Texas, which seems to be the true land of the cotton farmer, has made the greatest relative progress, now producing double the crop of cotton that she made before the war. During the last cotton year, on less than half of one per cent. of her area, or on less than half an acre in a hundred, she produced a quantity of cotton equal to one-half the entire consumption of the United States. * * * * * THE CHILDREN’S PAGE. * * * * * (_From the Southern Sentinel, Talladega College._) A YOUNG TEACHER’S STORY. I fully realized last April, for the first time, that I had begun a missionary life, when I was helped into a covered wagon, where there was not room enough to sit up straight for the supplies. I had a dizzy headache before I had gone three miles; the smell of bacon, cheese, tobacco, and whiskey was enough to make _any one_ sick. I was wishing that the driver would take some of the things out of the wagon so I could sit more comfortably, when he stopped and took in four sacks of guano—my condition can be imagined better than described. I thought the Lord called some one else, and I had answered. When I got out, the man asked me which was the best—a proud walk or poor ride. I only thanked him for his kindness, and said nothing about which was best. Some say, time flies; it seemed to me that time had lost its wings. At last the much-wished-for Tuesday appeared, beautiful and bright. Just as I sat down to breakfast, I heard some one ask if the school-mistress was in. As I had no appetite whatever, I excused myself from the table, and went to the door to see what was wanted. There were boys and girls of all sizes, with their buckets, books, and slates, all ready for school. We were soon on our way to the school-house; the walk was very pleasant through the piny woods. The school-house was in a very pretty place; a few steps from the door was a nice spring of water, and a large cave. We sang “What shall the harvest be,” then prayed. It was quite difficult to get their names. I asked one little girl her name; she said “Maggie.” I asked her “Maggie what;” she said “Maggie nothing.” There was one little girl in school that I thought never would get acquainted with me. I asked her one day why she didn’t study her lesson; she said she was wondering what kind of a woman I was. I asked her what kind of a woman did she think I was; she said I looked like a white woman to her. [_The writer is a dark person._] I told her she might lay aside her books for ten minutes and take a good look at me, so that she might be thoroughly convinced as to what kind of a woman I was. I then asked her what she thought; but she thought just the same. The weather was so warm, and the days so long, that the children could scarcely keep awake. I would let them go to the spring and bathe their faces, so they might keep awake longer.