[From Howitt's Country Year Book.] THE ECCENTRIC PREACHER.

In one of those strolls which I have always loved to take into different and little frequented parts of these kingdoms, I fell in with a venerable old man, dressed in black, with very white hair, and of a mild, some what melancholy look. It was a beautiful scene where I first encountered him-in a wood, on the banks of a noble river. I accosted the old man with a remark on the delightfulness of the time and place; and he replied to my observation with a warmth, and in a tone, which strongly affected me. I soon found that he was as enthusiastic a lover of nature as myself-that he had seen many of the finest portions of the kingdom, and had wandered through them with Milton or Shakspeare, Herbert or Quarles, in his hand. He was one of those who, reading with his own eyes and heart, and not through the spectacles of critics, had not been taught to despise the last old poet, nor to treat his rich and quaint versification, and his many manly and noble thoughts, as the conceits and rhymes of a poetaster. His reverence for the great names of our literature, and his just appreciation of their works, won upon me greatly. I invited him to continue his walk; and so well was I pleased with him -to visit me at my rustic lodgment.

From that day, for some weeks, we daily walked together. I more and more contemplated with admiration and esteem the knowledge, the fine taste, the generous sentiments, the profound love of nature which seemed to fill the whole being of the old man. But who and whence was he? He said not a word on that subject, and I did not, therefore, feel freedom to inquire. He might have secret griefs, which such a query might awaken. I respect too much the wounded heart of humanity carelessly to probe it, and especially the heart of a solitary being who, in the downward stage of life, may, perchance, be the stripped and scathed remnant of a once-endeared family. He stood before me alone. He entered into reminiscences, but they were reminiscences connected with no near ties; but had such ties now existed, he would in some hour of frank enthusiasm have said so. He did not say it, and it was, therefore, sufficiently obvious, that he had a history which he left down in the depths of his heart, beyond the vision of all but that heart itself. And yet, whatever were the inward memories of this venerable man, there was a buoyancy and youthfulness of feeling about him which amply manifested that they had not quenched the love and enjoyment of life in him.

On different days we took, during the most beautiful spring, strolls of many miles into distant vales and villages, and on the wild brown moors. Now we sate by a moorland stream, talking of many absorbing things in the history of the poetry and the religion of our country, and I could plainly see that my ancient friend had in him the spirit of an old Covenanter, and that, had he lived in the days of contest between the church of kings and the church of God, he would have gone to the field or the stake for his faith as triumphantly as any martyr of those times.

Now we entered a village inn, and ate our simple luncheon; and now we stood in some hamlet lane, or by its mossy well, with a group of children about us, among whom not a child appeared more child-like or more delighted than the old man. Nay, as we came back from a fifteen or twenty miles' stroll, he would leap over a stile with the activity of a boy, or run up to a wilding bush, covered with its beautiful pink blossoms, and breaking off a branch hold it up in admiration, and declare that it appeared almost sinful for an old man like him to enjoy himself so keenly. I know not when I more deeply felt the happiness and the holiness of existence, the wealth of intellect, and the blessings of our fancies, sympathies, and affection, than I used to do as this singular stranger sate with me on the turf-seat at the vine-covered end of the old cottage, which then made my temporary residence, on the serene evenings of that season, over our rustic tea-table, and with the spicy breath of the wall-flowers of that little garden breathing around us, and held conversation on many a subject of moral and intellectual speculation which then deeply interested me. In some of those evening hours he at length gave me glimpses into his past existence. Things more strange and melancholy than I could ever have suspected had passed over him, and only the more interested me in him.

Such had been our acquaintance for some months, when, one evening, happening to be in the neighboring town, and passing through a densely populated part of it, I saw a number of people crowding into a chapel. With my usual curiosity in all that relates to the life, habits, and opinions of my fellow-men, I entered, and was no little surprised to behold my ancient friend in the pulpit. As I believed he had not observed me enter, and as I was desirous to hear my worthy friend, thus most unexpectedly found in this situation, without attracting his attention, I therefore seated myself in the shade of a pillar, and awaited the sermon. My surprise, as I listened to it, was excessive, on more accounts than one. I was surprised at the intense, fervid, and picturesque blaze of eloquence

midst of his audience; when, at evening, in walked the old man with his usual quiet smile, and shaking me affectionately by the hand, sat down in a wooden chair opposite me. I looked again and again, but in vain, to recognize the floating figure and the exalted countenance of the evening.

