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house of worship on Murray street, in which Dr. Mason preached,
was built. This good man of God had not forgotten Katy, the
trembling inquirer. Having heard of her Sabbath assembly of
children, he went one day to see what she was doing. As he entered
her lowly dwelling, and looked around upon the group of interested,
happy-looking faces, he said, with his wonted kindness: "What are
you about here, Katy? Keeping school on the Sabbath? We must not
leave you to do all this." He immediately conferred with the officers
of his church, telling them what he had seen, and advising that
others should join Katy in this good work. Soon the lecture-room
was opened for the reception and instruction of Katy's charge. This
was the beginning of the Sabbath-school in the Murray Street
Church; and Katy Ferguson, the colored woman, who had been a
slave, is believed to have thus gathered the First Sabbath School in the
City of New York.
But Katy's benevolent heart was not satisfied with this effort for the
good of children. She established and maintained, during the last
forty years of her life, a weekly prayer-meeting at her house, and
during the last five years of her life, when she could not attend the
public services of divine worship, she made her own house a Bethel
on Sabbath afternoons, by gathering the neglected children of the
neighborhood, with such others as did not attend at any place of
public worship, and obtaining some suitable person to lead in the
services of prayer and praise.
The cause of foreign missions was also dear to Katy. On one
occasion, a young man who was about to sail for Africa as a
missionary, was invited to attend a meeting at her house. Three
years afterwards, on speaking of this man and his associate
missionaries, she said: "For these three years I have never missed a
day but I have prayed for those dear missionaries."
The question may occur to some persons, where did this poor
woman procure the means of doing so much good—clothing children
and assisting missionaries? Uneducated as she was, she possessed
extraordinary taste and judgment. Of a truly refined nature, she
appreciated the beautiful, wherever found. Hence a wedding, or
other festival, in some of the best circles of New York, could scarcely
be considered complete unless Katy had superintended the nicer
provisions of the table. She was also uncommonly skilful in the
cleaning of laces and other fine articles of ladies' dresses. This
constant demand for her services must, however, be likewise traced,
in part, to the great esteem in which she was held, and to the desire
to furnish her the means of continuing her useful Christian labors.
She was a cheerful believer; occupied less in complaining of her own
deficiencies and her troubles, or boasting of her attainments, than in
commending her Redeemer to others, and in trying to imitate His
active benevolence.
Thus was this beloved disciple ripening for heaven. And when death,
in that fearful disease, the cholera, came for her, she was ready, and
calmly expressed her Christian confidence by saying: "Oh, what a
good thing it is to have a hope in Jesus!" Her last words were, "All is
well."
 POOR POMPEY.
An old African who had long served the Lord, when on his death-
bed, was visited by his friends, who came around him lamenting that
he was going to die, saying: "Poor Pompey! poor Pompey is dying."
The old saint said to them, with much earnestness: "Don't call me
poor Pompey. I, KING Pompey," referring to Revelation i. verse 6.
—"And hath made us kings and priests unto God and His Father."
 ANCASS.
"I was born in Africa, about the year 1789; the country of the Iboes
was my home. My father's name was Durl, and mine, Ancass. My
mother was my father's only wife, and she was the daughter of a
great chieftain. Of four children I was the only son, and therefore my
father's pet. He always liked to have me near him, and even when
he went out to work he would take me along with him. In the midst
of our ignorance we had a vague idea of the existence of a Supreme
Being, which we know that every heathen can see from the works of
creation. We called him 'Thunderer,' and appealed to him for aid in
case of illness.
"A young man began to pay us frequent visits, under pretence of
wishing to marry one of my sisters, but in reality, doubtless, with a
view to getting possession of me, a growing, healthy boy, about
twelve years old. One day my father had gone out, leaving me with
my sisters, and the young man made use of the opportunity to
persuade me to accompany him to a market in the vicinity, which he
described to me in glowing colors. We walked all that day, and never
reached the place; the night was spent with an acquaintance of my
guide, and our journey continued all the next day. I was struck by
the circumstance that persons who met us often asked the man
what he was going to do with the boy he had with him, whether he
was intending to sell him, etc. He invariably gave an assurance of
the contrary, but I was soon to learn what his scheme really was.
"The end of the journey was reached at last, and proved to be a
trading place on the coast. I lay down under a large tree, and gazed
on the scene with delight.
"Suddenly a stranger appeared, and proposed that I should try a sail
in his boat. I was frightened and refused: but found myself seized by
the man's strong hand, and rapidly dragged away. Then I knew that
I was being taken as a slave. The man who had brought me from
home and sold me to the traders, looked on unmoved as I was
hurried to the water's edge, and I could only implore him to take a
last message to my dear father, letting him know what had become
