s, but there is some jealousy of the
surpassing length of his prayers. The other evening he was standing, as
his custom is, with his long arms upraised with many a strange gesture.
He had been on his feet half an hour already, and there began to be
signs of restlessness among the bowed heads around him. Still, there was
no sign of any let up. He was engaged in drawing a vivid picture of the
condition of the universe in the abstract, the world in general and his
country and native village in particular, and required ample time fully
to elucidate his views regarding their needs, but proposed to illustrate
it by quotations. "O Lord," said he, "Thou knowest what the poet Cowper
says--" He paused and cleared his throat as if the better to articulate
the inspired strains of poetry, and began again more emphatically: "O
Lord, Thou art probably aware what the poet Cowper says--" but the
second time broke off. He could not remember what it was the poet Cowper
said, but with a view to taking the place his memory halted at, went
back to the starting-place and recommenced: "O Lord, Thou recollectest
what the poet Cowper says--" It was of no use: he could not think of it,
and with a wild gesture put his hand to his head. "O Lord," he exclaimed
in a tone of excessive pain, "_I cannot remember what the poet Cowper
says_," and prepared to go on with other matter; but Deacon Smith had
been watching his opportunity for twenty minutes, and was already on
his feet. "_Let us pray_," he said in a deep voice, which broke on
Brother Lewis's ears with preternatural power, and he was obliged to sit
down while the senior deacon held forth. No sooner, however, had Deacon
Smith's amen sounded than Mr. Eli Lewis started up. "O Lord," he cried
in a tone of heartfelt satisfaction, "I remember now what the poet
Cowper says;" and, repeating it at length, he finished his remarks.

It was Deacon Smith who one Sunday asked his pastor to put a petition
for rain into his afternoon prayer, as moisture was very much needed by
the deacon's parched fields and meadows. Accordingly, Dr. Peters, who
was something of a rhetorician, alluded in his prayer to the melancholy
prospects of the harvest unless rain should soon be sent, and requested
that the Almighty would consider their sufferings and dispense the
floods which He held in His right hand. After service, as the reverend
doctor left the church, he saw Mr. Smith standing rigid in the porch,
perhaps looking for a