would be as strong against friendship with the British Christians as against Liberian Christians. There is no question, however, that if the Government of the Republic will deal justly, amicably, and wisely with these tribes, they will heartily respond. The Kru and related peoples of the coast form a completely different proposition. They are full of force and vigor; Sir Harry Johnston and others call them “cheeky”; they are actually awake. They are ready for progress; they want education; they have for centuries been in contact with white men and know their strength and weakness; they are strong, intelligent, industrious, and want work. They have no dainty fears regarding labor, so that it be paid--but pay they want, and justly. At the present they form the strongest immediate hope in the Liberian population. We have said that they want education; as a matter of fact, they flock into the schools. When Bishop Ferguson was at Cape Palmas, in 1912, four promising-looking native boys walked from Pickaninny Cess, fifty miles to Cape Palmas. They told him they had heard of the big school (Epiphany Hall) and desired to attend; that another of their comrades was coming the following week. The Bishop says: “They are just the age when the inducement to go down the coast to earn money is strong; in fact they had already made several trips; but instead of going again, they had decided ‘to learn book’. I did not have the heart to turn such applicants off, and so wrote to the Principal to admit them under special arrangement.” When in Monrovia, I several times visited the College of West Africa. It is over-crowded and ministers to both Americo-Liberian and native boys. On one occasion I seated myself in the midst of the class in fourth grade arithmetic. The recitation was well conducted and well given. While black-board work was occupying the general attention, I remarked to a boy at my side, “But you are a native boy.” “Yes,” he said, “I am Kru--and so is _that_ boy, and _that_ one, and _that_ one.” As a matter of fact, I was practically surrounded by them. “Well,” said I, “and how do you native boys get on? Do you do well?” “Yes, sir,” was the immediate response, “we do well; we do better than _they_ do.” It was not necessary for me to ask who he meant by “they.” I answered, “It would sound better if some one else said so.” He replied, “That may be so; but it is true.” “How does that happen?” I asked. His reply deserves attention: “We love our country more than they do, sir.” I am not prepared to assert that they love their country more than the Americo-Liberians; it is true, however, that they are passionately fond of their native land. The first time that my personal attention was turned to the black Republic was in 1905 when a Kru boy upon our steamer bound to Congo told me with evident affection of his dear, his native land, and pointed out to me the distant green shore of the villages where his people were located. And whether they love their