It was in the years 1691-2 that what has been called the “Salem witchcraft epidemic” occurred. In that age the belief in witches was general and strong. In 1644, ’5, and ’6, England hanged fifteen persons accused of witchcraft in one batch at Chelmsford, sixteen at Yarmouth, and sixty in Suffolk. In Sweden, in 1670, there was a panic about witches; and in one town, Mahra, seventy persons were charged with this offence, and spite of their protestations of innocence, most of them were executed. Fifteen children were hung on their own confession; and fifty others were condemned to be whipped every Sunday for a twelvemonth. Even so late as 1697, five years after the Salem troubles, seven persons were hung in Scotland as witches, and that too upon the unsupported testimony of a single child eleven years old. New England, then, was not alone in her belief in witches, or in her punishment of them. She merely shared the opinion of such consummate scholars and noble thinkers as Sir Thomas Browne and Sir Matthew Hale. Many things combined to increase this belief. James I. had published a book on demonology. Books containing rules for binding witches were in wide circulation. The practice and the opinion of centuries substantiated these phantoms. And the recent excitement in Sweden and England was certain to cause a ripple in America. Men’s minds were thus prepared for an epidemic. As early as the year 1688, a case of supposed witchcraft occurred in Boston. An old half-witted Irish woman was charged with having bewitched the children of John Goodwin, and she was soon hanged. The witches then quit Boston, and in 1691-2 appeared at Salem. Children began to act oddly, getting “into holes, creeping under chairs, and uttering foolish speeches”—all of which were esteemed as tokens of bewitchment. Inquiries were at once and everywhere made for witches. The children accused at random. This woman was said to be a witch, and that man. Salem was aghast. Startled women passed from house to house, repeating and enlarging every idle tale. Soon the excitement was unprecedented. Fasting and prayer failed to exorcise the “spirits.” Then the witches were imprisoned, tried, condemned, executed. A reign of terror commenced. All lived in fear; accusation was equivalent to proof; there seemed no safety. Many, spurred by fear, acknowledged themselves to be witches when accused, thinking thus to save their lives; others hastened to complain that they were bewitched; and only those who avowed themselves to belong to one of these two classes could be sure of life. Still the panic spread. Andover was infected. New England at large began to shudder. The executioner was busy. And it was not until January, 1692, that the panic began to abate. Nineteen persons had been hung; one had been pressed to death; many had been condemned; hundreds had been imprisoned. So remorseless, so cruel is panic. But the excess cured itself; the reaction was