Written from the Sea islands of South Carolina.
[Diary] November 22.
This morning before breakfast Mr. Sam Phillips came. He called so early so as to see me before we went to school, and came with a beautiful bunch of camellias and rosebuds from his garden. I went down to the parlor; he sprang up and advanced so warmly, and gladly took my hands in both of his, and seemed overjoyed to get back. His mother and Sophy[1] are friends, and he looks upon me as his auntie in this far-away place. He told us much about the North, said he was so glad to get back to his people. They surrounded him when he came and fairly cried for joy over him, and this touched his good, kind heart. He has done a great deal for them. The children at our school are never tired of telling what he has done, of how he taught them, and of showing the much-prized books and slates he gave them. They seem to love him far more than any one from the North — indeed, than any one on earth, outside of their families. He is pale and thin. The doctor and his mother thought him not well enough to return, but he said he could not stay away longer.