of me.
"There were several negroes already in the boat, bound with ropes,
and others were added. When the boat put off for the ship I was so
exhausted with crying, that the gentle rocking motion lulled me into
a sound sleep, from which I awoke to find that we were being lifted
into the vessel. The white color of the captain's face filled me with
no less astonishment than his black, shining feet without toes, as I
regarded his polished boots, which I now saw for the first time. The
next morning I was horrified to see great numbers of people brought
up from the hold on deck, to be fed with yams and rum. As for
myself, I was heartily glad to be spared this confinement. I was at
liberty to remain on deck with some other boys, slept in the captain's
cabin, and was soon very happy.
"On reaching Kingston, in Jamaica, the slaves went ashore, and I
looked with intense longing at the beautiful land, visible from the
ship. I was kept on board for several weeks, and the captain told me
I was destined to be his servant, and should not be allowed to go
ashore. On my declaring, however, that I was resolved, at all
hazards, to leave the vessel, and would leap overboard if he should
try to prevent me, he changed his mind, and I was sent to a white
man, who took me, with eleven others, into the yard adjoining his
house. We were purchased for the owner of the estate Krepp, and
thither we were taken without further delay. My companions were
sent to work in the fields; I was retained as servant in the overseer's
family, and called Toby. After the lapse of a year my master took me
as servant into his own house, making me the companion and play-
fellow of his children, and treating me with great kindness.
"About eight years afterwards my master left the island for England,
and I was sent with the children to the seaport-town, Savana-la-Mar,
where we were to attend the church and school. This was anything
but agreeable to us, and I persisted in neglecting every opportunity
of learning, which I might have enjoyed. As to the church, I
invariably played outside during the services, and my master's
children were generally with me. In three years' time the master
returned, and took us all back to the estate, where he soon died.
The eldest son became owner of the property, and he immediately
appointed me his overseer at Krepp, and subsequently at
Dumbasken, when the former estate was sold.
"In the year 1824 the owner of a neighboring estate (Paynstown)
returned to Jamaica from a visit in England. This gentleman and his
lady were true Christians. One evening, when passing his plantation
on my way home, I met a female servant of the family, Christina by
name, who was going to draw water from a neighboring spring. I
entered into conversation with her, and she told me that on Sunday
there would be prayer and singing at Paynstown, and that her
master invited his people to attend. I asked if strangers were
admitted, and was told that Mrs. Cook had frequently expressed her
regret that no one from the vicinity would come to join them at
prayers, and that strangers would be welcomed, not only on
Sundays, but also in the morning and evening of the week-days.
"This conversation made a deep impression upon me, and the
thought of the prayer-meeting at Paynstown was continually
recurring day and night, until I at length resolved to go there on the
following Sunday.
"Sunday came, and I started on my way to Paynstown. On reaching
the house, a negro servant addressed me in a friendly voice; at the
same moment Mrs. Cook appeared at the door, and I heard her say
to the attendant, on his mentioning my name, 'Let him enter; I am
glad that he comes!' Feeling very shy, I waited outside the hall till a
bell gave the summons for prayers. Mr. Cook conducted the service,
which was commenced with singing a hymn: then a portion of the
Scriptures was read and prayer offered. I have no recollection of
what was read, nor could I understand the prayer, as I knew nothing
of our Saviour; yet I shall never forget this hour; it was a turning-
point for the whole of my life. I had a feeling that I was in the
presence of Almighty God, my Lord and God, and my inmost soul
was deeply moved, while I trembled from head to foot. Unable to
utter a word, I hurried away and remained alone in my hut.
"Some time afterwards Mrs. Cooper offered to teach me to read if I
wished to learn, and I gladly accepted her offer, though exposing
myself to no little ridicule on the part of my fellow-slaves, who
thought it very foolish of me to attempt to learn to read 'the white
men's book.' How thankful have I felt ever since that I was enabled
to read the Bible for myself, and thus come into the enjoyment of a
wonderful privilege!
"Saturday and Sunday were free days for the slaves; Sunday was
market-day in the neighboring town, and we negroes were in the
habit of cultivating our own plots of ground on our return from the
service at Paynstown, or carrying their produce to the market. One
Sunday I was so eagerly bent on making the most out of my garden,
that I did not go to Paynstown, but was busy at work from earliest
dawn. Suddenly the conviction seized my mind that I was not acting
right in the sight of God, in thus digging and planting in hope of
gain. Quite overcome with the thought, I threw away my hoe, and
kneeling in the hole which I had just dug, I cried aloud to our
Saviour, imploring Him to help me in my darkness, and show me
what I ought to do. The comforting light was vouchsafed to me at
once. While recognizing my sinful conduct in striving for outward
gain to the detriment of my soul, I was assured that all my need
would be supplied from the bountiful hand of my heavenly Father,
