Another phase of his super-sensuous concep- | ly important. He was evidently bound upon tion of religion was the supposed power which its possessor received to perform certain miraculous cures both upon animals and fellow-mortals.

My first realization of this new method of the application of religion to the successful achieving of results in practical life was Elihu's success with one of my horses.

I had obtained from Virginia a thorough-bred mare, which I had set apart for my own especial use as a saddle - horse. During the overland journey the mare had become quite emaciated, and was, upon its arrival, delivered over to Elihu, with a request that he would do what he could in the way of recuperating and developing the valuable animal. For several weeks all his exertions seemed ineffectual. This was the more remarkable as his skill as an hostler was in that whole region unparalleled. Suddenly, however, a marked improvement became evident, and Elihu, who had been suffering deep mortification from his previous failure, became correspondingly jubilant.

"Foun' de hars (hairs) at lass, massa," said he one morning, as I was expressing my gratification at the visible improvement of the animal. "Hab 'im seal-fat in tree week longer."

66

"Found what?" said I, in real astonishment. "De hars, massa: 'tort I'd git d'rections 'pon dat mission."

some errand. Drawing himself up to his full
height, and extending his hand imperatively:
"Pass, massa; please, Sir?"
"Pass! for what?"

"Sent for, Sir, d'rectly. Muss go to Mars John Hewitt's."

"John Hewitt's! why, it is at least five miles. What are you going there for this time of night?" "Obleeged to go, Sir. Crissey got her palate down."

"Got what?"

"Palate down, Sir. Mars Hewitt say come d'rectly. Pass, if you please, Sir." "What does he want you for?" "I pulls up de palate, Sah." "How pull it up?"

"Well, I gits d'rections, Sah, an' I pulls up de palate."

"Well, how do you pull it up?"

"Finds de har, Sah, up here" (placing his forefinger upon the apex of his skull), “an' pulls de palate up."

"How do you know which hairs to pull ?"

At first no reply, but a mysterious scratching back of the ear. Upon the question being repeated, and after a pause

"Well, I knows, Sir, but I can't splanicate. I does it offen, Sir."

"Whose palate did you ever pull up?"
"Sent for, by de white folks, Sir, all roun' de

"What hairs and what mission? I don't un- country." derstand you."

This I afterward ascertained was true. Elihu was widely known as possessing the mysterious gift.

Of course "the pass" was given, and he departed upon his healing mission.

After this I ceased to judge of Elihu's religion as I did of that of more ordinary mortals. He was outwardly, on Sundays and at all meetings, a rigid moralist, and as such he was beyond the reach of church-discipline. His peculiar view of the spiritual and the supernatural rendered hopelessly impossible any other faith than that by which he was enabled to perform successfully his works of sublime mystery.

Elihu here scratched the wool behind his right ear in a very mysterious manner, and seemed disposed to throw no more light upon my darkened intelligence. By dint of much questioning I at last drew out of him this information that he had for a time sought in vain for certain specific hairs, growing under the fore-shoulder of the animal, which hairs, if plucked, secundum artem, held between the thumb and forefinger in a certain manner, chopped fine, and mixed with the horse's food, would result in the rapid fattening of the animal. To find these hairs needed a kind of spiritual direction, which for a time he had been A RELIGIOUS IMPROVISATRICE. unable to obtain. He had all the time been Aunt Maria was a "child's nurse." She bepulling the wrong hairs, as was evident from the longed to my brother's colored family in Southhorse's unchanged condition. But now the fat- ern Mississippi. She was a most respectable tening process had commenced, showing that he negress, about fifty years of age, tall, portly, and had received "right d'rections 'pon dat mission." scrupulously neat in person and appearance. But it was not until some months after this She was always well dressed, and as an importevent that I was fully enlightened as to the ex-ant part of her adornments she displayed, upon tent of Elihu's gifts of working, as manifested in another direction and upon a loftier theatre. He also exercised the gifts of healing, for the relief of human infirmities.

even the most ordinary occasions, a remarkably showy and well-arranged turban—a sure mark of her belonging to "de 'stocacy." She was a faithful, honest, and very responsible servant, It was nearly nine o'clock in the evening. I and considered herself capable not only of directwas reading in my bedroom, in momentary ex-ing and counseling all "de niggers," but also pectation of the "nine o'clock drum-beat," the of advising, and even reproving, her own missignal for all wandering darkeys to hurry home, tress and the "white family" generally. and also for the setting of the vigilant night- This sense of authority doubtless grew out of patrol to guard the surrounding neighborhood. ! the fact that her business was to take care of, Suddenly Elihu, unannounced, stood before me, raise, and 'tend 'pon" massa's children, redressed in a dignified suit and looking profound- ceiving them at their birth, and having the al

most exclusive care of them until well grown, and as it is but a short step from governing the children to governing the parents, Maria considered herself at liberty to take that responsibility, especially with her mistress.

