THE SOUTH.

ONE OF THE DEACONS.

BY MRS. JULIA E. NELSON.

"A short, heavy-set, black man," "A good carpenter," "A man who can turn his hand to 'most anything," "None of your trifling fellows; somebody you can depend on every time." Such are the descriptions given of Deacon Jeremiah Edwards by the people among whom the chief part of his fifty years have been passed.

"The pump is out of kilter." "So? Well, tell Jeremiah Edwards to come and doctor it up."

"There's a leak in the roof, and the tinners can't seem to find it." "I'll send Jerry 'round to attend to it."

"Can't find the key of my bureau drawer; reckon Bud or the baby has lost it; drawer locked, and not a key can I find to fit in either of the hardware stores. I never saw such a place." "Don't fret about it, Carrie, I'll send Uncle Jerry up to file off one of these keys or make a new one; and while he's here, have him repair the organ and mend the picket-fence, and set the glass in the chamber window and the back bedroom. Better let him take the umbrella to his shop and mend it, and is there anything else? Oh! those shears and the butcher-knife you've been complaining about so long; let him take them along and sharpen them up." "Do you suppose, Harry, he could do anything with the cooking-stove? There's something broken about it; I reckon it's broken, but the cook says it's burnt out. Likely she broke it, though; niggers are so careless and good-for-nothing." "Certainly, certainly. Jerry used to work in an iron-foundry; he's a regular Tubal Cain. If he can't fix anything that's made of iron or brass or wood, it can't be fixed, that's flat."

Now what would the residents of a town like Jonesboro, a town over one hundred years old, and very small of its age—what could they do in an emergency if, instead of a missing key, there should be a missing Jerry? The probabilities are that it will take something mightier than the Western fever and more powerful than Colonization projects to carry Jerry Edwards away from the snug little home that he has made for himself, his good wife Patsey, and his little granddaughter. Many a millionaire finds less satisfaction in his palatial mansion than the proprietor of that little white cottage among the trees, as he gathers fruit from his own well-kept orchard, vegetables from his prolific garden, and corn from his own field. How much sweeter music is the cackling of hens to one who has brought them up from downy chickenhood! That and the robins' songs give more pleasure at the cottage than would the notes of imprisoned canaries.

A horse that "knows more than some people," cows that show generous keeping, and the "prettiest pigs you ever saw" are some of the adjuncts of the Edwards establishment. A pig is not pretty? Own the pig—own the pig and watch him as he grows ripe for the pork barrel. Everybody's pig, like everybody's baby, is prettier than anybody's.

"Let everybody go West that wants to," says Jerry Edwards, "and let them that want to be Africans go to Africa. I'm an American, and I shall stay right here the balance of my days. If I couldn't make a living here, I should be striking out after work, but I don't need to go anywhere to hunt work; work is hunting for me all the time." And so it is.

Speaking in the Literary Society on the relative merits of trades and the learned professions, he said, "Everybody ought to work with his hands that can't work with his head. Now, some try to work with their heads when they'd be doing a good deal better for themselves and everybody else if they'd just go to work with their hands. Now, I couldn't make a living by headwork if I wanted to. I don't know how it would have been if I'd had a chance for an education when I was young. I never went to school a day in my life except Sunday-school. What little knowledge I have of reading and writing is just picked up. Because I've got along without an education, I don't think everybody else ought to do the same. I'd have got along better if I'd had more. I feel as if I am crippled by the want of it, and am just crutching along. Young men, get all the education you can, but at the same time remember that it's a good thing to have a trade to fall back upon."

In the ante-bellum days, that compound of muscle and will and honesty and skill now known as Deacon Edwards, used to bring home to his master a twenty-dollar gold piece weekly, earned in the foundry where he was hired out without being a party to the contract. His master had a large family, and gave to each of his children a college education. If the earnings of Jerry and his fellow-servants did not suffice to pay bills, a boy or girl (and colored men and women were always boys and girls with their masters) would be sold. The "boy" to whom he gave two trades, although by no means rich, is in better circumstances than any of the sons whose education was paid for by the sweat of dusky brows mingled with countless tears and bitter heart-burnings.

That humorous philosopher, Josh Billings, says, "You never saw a self-made man but what was mighty proud of his job." If any self-made man has a right to be proud, it is he who, having been held as a chattel, has compelled all who know him to admit that he possesses honesty, good sense, moral courage and everything that goes to make up a true man.

Four years ago Jerry Edwards was elected School Commissioner, and served in that capacity for three years. He was the first and only colored man who has ever filled that position in his district, and was elected by an unusually large majority in a place where colored men are greatly in the minority. But he has won victories greater than this—victories over self in breaking the chains of appetite and long-established habit. Eight years ago a temperance society was organized here. "Before that time," says he, "I never heard, and it had never entered my head, that there could be any harm in drinking so long as a man didn't get drunk." He attended the meetings, listened attentively, but did not take the pledge for a long time. At first he argued for the moderate use of stimulants, the harmlessness of pure wine, etc., but yielded point by point to repeated assaults in a war of friendly words.

He had a fine vineyard, made wine, drank it, sold it, and gave it to his friends. There was no market for grapes—what should he do with his vineyard? He feared he could not abstain wholly, and tried total abstinence for several months before venturing to pledge himself to it publicly, "Don't think," said he, during his voluntary probation, "that I don't appreciate what you say, nor that I am not as good a friend to you as anybody in the Temperance Society." We had had some persecutions. "I'll be with you in six troubles," said he. "Ah! yes, Mr. Edwards," said I, "you will, and have been already: but in the seventh trouble, the temperance trouble, there you leave me to fight the battle alone." That was an unmerciful sword-thrust when he was having a harder battle than I, his foes being within and mine without—his enemies being appetite and love of gain, mine principally ignorance and prejudice. Not long after this he joined the temperance society, and now sells or gives away grapes instead of wine.

