■r ii k
EDUCATOR
L_
I‘uMirlieti eve wj Saltinlay. in the Mc-
Intyre Building. Petsmi Street,
KAVKTI'KVII.I.E. X. C.
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BT PHILO HKXIIKKSOX.
A way-wom pilgrim dying lay
Far from the hauuts of men.
Where he had fallen on his way,
Overcome with woe and sin.
Fast gathering was the gloomy night
O'er the «lim wilderness,
When donrn an angel bent its flight,
The pilgrim lone to bless.
The gentle munnur of its wings.
Breathed on his pallid brow,
* Soft as the soothing whisperings
Os some pure streamlet's flow.
He turned his dim and glazing eye
On its angelic face.
And there he met the street reply —
He yet should win the race.
The pilgrim's heart then warmer grew,
His eye regained its light.
His fears and weakness from him threw
And boldly brayed the night.
Aurl on him beamed aloug his way
The angel's smile divine,
Until at last before him lay
The holy, long-sought shrine.
THE SABBATH
SCHOOL
Murks ol n Good Sunday
School Scholar.
1. Promptness. He, or she, is at
school and in his seat on (tint lie
does not hang round the door, or lag
behind, or creep in after the exercis
es have begun. Punctuality is his
motto, and he sticks to it.
2. Regularity. He is never absent
unless for tire best of reasons.
3. Readiness to take part in the ex
ercises of the school. In singing, lie
sings, and sings heartily. In reading,
he finds his place and reads distinci
fv. He is not afraid to have In
voice heard.
4. Perfect lessons. His recitations
show that he has studied, that lie un
derstands. and that he wants to learn
more about them.
5. An attentive ear.
6. A tender conscience.
7. A wlUiug heart.
8. Remembering his contribution
money. If the school have a weekly
penny collection, as I hope it has, lie
lias his money on 1 and, and never
forgets to bring it.
9. He is devout in prayer, and
tries to make the words of the su
perintendent in prayer his own words
10. When the school closes, he
leaves his class and the school in an
orderly manner not pushing, gigling
elbowing, or rushing, as some schol
ars da He remembers that it is the
Lord's day and the lord's house, and
behaves accordingly.
11. He cherishes a grateful and af
fectionate remembrance of bis teach
er and superintendent, and often
thinks how kind it is in them to erre
for and take so much' pains for his
good.
12. He thanks God for his birth in
a Christian land, knowing how mauy
children in jmgan lands have none of;
the opportunities which he has of j
knowing and loving and serving the
Lord.
Have you these marks, my child?
Examine yourself and see.—ll. C. K.
Itliuti Henry.
One summer morning in spring I
took a walk in the country. I hail
not gone for before I met a boy and
a girl. The girt made a curtsey to
me, and touching the boy. told him
to make a bow to me, which he did,
and, looking np, said “Good morn
ing.” I saw that he was blind, and
feeling deeply interested iu him, 1
aaked him where he lived. He told
me in the first cottage at the end of
the lane.
The next day I went to see him.
His name was Henry. I found him
listening to his sister reading to him
onl of the Bibb-; when she had fin
ished lie appeared in deep thought.
I asked what he was thinking about?
He laid, "Before it pleased God to
deprive me of my sight, I was, J fear
The Educator.
VOL. 1. FAYETTEVILLE, FT. C., NOVEMBER 28, 187-1. NO. 10.
a very wicked boy in many ways. I
never thought of God and heaven
until I was very ill, and feared that
I was dying. I was very miserable
then. 1 remembered the days when
I went to Sabbath-sohool, and there
was tanght that Jesus died on the
cross that sinners might be saved.
Then it pleased God to turn my
heart to Him; and, though since
blind, I am far happier than I ever
used to be.”
“How long have you been ill?” I
asked.
“About half a year,” he replied.
I prayed with him, and told him if
he only loved Jesus, and was good and
patient, Jesus would love him, and
when he died would take him to
heaven.
