I will indicate a few plain signs of progress.  The negroes are rapidly learning self-control.  Six years ago, if a package was left in the hall over night, there would be signs in the morning that it had been meddled with.  The contents might be all there—­I have not found them greatly given to peculation, from the first—­but they did not seem to have the power to resist the temptation to peep.  Now, this is never done; a package of any kind may be left where it is freely accessible for weeks, and it will be untouched.

The first time a fire occurred in our neighborhood, what a panic there was!  All were screaming and tearing about, trunks were dragged out of rooms, and one boy threw his out of a second story window.  It was all we could possibly do to quiet them and restore order.  Since then, there has been a fire so near as to scorch the rear fence and no panic, no screaming, hardly a student left his room.  Formerly, on the receipt of bad news, as the intelligence of the death of a friend, it was not uncommon for one to have a fit of hysterics or something resembling it; now, such news is received with deep feeling indeed, and with tears, but no hysterics or fit of any kind.

There is, also, a grand growth in the sister virtue of gratitude.  In this, they have more to overcome, probably, than in any other matter, for here they carry an inheritance of great weight, from the old slave days.  Why should they be grateful?  What chance to exercise the feeling!  It became, like the eyes of the fish in the Styx of Mammoth Cave, useless, and to all appearances disappeared.  But the germ is there, and with light it will again come to the surface.

I could cite scores of anecdotes.  I will give but one, and I give this because it also illustrates a most loveable trait of character which abounds among these people—­sympathy for suffering.  Mrs. H. and myself started one day, to drive from New Iberia to the Avery salt mine, some ten miles distant.  It was Monday following a hard Sunday’s work speaking; it was as hot as days can be out in the Teche country, and when a little more than half way there, I was suffering from a terrific headache.  We were too far to go back, and so drove on.  Arrived at the “Island,” we drove, as directed, to the boarding house, seeking a place where I could at least lie down, to find only a shed filled with tables, where the men ate, going elsewhere to sleep.  I asked Mrs. H. to drive on and, holding on behind the carriage, was groping my way along, more dead than alive, when I heard a voice cry out, “Why, howdy, Professor, how ever came you here?” Glad was I to hear a friendly voice.  It was that of a young girl who had been, some months before, a visitor at the University, and to whom I had given a little book and spoken some friendly words.  My bread came back to me—­a whole loaf for a crumb.  All day long, she and her mother, who left her wash tub to attend to me, worked over my miserable head.