A NEGRO REVIVAL.

Rugby, Tennessee, September 11th, 1886.

ICAN scarcely remember the time when I was not curious to know more about, and of course, if the chance ever offered, to be present at, a negro prayer-meeting, such as one

reads about in so many books whose scene is laid in this sunny land. Well, some days ago I got the chance. I met here a young stranger, who had ridden up through the forest on a

voyage of discovery, and wanted to find his way to the junction of our two mountain streams, the " White Oak," and " Clear Fork," of which he had heard strange stories, somewhere just below the village (or town, as he politely named it). They talked, he added, of azalea and rhododendron bushes 20 ft.—nay, 30 ft. high, and of magnolias the size of forest trees ! I could see that he was too polite to stamp these rumours with the name he thought they deserved. I pointed out the path, merely caution- ing him that he would not find the azaleas, &a c, in flower just now, and he went his way. An hour or so later we again met, and he was so satisfied with what he had seen that we fraternised. He hitched up his nag, and we fell into talk about the moun- tain and mountain-folk. I found that he was a young theological student (I didn't gather whether he was in any kind of Orders), and had come down to take temporary charge of a congregation, at another " town " some nine miles hence. His was a white church, but there was also a church of "coloured brethren" there, who were just now having what we should call, I suppose, a " revival ;" I am sorry I have forgotten the name he gave it. I asked if they would mind a stranger being present. "Certainly not," he said, " they specially invited all white brethren." Besides, he was on the best of terms with their minister and deacons, and would go up with me if I felt any- ways shy. The special object of the " revival" was to " get through " as many of the church as possible before a flood of strange labour poured in. This might be any day now, as a big coal company was just going to open a seam 41 ft. thick, which they had struck close to the town site. He was rather nervous as to the effect of this on his own congregation, and, I fancied (though I abstained from inquiry), was doing something of the same kind with his own people. I thanked him, and said I would be over the next evening, and accordingly ambled over through the forest, and reached my destination in good time.

The meeting was to begin at 7 p.m., and there is no twilight in these latitudes, so we (for my friend met me) walked up to the big barn in which it was to be held, in the bright moonlight. Round the door were perhaps a dozen coloured men and youths, in their ragged and scanty working dresses, chatting and smoking. We went "right in," and my friend advanced straight up to the preacher, who was sitting by himself at a little table at the further corner, spectacles on nose, reading his Bible. My friend looked round for me, thinking I should follow ; but I had dropped into a seat close to the door, and, construing my deprecating looks and signals aright, whispered a few words and then came out saying as he passed me that he would come up again for me after his own service, by which time he guessed they would be about through here. No one took the least notice of me, so far as I could see in the dim light, and I began to feel easy, being so near the door and my retreat safe.

There was perfect silence in the big barn, and I began to look about. It was about 50 ft. by 30 ft., and very lofty, and was dimly lighted by two lamps, one on the preacher's table and one on a neighbouring table, whereon stood also a bucket full of water and a long tin ladle. The wall behind the preacher, and all the upper end—along which sat a row of women of all ages, with children here and there—was covered with common, cheap cotton cloth, the lower part brown, the upper red—no other attempt at ornament. All along the right side, on which I sat close to the door, were a double row of rough benches, which might be then half full, men and women sitting together. Out in the middle of the floor, in front of the two tables, but quite by itself, was a broad bench, unoccupied, and at our end