I saw poor Henry very often. He
appeared to be quickly sinking; He
was always very glad for me to talk
ol Jesus. He told me that he was
so happy, for he felt sure that his
sins were pardoned, and washed
away by the blood of Jesus. He
feared not to die, for he was sure
that Jesus would be with him wiien
he passed through the dark valley of
death.
That valley was soon enicrtd by
the j>oor blind boy. Ilis last words
were, u llappy\ happy! Saved] saved.
It is My Mother. —As the chil
dren belonging to a class iu a Sab
bath-school were reading one after
noon, the teacher had occasion to
speak to them of the depravity of
human nature, and afterwards asked
him if they could remember the
name of one person, that lived on
earth; who was always good.
A sweet little girl, about eight
years of age, immediately said in the
full simplicity of her heart, “I know
whom you mean— it is my mot/ter."
The teacher told the child that
Jesus Christ was the adorable per
son meant; but sbe was happy to
hear that the dear child had so good
a mother, and that she valued her co
highly.
The little one replied again, “0,
she is good! I think she was always
good.” And when the teacher ob
served that it was Jesus that had
made her mother so good, and that
he was willing to make her so, too,
she could see, by’ the child’s earnest
and prayerful look, that it was the
desire of her heart.
“My dear children, are you willing
also that Jesus should make you
good?” added the teacher. “If so,
be assured he is waiting to do scs—
he is waiting for you to ask him.
How long must he wait? X think I
can even now hear you say,
‘Jesus, flx my soul on tlice,
Every evil let me flee;
Take my heart and make it good.
Wash me in thy precious blood!’ ”
A Bad Mark. -It is a had sign
for a boy to be throwing stones at
every dog, or pig, or bird lie sees in
; the street. It shows that such a hoy
j has an unfeeling heart. He don’t care
: how much suffering he may cause a
poor innocent bird, or animal,
j What if he breaks a wing ora leg?-
j lie only laughs at the agony which he
has caused. Boys never cultivate
j such cruel disposition. Never cause
j anything that lias feeling, pain if you
I can possibly help it. lam afried if
you begin with tormenting the poor,
' iunocert brutes, you can after awhile
injure your playmates and associates.
Some have* already been seen to
throw stones at poor hoys just for
the fun of it, or rather, to gratify the
evil dispostion of their hearts. Ah!
many men have been hung for mur
der, or they have been sent to the
State prison, just because they culti
vate such bad disposition when they
were hoys like you.—They commen
ced becoming cruel to animals first,
! and then to other boys and so, little
| by little, their, hearts became liardcn
i ed till they could even kill a man.
Think of this the next time you are
tempted to pick up a stone to throw
at any innocent tiling that lias life
and feeling.
RELIGIOUS INTEL
LIGENCE.
We respectfully invite any minister
of the gospel to communicate to us
promptly any items suited for this
department of the Educator. Eve
ry minister should subscribe. Ad
dress
Waddell & Smith.
Fayetteville N. C.
I’VE GOT ORDERS SOT TO GO. —If
any young man will take heed to the
Bible, as a guide in life, he will be
saved from many fatal errors, and
from wrechedness and remorse. W?
wish that all our young readers had
the resolute will of John in the fol
lowing incident:
“I’ve got orders—positive orders
—not to go there—orders that I dare
not disobey,” said a youth, who was
tempted to a smoking and gambling
saloon!
“Come, don’t be so womanish—
come along like a man,” shojtc 1 the
youths.
“No, I can’t break orders,” said
John.
“What special orders have you got?
come, show em to us if you can.
Show us your orders.”
John took a neat wallet from his
pocket, and pulled out a neatly fold
ed paper: “It’s here,” he said, un
folding the paper and showing it to
the boys. They looked and real a
loud:
“Enter not into the path of the
wicked man.—Avoid it; pass not by
it; turn from it, aud pass away.”
“Now,” said John, “you sea my
orders forbid me going with you.
They arc God's orders, and by His
help, I don’t mean to break them.”
Activity Leads to llafpisess.