ter as gardener; and he, with his family, occupied the “gardener's house," not far from Maria's cabin. Now Dan and his family were Catholics, and they had persuaded Maria and others of the colored servants to attend Mass, "Now, missus"-she would say, whenever the and witness their imposing forms of worship. mother extended to the younger children any All this pleased Maria sensibly, until, unfortuunusual indulgence-"now, missus, you jess nately for the Catholic profession, an afflictive gwine to ruing dat chile. I knows you is. I event occurred which conclusively convinced wants dat chile brot up in de ammunition ob de Maria that all Catholics were a set of hypoLord, but you gwine to done ruing dat chile, crites and impostors. This event was to Maria notwithstandin' accordin."" one of great importance. In fact, some one stole her chickens.

Sometimes she would say, "Missus, dat not de way to raise de chile. You 'sponsible 'fore God for dat chile, missus. S'pose you dress um so fine de debbil make um proud, den how you gwine sarcumvent dat possibility? Missus, I wants dat chile raised 'cordin' to de gos-pill."

From this conspicuous anxiety that suitable religious impressions and gospel training should be secured for "de precious offsprings," it must not be inferred that the white family were destitute of the graces and practice of piety. The family was a Christian household. It was only Maria's intensified religious disposition which gave her anxieties this direction. This also assumed other forms of development. She had become, from long habit, accustomed to refer every incident and event in her own private history to the Lord, inviting his particular attention for good or for evil upon all around her, as they chanced to be her friends or enemies. Such familiarity argued either a very high degree of spiritual attainments, or else an utter want of reverence for the Deity. Which it was, let every man judge according to the light which is in him.

Maria referred her sorrows, feelings, and wishes during this afflictive bereavement, as all expected she would, to a tribunal no less important than that of the Omnipotent Deity. But her original manner of doing this struck me--a comparative stranger to her methodsas something quite unusual in Christian practice and experience. However, her peculiar method did not long remain a novelty; it became a daily exercise, and continued so as long as her sorrows continued poignant. This peculiar manner of recounting her sorrows to the Deity was exhibited under the form of a daily chant. And I am obliged in all truthfulness to mention also that Maria did, in addition, what a Christian should not have done; that is, she invoked, through the same medium, the infliction of direful punishment upon the supposed offender.

Nothing could convince Maria that these offenders were any others than her former friends the gardener's family, though there was not a shadow of evidence to justify her suspicions. It was very fortunate for them, however, innocent if they were, that Maria's petitions were not The wealth of Maria's affections was about availing. During the continuance of these feelequally divided between the children and a cher-ings of bereavement and of injury, we would ished brood of chickens, her own special proper- have at least once a day a scene something like ty. These chickens being in more danger than the following: the children, were daily placed by Maria under We would be sitting upon the veranda quietthe immediate guardianship of the Deity him-ly smoking, or reading, or chatting, as the inself, lest they should be by profane and evilminded persons stolen and devoured. This committal of her personal property to the care of a special Providence was made at frequent intervals, while she was performing her accustomed duties, perhaps rocking the child to sleep-Maria singing her requests to the Deity in the form of an improvised lullaby. Here again it will be noticed that Maria's method of "committing her ways unto the Lord" savored either of great devoutness or of great irreverence.

One thing soon manifested itself. With all her professed devotion Maria had nothing of that gentle, forgiving spirit toward her enemies which we are taught to consider a legitimate fruit of the Gospel. This at first led me to doubt whether Maria was a very intelligent Christian, so far as regarded the spirit of her profession; and I became after a time fully convinced that her Christianity was more persistent and offensive than meek, patient, and orthodox.

At the time of which I now speak an Irishman named Dan was employed by Maria's mas

clination prompted, when suddenly would rise
upon the profound stillness of the scene a strong,
high-keyed, nasal plaint, indignant and doleful,
half chant, half recitative, and most profoundly
earnest:

"Oh-h-h-h, Jesus! Oh-h-h-h, Jesus!
An' dey make long prayers,
An' dey sing long psalms,

But dey steal my chick-ins, Lord:
Oh-h-h, Jesus! Oh-h-h, Jesus!"

