THE WITCH'S OVERSIGHT.

Of an entirely different type as to nationality, color and moral standing, was Jesse Short, a disreputable negro scamp who enjoyed an immense reputation for powers of mischief, and who got credit for nearly every mysterious thing that occurred in the neighborhood, if only it was of a disreputable kind. Nearly all of the houses had low porches at their front doors, and the very narrow spaces underneath were enclosed with lattice work, so close that a robin could scarcely force himself inside and, if he could, he had very scant room to hop for a little exercise. It often happened, however, that in the early morning the ears of the family were greeted with the bleats or grunts of a well grown sheep or porker belonging to some neighbor that had found its way or for which a way had been found, in some uncannie manner to enter, and which had to crouch very low to find room for itself. But although an entrance had been found for it, there was no exit until the porch was torn down. All this and many other such pranks were put to the credit of Jesse until he enjoyed a fame equal to that of Michael Scott, and was the great terror of the country all 'round. Like John Peacher of better character, he performed too many feats for recital in this modest-sized book, but we will relate one that was witnessed, and is vouched for by at least two parties of unexceptionable character, who are still living, one of them being the victim of Jesse's unholy practices, who can still exhibit marks left on her person by the wizard's touch.

Jesse was a slave on the Miller estate, about four miles northwest of Harper's Ferry. Near this plantation was another owned and occupied by John Engle, a pious, God-fearing man, some of whose children are yet alive. As far as we know there are two—Mr. James Engle and his sister, Mrs. Margaret Moler. When these were very young children, their father owned or hired a colored girl to whom our hero, Jesse, desired to pay attentions and with this view, often visited Mr. Engle's house. Mr. Engle, however, positively forbade those visits on account of Jesse's very bad reputation. It was supposed that our hero was deeply offended at this exclusion from the company of his lady-love, and secretly vowed vengeance, although his countenance and general bearing towards the Engle family did not betray his real feeling. One day he visited the house, ostensibly to convey some message from his master. While he was waiting for a return message, Margaret, the five year old daughter of Mr. Engle, who is now the widow of a Mr. John Moler, passed close to him. The negro patted the child and appeared to have a desire to ingratiate himself with her, but the little girl screamed wildly as soon as his hand touched her, and she showed the utmost horror of him. Her screams continued until she got into fits and the greatest difficulty was experienced in restoring her temporarily to her normal condition. But the little one was not the same from that time. Day by day she failed, lost appetite and could not get natural sleep. In a month she was reduced from a hale, hearty and lively child to a mere spiritless skeleton, and hope of her recovery was almost abandoned. At that time regular physicians were not as plentiful as they are now, and old mammies of either color were mostly depended on, especially in cases of ailing children. The Engle family were then, as they are now, among the most respectable in Jefferson county, and, from regard for them as well as for natural sympathy, every mother in the neighborhood and every skillful woman aided in trying to restore the poor child, but in vain. When the little tot was almost exhausted somebody remembered that across the Potomac, in Maple swamp, a place inhabited in a great measure by half-breeds descended from the Indians, lived a certain Mrs. Mullin, whose fame for occult knowledge was wide-spread. Indeed, she was a power even among the professors themselves. To her as a last resort the parents of the child appealed. The benevolent old lady responded at once, and crossed the Potomac on her mission of charity. She took the child on her knee, without the least repugnance on the part of the little girl. What mystic words or rites the old lady used, tradition does not say, but she took from her pocket a pair of scissors and with deliberation clipped the nails from the fingers of the child—from all but one finger—and herein lies the wonder, for the child at once began to improve and, as we have before mentioned, is still alive and hearty at an advanced age, with the full use of all her limbs, except that one finger, the nail of which Mrs. Mullin failed to clip. That finger is crooked and that one alone. It has never been straight since that day, about seventy-five years ago, when Mrs. Mullin, either by accident or design, failed to treat it as she treated its fellows. It never pains her, however, and merely gives a sign of something designed to be a mystery. Mrs. Mullin, as far as we know, never tried to rectify the omission or make any explanation.