and that the right course for me was to seek first the kingdom of
God and His righteousness. From that day I never touched a hoe on
Sunday, and I have been so blessed in regard to externals that I
have never suffered any want.
"Some time afterwards I made a proposal of marriage to a young
woman, whom I had known as one of the most regular attendants
at the services in Mr. Cooper's house, and she accepted it. My
master and mistress were at first greatly opposed to this step, but
were led eventually to withdraw their prohibition, and we were
married on the 8th of June, 1826.
"A few months afterwards I became a member of the Moravian
Church, one of twelve, who at that time constituted the whole
congregation. Many others, however, joined the church at Carmel,
and the number of those who desired to cast in their lot with us as
children of God, increased most surprisingly from week to week.
"The office of native helper, to which I was soon afterwards
appointed, gave me many opportunities of telling others what the
Lord had done for me, and directing them to the same Saviour.
"I had a great desire to purchase my freedom. I went to my master,
who tried to persuade me to wait, seeing that I should be legally
emancipated in three years' time. My longing for freedom was,
however, so strong that I remained unmoved. I paid down all my
savings, and was soon afterwards able to complete the required
sum, and my certificate of freedom was signed. O how full my heart
was! how overflowing with thanks and praise to God! This day has
always been to me a day of special rejoicing and thanksgiving. It
was the 1st of June, 1837.
"Subsequently I was asked by several gentlemen to undertake the
management of their estates, but I declined, not wishing to fetter
myself in such a manner as would be prejudicial to my work in the
Lord's cause. I was greatly rejoiced when Brother Zorn proposed to
me to devote my time entirely to the duties of a native helper,
receiving £12 a year to provide subsistence for myself and family. I
purchased a small cottage and piece of ground, and here I have
lived ever since with my dear wife and the only daughter whom the
Lord has been pleased to give us."
Ancass died July, 1864.—English Tract.
 A STORM AT SEA.
Some few years since, a minister was preaching at Plymouth, when
a request was sent to the pulpit to this effect: "The thanksgiving of
this congregation is desired to Almighty God, by the captain,
passengers, and crew of a West Indiaman, for their merciful
deliverance during the late tempest."
The following day the minister went on board, and entered into
conversation with the passengers, when a lady thus addressed him:
"O, sir, what an invaluable blessing is personal religion! Never did I
see it so exemplified as in my poor Ellen during the storm. When we
expected every wave to entomb us all, my mind was in a horrible
state—I was afraid to die. Ellen would come to me and say, with all
possible composure: 'Never mind, missie; look to Jesus Christ. He
made—he rule the sea.' And when we neared the shore, and were at
a loss to know where we were, fearing every minute to strike on the
rocks, Ellen said, with the same composure as before, 'Don't fear,
missie; look to Jesus Christ—He the Rock; no shipwreck on that
Rock; He save to the uttermost. Don't fear, missie; look to Jesus
Christ!'"
The minister wished to see this poor, though rich African. She was
called, and, in the presence of the sailors, the following conversation
took place:
Minister. "Well, Ellen, I am glad to find you know something of Jesus
Christ."
Ellen. "Jesus Christ, massa! Oh, He be very good to my soul! Oh! He
be very dear to me."
Minister. "How long since you first knew the Saviour?"
Ellen. "Why, some time ago me hear Massa Kitchin preach about the
blessed Jesus. He say to us colored people—the Lord Jesus come
down from the good world; He pity us poor sinners; we die, or He
die; He die, but we no die. He suffer on the cross—He spill precious
blood for us poor sinners. Me feel me sinner; me cry; me pray to
Jesus, and He save me by His precious blood."
Minister. "And when did you see Mr. Kitchin last?"
Ellen. "Sir, the fever take him; he lie bed; he call us his children. He
say, 'Come round the bed, my children.' He then say, 'My children, I
go to God; meet me before God;' and then he fall asleep."
Minister. "Oh, then, Mr. Kitchin is dead, is he?"
Ellen. "Dead, sir? oh, no! Mr. Kitchin no die; he fall asleep in Jesus.
He has gone to heaven."
 "LITTLE WA."
There is a boy of tender years now in England, whose story
beautifully illustrates the loving care of God for an afflicted heathen
child. He is the son of an African chief, and two or three years since
you might have seen him playing about his father's and mother's
yard—as happy as the day was long—no kid frisked so merrily, no
kitten was fuller of fun. But "little Wa" was deaf and dumb, and soon
his mother, "Ti Bla," was to die, and then his father, "Ta Qwia," was
to be laid by her side under the palm-tree. God foreknew this, and
see how graciously He provided for this helpless orphan.
Little Wa was very fond of wandering from home; and wherever he
went, whether to the huts of the natives or the houses of the
colonists, he was a great favorite, and everybody treated him kindly.
He liked to sport about with those of his own age, and would amuse
the tribes by the hour. Often he came to the mission station, and the
missionary got quite attached to him, and encouraged him to stay,
and gave him a white shirt—his first civilized suit. This delighted him,
and kept him hovering around for a week together; then off he
trotted to the town.
By-and-by he reappeared with his shirt dirty, and the missionary