The old man took up my book, and began to read. A sudden impulse seized me which I have never ceased to regret. I did not wish abruptly to tell the old man that I had seen him in the pulpit, but I longed to discuss with him the ground of his peculiar views, and said,

that breathed forth from the preacher, seem-verted to the image of the preacher in the ing to light up the whole place, and fill it with an unearthly and cloudy fire. I was more astonished by the singularity and wildness of the sentiments uttered. I looked again and again at the rapt and ecstatic preacher. His frame seemed to expand, and to be buoyed up, by his glowing enthusiasm, above the very height of humanity. His hair, white as snow, seemed a pale glory burning round his head, and his countenance, warm with the expression of his entranced spirit, was molten into the visage of a pleading seraph, who saw the terrors of the Divinity revealed before him, and felt only that they for whom he wrestled were around him. They hung upon that awful and unearthly countenance with an intensity which, in beings at the very bar of eternal judgment, hanging on the advocacy of an angel, could scarcely have been exceeded; and when he ceased, and sat down, a sigh, as from every heart at once, went through the place, which marked the fall of their rapt imaginations from the high region whither his words and expressive features had raised them, to the dimness and reality of earth. I could scarcely persuade myself that this was my late friend of the woods and fields, and of the evening discourse, so calm and dispassionate, over our little tea-table.

I escaped cautiously with the crowd, and eagerly interrogated a man who passed out near me who was the preacher? He looked at me with an air of surprise; but seeing me a stranger, he said he thought I could not have been in those parts long, or I should have known Mr. MI then learned that my venerable acquaintance was one whose name was known far and wideknown for the strange and fascinating powers of his pulpit eloquence, and for the peculiarity of his religious views. The singularity of those notions alone had prevented his becoming one of the most popular religious orators of his time. They had been the source of perpetual troubles and persecutions to him; they had estranged from him the most zealous of his friends from time to time; yet they were such only as he could lay down at the threshold of Divine judgment; and still, wherever he went, although they were a root of bitterness to him in private, he found in public a crowd of eager and enthusiastic hearers, who hung on his words as if they came at once warm from the inner courts of heaven.

"What do you think, my friend, of the actual future destiny of the

I made the question include his peculiar doctrines. He laid down the volume with a remarkable quickness of action. He gazed at me for a moment with a look humbled but not confused, such as I had never seen in him before, and, in a low voice, said,

"You were then at my chapel last night?" "I was," I replied.

"I am sorry-I am sorry," he said, rising, with a sigh. "It has been a pleasant time, but it is ended. Good-by, my dear young friend, and may God bless you!”

He turned silently and quickly away.

66

Stop!" I cried. "Stop!" But he heard or heeded not. I ran to the gate to lay hold on him, and assure him that his sentiments would not alter my regard for him, but I observed him already hastening down the lane at such a speed that 1 judged it rude and useless at that moment to pursue.

I went down that day to his lodgings to assure him of my sentiments toward him, but door and window were closed, and if he were in he would not hear me. Early next morning a little ragged boy brought me a note, saying a gentleman in the lane had given it to him. It simply said:

"Dear young friend, good-by. You wonder at my abruptness; but my religion has always been fatal to my friendship. You will say it would not with you: so has many another assured me; but I am too well schooled by bitter experience. I have had a call to a distant place. No one knows of it, and I trust the name to no one. The pleasure of your society has detained me, or I had obeyed the call a month ago. May we meet in heaven! C. M."

He was actually gone, and no one knew whither.

The sense of this discovery, and of the Time had passed over, and I had long whole strange scene of the last evening, hung imagined this strange and gifted being in his powerfully upon me through the following grave, when in a wild and remote part of the day. I sat on the bench of my cottage win- kingdom, the other day, I accidentally stumdow, with a book in my hand, the greater bled upon his retreat, and found him in his part of it, but my thoughts continually re-pulpit with the same rapt aspect, uttering an

MAGNETISM AMONG THE SHAKERS.

harangue as exciting, and surrounded by an
audience as eagerly devouring his words.

