Something of this our scene to-night will show; And ye who listen to the Tale of Woe, Be not too swift in casting the first stone, Nor think New England bears the guilt alone. This sudden burst of wickedness and crime Was but the common madness of the time, When in all lands, that lie within the sound Of Sabbath bells, a Witch was burned or drowned. HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. The outbreak occurred in that part of Salem then called Salem Village, now the separate town of Danvers, and was brought about by three or four children who pretended to be bewitched and who "cried out" against various persons. They were countenanced, not to say encouraged, by Samuel Parris, the minister of the place, and there is evidence to show that he used them to gratify his private enmities. SALEM [A.D. 1692] Soe, Mistress Anne, faire neighboure myne, How rides a witch when night-winds blowe? Folk say that you are none too goode To joyne the crewe in Salem woode, When one you wot of gives the signe: Righte well, methinks, the pathe you knowe. In meetinge-time I watched you well, Whiles godly Master Parris prayed: Your folded hands laye on your booke; But Richard answered to a looke That fain would tempt him unto hell, Where, Mistress Anne, your place is made. You looke into my Richard's eyes With evill glances shamelesse growne; I found about his wriste a hair, And guesse what fingers tyed it there! He shall not lightly be your prize-- Your Master first shall take his owne. 'Tis not in nature he should be (Who loved me soe when Springe was greene) A childe, to hange upon your gowne! He loved me well in Salem towne Until this wanton witcherie His heart and myne crept dark betweene. Last Sabbath nighte, the gossips saye, Your goodman missed you from his side. He had no strength to move, until Agen, as if in slumber still, Beside him at the dawne you laye. Tell, nowe, what meanwhile did betide. Dame Anne, mye hate goe with you fleete As drifts the Bay fogg overhead-- Or over yonder hill-topp, where There is a tree ripe fruit shall bear When, neighbour myne, your wicked feet The stones of Gallows Hill shall tread. EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN.