'Why I don't know, Sally,' and the old lady straightened herself up, and pushed her spectacles further on her nose; '_men_ is _men_, and there ain't much angel about 'em, as ever I seed; but I 'spose he's as good as most on 'em; but they are all clean took with him, and what do you think?'--stretching her long arm out, and raising it over her head;--'Cutter has taken it into his head now, that, preacher or no preacher, he means to get him to hold some kind of a meetin' or other, and he's gone this very blessed day with the old mare to the Widow Andrews' to see him about it.' 'Do tell, Aunt Sally, it ain't true? has Uncle Sam gone, though? Well that's jist what Bloodgood's been talkin' on; he'll be so glad; but, poor soul, what good will it do him?' It was indeed true; Uncle Sam Cutter had been long impressed with a sense of the need there was for some public religious services; he had in his youth been accustomed to mingle with those that kept 'holy day,'--he had gone to the house of God with the multitude, and he had never lost the savor of those solemn seasons; the remembrance came over him as he toiled in his shop, or sat by his door in the deep shades of evening; he mourned in secret that he had ever pitched his tent in Sodom. Oh! how he longed once again to hear the peal of the church-bell, calling the worshippers to the house of God; but he was now too old to remove to strange places, or do much towards obtaining such privileges as he felt were needed; and yet to think of leaving his family in such a moral waste, without some effort to remedy matters, he could not. He had listened attentively to all that his boys told at home about the teacher, and he thought what a pity it was that some of the older sinners also could not have the benefit of his prayers and instructions. 'We all need it bad enough,' he said to himself one day, as he sat on his old block by the shop door; 'bad enough, bad enough. Oh dear me! to think what a heathen set we are, goin' whip and cut to the Evil one, and nobody to say "Whoa!" to us, no more than if we were fat sheep goin' to the slaughter-house.' With that the old man began to fan himself very fast with his straw hat, his lips moving all the while, as was his habit whenever he thought hard. His train of ideas at last led to the conclusion that something must be done; so ordering up the mare, he was soon off for the Widow Andrews', resolved to lay before the young man such a picture of their condition as would not fail to move him, 'if,' said he, 'he has any bowels of mercy in him.' The Widow Andrews was much surprised to see the old cart drive up to her door, for her good neighbour, though a very kind man, was an indifferent visitor. She did not wait for him to alight--a business never rapidly performed--but ran out to the little gate, and with an air of great wonderment looked up at the old man, as he sat dangling on the tail of his carryall.