99 This was

good as when I was young
enthusiasm in the old Shaker; but to us it
sounded strangely, who knew that she who
had so kindly condescended to call back
brother W's youth, had held crowds en-

MAGNETISM AMONG THE SHAKERS. tranced by her genius. Brother Wis a

BY MISS C. M. SEDGWICK.

One of the brethren from a Shaker settle-
ment in our neighborhood, called on us the
other day. I was staying with a friend, in
whose atmosphere there is a moral power,
analogous to some chemical test, which elicits
from every form of humanity whatever of
sweet and genial is in it. Our visitor was
an old acquaintance, and an old member of
his order, having joined it more than forty
years ago, with his wife and two children.
I have known marked individuals among
these people, and yet it surprises me when I
see an original stamp of character surviving
the extinguishing monotony of life, or rather
suspended animation among them. What
God has impressed man cannot efface. To a
child's eye, each leaf of a tree is like the
other; to a philosopher's, each has its distinc-
tive mark.

Our friend W's individuality might
He has
have struck a careless observer.
nothing of the angular, crusty, silent aspect
of his yea and nay brethren, who have a per-
fect conviction that they have dived to the
bottom of the well and found the pearl truth,
while all the rest of the world look upon
them as the bottom of a well indeed; but
without the pearl, and with only so much
light as may come in through the little aper-
ture that communicates with the outward
world. Neither are quite right; the Shaker
has no monopoly of truth or holiness, but we
believe he has enough of both to light a
is
dusky path to heaven. Friend W.

genial old man, and fifty years of abstinence
from the world's pleasures has not made him
forget or contemn them. He resembles the
jolly friars in conventual life, who never re-
sist, and are therefore allowed to go without
bits or reins and in a very easy harness.
There is no galling in restraint where there
is no desire for freedom. It is the "immor-
tal longings" that make the friction in life.

After dinner, B-, at brother W-'s
request, sat down to the piano, and played
for him the various tunes that were the favor
ites in rustic inland life forty years ago.
First the Highland Reel, then "Money
Musk." "I remember who I danced that
with," he said, "Sophy Drury. The ball
was held in the school-room at Feeding fields.
She is tight built, and cheeks as red as a rose,
(past and present were confounded in brother
W's imagination.) I went home with
Sophy-it was as light as day, and near up-
on day-them was pleasant times!" conclu-
ded the old man, but without one sigh of re-
gret, and with a gleam of light from his
"There have been no
twinkling gray eye.
such pleasant times since, brother W-
has there?" asked B-, with assumed or
real sympathy. "I can't say that, B—, it
has been all along pleasant. I have had
what others called crosses, but I don't look at
them that way-what's the use, B-? ”

The old man's philosophy struck me.
There was no record of a cross in his round
jolly face. "Were you married?" "O yes;
I married at twenty-it's never too soon nor
too late to do right, you know, and it was
right for me to marry according to the light
I had then. May be you think it was a cross
to part from my wife-all men don't take it
so-but I own I should; I liked Eunice. She
is a peaceable woman, and we lived in unity,
but it was rather hard times, and we felt a
call to join the brethren, and so we walked
out of the world together, and took our two
In the Society she was
children with us.
the first woman, handy in all cases.
she is still with you?"

"And

a man of no pretension whatever; but con-
tent in conscious mediocrity. We were at
dinner when he came in; but friend Wis
too child-like or too simple, to be disturbed
by any observance of conventional politeness.
He declined an invitation to dine, saying he
had eaten and was not hungry, and seated
himself in the corner, after depositing some
apples on the table, of rare size and beauty.
"I have brought some notions, too," he
said, "for you, B- -," and he took from his
ample pocket his handkerchief, in which he
had tied up a parcel of sugar-plums and pep-
permints. Baccepted them most affably,
"I went after Eunice, and tried to per-
and without any apparent recoiling, shifted
them from the old man's handkerchief to an suade her to come back, and she felt so; but
"Half of them," its hard rooting out mother love; it's planted
empty plate beside her.
deep, and spreads wide; so I left her to na-
he said," remember, B-, are for
You both played and sung to me last sum-ture, and troubled myself no more about it,
mer-I don't forget it. She is a likely wo- for what was the use? My son, too, took a
man, and makes the music sound almost as liking to a young English girl that was one
VOL. I.-2.—FEB. '51-B2

"No. Our girl took a notion and went off, and got married, and my wife went after her-that's natural for mothers, you know.