Then, as an interlude, would follow a contin-
uous humming sound, as if gathering up her
feelings into metrical shape; and again would
the plaint burst forth:

"An' dey go to church,

An' dey make long prayers,
An' dey make dere long con-fessions;
But dey'll all be damned

In dat drefful day;

For dey steal my chick-ins, Lord:
Oh-h-h, Jesus! Oh-h-h, Jesus!

"Soon, Lord, come down,
In de burnin' fire,

Wid de brimstone hot,

An' make dem 'mazed;

For all dere lies,

An' dere 'poc-a-sies;

For dey steal my chick-ins, Lord:
Oh-h-h, Jesus! Oh-h-h, Jesus!"

longed to Jane. Every body knew it who knew any thing about the family. Jane's twin sister, when dying, bequeathed the infant to her, the child's father being dead. But though Abby might thus be styled Jane's own, all the care of the child had fallen upon Dinah. She had car

croup and scarlet-fever, through the Alphabet and the Gospels, in her arms and on her heart, and now, after fourteen years of service, she was, at a word, to "stand and deliver." It was hard.

This I learned at the time was not the only occasion of Maria's peculiar method of anathe-ried her through hooping-cough and measles, matizing. Whenever displeased by any event, or the victim of any arrangement which offended against her own wishes imposed upon her peculiar hardship, the Lord, the family, and the neighbors were all sure to hear of it, at short intervals, and until she had soothed her own feelings by the violence of her chants and recitations.

To the child, of course, this prospect of change was full of fascinations; she had never been farther from Lancaster Hill than Lancaster village down there in the valley.

But in spite of all the hurry and tumult into which she was thrown by the prospect, she was sitting here at ease, in silence, under the cherrytree, making wreaths of larkspur to lay as bookmarks between sacred pages. One was for Aunt Dinah's Bible, the other for Josiah's.

Josiah by-and-by approaching nearer, came suddenly, much sooner than he had intended, under Abby's observation. He was, in fact, in momentary expectation of a call from the house, and this expectation occasioned his precipitate discovery of himself. When Abby heard and saw him she began to tremble in a way that did not promise well for the dainty wreath she worked at.

He called to her while he was yet at a distance. "Come and walk," said he.

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"My lap is full, don't you see?" she answered. "I can not."

He did not care about that; his only purpose being to warn her of his approach. Having spoken he himself felt bolder. Of course he must go to her, if she could not come to him.

Miss Dinah cared for the garden. Any thing she cared for must needs have a charm. But leaving this fact out of mind, it was such a spot as you will not often find within the inclosures of a farm. Besides the herbs and vegetables, Josiah had but returned home that morning all manner of flowers that have a ready growth after an absence of several days. Abby had bloomed around the edges of the walks. There seen him since he came, but had not found the were, moreover, bee-hives, birdsnests, butter-courage to speak what was uppermost in her flies, and ant-hills-plagues and pets abounding. Little Abby Butler, sitting in the garden under the far-spreading branches of an old cherrytree, was making wreaths of blue larkspur, one sunny afternoon.

Josiah Morril, at a distance, but within the paling, walked up and down the paths. He was keeping watch over this little Abby at a distance -an unsuspected watch, of course, or she had not endured it quietly.

She had gathered a variety of flowers, the gayest the garden afforded, probably for no other reason than that she loved to gather them, for they were now lying beside her, wilting on the grass. This Seventh Day was Abby's last Saturday in Lancaster for nobody could tell how long a time. Jane Bruce, who came home a few days since for the first time since last year when she went away a bride, had decided on taking the child back to Essex with her. And Dinah Morril, however reluctantly, had yielded her will to Jane's.

For it could not be disputed that the child be

mind. But now she said,

"I am going away, Josiah. Did thee know it?" She dropped her work so speaking, and looked up at him with her serious eyes.

"I have heard somebody saying so," he answered. "I didn't believe it, though. Dinah won't let thee go."

"Yes, do.

Will thee climb the big chestnuts this year, Josiah ?" "No."

"I'll go with thee, Josiah."

So they went together.

She left the flowers she had gathered to per

"Will thee hunt for the winter-greens in the ish on the grass, but plucked here and there, wood behind the meeting-house?"

"Thee knows I have not. But Aunt Jane wrote to us about it. I think I could find my way about there easy. It has one very crooked street that's full of people almost always. And there are some very tall, big buildings, and a court-house and a jail, where wicked people are shut up. Be careful thee don't get in."