exchanged it for a clean one. "He seemed so pleased to be with us,
and was such a good boy," says the missionary, "that pitying his sad
case, I thought I would try and get him into my family." He asked his
father, who was still an idolater, if he would let him keep him. His
father said, "Yes, he might keep him if he could." He meant that
"Wa" was such a gad-about that no one could keep him. However,
the missionary determined to try it. He had some new clothes made
for him, bound with scarlet; he set him a stool to have his meals,
and he had his own plate and fork, and a snug corner to sleep in at
night, and a warm blanket to wrap himself in.
Now, do you suppose that "Wa" stayed with the missionary, or that
he ran away? He stayed, and he grew fonder and fonder of the
missionary and the missionary of him. Whenever he ate his meals,
before tasting anything, he would bend his head and shut his eyes,
and be still, as if he was saying grace. So also, night and morning,
he would always drop on his knees, and for a time remain in the
attitude of prayer. Occasionally he would go into the school-room,
and sitting beside the girls, take a book, and make believe that he
was studying his lessons. The missionary would frequently have him
in his room, and kneel down with him, and pray God to teach him by
His Holy Spirit, and deliver him from all evil. God did indeed watch
over him, and preserve him from danger, to which he was exposed.
No lion was permitted to terrify him; and no scorpion or serpent was
allowed to bite his bare feet. The angels had charge of him.
When, on account of his bad health, the missionary had to leave
Africa for a season, he much desired to bring "little Wa" to England
with him. He had a talk with his father (his mother was now dead)
about it. He told him what Christian people had done in England for
the deaf and dumb, what attention was paid to them, and how they
were taught to write and read. He looked very serious, and shook
his head. "I can't let him go;" he said, "I let his brother, 'Wia,' go to
New York, and he is buried there. I can't let 'Wa' go." But when he
assured him that England had a milder climate than New York, and
that he would be a parent to him, and that it was only the child's
welfare he sought, "Well," he said, "I will consider it." Shortly after
he called and said, "Take him; do with him what you choose. He is
yours." So the missionary began at once to get him ready for sea.
He was fitted with red and yellow flannel smocks and trousers; and
when he saw the preparations, and knew that he was going, he
jumped for joy.
At length the steamer hove in sight. The captain agreed to charge a
shilling a day for the "coal scuttle," as he called him. So he was
brought off with them in a boat through the surf, and he bade adieu
to the scenes of his infancy, in better spirits than the missionary did;
but soon the rocking of the ship upset him. He lay down sick on the
deck. When he recovered, he became a great favorite with the
passengers and crew. He had a wonderful power of mimicry, and he
amused many with his imitations. Now he would act as he saw the
monkeys or the chimpanzee act; now he would mock the way in
which the gentlemen walked when the vessel rolled; now he would
pretend to be preaching; now he would dance as his country people
do; and now, when a lady would be moving about alone, he would
run up to her and offer her his arm. The officers would feed him
with good things, and let him sleep in their state-rooms, though he
had a comfortable box of his own.
When the missionary arrived at Liverpool, "little Wa" was an object
of curiosity to all. His dark skin and his flaming-colored dress made
him ridiculously conspicuous. The children in the streets followed
him, and gathered round the shop-doors pointing at him jeeringly;
but whenever they were rude the missionary said to them, "He is
deaf and dumb," and then they would say, "Poor boy! poor little
fellow!" You may be sure he was in ecstasies at the sights, such as
he had never even dreamt of. Especially he noticed the horses, and
tried to trot as they trot; and the sliders on the ice, and when one
tumbled down he was convulsed with laughter. I have had him at my
table, and he behaved himself like a gentleman, only he would open
the whole plate of sandwiches to see which had least mustard on it;
and when I presented him with a pear, he wanted to put it into his
mouth whole.
It was decided that he should go into the Bath Deaf and Dumb
Institution. The money, a large sum, was speedily raised by the
ladies of Brighton. Far and wide contributions flowed in. "Little Wa"
was loaded with presents beside; indeed, ladies began to be so kind
to him that it was high time he was out of the way of being spoiled.
News of his father's death reached England by the next mail; so now
the missionary felt that "little Wa" was wholly his, and he took him
to Bath without any further doubt as to its being God's will for him.
Before "little Wa" left London, he stole into the missionary's wife's
sick chamber, and seeing that several persons were with her, he sat
down quietly until they withdrew, then he quickly touched her; and
then raising his eyes, he clasped his hands, and by other signs gave
her to understand that he wished her to pray with him. She did so.
On getting up, he looked into her face so bright and satisfied, and
shook her hand to thank her. As he bade her good-bye, he signified
that after two days and two nights he would come back to her.
When the missionary was leaving him at the Institution, and broke
the intelligence to him that he must stay there a long while, "little
Wa" was downcast for a moment, but he did not cry; he nodded his
