of the inhabitants, in
all matters of doubt and difficulty, to look to their ministers for
council. So they did now; but, unfortunately, the ministers and wise men
were more deluded than the illiterate people. Cotton Mather, a very
learned and eminent clergyman, believed that the whole country was full of
witches and wizards, who had given up their hopes of heaven, and signed a
covenant with the Evil One.

Nobody could be certain that his nearest neighbor, or most intimate
friend, was not guilty of this imaginary crime. The number of those who
pretended to be afflicted by witchcraft, grew daily more numerous; and
they bore testimony against many of the best and worthiest people. A
minister, named George Burroughs, was among the accused. In the months of
August and September, 1692, he, and nineteen other innocent men and women,
were put to death. The place of execution was a high hill, on the
outskirts of Salem; so that many of the sufferers, as they stood beneath
the gallows, could discern their own habitations in the town.

The martyrdom of these guiltless persons seemed only to increase the
madness. The afflicted now grew bolder in their accusations. Many people
of rank and wealth were either thrown into prison, or compelled to flee
for their lives. Among these were two sons of old Simon Bradstreet, the
last of the Puritan governors. Mr. Willard, a pious minister of Boston,
was cried out upon as a wizard, in open court. Mrs. Hale, the wife of the
minister of Beverly, was likewise accused. Philip English, a rich merchant
of Salem, found it necessary to take flight, leaving his property and
business in confusion. But a short time afterwards, the Salem people were
glad to invite him back.

"The boldest thing that the accusers did," continued Grandfather, "was to
cry out against the governor's own beloved wife. Yes; the lady of Sir
William Phips was accused of being a witch, and of flying through the air
to attend witch meetings. When the governor heard this, he probably
trembled, so that our great chair shook beneath him."

"Dear Grandfather," cried little Alice, clinging closer to his knee, "is
it true that witches ever come in the night-time to frighten little
children?"

"No, no, dear little Alice," replied Grandfather. "Even if there were any
witches, they would flee away from the presence of a pure-hearted child.
But there are none; and our forefathers soon became convinced, that they
had been led into a terri