And then I’d say, “Samuel, you did a foolish thing after the Civil war, you did it with the best of motives, and you needn’t be skairt, I hain’t goin’ to scold you for it, but it wuz jest like turnin’ a company of babies out into the world and tellin’ ’em they wuz jest as tall and inteligent as their pas and mas and they must go on and take care of themselves, and with their utter lack of all knowledge and strength take an equal part in public affairs.  How could these babies do it, Samuel, I would say.  But you wuz gropin’ along most blind in them dark days, and you did the best you knowed how to then.  But when you see you’ve made a mis-step you must draw your foot back and start off agin jest like a elephant crossin’ a weak bridge, I’ve seen ’em go down into the water and wade ruther than resk it.  You may have to wade through deep waters to fix it all right, but that would be better than to fall through a weak bridge and break your neck.

“It is because I think so much on you, Samuel, that I talk so plain to you, for I don’t want you to git the name Miss Eben Simmons got.  She jest spent her hull mind and income on foreign missions and let her own children go so dirty and ragged they wuz a disgrace to Jonesville.  I want you and Miss Simmons to not scrimp in your foreign charities but begin to home and make your own dependent ones comfortable.”

I presume I could convince him if I had time enough, but we are busy creeters, Samuel and I, both on us, and Id’no as he’d have time to argy back and forth with me, but it would be well for him if he did, men must have wimmen advise ’em if they ever expect to amount to anything.

But to resoom forwards.  These thoughts wuz runnin’ through my head as we wended our way around, it did my soul good, as I said, to see the progress these Filipinos are makin’, and to meditate on the fact how enterprisin’ Uncle Samuel is when he sets out.  Why jest think on’t, he’s taught them Filipinos more English in four years than the Spaniards taught ’em their language in the four hundred years they took care on ’em.

I wuz so proud and happy as I thought on’t that I stepped considerable high as I walked along, and I hearn a profane bystander say (wicked creeter to think on’t),

“That woman has took too much stimulant.”

And Josiah sez, “What ails you, Samantha?  You walk as if you wuz follerin’ a band of music.”

And I wuz, it wuz the music of the Future that sounds out in my ears anon or oftener, sweet inspirin’ strains that even Josiah can’t hear if his head lays on the same piller.

It sings of an ignorant, oppressed race changed into an enlightened prosperous one, this great work done by our own country, this song comes floatin’ into my ears over the wide Pacific.  And another louder strain comes from nigher by made tender and pathetic by years of oppression and suppressed suffering that could find expression in no other way than this heart searching pathos.  And blending with it, ringing over and above it, triumphant happy echoes telling of real freedom of mind and conscience, the true liberty.