residence in Princeton, and the more I see of him the more I admire him.  When he visited the Negro Building in Atlanta he seemed to give himself up wholly, for that hour, to the coloured people.  He seemed to be as careful to shake hands with some old coloured “auntie” clad partially in rags, and to take as much pleasure in doing so, as if he were greeting some millionaire.  Many of the coloured people took advantage of the occasion to get him to write his name in a book or on a slip of paper.  He was as careful and patient in doing this as if he were putting his signature to some great state document.

Mr. Cleveland has not only shown his friendship for me in many personal ways, but has always consented to do anything I have asked of him for our school.  This he has done, whether it was to make a personal donation or to use his influence in securing the donations of others.  Judging from my personal acquaintance with Mr. Cleveland, I do not believe that he is conscious of possessing any colour prejudice.  He is too great for that.  In my contact with people I find that, as a rule, it is only the little, narrow people who live for themselves, who never read good books, who do not travel, who never open up their souls in a way to permit them to come into contact with other souls—­with the great outside world.  No man whose vision is bounded by colour can come into contact with what is highest and best in the world.  In meeting men, in many places, I have found that the happiest people are those who do the most for others; the most miserable are those who do the least.  I have also found that few things, if any, are capable of making one so blind and narrow as race prejudice.  I often say to our students, in the course of my talks to them on Sunday evenings in the chapel, that the longer I live and the more experience I have of the world, the more I am convinced that, after all, the one thing that is most worth living for—­and dying for, if need be—­is the opportunity of making some one else more happy and more useful.

The coloured people and the coloured newspapers at first seemed to be greatly pleased with the character of my Atlanta address, as well as with its reception.  But after the first burst of enthusiasm began to die away, and the coloured people began reading the speech in cold type, some of them seemed to feel that they had been hypnotized.  They seemed to feel that I had been too liberal in my remarks toward the Southern whites, and that I had not spoken out strongly enough for what they termed the “rights” of my race.  For a while there was a reaction, so far as a certain element of my own race was concerned, but later these reactionary ones seemed to have been won over to my way of believing and acting.