head bravely, and stood watching him at the door till he turned the
corner.
A recent letter informed us that at first he showed considerable self-
will, but was daily improving. If we recollect how short a time he has
been under control at all, we cannot but wonder that the wild
African is as tractable as he is. When he saw the handwriting of the
missionary the tears started, and he pressed the envelope to his lips.
Now, my dear young readers, does not this narrative prove that God
thinks of children, and loves them, and cares for them? He is busy
with the affairs of the universe, and yet He can turn from them to
provide for a heathen mute. He dwells in the high and holy place,
and yet He can stoop to be a friend to the fatherless African boy.
Who is a God like unto Him? Oh, give your heart to Him, that you,
too, may have His wing spread over you, and be able to confide in
Him for whatever you want.
May "little Wa's" Almighty protector and all-loving provider be yours!
—The Family Treasury.
 THE AFRICAN SERVANT.
During a residence of some years' continuance in the neighborhood
of the sea, an officer in the navy called upon me and stated that he
had just taken a lodging in the parish for his wife and children, and
that he had an African whom he had kept three years in his service.
"Does he know anything," I asked, "of the principles of the Christian
religion?"
"Oh, yes, I am sure he does," answered the captain; "for he talks a
great deal about it in the kitchen, and often gets laughed at for his
pains; but he takes it all very patiently."
"Does he behave well as your servant?"
"Yes, that he does: he is as honest and civil a fellow as ever came
aboard a ship or lived in a house."
"Was he always so well-behaved?"
"No," said the officer; "when I first had him he was often very unruly
and deceitful; but for the last two years he has been quite like
another creature."
"Well, sir, I shall be very glad to see him, and think it probable I shall
wish to go through a course of instruction and examination. Can he
read?"
"Yes," replied his master; "he has been taking great pains to learn to
read for some time past, and can make out a chapter in the Bible
pretty well, as my maid-servant informs me. He speaks English
better than many of his countrymen, but you will find it a little
broken. When will it be convenient that I should send him over to
you?"
"To-morrow afternoon, sir, if you please."
"He shall come to you about four o'clock, and you shall see what you
can make of him."
With this promise he took his leave. I felt glad to see him the next
day, and asked:
"Where were you born?"
"In Africa. I was very little boy when I was made slave by the white
men."
"How was that?"
"I left father and mother one day at home to go to get shells by the
sea-shore; and, as I was stooping down to gather them up, some
white sailors came out of a boat and took me away. I never see
father nor mother again."
"And what became of you then?"
"I was put into ship and brought to Jamaica, and sold to a massa,
who keep me in his house to serve him some years; when about
three years ago, Captain W——, my massa that spoke to you,
bought me to be his servant on board his ship. And he be good
massa; and I live with him ever since."
"And what thoughts had you about your soul all that time before you
went to America?" I asked him.
"I no care for my soul at all before then. No man teach me a word
about my soul."
"Well, now tell me further about what happened to you in America.
How came you there?"
"My massa take me there in a ship, and he stop there one month;
and then I hear the good minister."
"And what did that minister say?"
"He said I was a great sinner."
"Did he speak to you in particular?"
"Yes, I think so; for there was a great many to hear him, but he tell
them all about me."
"What did he say?"
"He say all about the things that were in my heart."
"Who taught you to read?"
"God teach me to read."
"What do you mean by saying so?"
"God gave me desire to read, and that make reading easy. Massa
give me Bible, and one sailor show me the letter; and so I learn to
read by myself with God's good help."
"And what do you read in the Bible?"
"Oh, I read all about Jesus Christ, and How He loved sinners; and
wicked men killed him, and He died and came again from the grave,
and all this for poor negro. And it sometime make me cry to think
that Christ love me so."
Not many days after the first interview with my African disciple, I
went from home on horseback, with the design of visiting and
conversing with him again at his master's house, which was situated
in a part of the parish near four miles distant from my own. The
road which I took lay over a lofty down or hill, which commands a
prospect of scenery seldom equalled for beauty and magnificence. It
gave birth to silent, but instructive contemplation.
As I pursued the meditations which this magnificent and varied
scenery excited in my mind, I approached the edge of a tremendous
perpendicular cliff with which the hill terminates; I dismounted from
my horse and tied him.
I cast my eye downwards a little to the left, towards a small cove,
the shore of which consists of fine hard sand. It is surrounded by
fragments of rock, chalk cliffs, and steep banks of broken earth.
Shut out from human intercourse and dwellings, it seems formed for
retirement and contemplation. On one of these rocks I unexpectedly
observed a man sitting with a book, which he was reading. The
place was near two hundred yards perpendicularly below me: but I
soon discovered by his dress, and by the color of his features,
contrasted with the white rocks beside him, that it was no other than
