At another time, on having a very difficult text explained to him, he said, “Whenever I came to that text, I was like a little child two or three years old, trying to go from one room of his father's house into another. After trying again and again to reach and raise the latch, but all in vain, his father comes along, and does, without the least difficulty, what the child could not possibly do. Just so with me. You have opened the door, and now I can go on in.”

He was a close observer of passing events— an accurate discerner of the signs of the times. He looked at every thing in its bearing on the cause of Christ. He said to us on one occasion, “Real Christians are the salt of the earth; and I do believe that this world would have been destroyed long ago, but for them. Does not the word of God say, that for the elect's sake those days shall be shortened?”

There were two individuals in the circle of his acquaintance, remarkable, not only for their own destitution of religious principle, but also for doing all they could to suppress it in the large families of which they were the heads. During their lives, no member of either household made any advance towards forming a connection with the church. Soon after their deaths, which happened nearly about the same time, the widow and several of the children of each, became pious, active members of the church. When his attention was called to this fact, he said, “I have often seen a large, spreading oak, standing alone in a field, with nothing growing under it—but only cut that tree down and take it away, and a little culture will make the land very productive.”

We have already learned that he was admitted to terms of great familiarity with persons of every grade in society; and yet his deportment never savoured of arrogance or presumption. There was but one class of persons with whom he ever used a freedom which the most fastidious could censure. These were such as scoff at sacred and divine subjects. Persons of this sort would sometimes jeer him about his religion; and endeavour to make Christ and his precious cause subjects of buffoonery and ridicule. The old African was far more jealous of his Master's glory than of his own ease or reputation. On such occasions, his usual diffidence and reserve would give place to a firm but dignified defence of the truth; and most happily could he “answer a fool according to his folly.” Nor did one of this fraternity ever encounter him without being seriously worsted.

A man addicted to horse-racing and card-playing, stopped him in the road one day, and addressed him as follows: “Old man, you Christians say a great deal about the way to heaven being very narrow. Now, if this be so, a great many who profess to be travelling it, will not find it half wide enough.” “That's very true,” said the good African, “of all who merely have a name to live, and of all like you.” “Why refer to me?” asked the man; “if the road is wide enough for any, it is for me.” “By no means,” was the pertinent reply; “when you set out, you will wish to take along a race-horse or two, and a card-table. Now there's no room along this way for such things, and what would you do, even in heaven, without them?”

Another individual of large fortune, who was accustomed to treat the subject of religion rather sportively, and who at the same time prided himself on his morality, said to him, “I think, old man, I am as good as need be. I can't help thinking so, because God blesses me as much as he does you Christians, and I don't know what more I want than he gives me; and yet I never disturb myself about preaching or praying.” To this the old preacher replied with great seriousness, “Just so with the hogs. I have often seen them rooting among the leaves in the woods, and finding just as many acorns as they needed, and yet I never saw one of them look up to the tree from which the acorns fell.”

He was fond of considering piety, both internal and external, as progressive in its developments. He opposed with the utmost firmness and faithfulness, the idea of one's getting religion, as the phrase is, and then folding his hands in utter idleness. He was fully aware that this error prevailed to a deplorable extent, among those of his own colour, and he spared no pains to resist and eradicate it. He was accustomed to say, “I have no notion of that religion which is better at first than it ever is afterwards. When Christians hear a sermon on the text, “Turn ye, turn ye, for why will ye die?” they are apt to conclude that it don't suit them, because they have turned long ago. Now, the truth is, to be the real children of God, we must continue to turn as long as we live. For my own part, I often feel as if I had as much turning to do now, as I had when I first set out.”

His views on this subject were unusually enlarged and scriptural. They reached into eternity. Nothing less than the expectation of an eternal progression, in knowledge, holiness, and usefulness satisfied his desires. Of this, we are furnished with a striking illustration, in the following incident. A pious young man, of considerable intelligence, conversing with him on growth in grace, said, “We should strive to grow until we die.” “Yes,” replied our preacher, “and hope to grow after we die. I trust in God I shall grow for ever.”

