An old negro friend in our
neighborhood has got a new, nice two-story house, and an orange grove,
and a sugar-mill. He has got a lot of money, besides. Mr. Stowe met
him one day, and he said, 'I have got twenty head of cattle, four head
of "hoss," forty head of hen, and I have got ten children, all
_mine, every one mine_.' Well, now, that is a thing that a black
man could not say once, and this man was sixty years old before he
could say it. With all the faults of the colored people, take a man
and put him down with nothing but his hands, and how many could say as
much as that? I think they have done well.
"A little while ago they had at his house an evening festival for
their church, and raised fifty dollars. We white folks took our
carriages, and when we reached the house we found it fixed nicely.
Every one of his daughters knew how to cook. They had a good place for
the festival. Their suppers were spread on little white tables with
nice clean cloths on them. People paid fifty cents for supper. They
got between fifty and sixty dollars, and had one of the best frolics
you could imagine. They had also for supper ice-cream, which they made
themselves.
"That is the sort of thing I see going on around me. Let us never
doubt. Everything that ought to happen is going to happen."
Mrs. Stowe's public life ends with the garden party, and little more
remains to be told.
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