ere has been an effort to
form a Republican party, but it has not succeeded very well yet. They
are too suspicious to be led by the whites, and there is not sense
enough in themselves to go ahead.

The last extract in the series is from a letter written by
H. W. exactly one year later, when she made a trip to Port
Royal, staying with Miss Towne and Miss Murray at St. Helena
Village. The tardy tribute of the negroes to Mr. Philbrick
makes the story complete.

FROM H. W.

_Thursday, May 21, 1868._ When I inquired at breakfast if I could have
Jacob's horse for the day, I found that, as he was in use for the
crop, Miss Towne had already had her horse put singly into their
rockaway for school, and Miss Murray's into the chaise for my use. So
when they started for school, I followed along in company as far as
the end of the Village road, where Mr. N. now has a store, and,
turning on to the more familiar road, soon found myself crossing the
creek over Mr. Philbrick's bridge,--one of the very few in decent
repair,--and on my way to Captain John Fripp Homestead. The entire
absence of gates, and as a consequence of pigs, or _vice versa_, made
my drive an easy one, and I did not have to get out once. It had
seemed hot early, but light clouds and a fresh breeze kept it cool all
day. I turned up the familiar avenue to Folsom's, after passing
through one field in which the houses are still, though more
scattered. The avenue was clean and trim, and the house
corresponded,--a new piazza and steps all freshly painted, fresh paint
inside, and paper on the walls made everything look uncommonly
spruce. The schoolroom is now the parlor, and my sofa and cushion
grace it still!

Mr. Alden met me very cordially at the foot of the steps, and I went
in to see the other occupants, Mr. and Mrs. Waters and their son. I
had a pleasant call and talk, and then, refusing their earnest
invitation to spend the day, as Coffin's Point was my one object, I
pursued my lonely way. Trees cut down, and houses moved and built in
the middle of the field, with the absence of fences, gates, and pigs,
were the most noticeable changes, and I drove along, meeting no one,
until I came to the pine woods on the right opposite old Frank's
ground, just before you turn into the Pine Grove field. The woods were
all thinned out, logs lying in every direction. Hoeing the corn
planted there were two women I thought I recognized, and, walking the
hor