Standing one day in sight of a field of tobacco, he said to me, “Some fifty years ago, I expected the time would come, when I should be of some account in the Lord's vineyard. But now, I am very old, and have given up this hope.” Then pointing to the tobacco, which grew near us, he said, “That is very promising tobacco, but it must be cut and cured, before it will be of any service to its owner. And so it is with me. All that now comforts me on this subject, is the hope that God will make some good use of me in another and better world. The redeemed of the Lord are said to serve him in heaven. What a service that must be! How unlike any thing seen or known on earth!”

Here let the reader pause and consider, that this old African could barely read, and never learned to write. He was taught in the school of Christ, and only there. We never knew him read, nor do we think he cared to read, any book except the Bible, or something of a kindred character. He was literally taught of God, and thus became wise unto salvation. With the jet black colour, and all the features of the African race fully developed, such were the beauties of his mind and heart, as to render him an object worthy of the highest respect—the most profound veneration. Often have we rejoiced to sit at his feet and learn, and with no little delight do we anticipate the day when we shall walk, side by side, along the banks of the river of life, and partake together of the fruits of that tree, whose leaves are for the healing of the nations.

Another very striking characteristic of the African Preacher was solicitude for the prevalence of pure and undefiled religion He sought, in every legitimate way, the advancement of Christ's cause. Most truly could he say, “If I forget thee, 0 Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her cunning.” Perhaps few, if any, have ever lived, who entered more fully into the spirit of the 80th Psalm—or who, with reference to the interests of Zion, could with greater sincerity or deeper earnestness, adopt the beautiful language of one of our hymns:

All who visited him might expect to be questioned on this subject, as closely as good manners would warrant. No one, who made the attempt, ever failed to interest him deeply on the subject of missions. We have often seen the tear roll down his dark and furrowed cheek, as he listened to some thrilling statement respecting the spread of the gospel among the heathen. He fully believed, that “the field is the world”—that the great commission of the ascending Saviour binds the Church to preach the gospel to every creature, and make disciples of all nations. Here his faith and zeal were such as to put to shame many who, with advantages far superior to his, are still strangers to the missionary spirit, which is but another name for the spirit of the Gospel—the spirit of Christ.

When he prayed, as we know he did with unusual faith and fervour, “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven,” his far reaching mind and heart extended to every nation and kindred and tribe, upon the whole earth. He had known what it was to live amidst the darkness of heathenism, and what it is to enjoy the genial light of the Sun of righteousness.

On one occasion, after listening with fixed attention and deep feeling to a statement of a discouraging character respecting the state of religion in a neighbouring county, he said, “There seems to be great coldness and deadness on the subject of religion every where. The fire has almost gone out, and nothing is left, but a few smoking chunks lying about in places.” How striking is the thought of one's having just religion enough “to smoke,” but not enough to burn. No light, no beat—only a little smoke. Who that has the fire of divine love in his heart, can be content to lead such a life? Indeed it is extremely doubtful, whether a principle of such potency can exist, and yet exert no more influence. Let the inactive, useless member of the church, ponder the homely but expressive language of the good old African, and hang his head for shame, that he should hold no higher place, and act no better part in the vineyard of his Master, than that of a “smoking chunk” lying by the way-side.

Speaking of the causes of a low state of piety, he said, “Christians don't love each other enough. They don't keep close enough together. They are too much like fire-coals, scattered over a large hearth. Coals in that condition, you know, soon die out. Only gather them up, and bring them close together, and they soon become bright and warm again. So it is with Christians. They must be often and close together—in the church—at the prayer meeting, and thus help one another along.”

His attention was frequently called to the purposes and plans of the American Colonization Society. He always said it would succeed if the natives were duly restrained. Young as he was when taken from that country, he seems to have formed a just estimate of the African character. Comparing their superstitious practices and degraded condition, with the privileges enjoyed under the Christian system, he was often heard to thank God that he had been brought to America. “For,” he would say, “coming to the white man's country as a slave, was the means of making me free in Christ Jesus.” He remembered very distinctly having often been forced to participate in the idolatrous rites and ceremonies practised by his parents; and he seldom exhibited deeper emotion than when referring to these things. From this subject he seldom passed, without adding, “If I were only young enough, I should rejoice to go back and preach the gospel to my poor countrymen. But,” he would say, “it would be a great trial to live where there are no white people.”