—We should all live more healthful,
more useful and longer lives, says the
Philadelphia ledger, did we so em
ploy our activities to extract fro n
them that enjoyment which is their
natural and legitimate result. Let
every one be sure that, if his work is
toilsome, arduous and depressing,
there is something wprng; some of
his faculties are restrained, while
others are overburdened; some of his
powers are exhausted, while others
are dorment. It is not rest so much
as change that he Leeds—not to lay
down his wo r k and fold his hauds in
idleness, but rather to embrace other
fields of action, hitherto untrodden.
It wiii doubtless be difficult to ap
ply this to all the details of practi
cal life, but shall have gained one im
portant step towards it if we appre
ciate and firmly hold to the truth,
that real happiness can only be attain
ed by activity of mind and body, and
the more fully' and harmoniously all
our powers are exercised, the fuller
will be our life, and the more real en
joyment will it yield.
Buuyan represents Mercy as laugh
ing in her sleeve. Truly’, as we
think this, one feels inclined to laugh
for very joy of heart. Come! If
the head aches to-night, let the re
flection that it will soon be crowned
a consolation to you. Come! If
you have had much to worry you
through the day, let the sweet
thought that you will soon he where
not a wave of trouble shall ever cross
your peaceful breast, boa rich con
solation to you. There is a throne
iu heaven that no one can occupy
but you, and there is a crown in
heaven that no oilier head can were
but youi'B, and there is a part in the
eternal song that no other voice can
compass but yours, and there is a
glory to God that would bo wanting
if you*did not come to render it, and
there is a part of infinite majesty
and glory that would never bo re
flected unless you should be there
Ito reflect it! Wherefore, comfort
ioue another witii this, that ere long
you shall be there! —[Spurgeon
Xlie lust wish ol tt Slave.
1»Y OKItA I.ANGItoRNE.
.Uncle Billy was always a charac
ter in the family. llow well I re
member his short, active figure, and
the mingled affection and awe with |
which we children regarded him.j
He was given to my mother when j
she was married, and drove the car-1
riage in which the bridal party per- j
formed the five days’ journey which |
the hundred miles ride over the mud- j
dyjcoads of the time required. What I
wonderful changes have comd since
that day. The children of that fair
bride rush over the'road with the i
ron horse, while the descendants of
that humble’faithful slave are free
men and citizens- What is in store
for the next generation? Perhaps:
they shall govern the currents of the
air and ride upon the wings of the
wind. Perhaps the Africans of that
day, forgetting that his race has been
enslaved, shall carry republican prin
ciples to his native landl and behold
her rise to a place of power among
the nations!
Coming from “Old Virginny,’ 1 as
Uncle Billy always proudly stated
he and the rest of my mother’s ser
vants looked down upon the inhabi
tants of their new home in Western
Virginia, because, I suppose, there
were but few slaves in that part of
the country, and though the place
was a thriving village in the midst of,
a fertile valley, perhaps the air of i
prodigal hospitality and lavish ex-1
penso to which they had been accus
tomed was lacking in their new stir-'
roundings.
Like all negroes, Uncle Billy de
spised what they termed “poor white
trash,” namely, such persons as were
unable to own or hire servants and
were forced to work with their hands.
11l my childhood we lived in a brick
house on the hanks of a little stream
which flowed in and throw the streets
of the town. Jus(, behind our house
the banks were very steep, and a
bridge spanned the brook some twen
ty feet above the channel. One of
the earliest and best remembered
scenes in my life was of a crowd of
people on tfie bridge, where Uncle
Billy had gotted into a fierce quar
rel with a white mechanic who lived
near us. Just as my father vfas sum
moned to tlie spot by the cries of the
other servants, the white man swore
lie would “beat that nigger for his
impudence,” and Uncle Biily threw ;
himself like a tiger upon him. and in
stantly sprang with him in his arms
over the parapet on the rocks below.
