from far and near. A number of preachers are on hand, and things are kept at high pressure. Here an ugly feature presents itself, that detracts from the praiseworthy character of the gathering. Among those that come, caring nothing whatever about the seating capacity of the house, are the young men of the surrounding country. Among them are certain youths whose preparation for the occasion has been a moonlight trip, in company with a jug, to some recess of the Blue Ridge. Being under stringent prohibition ban, intoxicating liquor is theoretically unobtainable in the country; but when the jug comes back from the trip it is full, or partially so, and the bearer thereof is not uncommonly in a similar condition. In every. day life the youth is a civilly conducted, ordinary specimen of rustic, but when he comes to the meeting and gets under the twofold influence of the general prevailing excitement and of the jug, he transposes himself, with the celerity of a quick-change stage artist, into the bold bad man of the yellowbacked "thriller," with the bold bad shooting-iron in his hip pocket. He is crazy to do something to get into the limelight, and to prove what a desperado he is, so he goes to "cutting up," and firing his pistol recklessly close to the wall of the church, or sometimes even through the windows or roof. Unseemly brawls occur, sometimes with serious results. Folks that know say it is the quality of the Blue Ridge de

coction that is accountable for the rowdyism, and declare that were the materials used in making the stuff confined to corn and apples, and were the blue-fire-at-the - wings ingredients, such as concentrated lye and tobacco stems, used more sparingly, there would be no more of such trouble. It may be so, but at its unadulterated best it is 8 beverage of raw ferocity that even a mountaineer should refrain from in going to church. That law-abiding citizens go on tolerating exhibitions of the sort is a disgrace. Already fully supported by liquor laws, pistol-carrying laws, and public worship protection laws, they should find no difficulty in cleaning up the blot. The slowness of their ways and moves is the only reason that can be assigned for their failure to have done this long ago.

In conducting his affairs, the farmer is a diligent student of signs and omens. His almanac is to him as the Oracle of Delphi, and he consults with care the phases of the moon in her seasons, and the positions of the planets in their courses, for his daily guidance. He runs not after the new-fangled false gods of science and soilchemistry in farming. All things may look favourable and seasonable, and he may be quite ready for his potato planting, but he knows better than to put them in the ground "the pints of the moon say "No." They are "up. And has it not been decreed of old that no tuber

of the genus potato must be put in the ground except when the horns of the moon are down. So he bides his time, and looks around for some other job for which the conditions are favourable.

Along with many other superstitious folk in the world, he has a childlike faith in the Ground Hog. On the second day of February he may be observed in the morning anxiously peering at the heavens. He has much work laid off for some time ahead, and this is "ground-hog day." That interesting "varmint" has been hibernating for months past, but to-day he knows that much depends on his actions, so he is awake and astir betimes. Upon emerging from the burrow, should he be unable, by reason of an overcast sky, to behold his shadow on the ground, then all is well for the farmer. But should a sun-ray throw the image of his uncouth figure where he can see it, it is his duty at once to retire again to the privacy of his home and remain there forty days, during which the weather will be evil, No doubt the animal's accuracy in calendar reading and prognostication were acquired when Noah shut him into the Ark, and "the windows of heaven

The

were opened, and the rain was upon the earth forty days and forty nights." Anyway, he is an old established weather bureau now. The mountain climate being so industrious and erratio that the oldest inhabitant does not presume to foretell the weather twentyfour hours in advance, the meteorological prediction of the ground hog is the more remarkable. There are "Ruling Days" for all things. deadening of trees, the laying of rail fence, the roofing of a house, the setting of a hen, and a whole list of other simple acts, are controlled by the imperative "Thou shalt" or "Thou shalt not" of the horoscope of the Zodiac. The setting out of a young fruit-tree takes a careful placing of both the hands upon it, at a certain stage of the operation, after the manner of blessing it, to ensure its fructifying. And so on, in an endless variety of matters. Yet the native will tell you solemnly he is not "supersteetious." Perhaps he is not. Maybe he is only diligent in business and wedded to tradition. Let us, who have not been bred so far from the madding crowd of a matter-of-fact world, at least give him the benefit of the doubt.

THE glorious full moon of Central Africa looked down upon a curious scene. The inhabitants of little Jur village were squatting in a circle round an open space, in the middle of which a small fire was burning. On the fire, wedged between three stones, was a small earthenware cup in which some water steamed and bubbled. Round and round the fire moved Mayom, the village witch-doctor, muttering incantations and sorceries as he went. Occasionally he broke into a curious, hopping dance, twisting and wriggling his body into the strangest contortions. From time to time also he went up to the fire and poured more water into the cup, and each time that he did this he called aloud the name of some woman who lived in the village. Then followed a dead silence, and the assembled people gazed anxiously at the little cup.

For Mayom was going through this mysterious ceremony in order to find out the name of the woman who had caused the death of the chief's infant son. It was known that the child's death must have been the work of some witch, because such was the tribal superstition, handed down from time immemorial. It was the custom in such cases for the witch-doctor to put water and the seed of a certain tree into VOL. CXC.-NO. MCLI.