my African disciple, with, as I doubted not, a Bible in his hand. I
rejoiced at this unlooked-for opportunity of meeting him in so
solitary and interesting a situation. I descended a steep bank,
winding by a kind of rude staircase, formed by fishermen and
shepherds' boys, in the side of the cliff down to the shore.
He was intent on his book, and did not perceive me till I approached
very near to him.
"William, is that you?"
"Ah, massa, I very glad to see you. How came massa into this place?
I thought nobody here but only God and me."
"I was coming to your master's house to see you, and rode round by
this way for the sake of the prospect. I often come here in fine
weather to look at the sea and the shipping. Is that your Bible?"
"Yes, sir, this is my dear, good Bible."
"I am glad," said I, "to see you so well employed; it is a good sign,
William."
"Yes, massa, a sign that God is good to me; but I never good to
God."
"How so?"
"I never thank Him enough; I never pray to Him enough; I never
remember enough who give me all these good things. Massa, I
afraid my heart very bad. I wish I was like you."
"Like me, William? Why, you are like me, a poor helpless sinner."
"Tell me, William, is not that very sin which you speak of, a burden
to you? You do not love it: you would be glad to obtain strength
against it, and to be freed from it, would you not?"
"Oh, yes; I give all this world, if I had it, to be without sin."
"Come then, and welcome, to Jesus Christ, my brother; His blood
cleanseth from all sin. He gave himself as a ransom for sinners. He
hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows. He was wounded for
our transgressions, He was bruised for our iniquities; the
chastisement of our peace was upon Him; and with His stripes we
are healed. The Lord hath laid on Him the iniquity of us all. Come,
freely come to Jesus, the Saviour of sinners."
"Yes, massa," said the poor fellow, weeping, "I will come, but I come
very slow; very slow, massa; I want to run; I want to fly. Jesus is
very good to poor me to send you to tell me all this."
I was much pleased with the affectionate manner in which he spoke
of his parents, from whom he had been stolen in his childhood; and
his wishes that God might direct them by some means to the
knowledge of the Saviour.
"Who knows," I said, "but some of these ships may be carrying a
missionary to the country where they live, to declare the good news
of salvation to your countrymen, and to your own dear parents in
particular, if they are yet alive."
"Oh, my dear father and mother; my dear, gracious Saviour,"
exclaimed he, leaping from the ground, as he spoke, "if Thou would
but save their souls, and tell them what Thou hast done for sinners;
but—"
He stopped and seemed much affected.
"My friend," said I, "I will now pray with you for your own soul, and
those of your parents also."
"Do, massa, that is very good and kind; do pray for poor negro souls
here and everywhere."
This was a new and solemn "house of prayer." The sea-sand was our
floor, the heavens were our roof. The cliffs, the rocks, the hills, and
the waves, formed the walls of our chamber. It was not indeed a
"place where prayer was wont to be made," but for this once it
became a hallowed spot; it will by me ever be remembered as such.
The presence of God was there. I prayed. The African wept. His
heart was full. I felt with him, and could not but weep likewise.
The last day will show whether our tears were not the tears of
sincerity and Christian love.
I had, for a considerable time, been accustomed to meet some
serious persons once a week, in a cottage at no great distance from
the house where he lived, for the purpose of religious conversation,
instruction, and prayer. Having found these occasions remarkably
useful and interesting to myself and others, I thought it would be
very desirable to take the African there, in order that there might be
many witnesses to the simplicity and sincerity of real Christianity, as
exhibited in the character of this promising young convert. I hoped it
might prove an eminent means of grace to excite and quicken the
spirit of prayer and praise among some over whose spiritual progress
I was anxiously watching.
It was known that the African was to visit the little society this
evening, and satisfaction beamed in every countenance as I took
him by the hand and introduced him among them, saying, "I have
brought a brother from Africa to see you, my friends. Bid him
welcome in the name of the Lord."
"Sir," said a humble and pious laborer, whose heart and tongue
always overflowed with Christian kindness, "we are at all times glad
to see our dear minister, but especially so to-day, in such company
as you have brought with you. We have heard how gracious the Lord
has been to him. Give me your hand, good friend," turning to the
African; "God be with you here and everywhere; and blessed be His
holy name for calling wicked sinners, as I hope He has done you and
me, to love and serve Him for His mercy's sake."
Each one greeted him as he came into the house, and some
addressed him in very kind and impressive language.
"Massa," said he, "I not know what to say to all these good friends;
I think this looks like little heaven upon earth."
He then, with tears in his eyes, which, almost before he spoke,
brought responsive drops into those of all present, said:
"Good friends and brethren in Christ Jesus, God bless you all, and
bring you to heaven at last."
After some time passed in more general conversation on the subject
of the African's history, I said, "Let us now praise God for the rich
and unspeakable gift of His grace, and sing the hymn of 'redeeming
love,'
 "'Now begin the heavenly theme,
Sing aloud in Jesus' name,'" etc.

