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