I.

the cup, and then to call out a woman's name: if the water bubbled and boiled over so that it hissed into the fire, all was well for that particular woman, and her reputation and life were saved; but woe to any woman if the water refused to boil over when her name was called.

On the outer edge of the circle squatted Oyid: shivering and speechless with fear, she was waiting for her name to be called out. She herself was no great believer in the superstitions of her tribe, but she well knew that the men of the village believed implicitly in them, and that if hers was the fateful name she need expect no mercy. Already she pictured herself seized and forced to drink the fatal poison, beaten with rods, and then tied down on the red ants' nest, which had already been broken open and prepared to receive the witch.

the "gwia" was to be held, and that he would name her as the witch. The water, he had said, would not boil over when her name was called, as he would take good care not to put sufficient into the cup. In terror at his threat she had turned to him, but he had already stalked away and had refused to come back when she called to him.

When night had fallen she had pleaded sickness, in order to escape the ceremony, but her uncle, with whom she lived, had forced her to go with him to the "gwia,' to the "gwia," saying that she had nothing to fear.

And now she sat and shivered and awaited her fate.

Mayom was calling the names of the women in the order of the houses in which they lived. He had reached the house next to that in which Oyid lived: her turn came next. She could bear it no longer. Should she fly? Or should she pierce her own heart with the little knife she carried at her waist, and so avert the tortures that must otherwise be hers?

And then a sudden thought came into her mind. Only a short time before this the white men had established themselves in the country, bringing with them many soldiers armed with the dreaded rifles. They had come, they said, to rule the land fairly, and not to extort slaves and to kill the natives as had been the practice of the Turks in the old days. Many and various had been the opinions which Oyid had heard expressed about this new

government by the men of her village, as they sat during the day under the big tree near the chief's hut; but, on the whole, the general opinion had been favourable to the new rulers, and certainly the strangers had so far done no harm to the Jurs: they had not seized the women or burnt the villages. That very morning news had come to the village that a party of soldiers under the command of two white men was on its way to visit a tribe to the south of the Jurs, and was to encamp at mid-day close to a village which was only about two miles from Oyid's home.

Why then should she not test the kindness of these people, throw herself on their mercy and beg for their protection? Surely nothing could be worse for her to bear than the dreadful fate which was now so fast approaching!

Such were the thoughts which raced through her brain as, almost paralysed with fear, she listened to Mayom's mutterings and watched his hateful contortions. Terror at the idea of a rush through the forest in the night to the unknown people, and the uncertain fate which might await her, and terror at the fearful death which must be hers if she remained in her own home, for the moment made her powerless to move.

Then the water boiled in the little cup and once again hissed into the fire. Oyid's next-door neighbour was declared guiltless of witchcraft, and a low murmur of satis

faction came from the eager watchers.

Oyid's turn had now arrived, but at this critical moment the power and the decision to move also came to her. Stealthily she crept back into the darkness a few yards only separated her from the tall standing dura - fields round the village. Once amongst the crops she hoped that she would be able to get a good start, as no one would expect her to have the courage to face the terrors of the forest at night and go to the unknown white men and their soldiers.

Slowly, slowly she moved backwards. Already Mayom was pouring fresh water into the cup, and by the fitful light of the flames she imagined that she could detect on his cruel face a smile full of revenge and cunning spite.

At last she reached the dura, -it was only a few yards from where she had been sitting, but to the terrified girl the distance had seemed miles. Rising to her feet, she moved cautiously and slowly away from the "gwia,” fearing that the cracking of the stalks might be heard. By degrees she quickened her pace and soon reached a small track, along which she ran towards the wider path which led to the neighbouring village, where the white men had camped. She had not run a quarter of a mile when she heard loud and angry shouts coming from the direction of the " gwia.' Then she knew for certain that Mayom had fulfilled his threat, and had declared her to be the witch

whose sorceries had robbed the chief of his child. She instantly increased her speed and raced along the path in the clear moonlight. She knew that the avengers would search for her first in her own home, then in the houses and precincts of the village, and that only when they had failed in this search would they look for her footprints near the place where she had last been seen. But it was night, and the ground was hard, and she knew that even the clever Jur hunter would be hard put to it to find her track.

So, with feelings of mingled hope and fear, she sped on as best she could, dropping at times into a quick walk to recover her breath, and then once more running. And now, as the sounds from the village grew fainter and fainter behind her, a new dread came upon her.

The intense silence of the forest was suddenly broken by the sound of some heavy body passing through the brushwood and over the dead leaves which covered the ground in front of her. Oyid sprang from the path and crouched in the shadow of a great tree until she calmed herself by the thought that probably it was only an antelope. She rose and returned to the path, and as she did so the coughing roar of a lion, about a mile away, but sounding far nearer, sent her racing once more upon her way. On and on the exhausted girl fled. Would she never reach the camp? Or perhaps she had, in her terror,