In every situation, whether of freedom or of bondage, he had found in the white man a friend and a brother. And we scruple not to say, that the black man has no better friend on all this earth, than he finds in the educated, pious son of the good old commonwealth, in which the African Preacher lived, preached and died—respected while he lived, and lamented when he died.

Perhaps no Christian grace shone more brightly in his character, than humility. The attentions bestowed upon him by persons of the highest standing, were remarkable. He was invited into their houses—sat with their families—took part in their social worship, sometimes leading in prayer at the family altar. Many of the most intelligent people attended upon his ministry, and listened to his sermons with great delight. Indeed, previous to the year 1825, he was considered by the best judges the best preacher in that county. His opinions were respected, his advice followed, and yet he never betrayed the least symptom of arrogance or self-conceit. When in the presence of white people, he seldom introduced conversation, and when he did, it was invariably done by modestly asking some very pertinent question on some very important subject. He was perpetually employed either in seeking or communicating information, and when no opportunity presented itself of doing either, he was habitually silent.

His dwelling was a rude log cabin; his apparel of the plainest and even coarsest materials, and yet no one ever heard him utter one “murmuring word.” Like the shepherd of Salisbury Plain, his gratitude for what he had, precluded all anxiety for what he had not.

The tones of his voice, the expression of his countenance, together with every word, and every action, proclaimed that, in true lowliness of mind, he esteemed others better than himself.

An illustration of his meekness and humility is furnished by the fact, that when asked his opinion respecting the law, then recently enacted by the State Legislature, prohibiting coloured men from preaching, he very promptly expressed his approbation of the law; adding, “It is altogether wrong for such as have not been taught themselves, to undertake to teach others. As to my preaching, I have long thought it was no better than the ringing of an old cowbell, and ought to be stopped.” He accordingly bowed to the authority of this law; and although often told, that the penalty for its violation would not be inflicted on him, he never preached afterwards; but became a constant and devout worshipper in a neighbouring Presbyterian congregation, which had been recently organized, and over which the first pastor of that denomination ever settled in the county of Nottoway, had been recently installed.

Another incident, illustrating his humble and contented disposition, must not be omitted Previous to the cessation of his public ministry, a pious and wealthy lady, feeling grieved to see him so rudely clad, presented him with a well made suit of black cloth. This suit, he wore but once, and then returned it to his kind friend, begging that she would not be displeased at his doing so, and justified his conduct thus: “These clothes are a great deal better than are generally worn by people of my colour. And besides, if I wear them, I find I shall be obliged to think about them even at meeting.”

We have already spoken of the polite attentions he received at the hands of white people. In truth, Uncle Jack was always a welcome guest. In warm weather, he always insisted on sitting in the portico, or on the steps leading into the house, as a place better suited to his rank and character, than the parlour. Whenever he took this humble position, the whole family would soon gather around him, and hang upon his words, as long as he could be induced to remain. We have known the whole of a large and fashionable dining party, leave the gay attractions of the parlour, and repair to the porch, or to the shade of some venerable tree, under which he had taken his position, each saying as they went, “Uncle Jack has come, let's go and hear him.” On such occasions, he displayed great prudence and wisdom in the topics introduced. He seemed fully to realize the importance of not repelling or disgusting the young and irreligious, by pressing religious truth upon their consideration, any further than they were disposed to give him their serious attention. The skill with which he could “rightly divide the word of truth, and give to each his portion in due season,” might well rebuke some far better educated, and more distinguished ministers than he.

