With uplifted hearts, we said our last good-bye, and went away rejoicing in her triumph over the terrors of death and at the thought of the glory that awaited her. As we passed out of sight, she entered within the gates, with that radiant look upon her face; and the next day at sunset we laid her away to rest.
From this "Beulah-land," we hastened on to visit a man who was in the last stages of consumption. We had been for some time doing what we could that he might be prepared for the great change that was drawing near. In the low doorway, sat an old hag-like woman, who stared at us with a look of rage, as we passed by her into the room where the sick man was. Sultry as was the day, there was a hot blaze in the cavernous fireplace. Over it hung an iron kettle, from which most sickening odors emanated. The sick man was in a heavy stupor. We tried in vain to arouse him, even for a moment. His wife looked unusually cheerful, as she assured us that he "was a great deal better; that he did not cough at all, and rested mighty easy."
We understood the situation at once. The poor woman was densely ignorant, and believed her husband had been "conjured." The old hag in the doorway was "a witch doctor," who had promised to cure him for ten dollars! How the poor wife with her five little children to support managed to raise it, God only knows; but she had done it, and was pouring down that unconscious man's throat, hourly doses of a villainous compound of most loathsome things, over which the old hag muttered her incantations, and worked her Satanic spells. She watched us with her evil eye as we looked pityingly upon the poor sufferer, and glared menacingly when we told the poor wife that he was no better; that the end was near.
That very night the death-like stupor was broken by agonies of torture which racked the wasted frame for many hours. There was no respite for a prayer, or for a thought of the eternity into which his poor soul was hastening. The witch doctor fled in haste, unable to endure the sight of the tortures she herself had invoked. It was an unutterable relief when those shrieks of agony were hushed by the awful silence of death.
To us, there came an added burden of care as we realized how many of this people are still in bondage to these heathenish customs and superstitions. Nothing but the light of a pure gospel and the elevating influences of education, will lift them out of their degradation. It will take years of time, and patient labor, and will cost something; but these souls are precious to God. They are "the heathen at our door." There are millions of them! They will soon be a mighty power for good or evil in our nation. Which shall it be?
A CALL FROM AUNT MARY.
Aunt Mary is a member of one of our colored churches—a genuine daughter of Africa—possessing characteristics belonging rather to the rougher than the softer sex—a peddler by occupation; peddling cast-off clothing (which she gets from white folks) among her colored sisters.
This business, together with her masculine performances and her qualification in plantation melodies, makes her exceedingly popular with the colored people of the town.
"Hello! Hello!" rang out from the highest key-note one morning just after breakfast. Going to the door to see who it was, aunt Mary was standing at the gate; she had come to make us a social and business call.