GO HOME TO THY FRIENDS.
Four years ago a little ten-year-old native on the west coast of Africa had a hungering for “big America,” and a captain beguiled him, by false promises of educating him, to come aboard his ship. The poor waif seemed providentially cared for in Brooklyn and Connecticut, till an A. M. A. friend picked him up and sent him to Atlanta University. During the winter our little Philip has often spoken of his purpose to live for God. Last night, in his broken English, he told us of the impression made on him by the Sunday-school lesson of the day—the demoniac made happy and sent home to tell what great things the Lord had done for him. Said Philip: “It is God who put me here, where I have learned of Christ, and now you must pray for me that I may be a good Christian and grow strong and wise, for I must sometime go home to my friends in Africa and tell them how the Lord had compassion on me.” His artless words touched all hearts and turned our prayer meeting into an impromptu missionary concert. One young man said: “Philip’s friends are our friends. Though there is much for us to do here our 250 years of trial in America may have been only a discipline to fit us for our greater work in Africa.”
A RICE PLANTATION.