He never seemed to suppose for a moment, that the attentions shown him, were the result of any personal merit of his own. He considered them all as flowing directly from a regard to his Master, and his Master's cause. Nor was he led by such attentions to consider himself above those of his own colour. Most meekly and humbly did he “condescend to men of low estate.” Most tenderly did he love, fervently did he pray, and faithfully did he labour, for his “brethren, his kinsmen according to the flesh.” He sought their society, and mingled with them in their cabins, with the utmost familiarity. The respect shown him by the whites, united with the vast superiority of his intellectual and moral attainments over theirs, rendered him the object of suspicion and jealousy with the more ignorant, and vicious of this class. He was, moreover, a rigid disciplinarian. He was the relentless enemy of all pretended sanctity. Every departure from what he deemed an orthodox creed, or a consistently pious life, was sure to meet with his most decided opposition. Hence, all feared, and some really hated him. He was no stranger to persecution for righteousness' sake.

A gentleman of our acquaintance detected one of his servants, who belonged to Uncle Jack's pastoral charge, in some petty theft. The master merely admonished the offender, and dismissed him, saying, “I shall content myself with laying this matter before your preacher.” He retired, but soon returned, and with the deepest concern depicted in his countenance, said, “Master, I have come back to say to you, that if you think I deserve punishment for what I have done, I would much rather you would punish me at once, as you think I deserve, than to tell Uncle Jack about it.” The gentleman very wisely concluded not to comply With this strange request, and the servant was commended to the moral discipline of the good old pastor, which resulted very favourably.

It is somewhat remarkable, that just about the time that Alexander Campbell, of Bethany, commenced the propagation of his peculiar sentiments, which so seriously disturbed and divided the Baptist churches in the west, a coloured preacher whose name was Campbell, entered upon the work of “reformation” among the Baptists of his own colour in south-eastern Virginia. This man, however, struck out a course of his own—in some respects the reverse of the system adopted by his more learned namesake, but possessing equal, if not superior claims to originality. It will be quite sufficient for our present purpose, to mention two articles in the new creed of this sable reformer. One of these may be expressed thus: Inasmuch as very few of the blacks are able read, they should no longer rely upon, or be directed in their faith or practice by, the written word of God, but depend entirely upon the teachings of the Holy Spirit. The other was, that the old Jewish law, forbidding the use of swine's flesh, was still in force, and hence it was a great sin to eat pork or bacon.

Our Mr. Campbell could read, but, he said, God had shown to him in a dream the great impropriety of his doing so, as so many of his people were deprived of this privilege. He accordingly called a number of his congregation together, told them his dream, and gave them the interpretation thereof—said it was very wrong for the preacher to be above the people, and then, with great affected solemnity, threw his Bible into the fire and burned it to ashes. The success of this fanatic was considerable; so much so, as to awaken no little alarm among the owners of slaves in that section of the country. As soon as tidings of these things reached our old African, true to his principles, and faithful to the cause of truth and righteousness, he determined to make an effort to check the evil. Accordingly, he set out on a visit to the “reformer,” and on reaching the neighbourhood in which he lived, called on several gentlemen whose servants had become his “disciples”—stated the object of his visit, and desired that a meeting might be held for the purpose of checking, if possible, these new and strange doctrines. His approach was hailed by these gentlemen, as if he bad been a second Luther, come to withstand another Tetzel. The meeting was held.

Mr. Campbell commenced, with all the self-importance so common to self-constituted, and self-styled reformers—pouring forth torrents of “great swelling words of vanity.” The people sympathized with their leader, and joined warmly in the clamour. The African Preacher maintained the utmost silence for a considerable time, but at length arose with great solemnity and said, “My Bible teaches me, in all my ways to acknowledge God, and never to lean to my own understanding. Hence, I can go no further in this business until we have prayed for God's guidance and blessing.” This proposition was evidently unexpected, and to many very unacceptable. But the dignified and solemn manner in which it was made, awed them into momentary silence, and kneeling, he prayed with strong faith and deep feeling, that God would be pleased to direct and bless them in their efforts to learn and do his will. The impression made by this prayer was eminently salutary. Finding that the people had become silent and more respectful, our good preacher proposed to this “setter forth of strange” doctrines, to state and prove his creed. He commenced with an attempt to sustain his positions by quotations from the Bible. To this, Uncle Jack objected, on the ground, that he had burned his Bible, and accordingly had no right to the use of any thing it contained. This was extremely embarrassing. But the prohibition was very properly enforced with the utmost firmness. An appeal to the audience as to the propriety of this course, met with so much favour, that Campbell, finding the current beginning to turn against him, became very angry, and resorted to personal abuse of the good old African. Upon this, the latter arose and with a good deal of biting sarcasm—a weapon he knew quite well when and how to use, said to the people My friends, you all see that what this man says about doing without the Bible, and depending on the Spirit, cannot be true; for he was not able to talk at all, when I told him he had no right to quote a book he had burned. And you can all see, by his getting so angry, that if any spirit came to his help, it was not the Holy Spirit. And as to that notion of his about the sin of eating hog-meat, if the half of what I hear about him and a great many of his members be true, the white people ought to do all they call to encourage that belief, as it will make the raising of hogs down this way, much easier and more certain than it is now.” With this he took his leave., and with this, coloured Campbellism died entirely.

