"Who made you a witch? _A._ My mother; she made me set my hand to a book. How did you set your hand to it? _A._ I touched it with my fingers; and the book was red; the paper of it was white. She said she never had seen the black man ... that her mother had baptized her, and the devil or black man was not there, as she saw. Her mother said, when she baptized her, 'Thou art mine for ever and ever. Amen.' "How did you afflict folks? _A._ I pinched them. She said she went to those whom she afflicted--_went_, not in body, but in her spirit. She would not own that she had ever been at the witch-meeting at the Village." The _confessions_ (?) are beautiful and precious; they are robed in all the appropriate naivete of any school-girl's _confession_ that herself was a--_pupil_. Not a tinge of shame, sorrow, or humiliation is visible anywhere about them. Not a sign appears, that, in little Sarah's comprehension, there was anything more censurable, as in fact there was not, in her being a witch, than there is in the child of to-day being a Sunday school scholar. Disclosure of common occurrences at her home, which inborn faculties there as naturally brought into view, as other faculties there and elsewhere cause the limbs of childhood to expand and its intellect to unfold, constituted her confession of the witchcraft that pertained to her mother and herself. The common mind, if not cautioned, will almost perforce attach meanings to the testimonies of Martha Carrier's children which never belonged to them. The detailings of facts and experiences not rare in that mediumistic family, were no confession of anything like what the public in any age has been accustomed to designate by the term witchcraft. In biblical times the occurrences might have been called prophecies--true or false--and to-day they would be regarded as spirit manifestations, or near kindred to such.