A scream rose from every’ woman
present, and every one rushed to the
brink of the stream, fearing that one
or both of the combatants had been
killed; but both had escaped unhurt
and, like the man and the bear in
the old story, each seemed content!
with his efforts and went slowly mov
ing off in opposit directions. A loud j
murmur arose in the crowd to “hang
the nigger,” and my father, who Se-,
cretly admired Uncle Billy's plnck !
hastily improvised a message to the j
farm, and sternly bidding him mount
his riding horse, which stood at the !
door, sent him out of town and man- j
aged to dispense with his services
until the affair had blown over.
Combining the various duties of
wood cutter, gardner and carriage
driver, Uncle Billy was withal a fa
mous cook, though bo disliked very
much to exercise that talent, and his
natural testiness always increased to
positive ill-htimor when the sickness
of the cook, or any unusual occasion,
required his services in that depart
ment, and my mother often said
laughingly that she did not know
whether to be glad or sorry when
i she sat down to one of Uncle Billy 's
finely prepared dinners, as the present
enjoyment was spoiled by his pros- j
pective grumbling for many days i
after. I well remember the wrath 1
upon his countenance when the unex
pected arrival of some friends and
the illness of the oook’s infant called
Uncle Billy’s services into requisition
and I was dispatched to the wood
pile to deliver my mother’s orders
for dinner, which I fancy she did.
not care to give herself; and I can
distinctly recall the indignant man-,
ncr in which the old man shook his j
head, as he laid aside his axe and j
prepared to go to the barn for fowls.,
Nothing more was heard from the I
kitchen, until a most savory and eom
fortcble meal was placed upon the
table, and I noticed the smile with
which iny mother received the mi*
morons compliments of her friends,
as they discussed the dainty viands
spread so lavishly before them, and
congratulated their hostess on having
such a cook. But late that night
we weie all surprised by Uncle Bil
ly’s appearing, with an unusual geu
tle and submissive air, at the nurse
ry door, and my mother, who was
deeply attached to the old man, has
tily bade him come in and tell his
troubles. “I didn’t think I’d say
nothing Jbont it,” said Uncle Biily
in his sturdy tones, “but ’pears like
lis bleeged to. You see, Mistus, I
was mad when I went to do barn for
deni chickens, and do fust thing I
done was to clap the big door to oni
my hand an’ cut de eend of my little
linger clean off. I was so mad ’bout
gittin’ dinner I jest picked it up and
pnt it in my pocket, and did not say
nothin’; but when I 1 done clean up
de kitchen I stuck de eend on and
tied it Witt: a rag, but it do hurt
drefful bad.” Uncle Billy narrowly
escaped lockjoy, and my mother
nursed him faithfully through the
long and weary illness that followed.
Those bygone years seem like a
dream now, and Unale Billy in the
blue cloth coat, with brass buttons,
which he always wore when driving
the carriage, or on Sundays, is al
ways one of the prominent figures in
the scene which memory brings be
fore me, and over which a cloud of
darkness seemed to fall like a pall
when the hour came in which pur
young mother, the.oeutral figure of
ail pictures of pleasure to us, was
borne away to her loug home, in the
prime of youth and womanhood.
Uncle Billy, who was separated
from all his early friends and his
own people, loved her as his own
child, and seemed to' pine away after
she was gone. He seemed to have
lost all his spirit, and the other ser
vants, whom he had kept in awe of
him, began to whisper to us and to
each other that the old man .“was
not long for this world.”