The life of the African Preacher was one of no little toil and suffering. Perhaps the most imprudent step he ever took, was marrying a woman who was in no respect “a help meet for him.” Without mental culture, without religion, encumbered with a large family of children, the fruits of a former marriage, and surrounded by an extensive circle of other relatives, she only served to burden him with domestic cares, sufficient to have crushed the spirit of any ordinary man. These people were idle and profligate; he, industrious and economical. They hung, around and imposed upon him in the most shameful manner. Often would they filch from him the products of his own daily labour, and then add insult to injury, by the grossest personal unkindness, and even cruelty. But all this only served to give additional brightness and purity to his piety. Some metals become the more brilliant on being rubbed, and some flowers are all the more fragrant when trodden upon. So with pure and undefiled religion, and so it was with this good old African Preacher.

His thoughts, his affections, his aims, were all lifted so far above the din of domestic strife, that it seldom or never disturbed his equanimity even for a moment. The dreariness of his home on earth only served to make him sigh more deeply for “that house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.” He rarely alluded to these things, and whenever he did, he never failed to say all he could in extenuation of the guilt of those who had injured him. To the writer, he never alluded to these trials but once, and then he said, “I am such a hard-headed, disobedient child, that I need a whipping every day.” At another time, referring to his poverty, and also to the fact that he had no descendants, he said, “I left nothing in Africa, and I brought nothing to this country. When I die, I shall leave nothing behind me, and shall carry nothing with me, but the merits of my Saviour's obedience and death.”

The simplicity of faith, and the self-application with which our good preacher was accustomed to attend upon the ministrations of the sanctuary, were truly remarkable. “A day in thy courts is better than a thousand,” was not only the language of his lips, but of his heart and of his life. When more than ninety years of age, we have known him to walk two, and sometimes four miles to reach the house of God. And this he would sometimes do in very inclement weather. Nor was he a forgetful hearer, but a doer of the word. We have often been surprised at the accuracy with which he could give the outlines of a sermon many days, and even weeks, after he had heard it. Under faithful and pungent exhibitions of the truth, he was often very deeply affected. After hearing a very lucid and impressive sermon on the resurrection of the dead, we found him, when the service had ended, in the rear of the church, leaning against the side of the house, bathed in tears. On asking him why he wept, he replied, “I am afraid, sir, that after all, I shall never realize what that young preacher talked about today. The glories of the resurrection unto life are too high for me.” He was reminded of what the preacher had said about the changes which annually occur in nature, as to some extent illustrative of the resurrection. He was told to recollect the astonishing difference in the appearance of the trees in winter and spring; and was then asked, if the God who caused this difference, who, in the spring thus adorned the forest, could not, with perfect ease, beautify and adorn his body in an infinitely higher degree. To this he said, “I do not doubt the power or the love of God; but that which troubles me is this. If the tree has not a good root, God will never make it bloom. And so it is with me. If I have not the root of the matter in me, I shall never know any thing of the resurrection unto life.”