1

kind of gifts, but a contented mind, and submission to those in authority, and I don't see at all into this new mystery. It makes me of a tremble when I think of it. I'll tell you how it acts. Last summer I was among our brethren in York State, and when I was coming away, I went down into the garden to take leave of a young brother there. He asked me if I would carry something for him to Vesta. Vesta is a young sister, famous for her spiritual gifts, whirling, &c."-[ could have added, for I had seen Vesta-for

of our sisters may be you have seen her?" We had all seen her and admired her fresh English beauty, and deplored her fate. "Well, she was a picture, and speaking after the manner of men, as good as she was handsome. They went off together: I could not much blame them, and I took no steps after them for what was the use? But come, B, strike up again; play Haste to the Wedding."" Bobeyed, and our old friend sung or chanted a low accompaniment; in which the dancing tune and the Shaker nasal chant were ludicrously mingled. B other less questionable gifts in the world's played all his favorite airs, and said, "You do love dancing, brother W-?" "Yes, to be sure-praise him in the cymbals and dances!"

head. 66

"Oh, but I mean such dances as we have here. Would not you like, brother W———, to come over and see us dance?" "Why, may be I should. "And would not you like to dance with one of our pretty young ladies, brother W-?" May be I should." The old man's face lit up joyously, but he smiled and shook his They would not let me, B―, they would not let me." Perhaps the old Shaker's imagination wandered for a moment from the very straight path of the brotherhood, but it was but a moment. His face reverted to its placid passiveness, and he said, "I am perfectly content. I have enough to eat and drink-everything good after its kind, toogood clothes to wear, a warm bed to sleep in, and just as much work as I like, and no more. "All this and heaven too"-of which the old man felt perfectly sure, was quite enough to fill the measure of a Shaker's desires.

"Now, B- -," said he, "you think so much of your dances, I wish you could see one of our young sisters dance, when we go up to Mount Holy. She has the whirlwind gift; she will spin round like a top on one foot, for half an hour, all the while seeing visions, and receiving revelations."

This whirling is a recent gift of the Shakers. The few "world's folk" who have been permitted to see its exhibition, compare its subjects to the whirling Dervishes.

"Have you any other new inspiration?" I asked.

"Gifts, you mean? Oh, yes; we have visionists. It's a wonderful mystery to me. I never was much for looking into mysteries -they rather scare me!" Naturally enough, poor childlike old man!

"What, brother W- ," I asked, "do you mean by a visionist?"

I can't exactly explain," he replied. "They see things that the natural eye can't see, and hear, and touch, and taste, with inward senses. As for me, I never had any

estimation-a light graceful figure, graceful
even in the Shaker's straight jacket, and a
face like a young Sybil's,-"Well," con-
tinued brother W
"he put his hand

6

in his pocket as if to take out something, and then stretching it to me, he said, 'I want you to give this white pear to Vesta.' I felt to take something, though I saw nothing, and a sort of a trickling heat ran through me; and even now, when I think of it, I have the same feeling, fainter, but the same. When I got home I asked Vesta if she knew that young brother. Yea,' she said. I put my hand in my pocket and took it out again, to all earthly seeming as empty as it went in, and stretched it out to her. Oh, a white pear!' she said. As I hope for salvation, every word that I tell you is true," concluded the old man. It was evident he believed every word of it to be true. The incredulous may imagine that there was some clandestine intercourse between the" young brother" and "young sister," and that simple old Wilcox was merely made the medium of a fact or sentiment, symbolized by the white pear. However that may be, it is certain that animal magnetism has penetrated into the cold and dark recesses of the Shakers. -Sartain's Magazine.

ENCOUNTER WITH A PRAIRIE WOLF.