which was accordingly done. Whatever might be the merit of the

natural voices, it was plain there was melody in all their hearts.
The African was not much used to our way of singing, yet joined
with great earnestness and affection, which showed how truly he felt
what was uttered. When the fifth verse was ended—

"Nothing brought Him from above,

Nothing but redeeming love"—

he repeated the words, almost unconscious where he was.

"No, nothing, nothing but redeeming love bring Him down to poor
William; nothing but redeeming love."
The following verses were added, and sung by way of conclusion:

See, a stranger comes to view;

Though he's black, he's comely too:
Come to join the choirs above,
Singing of redeeming love.

Welcome, brother, welcome here,

Banish doubt, and banish fear;
You, who Christ's salvation prove,
Praise and bless redeeming love.
—Abridged from Legh Richmond.
 THE BLIND SLAVE IN THE MINES.
With a companion I had descended a thousand feet perpendicularly,
beneath the earth's surface, into one of the coal mines of East
Virginia, called the Mid-Lothian pit. As we were wandering through
its dark passages—numerous and extensive enough to form a
subterranean city—the sound of music at a little distance caught our
ears. It ceased upon our approach; but we perceived that it was
sacred music, and we heard the concluding sentiment of the hymn,
"I shall be in heaven in the morning."
On advancing with our lamps we found the passage closed by a
door, in order to give a different direction to the currents of air for
the purpose of ventilation; yet this door must be opened occasionally
to let the rail-cars pass, loaded with coal. And to accomplish this we
found sitting by that door an aged blind slave, whose eyes had been
entirely destroyed by a blast of gunpowder many years before, in
that mine. There he sat, on a seat cut in the coal, from sunrise to
sunset, day after day; his sole business being to open and shut the
door when he heard the rail-cars approaching. We requested him to
sing again the hymn whose last line we had heard. It was, indeed,
lame in expression, and in poetic measure very defective, being in
fact one of those productions which we found the pious slaves were
in the habit of singing, in part at least, impromptu. But each stanza
closed with the sentiment, "I shall be in heaven in the morning."
It was sung with a clear and pleasant voice, and I could see the
shrivelled, sightless eyeballs of the old man rolling in their sockets,
as if his soul felt the inspiring sentiments; and really the exhibition
was one of the most affecting that I have ever witnessed. There he
stood, an old man, whose earthly hopes, even at the best, must be
very faint—and he was a slave—and he was blind—what could he
hope for on earth? He was buried, too, a thousand feet beneath the
solid rocks. In the expressive language of Jonah, he had "gone down
to the bottom of the mountains; the earth with her bars was about
him for ever." There, from month to month, he sat in total darkness.
I would add, that on inquiry of the pious slaves engaged in these
mines, I found that the blind old man had a fair reputation for piety,
and that it was not till the loss of his eyes that he was led to the
Saviour. It may be that the destruction of his natural vision was the
necessary means of opening the eye of faith within his soul. And
though we should shudder at the thought of exchanging conditions
with him on earth, yet who can say but his peculiar and deep
tribulation here may prepare his soul for a distinction in glory which
we might covet. Oh, how much better to endure even his deep
degradation and privations, sustained by his hopes, than to partake
of their fortune who live in luxury and pleasure, or riot in wealth!
The scene which I have now described affords a most animating
lesson of encouragement to the tried and the afflicted, and of
reproof to the complaining and discontented.
Suppose health does fail us, and poverty oppress us, and our friends
forsake us, and our best laid plans prove abortive, so that a dark
cloud settles upon our worldly prospects—who of us is reduced so
low as to be willing to change places with this poor slave? And yet
he is able to keep his spirits buoyant by the single hope of future
glory. He thinks of a morning that is to come, when even his deep
and dreadful darkness shall pass away; and the thought has a magic
power to sustain him. If we are Christians, shall not that same hope
chase away our despondency, and nerve us to bear cheerfully those
trials which are far inferior to his?
THE AFRICAN SERVANT'S PRAYER.
I was a helpless negro boy,
And wandered on the shore;
Men took me from my parents' arms,
I never saw them more.