"It's a good while since I had a real good scolding from Aunt Dinah. Does thee think she will be glad to have me go? I don't. Does thee feel glad, Josiah ?"

Josiah did not answer. She looked at him precisely because she would have chosen to look in the opposite direction. But before she looked she knew why he was silent. When she saw how sorrowful his face was her own countenance saddened; she got up from the grass; unheeded the larkspur wreaths and stems fell on the sod. "I don't think I'll go to Essex with Aunt Jane," said she.

as they walked along, a gay nasturtium from the border. She liked those brilliant colors.

Less conversation went on in the house between the sisters than out of doors between the children.

Two things had so disturbed the heart of Dinah Morril that she found safety alone in silence. Jane should not have insulted the family or the neighborhood by bringing back such paltry tokens of the world's ways to a house where Quakers had been born and bred to the third and fourth generation.

It did not speak well for her that she could so lightly afflict the heart of Dinah as she had done.

But from her childhood Jane was selfish, frivolous, and lawless; heeding restraint no more than the wind heeds gossamer; right or left, which way she cared to go, the road must open to her. Why should one think it strange that she had come for Abby? She found her life in Essex lonely-that was all-sufficient argument. When Dinah understood that this was actually Jane's errand, she said, after a long silence, in which Jane understood that her sister had looked at the matter, according to her custom, in every possible light,

"Jane, thee and me must stand one side, and see if it is going to be the best thing for Abby to let her go to Essex. Thee sees what the girl is like to make. Thee knows what the world will do to her in Essex. It is spirit, and not body, thee and me must think of."

Jane answered with heat and haste-her way when her will was determined to secure its pur

To see his distress was the thing she could poses: not bear.

"I hate Essex beforehand!" she exclaimed. "Aunt Dinah wants me here. I won't leave Aunt Dinah. I ought to belong to nobody! I don't!"

The successive steps of this argument seemed to be inevitable. One after another Abby took them, and now stood looking with a feeling that was new to her, and whose utterance made her tremble. "I ought not to have been given away," she said. It was high time for Josiah to speak.

"Jane was thy mother's twin sister. It wasn't like giving thee away. But like keeping thee." "I don't want to go to Essex, any way." "Then maybe thee will come back some time; before long."

"To Lancaster ?"

Josiah, who had consoled her with the dignity of mature years, might have sympathized with Abby in a much more ardent, childish fashion. He did not think that he had gone too far when she began to smile again. He could bear to grieve alone, so Abby did not grieve.

"It would be downright sin-that's the best I can see-to let a girl like Abby grow up here in this out-of-the-way place. She is far too bright and too handsome. I can do better for her. She will have society in Essex. She will have better advantages every way. It is all folly-downright childishness-to lay such stress on the cut of a coat or the shape of a bonnet, or on the colors one wears. I'm persuaded of it, Dinah."

And what could Dinah answer? The child belonged to Jane.

Some time after this Jane was able to perceive, the business being settled according to her mind, that two views were to be taken of it. She said accordingly to her sister:

"Dinah, dear, what will become of thee? Come, sell the farm and live with us in Essex; or in the village, if thee can not be got away from Lancaster. Get among people-do! It's dreadful to think of thee going on year after year up here in this way. I should die if I had

to stay here a twelvemonth."

Dinah answered with a chilled heart, though

"I was going down to the new dam when I the words had a soft sound:

saw thee under the cherry-tree," he said.

"But thee will not stay a year, Jane! I

should die in any other place-if people do ever | word preached. Would thee have us set up die of homesickness. Our father lived here against the community, as if we were holier ninety years. He was born here, on Lancaster than they? Surely thee can't see a sin in a litHill. I remember how he loved every thing tle bit of ribbon or a gold pin. Now, Dinah, about this place. I seem to see him often walk- thee can't." ing in the garden, and through that very door!" Shade of Sylvester Morril! Awful image of uncompromising man! Jane shuddered as she thought of that stern, unflinching power Dinah had, as it were, summoned to confront them in the kitchen. What a frown did she see gathering and deepening between those massive eyebrows! And from those lips that had in life established nothing except by affirmation, how, as by a curse, an oath seemed to be made good! Do the rigors of faith defeat its best decrees? He had not been dead a year when Dinah saw a rebel against the religion of generations in Sylvester's darling child.

Jane looked at Dinah as one looks on a harsh judge who can not possibly understand the case which happily has passed beyond his jurisdic-"the world." tion-with some pain, mingled with much secret satisfaction.

"Will thee miss Abby very much, dear Di- not endure, though she might not flinch from nah?"