back to his native land as captain-general
and governor-in-chief of the colony of Massachusetts. From
sheep-boy he had risen to the title of "Your Excellency."
Phips was governor of Massachusetts during the witchcraft
delusion. The part he took in it was not a very active one;
but when, in 1693, he found that grand juries were beginning
to throw out indictments, and petit juries to return
verdicts of "Not guilty," he ended the whole mad business by
emptying the prisons, then containing about one hundred and
fifty persons committed, while over two hundred more were
accused. In 1693 Governor Phips led an expedition against
the Indians of Maine, and forced them to conclude a treaty
of peace. In 1694 he went to England, to answer certain
accusations against his conduct as governor, and here was
taken suddenly sick, and died February 18, 1695.

The noble house of Phips, thus instituted, has steadily
grown in rank and dignity since that date, bearing
successively the titles of baron, viscount, earl, until
finally, in 1838, a Phips attained the rank of marquis of
Normandy. It is a remarkable development from the life of
that poor boy, one of a family of twenty-six, whose early
life was spent in tending sheep in the wilderness of Maine.

THE STORY OF THE REGICIDES.

The years 1675 and 1676 were years of terrible experience
for New England. The most dreadful of all the Indian
outbreaks of that region--that known as King Philip's
War--was raging, and hundreds of the inhabitants fell
victims to the ruthless rage of their savage foes. Whole
villages perished, their inhabitants being slain on the
spot, or carried away captive for the more cruel fate of
Indian vengeance. The province was in a state of terror, for
none knew at what moment the terrible war-whoop might sound,
and the murderous enemy be upon them with tomahawk and
brand.

Everywhere the whites were on the alert. The farmer went to
his fields with his musket as an indispensable companion.
Outlying houses were guarded like fortresses. Even places of
worship were converted into strongholds, and the people
prayed with musket in hand, and, while listening to the
exhortations of their pastors, kept keenly alive to the
sounds without, for none could tell at what moment the foe
might break in on their devotions.

In the frontier town of Hadley, Massachusetts, then on the
northwestern edge of civilization, on a day in the summer of
1676, the people were thus a