But yet my lot, which seemed so hard,

Quite otherwise did prove;
For I was carried far from home,
To learn a Saviour's love.

Poor and despiséd though I was,

Yet Thou, O God, wast nigh;
And when Thy mercy first I saw,
Sure none so glad as I.

And if Thy Son hath made me free,

Then am I free indeed;
My soul is rescued from its chains;
For this did Jesus bleed.

Oh, send Thy word to that far land

Where none but negroes live;
Teach them the way, the truth, the life;
Thy grace, Thy blessing give.

Oh, that my father, mother, dear,

Might there Thy mercy see;
Tell them what Christ has done for them,
What Christ has done for me.

Whose God is like the Christian's God?

Who can with Him compare?
He has compassion on my soul,
And hears a negro's prayer.
 ANECDOTE.
A worthy old colored woman in the city of New York was one day
walking along the street on some errand to a neighboring store, with
her tobacco-pipe in her mouth, quietly smoking. A sailor, rendered
mischievous by liquor, came down the street, and when opposite
Phillis, crowded her aside, and with a wave of his hand knocked her
pipe out of her mouth. He then halted to hear her fret at his trick,
and to enjoy a laugh at her. But what was his astonishment when
she meekly picked up the pieces of her broken pipe, without the
least resentment in her manner, and giving him a look of mingled
sorrow, kindness, and pity, said: "God forgive my son, as I do." It
touched a tender part of the young sailor's heart; he felt ashamed
and repented; the tears started in his eyes. He confessed his error,
and thrusting both hands into his two full pockets of change, forced
her to take the handfuls of money, saying: "God bless you, kind
mother, I'll never do so again."
 A LITTLE ACT OF KINDNESS.
One dull night I sat by my window watching the people as they
passed to and from the market. The wind blew hard, and the rain
was beginning to patter against the window panes, and make large
drops on the pavement.
Soon I noticed two little colored girls hurrying past with an empty
basket, and I heard one of them say: "Oh, be quick, for it is going to
rain hard, and the chips will all be wet."
"Yes, I'm coming in a minute," said the other, who lingered behind—
for what purpose, do you think?
Leaning against the lamp-post at the corner of the street was a poor
old woman, bent with age and infirmities. In one hand was her
market-basket, in the other a bundle, and she was trying to open an
umbrella. The wind blew against her, the bundle slipped from her
poor old fingers, rolling into the gutter, and the umbrella would not
come open.
But the quick feet and fingers of this little girl soon set things all
right. First she hastened to rescue the bundle, and restore it to its
owner; then opened the umbrella and placed it securely in the old
woman's hands. She waited for no more—hastening on after her
companion; but, amid the falling rain, I heard the old woman say,
"God bless you, my child!"
Ah! it was a little deed, but done so cheerfully and quickly that I
knew the child had a kind heart. Was the act not seen and noticed
by our Father in heaven, and will He not bless the child who helps
the aged and infirm?
Dear little ones, do not let one chance of helping another, or of
doing good, pass by.
If your eyes are open, you will see these opportunities every day,
and oh, how happy you may make your own heart, and the heart of
some other, while your dear Father in heaven will smile upon your
efforts.—Angel of Peace.