On another occasion, we found him in no little distress of mind; and on asking the cause, were answered substantially as follows: “About a week ago, I heard a sermon on the text, “Turn ye, turn ye, for why will ye die?” The preacher, who came from the school up here in Prince Edward, took more pains than common to tell us what was meant by turning. He made the gate appear so strait, and the way so narrow, that he soon made me fear I had never turned at all. He certainly convinced me that I had still a great deal of turning to do, and that this turning must be the great business of the Christian's whole life.” This was a very favourite thought with him. In strict conformity with his views on this subject, he preferred the term converting to converted.

In the course of a sermon on regeneration, he once introduced the following illustration to enforce the duty of growing in grace: “If a farmer,” said he, “in clearing and preparing a piece of ground for cultivation, should do no more than to cut down the trees, and remove the bodies and branches of those trees, whilst all the stumps were left undisturbed, he would very soon find that around every one of those stumps, a considerable number of sprouts, of the very nature of the old tree, had put up, and he would have even more clearing to do than he had at first. Now, to get his land in a proper condition, he must not only cut down the trees, but he must grub up the stumps. Yes, he must continue to grub as long as any part of the root is left. Just so with sin in man's heart and life. He must not only forsake open sin, he must look to the heart, where the roots of this open sin are, and these roots must be grubbed up. And this grubbing he must keep at, as long as life lasts, or he will never bring forth the peaceable fruits of righteousness to the praise of God's free grace.”

Our good preacher was much opposed to the hasty admission of members into the Church. He was accustomed to say, “It is much easier and safer, to keep unworthy persons out of the Church, than to get them out, after they have been once received.” And again he would say, “The Church will not suffer half as much, by keeping a dozen worthy members out, a little too long, as she will by admitting one individual too soon. If you adopt this method of admitting members you must see to it, that your back door is as wide as the front. You must prepare for dropping them, as readily as you took them up.”

It should be remembered, that these views were entertained and expressed, by a native of Africa, at different periods, between the years 1828 and 1836. Every one, at all acquainted with the history of the Presbyterian Church during those eight years, will be struck with the difference between the sentiments of this sable son of a Pagan continent, and some who stood high, as learned doctors of divinity, and even professors in Theological Seminaries, in these enlightened ends of the earth. And we presume there are few or none now in our communion, who would hesitate to say, that the Church would have fared much better, had she asked counsel of the African Preacher, instead of following the advice of some of her “most enlightened and pious divines.” Had this been done, our motto would have been, a pure church, or no church. It is true, the course recommended by the African, would not have emblazoned our church registers with so long and imposing an array of names; but the purity, and by consequence the moral power of the Church, would have been far greater. The efficiency of an army depends upon the patriotism, the courage, and the activity of each soldier, more than it does upon the gorgeous uniform, the graceful movements, or even the imposing numbers of those who fill its ranks. So every one destitute of the essential qualities of “the good soldier of Jesus Christ,” hinders the progress, and detracts from the efficiency, of “the sacramental host of God's elect.” Such views as these led the good African Preacher to make the Saviour's rule his, and they should lead us to make it ours. It is the only reliable rule: “By their fruits ye shall know them.” And the application of this rule in any given case, requires more than a day, a week, or a month.

The next thing deserving of consideration in the character of this excellent old man, was his method of dealing with persons awakened to a sense of their sinfulness in the sight of God. He was very often consulted by persons in this state of mind, of every grade in society; as also by those who, having hope in Christ, were asking what step they should take next, to honour Christ and do good. Here, as in other matters, his course was characterized by good sense and discretion.

On one occasion, a lady of great respectability told him that she considered herself a Christian, but at the same time avowed the purpose of not making a profession of religion by connecting herself with the Church. At this he expressed great surprise— reminded her of what our Saviour said of those who “confessed,” and of those who “denied” him, and then added, “Mistress, if you should suddenly come in possession of a large sum of money, would you lock it up in your house, and try to keep it a great secret? It would neither do you nor any body else much good, to take that course with it.”

At another time, one gave him a long account of a remarkable dream she had had, and desired his opinion on the subject. To this he replied, “The Scriptures do tell us something about dreams, but no where that I remember, of any one converted by a dream or converted when he was asleep. I can understand people a great deal better when they tell me of what they say and do when they are awake, and when they talk about a work of grace in their hearts.”