operator, who bore a most laughable likeness
to an old acquaintance of ours, little was to be
extracted but sighs and nods of the head of
deep meaning; but another disciple, while he
gave hearty thumps to the leather on his knee,
and vigorous twitches of his taching-end,
afforded me considerable insight into the
Goosetrap creed. He blessed the Lord that
nothing on earth could hurt him, while he
was faithful. Neither fire, nor robbers, nor
sickness, nor poverty, nor any evil could come
near him; for he was the Lord's; he had his
promises, and they could not fail. Neither
flames could burn him, nor gun shoot him, nor
water drown him, nor rope hang him, nor
knife pierce him—"bless the Lord for it!"

Brother Witness also declared that he had
lately run a nail an inch long into his foot:
that to other people not in the faith it might
have been fatal, and have most likely produced
lock-jaw; but as for himself, he had never
looked at the wound; it might have bled; he
could not say—he knew that it could not
hurt him.

I remarked that they could not in their
community require much service from the
doctors.

"Doctors!" said the man; "no, bless the
Lord! and praised be his name! never a
doctor had ever come within the doors of any
of brother Witness's friends! None but
unbelievers ever wanted doctors! Christ had
commanded his disciples to lay their hands
on the sick, and pray for them; anointing
them with oil; and they were healed. It
was only wickedness and unbelief that kept
such things as doctors in the world: if men
had been faithful, doctors would long ago
have ceased to be heard of."

But, did he believe in miracles taking
place now-a-days?

Miracles! Bless the Lord! there are no
miracles with him. His word was the same
yesterday, to-day, and for ever; unbelieving
men only called those miracles that were the
works of God for his elect. Christians have
everything that was promised them of old.

"But where are the Christians," I asked,
"that now-a-days find themselves cured by
laying on of hands?"

"Where ?" said the man, raising his head
to its full height, stretching up his neck like
a giraffe, and with a swelling chest and
expanding nostrils, breathing forth his words in
a loud, singing, and inflated tone ; "where
are they ? where are they, indeed ? The
world calls itself Christian ; but it lies in
darkness ; it believes not, neither doth it the
works of faith ; and therefore it flies for help
to doctors, clergymen, magistrates, soldiers
and the like—all empty pitchers that can
carry no water—all broken reeds and stubble,
to be burnt up with unquenchable fire. The
real Christians need no doctors ; they have
the promises given of old to the saints, and
that is enough for them ; they are for ever
redeemed out of the power of drugs, and
pestles and mortars. Nothing can hurt them,
and that is the mark of the true believers;
that is the difference between them and the
empty professors, who are left to suffer many
things from many physicians."

"What do you call yourselves, then?
Witnesses?"

"Yes, bless the Lord! we are witnesses for
the faith on the earth; but we take no name
but Christians—that is our name, and none
else."

"In fact, I suppose you are the men, and
that wisdom will die with you."

"We are the Lord's, praised be his name!
but wisdom will not die with us; he will
preserve a remnant in the earth for his
name's sake."

"But suppose you broke your leg, would
not you send for a doctor?"

"Break my leg! bless the Lord! he will
never suffer a bone of me to be broken, while
I am faithful; he will keep me as the apple
of his eye. That is his promise; I have it,
and it cannot fail."

In a word, here we had the nucleus of
brother Witness's doctrine. He teaches his
adherents that all the world is still heathen,
in spite of its professions, except himself and
his disciples; that the test of being real
Christians is the power of working all the
miracles that were wrought by the Apostles
themselves. But the reader will ask, "Does
he do these miracles?"  No. "And yet
do the people believe him?" Yes. This
man, in a county bordering on the Metropolis
of England—we are talking of a real man,
and no shadow; of his real doctrines and
practice, and no fictions—this man has taught
his doctrine far and wide, and has found so
many followers, that we were assured they
have now about thirty chapels in different
places, and one or more in London itself. He
professes to cure all illnesses by the laying on
of hands, and by anointing the patient with oil.
But does he cure them, you ask?  He says
he does; and the people, when appealed to,
say he does. They die, it is true; but nobody
lives for ever.

And it is a fact that, not far from this
metropolis, there is an extensive sect who
never call in medical aid to assist their women
in childbirth; who never have their children
vaccinated; who, through all the perils of
the distempers incident to infancy and child-
hood, never seek or use the aid of medical
science; who, in any case where a surgical
operation—nay, even amputation—might
relieve suffering, or preserve life, refuse such
aid as sinful and superfluous; who, in the
most violent acute diseases, or the most
contagious fevers, do nothing more, and put faith
in nothing more, than the laying on of hands,
praying, and anointing with oil. If the
sufferer die, "It is the Lord's will";  and that
is the all-sufficing phrase!

There is something alarming in the
spread of this fanaticism. Some day there