harm, he would just as soon think of listening to Infidelity.
Painful as it was to acknowledge the fact, he only appeared at the
"Meet'n House" on Sundays for the looks of the thing, and in the
hope that it might have some influence with his nigger property.
Several times he had been heard to say it was mere
machine-preaching-made according to pattern, delivered according to
price, by persons whose heads and hearts had no sympathy with the
downcast.

"There's my prime fellow Harry; a right good fellow, worth nine
hundred, nothing short, and he is a Christian in conscience. He has
got a kind of a notion into his head about being a divine. He
thinks, in the consequence of his black noddle, that he can preach
just as well as anybody; and, believe me, he can't read a letter in
the book,--at least, I don't see how he can. True, he has heard the
Elder's sermon so often that he has committed every word of it to
memory,--can say it off like a plantation song, and no mistake." Thus
Marston discoursed. And yet he declared that nobody could fool him
with the idea of "niggers" having souls: they were only mortal,--he
would produce abundant proof, if required.

Deacon Rosebrook listened attentively to this part of Marston's
discourse. "The task of proving your theory would be rendered
difficult if you were to transcend upon the scale of blood," he
replied, getting up and spreading his handkerchief over the Elder's
face, to keep off the mosquitoes.

"When our most learned divines and philosophers are the stringent
supporters of the principle, what should make the task difficult?
Nevertheless, I admit, if my fellow Harry could do the preaching for