two rows of cross-benches, on which sat at first two or three men. The bright moonlight streamed in through the broad doorway and the big window. For some minutes yet there was dead silence, the preacher quietly reading on at his table. Then a single woman's voice, from the row at the upper end, began a hymn, somewhat falteringly I thought ; but another and another joined in, and by the second verse almost all were singing. The melody was quite unlike our hymn-tunes, but I thought reverential, and certainly most pleasant. Then dead silence again, broken only by a barefooted boy carrying round the ladle fall of water, which several women sipped from as the urchin presented it to them. Presently a second, then a third hymn followed, in each case a single woman's voice starting, the rest chiming in by degrees, and dead silence following. By this time the benches were getting full, the cross-benches being occupied by darkies, who crept in and took their seats deprecatingly, as if they wished to escape notice. It was now nearly 7.30 p.m., when two tall negroes came in, crossed the floor, and sat down close to the minister. They were deacons, I believe, and the bigger had one of the finest figures of a man I ever set eyes on,—rather too stout, perhaps (he must have been fifty at least), but with a small head, and neck and bust like the Farnese Hercules. Now at last the preacher stood up behind his table, looked round for a few seconds, and in a quiet conversational tone opened the meeting, and proceeded to read the 104th Psalm slowly, now and then almost hesitatingly, and to comment on it, much as you might hear in any Nonconformist chapel in England. A hymn followed, and then a prayer by the preacher, daring which many knelt and all bent down ; and as he warmed to his work, and the sentences followed more rapidly, each rising towards the end into a high cadence, a sort of responsive hum accompanied him from several parts of the room. After the prayer, the mighty deacon stood up, took a drink from the ladle, and then led off a hymn. from that time he " conducted " the singing, much to my regret, as his voice was harsh, and I doubt even if his ear was true ; so the effect of his hymns was much less pleasing. The only one I recognised was, " Say, poor sinner, lov'st thou me?" I only caught an occasional line from the others, the refrains of two of which ran, " Come along, poor sinner, glory is drawing near," and, " When I was a sinner, just like you, I was in Hell till I gut thro'." When the first of these ended, two women came out and knelt at the bench in the middle of the room, hiding their faces in their hands. (These two, by the way, had not moved an hour later, when I left.) Their "coming out" made a sort of joyful stir, and the mighty deacon, drinking copiously from the ladle as he passed, now took to walking round the bench as he uplifted the hymns. This bench, I had learnt, was the " bench of mourners," on which all who had not already "gut through" were invited now to take their seats. Presently a man from one of the cross-benches got up, and went to take his seat beside the two women on the " bench of mourners." The hum of approval grew. Clearly the occupants of these cross-benches were con- sidered tough sinners. The service went on, prayer, short address, and hymn alternating, till another woman and three more men (seven in all) sat on or knelt by the " bench of mourners."

It was now nearly 9 o'clock, and my friend arrived at the door, from which he was at once called by the preacher across the floor. He went up, looking, I thought, somewhat uncom- fortable; and after the next hymn, was called on by the black preacher to "take the prayer." I noticed that now several of the men on the cross-benches knelt, and I think would have gone to the "bench of mourners" when the prayer ended, but for the arrival of two white natives. These took seats on a cross-bench, quietly and not irreverently, but, I thought, seemed to exercise a decidedly cooling influence on their neighbours. Possibly the same thought may have struck the preacher, for in a short, impassioned address he declared that he meant to have every man of them who had not " gut through " already, on the "bench of mourners " that night ; and a responsive hum from all round the room showed that he would be heartily backed by his congregation in coming thus to death-grips with the devil. The mighty deacon now girded up his loins, took a drink, glaring at the cross-benches all the time, and then uplifted another hymn. There were now only two hours of moonlight left, and if I meant to get back through the rough mountain roads that night, it was time for me to be starting. So, re- luctantly, I stole out of the door, saddled up, and rode off home. I was sorry not to be able to see the meeting out, as I believe that at the end there is some ceremony of "putting through " those who have taken seats on the " bench of mourners." I gather this from the expression of a negro who has been working here, and took his wife down to this revival, saying he thought she was "'bout reddy fur de watter." I hope she was one of the seven whom I left on the " bench of mourners." I own, Sir, this service greatly surprised—indeed, startled me. Here was a whole congregation come together for the express purpose of earnestly wrestling for the salvation (how- ever they might understand the word) of those amongst them who had not " gut through," or, as we should say, were " non-

communicants." Neither preacher, deacons, nor " sisters " (as / found the women at the end of the room were called) got a cent, though they came ready to spend the whole night, if necessary,

at their work. The " motive " of the addresses and of the prayers (so far as I could gather the latter from the rapid and sing-song cadences) may be stated,—" It is more terrible to live in sin than

even to die in sin ;" and, " It is mean to bring worn-out bodies to the Lord when you can't get any more pleasure out of them ;" surely as thoroughly sound Christian teaching as we can bear in the Abbey or St. Paul's.

At any rate, the immediate associations which an unaccus- tomed act of worship raises in one's mind are worth noting, and here are mine. As I rode back through the moonlit forest, the midnight murmurs, always so impressive, seemed to me laden with the music of the grand old monkish hymns, the " Dies Irre " and " Stabat Mater," and the pines and white oaks to be

whispering, " Fac me Teri tecum Here,

Cruci6xo condolere, Donee ego viler° ;

or that even more pathetic-

" Qua3rens me eedisti lassus, Redemisti crucem passim,

Tautua labor non sit casette."

I shall try to learn the result of the meeting, and if successful