The dark cloud rolled from off the land; the golden leaves dropped down Along the winding wood-paths of the little sea-side town: In Salem Village there was peace; with witchcraft-trials passed The nightmare-terror from the vexed New England air at last. Again in natural tones men dared to laugh aloud and speak; From Naugus Head the fisher's shout rang back to Jeffrey's Creek; The phantom-soldiery withdrew, that haunted Gloucester shore; The teamster's voice through Wenham Woods broke into psalms once more. The minister of Beverly thereafter sorely grieved That he had inquisition held with counsellors deceived; Forsaking love's unerring light and duty's solid ground, And groping in the shadowy void, where truth is never found. Errors are almost trespasses; rarely indeed we know How our mistakes hurt other hearts, until some random blow Has well-nigh broken our own. Alas! regret could not restore To lonely hearths the presences that gladdened them before. As with the grain our fathers sowed sprang up Old England's weeds, So to their lofty piety clung superstition's seeds. Though tares grow with it, wheat is wheat: by food from heaven we live: Yet whoso asks for daily bread must add, "Our sins forgive!" Truth made transparent in a life, tried gold of character, Were Mistress Hale's, and this is all that history says of her; Their simple force, like sunlight, broke the hideous midnight spell, And sight restored again to eyes obscured by films of hell. The minister's long fields are still with dews of summer wet; The roof that sheltered Mistress Hale tradition points to yet. Green be her memory ever kept all over Cape-Ann-Side, Whose unobtrusive excellence awed back delusion's tide! LUCY LARCOM. CHAPTER VIII THE STRUGGLE FOR THE CONTINENT While England was colonizing the Atlantic seaboard, France was firmly establishing herself to the north along the St. Lawrence. It was inevitable that war should follow; and as early as 1613 the English had destroyed the French settlements in Nova Scotia. The country had scarcely rallied from the blow, when it was torn asunder by the contest between Charles la Tour and the Chevalier D'Aulnay--a contest which, after twelve years, resulted in victory for the latter. ST. JOHN [April, 1647] "To the winds give our banner! Bear homeward again!" Cried the Lord of Acadia, Cried Charles of Estienne! From the prow of his shallop He gazed, as the sun From its bed in the ocean, Streamed up the St. John. O'er the blue western waters That shallop had passed, Where the mists of Penobscot Clung damp on her mast. St. Saviour had looked On the heretic sail, As the songs of the Huguenot Rose on the gale.