_Editor Mayflower:_
What Emma Odell says in the October issue of the Mississippi negro is
equally true of his brother, or rather sister, in Virginia. Poor as this
shiftless class usually is, many a cabin of rude logs nestles amid
dainty trailing vines and bright hued blossoms, well worthy to adorn a
far more pretentious mansion. I never knew any member of the colored
race here to boast a pit or greenhouse.--doubtless because they can
usually beg enough cuttings of tender plants from white neighbors in the
spring to fill their tin cans. Little care they for flower pots; any old
broken pitcher, rusty bucket, water pail or teapot, it matters not, so
it will hold dirt. It is the plant they are after, not a pretty pot to
hold it. Their "luck" with Chrysanthemums amounts almost to magic
sometimes. They can make almost any plant thrive and blossom, though
seemingly in their daily round of toil they have but scant time to work
over their flowers.--_Roe Ann Oke._
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