The winter he died was a’gloomy
one to us all; the shadow of tho great
sorrow that had befal en us hung o
ver the house, and it was like open
ing a fres h wound when we were
summoned to the death bed of the
old and faithful servant, who was so
soon called to follow his loved mis
tress to the spirit-land. The whole
family had collected around the old
man, and his eyes wandered from the
duskey faces of his fellow-servants
and rested lovingly on the children
who had grown up around his kneqs,
and seemed dearer than all of earth
to him. He was far from the scenes
of his youth—none of ids kindred or
friends wpro near—and ho turned
piteously to my father, who stood be
side him: “What is it, Billy?” said
my father, “Is there anything I can
do for you?” “Yes, master," said
the old man feebly. “I is got one
wish, and it ’pears like I can’t die till
my heart is at rest ’bout dat," ‘What
is it?” said papa tenderly. “You
know there is nothing that I would
not do for you.” “Master,” said the
dying man, rousing himself and fix
ing his gaze firmly on my father’s tins:
“I wants to be Xi tel I have been a
slave all my lile, and now I want to
die free!” My fattier looked rnut'h
hurt “Why, Billy," ho said, “have
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EDTOAEPfi
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“ “ six months, ~ 8.00
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yotf bdeftTll-trealed; ’ffave Vever been
harsh; has any one been unkind to *
you?” “No, dear maser, yoh; you is
been de kindest master in de world;
an’ I loved my blessed mfsstress,
what’s gone to glory; ah’-1 loves ebry
one of desc chillun—l ain’t got noth
in’ else to love—but I is been want
in’ to be free all my life, and now I
can do no mpre work, an’ your poor
ole negger is enterin’ on eternity,
and ain’t no use to nobody. Please,
master, set me free!” My father hast
ily ordered writing materials to 1 e
trough t —for he saw that liie
was fast ebbing and, making
out the necessary papers as quick
ly as he could, handed them L>
Uncle Billy, who pressed them it*
his lips and his heart, then fixing Ins
eyes with a loving confident gaze mi
my father’s face, said: “Read it, mas
ter.” My father read the papt-r
aloud, and Jumped it back.
was heard in the room but the labor
ed breathing of the old man. “Thank
you, master,” he said at last, gasping
out the words—“thank you, mast::.”
A few more deep-drawn sighs, a f. w
last struggles, and the paper flutter
ed no longer on his breast. The !a*s
wish was fulfitted—the slave was
free.
WnEKE HE IIAD THE AI)V •• <-
tage.— Just at the close of the W .r
of 1812 an English man-of war eu’.er
ed Boston. The captain was kirnuu
as a bully of the first water. Enter
ing a barber’s shop in Boston, and
finding no one but the boy present
he demanded in an insolent and ov. r
bcaring way, “Where is your mi
ter?"
“Not down yet, sir.”
“Well I want to be shaved.” “Y.-s,
sir, I can shave you.” “You?” “Y ,
sir.” “Well, you may try it, but
look here, my youngster, laying his
loaded pistol on the table, “the hrst
drop of blood you draw on my face
I’ll shoot you.” ‘.‘All right, sir,” was
the reply. The boy shaved hi»>, ai-l
did it well. After the operation was
through, the bully turned to him as
he took up the pistol, and remarked:
‘‘Wasn’t you afried?” “No, sir 1 ” re
torted the boy. “Didn't you believe
I would shoot you?” ‘Yes. sir.”
“Then way wasn’t you afried?” The
boy coofly replied: “because I had
the advantage.” “Advantage, bow?”
demanded the irate bully. “Why,’ ’
said the boy, with the utmost non
chalance, “if I bad drawn blood, I
should have takeu the razor and cut
your throat from ear to ear!” The
bully turned pale, but uover forgot
the lesson.
ThePe are little’ princes' m tl&
world whose principalities are about
as large as ordinary kitchen gard :;i-.
and they account themselves very
great indeed. The man of great
esteem is like John R. in English
histoiy, who had not a foot of
ground. The less the man’s pos
session, often the man’s greater self
possession. But in heaven there a- >
no pauper princes. There they
rich to *ll the intents .<?f
They have their crowns, but th,y
have their kingdoms. All fhiugs
are theirs—the gifts of God—»n-l
God is theirs. They are clothed
with honor and majestly—not out
wardly only but inwardly—and they
are all the concomitants that should
go with royal dignity—'' [ftjur
gt“t>n - _______
“Six things,” says Hamilton, “ihe
requisite to create a home. In
tegrity must lie the architect,and ti
diness arc upholsterer. It must ho.
warmed by affection, and lighted
with cheerfulnass, and industiy
must be the ventilator,reuewirg the
atmosphere, nod bringing in fresh
salubrity day by day, while over all’
as s: protecting: glory ®«td eanopy,
nothing will suffice except blessings
of God.” .1 • • t . »i "U*