The core and kernel of yesterday’s great noon meeting, in honour of the Brotherhood of Man, in Music Hall, was the superb address of the Negro President of Tuskegee.  “Booker T. Washington received his Harvard A.M. last June, the first of his race,” said Governor Wolcott, “to receive an honorary degree from the oldest university in the land, and this for the wise leadership of his people.”  When Mr. Washington rose in the flag-filled, enthusiasm-warmed, patriotic, and glowing atmosphere of Music Hall, people felt keenly that here was the civic justification of the old abolition spirit of Massachusetts; in his person the proof of her ancient and indomitable faith; in his strong through and rich oratory, the crown and glory of the old war days of suffering and strife.  The scene was full of historic beauty and deep significance.  “Cold” Boston was alive with the fire that is always hot in her heart for righteousness and truth.  Rows and rows of people who are seldom seen at any public function, whole families of those who are certain to be out of town on a holiday, crowded the place to overflowing.  The city was at her birthright fete in the persons of hundreds of her best citizens, men and women whose names and lives stand for the virtues that make for honourable civic pride.

Battle-music had filled the air.  Ovation after ovation, applause warm and prolonged, had greeted the officers and friends of Colonel Shaw, the sculptor, St. Gaudens, the memorial Committee, the Governor and his staff, and the Negro soldiers of the Fifty-fourth Massachusetts as they came upon the platform or entered the hall.  Colonel Henry Lee, of Governor Andrew’s old staff, had made a noble, simple presentation speech for the committee, paying tribute to Mr. John M. Forbes, in whose stead he served.  Governor Wolcott had made his short, memorable speech, saying, “Fort Wagner marked an epoch in the history of a race, and called it into manhood.”  Mayor Quincy had received the monument for the city of Boston.  The story of Colonel Shaw and his black regiment had been told in gallant words, and then, after the singing of

 Mine eyes have seen the glory
 Of the coming of the Lord,

Booker Washington arose.  It was, of course, just the moment for him.  The multitude, shaken out of its usual symphony-concert calm, quivered with an excitement that was not suppressed.  A dozen times it had sprung to its feet to cheer and wave and hurrah, as one person.  When this man of culture and voice and power, as well as a dark skin, began, and uttered the names of Stearns and of Andrew, feeling began to mount.  You could see tears glisten in the eyes of soldiers and civilians.  When the orator turned to the coloured soldiers on the platform, to the colour-bearer of Fort Wagner, who smilingly bore still the flag he had never lowered even when wounded, and said, “To you, to the scarred and scattered remnants of the Fifty-fourth, who, with empty sleeve and wanting leg, have honoured this occasion