I have never known these animals, rapacious as they are, extend their attacks to man, though they probably would if very hungry, and a favorable opportunity presented itself. I shall not soon forget an adventure with one of them, many years ago, on the frontiers of Missouri. Riding near the prairie border, I perceived one of the largest, and fiercest of the gray species, which had just descended from the west, and seemed famished to desperation. I at once prepared for a chase; and being without arms, I caught up a cudgel, when I betook me valiantly to the charge, much stronger, as I soon discovered, in my cause than in my equipment. The wolf was in no humor to flee, however, but boldly met me full half-way. I was soon disarmed, for my club broke upon the animal's head. He then "laid

to" my horse's legs, which, not relishing the conflict, gave a plunge, and sent me whirling over his head, and made his escape, leaving me and the wolf at close quarters. I was no sooner upon my feet than my antagonist renewed the charge; but being without weapon, or any means of awakening an emotion of terror, save through his imagination, I took off my large black hat, and using it for a shield began to thrust it towards his gaping jaws. My ruse had the desired effect; for after springing at me a few times, he wheeled about, and trotted off several paces, and stopt to gaze at me. Being apprehensive that he might change his mind and return to the attack, and conscious that, under the compromise, I had the best of the bargain, I very resolutely took to my heels, glad of the opportunity of making a drawn game, though I had myself given the challenge. Journal of a Santa Fe Trader.

FRIDAY AN UNLUCKY DAY. From an article published in "Dickens' Household Words," under the head of "Fate Days and other Popular Superstitions," we take the following paragraph respecting Friday.

[From the United Service Magazine.]

THE ADVENTURES OF A SWIMMER.

Of moving accidents by flood-
Of hair-breadth 'scapes-
It is my hint to speak.

EVERY man, I suppose, has his passion. Mine, for many years, was swimming. It would, indeed, have been strange had it been otherwise, for I was, in a sense, brought up in the sea; my childhood was spent upon its shores, and many years of my after life were past in trips and adventures upon its friendly and familiar bosom. Whilst still a very child, I acquired for the ocean, for its waves, and its sands, and its shells, and its pebbles, and its rocks, and the pleasant and invigorating atmosphere of its weedy beach, a fondness and enthusiasm which made me long look upon it as a spirited but affectionate steed, and which, even now that I have been for many years residing in an inland district, makes me wish to "lay my hand upon its mane" once more. When yet but a little thing of but four or five years old, with what delight, with what a terror of delight did I not venture forth into the deep waters, borne upon the shoulders of a cousin of mine, a "The superstition so generally connected capital swimmer-how I chuckled, and strugwith Friday, may easily be traced to its gled, and screamed, between an irresistible source. It undoubtedly and confessedly has glee and an uncontrollable fear. By and bye, its origin in scriptural history: it is the day I grew taller and stronger, and I could manon which the Saviour suffered. The super-age for myself, and after the usual ordeal of stition is the more revolting from this circumstance; and it is painful to find that it exists among persons of education. There is no branch of the public service, for instance, in which so much sound mathematical knowledge is to be found, as in the navy. Yet who are more superstitious than sailors, from the admiral down to the cabin boy? Friday fatality is still strong among them. Some years ago, in order to lessen this folly, it was determined that a ship should be laid down on a Friday, and launched on a Friday; that she should be called Friday,' and that she Others may be much better swimmers should commence her first voyage on a Fri- than I am, for great expertness in swimming day. After much difficulty, a captain was depends upon many qualities, which are selfound who owned to the name of Friday; and dom found united. It depends on long lithe after a great deal more difficulty, men were limbs, depth of chest, a light head. (By the obtained, so little superstitious, as to form a way, it is remarkable that Byron, whose head, crew. Unhappily, this experiment had the though not large, is said to have been so effect of confirming the superstition it was heavy, so full of brain, should have been the meant to abolish. The Friday' was lost-swimmer that he was.) It depends, too, on was never, in fact, heard of from the day she

set sail."

DISPUTES.-It is an excellent rule to be observed in all disputes, that men should give soft words and hard arguments; that they should not so much strive to vex as to convince an opponent.—Wilkins,

sinking, and sprawling, and swallowing many a draught of the bitter brine I came, at length, to bear my head above water, and to strike out boldly, and to look upon the blue sea with a sympathy unalloyed by apprehension, even when the billows would toss, and fret, and curl with the crest of angry serpents, and rise in hillocks between me and the land, leaving to my eyes no other prospect than the palpitating waves and the overarching sky, or, perhaps, the glimmering sail of a ship far, far away in the distance.

the slight bones, and on a frame in which nerve and energy have the preponderance over mere strength and blood. Fat and stoutness, though vulgarly supposed to be capital points for a swimnier, are, no doubt, very useful things in ennabling a man to float, but the ability to float depending entirely on confidence, they become points of very little