Over a year ago he resolved that he would no longer be a bond-slave to that bewitching weed whose use civilized men learned from savages. For more than forty years he had used tobacco, having begun at the early age of seven years. A poor kind of candy to reward a good boy with, certainly. It was no easy thing for the veteran smoker and chewer to bid good-bye to pipe and quid, but for fourteen months he has successfully resisted the temptation to defile himself with the unclean thing, although he has craved it every day.

"I know there's differences in religion," said Haley, the trader. "Some kinds is mis'rable. There's your meetin' pious; there's your singin' roarin' pious; them ar ain't no account in black or white; but these rayly is; and I've seen it in niggers as often as any: your rail softly quiet, stiddy, honest pious that the hull world couldn't tempt 'em to do nothing that they thinks is wrong." The "roarin' pious" never give up the use of tobacco; it takes the "stiddy, honest pious" to do that. If you are going to build a church and want solid deacon timber, take the last sort.

JELLICO, TENN.

In this field the harvest is truly ripe. A few days since I was called to the bedside of a young man who it was thought was dying or would soon die. He said he was unsaved. I said to him, "Do you believe in Christ?" "I do not know whether I do or not." "Well," I said, "you believe Jesus died to save you?" "I don't know anything at all of him. I never read the Bible a minute in my life. I never went to church in my life. Oh, pray for me that my soul may not be lost." I sat down on the side of his bed and told him of man's fall, of God's loving kindness, of our redemption through Christ, and that whosoever believeth on the Son hath everlasting life, and that whosoever will may come. He accepted the truth, is happy and is recovering health, and will through God's grace be an efficient worker in the vineyard.

E. H. Bullock.

AMONG THE CHURCHES OF MAINE.

I have just returned from a very pleasant campaign among the churches of Maine, in the interest of the A. M. A. I visited and addressed meetings in thirty-one different places. At Old Orchard, in connection with the fourth annual meeting of the Young People's Society of Christian Endeavor, I had the pleasure of meeting representatives from all parts of New England and many of the Western States.

At New Gloucester I met one of our lady missionaries, Miss Mary Lunt, whose labor of love at Selma, Ala., is the crown of rejoicing to the Ladies' Missionary Society of Maine. At Gorham, the home of Governor Robie, I spoke to two large audiences, the Governor and the editor of one of the leading papers of Georgia being present.

During my stay at Augusta I called to pay my respects to the Hon. J. G. Blaine. Mr. Blaine inquired after the welfare of the A. M. A., and manifested deep interest in the education of the freedmen in the South. After a pleasant interview he went to his desk and returned with his check as a donation to our work.

Being in Lewiston during the memorial service of General Grant, I joined the great assembly in paying grateful and heartfelt respect to the hero of Appomattox. Senator Frye gave a stirring account of the great commander's career and an able analysis of the General's character.

In all the places I visited I found the churches and pastors deeply interested in our cause, and especially pleased to receive fresh news from the field of the grand work of the A. M. A.

I wish to express my grateful appreciation to the churches, pastors and friends of the Pine Tree State for their cordial welcome, kind hospitality and generous response to our appeal in behalf of the pressing needs of the A. M. A.

Geo. W. Moore.

THE REASON WHY.

BY REV. GEO. C. ROWE.

In the December number of the American Missionary an article published contained the following incident.

The First Louisiana Regiment of colored soldiers, recruited in New Orleans, was about to take its departure for the front. The colonel, who for some reason could not accompany his men, presented the regimental flags to the color-sergeant. After a brief speech, full of patriotic feeling, he concluded with these words: "Color-guard, protect, defend, die for, but do not surrender these flags." The sergeant, upon receiving them, made this simple but noble response: "Colonel, I will bring back these colors to you in honor or report to God the reason why." And when, a few days afterward, during an assault on Port Hudson, he fell defending the flag and his dying blood crimsoned its folds, another took his place and saved it from falling into the hands of the enemy. The brave standard-bearer kept his word, and in failing to return the colors to the hands that had committed them to his care, he "reported to God the reason why."

It is the eve of battle; The soldiers are in line; The roll of drum and bugle's blast Marshal that army fine. The hour is fraught with mystery— A hush pervades that throng, And each one thinks of home and friends, And says at heart, "How long?" The colonel rides before his men, His thoughtful brow is bare; He calls the color-sergeant, And tenders to his care The nation's pride, the dear old flag— The loved red, white and blue, And says, with earnest tones and grave: "I intrust this now to you. "Yes, color-bearer, take in charge Your country's flag to-day, And to the conflict bear it— The thickest of the fray. "Bear it with lofty courage, And to it faithful be; This flag has inspired thousands, And led to victory. "Take it and never leave it, 'Tis a solemn charge to thee; Bring back to me this banner, This ensign of the free!" "Colonel," the color-sergeant said, Holding the flag on high, "I'll bring it back or else report To God the reason why!" Away to the front he bears it. Cheered on by comrades brave, Anxious to liberate his race, Bring freedom to the slave. They charge upon Port Hudson, Where, sheltered by a wall, The foemen cut them down like grass. They bravely charge—but fall. Yes, on that field, where thousands Unheeding the tumult lie, He left the flag, reporting To God the reason why. Another bears that flag along, Holding it proud and high: But the sergeant has reported To God the reason why. Oh, Christian soldier, going forth To battle for the Lord, Be filled with manly courage, And proudly hear God's word. It is the standard of your King, Who rules the earth and sky; You must win, through it, the vict'ry Or tell Christ the reason why. The war will soon be ended; In the dust you soon will lie; Go forth and conquer, or report To God the reason why.