Early American Literature, at least half the students in the class are completely appalled to realize that there was a time in history when people believed in witches. A typical question on Cotton Mather is , “Is this guy for real?” Once they realize not only that people were unjustly executed for witchcraft andthat “witch-hunts” like the McCarthy hearings have taken place in living memory, they grow very quiet and obviously uncomfortable.

7 Women had been agitating since shortly after the Revolutionary War for equal rights. Notable among these women are Mary Wollstonecraft inGreat Britain, Judith Sargent Murray and Annis Stockton, who cogently argue that nurture and not nature results in women’s perceived inequalities. Perhaps needless to say, they are unheeded voices cryingin the wilderness. By mid-century women have lost some economic power,especially in the middle class and bene relegated to the home as nurturers of children and showpieces for their husband’s earning power. Such women as Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan B. Anthony, among others, are pressing unsuccessfully for women’s rights. “The Declaration of Sentiments,” for example, is a replica of the Declaration of Independence, except that it details women’s tribulations and reasons for desiring equality. While women gain more education and more legal rights as the century progresses, the movement is quite unpopular.

Works Cited

Briggs, Robin. Witches and Neighbors: the Social and Cultural Contexts of European Witchcraft. New York: Viking, 1996.

Curran, Ronald. Introduction. The Weird Gathering & Other Tales; “Supernatural” Women in American Popular

Fiction, 1800-1850. New York: Fawcett Crest, 1979. 13-38.

Demos, John P. Entertaining Satan: Witchcraft and the Politics of Early New England. New York: Oxford U P, 1982.

Fish, Carl Russell. “The Rise of the Common Man.” A History of American Life. Book VI. Eds. Arthur Schlesinger, & Mark Carnes. New York: Scribner, 1996. 517-615.

Guernsey, Clara F. “The Last Witch.” The Weird Gathering & Other Tales; “Supernatural” Women in American Popular Fiction, 1800-1850. New York: Fawcett Crest, 1979. 227-244.

Hall, David D. Introduction. Witch-Hunting in Seventeenth Century New England.Boston: Northeastern

U P, 1991)

—. Worlds of Wonder, Days of Judgement: Popular Religious Belief in Early New England Cambridge: Harvard U P, 1990.

Holland-Toll, Linda J. As American As Mom, Baseball, and Apple Pie: Constructing Community in Contemporary American Horror Fiction. Bowling Green: Bowling Green University State Press, 2001.

Howard, Volney E. [sic] “The Midnight Voyage of the Seagull.” The Weird Gathering & Other Tales; “Supernatural” Women in American Popular Fiction, 1800-1850. New York: Fawcett Crest, 1979. 55-91.

Ingebretsen, Edward J. S. J. Maps of Heaven, Maps of Hell: Religious Terror as Memory from the Puritans to Stephen King New York: M E. Sharpe, 1996

Karlsen, Carol F. The Devil in the Shape of a Woman: Witchcraft in Colonial NewEngland. New York: Norton &

Norton, 1987.

“Miriam Power.” The Weird Gathering & Other Tales; “Supernatural” Women in American Popular Fiction, 1800- 1850 . New York: Fawcett Crest, 1979. 250-255.

Rowlandson, Mary. A True History of the Captivity and Restoration of Mrs. Mary Rowlandson, in American

Autobiographies. Ed. William L. Andrews. New York: Penguin, 1992. 19-69.

Seneca Falls Convention. “Declaration of Sentiments and Resolutions.” FiveHundred Years: Exploring American Traditions. 2nd Edition. Eds. ScottCasper & Richard Davies. Needham Heights: Simon & Schuster Custom Publishing, 1996.121-23.

“The Witch.” The Weird Gathering & Other Tales; “Supernatural” Women in American Popular Fiction, 1800-1850. New York: Fawcett Crest, 1979. 255-263.

8 A Handbook to Literature, ed. William Haemon (Upper Saddle River: Prentice Hall, 2003) has an entry for bluestockings which traces the etymology and common usage of the word and states, “It has been used by men as a term of opprobrium to describe pretentiously intellectual and pedantic women.” Not an unusual statement, except that the attribution is made by Walter Sidney Scott in 1947.

End Notes