In turn, Samuel Armstrong, the founder of Hampton Institute, took up his work as a trainer of youth.  He had very raw material, and doubtless most of his pupils failed to get the greatest lessons from him; but, as he had been a peculiarly receptive pupil of Dr. Hopkins, so Booker Washington became a peculiarly receptive pupil of his.  To the formation of Mr. Washington’s character, then, went the missionary zeal of New England, influenced by one of the strongest personalities in modern education, and the wide-reaching moral earnestness of General Armstrong himself These influences are easily recognizable in Mr. Washington to-day by men who knew Dr. Hopkins and General Armstrong.

I got the cue to Mr. Washington’s character from a very simple incident many years ago.  I had never seen him, and I knew little about him, except that he was the head of a school at Tuskegee, Alabama.  I had occasion to write to him, and I addressed him as “The Rev. Booker T. Washington.”  In his reply there was no mention of my addressing him as a clergyman.  But when I had occasion to write to him again, and persisted in making him a preacher, his second letter brought a postscript:  “I have no claim to ‘Rev.’” I knew most of the coloured men who at that time had become prominent as leaders of their race, but I had not then known one who was neither a politician nor a preacher; and I had not heard of the head of an important coloured school who was not a preacher.  “A new kind of man in the coloured world,” I said to myself—­“a new kind of man surely if he looks upon his task as an economic one instead of a theological one.”  I wrote him an apology for mistaking him for a preacher.

The first time that I went to Tuskegee I was asked to make an address to the school on Sunday evening.  I sat upon the platform of the large chapel and looked forth on a thousand coloured faces, and the choir of a hundred or more behind me sang a familiar religious melody, and the whole company joined in the chorus with unction.  I was the only white man under the roof, and the scene and the songs made an impression on me that I shall never forget.  Mr. Washington arose and asked them to sing one after another of the old melodies that I had heard all my life; but I had never before heard them sung by a thousand voices nor by the voices of educated Negroes.  I had associated them with the Negro of the past, not with the Negro who was struggling upward.  They brought to my mind the plantation, the cabin, the slave, not the freedman in quest of education.  But on the plantation and in the cabin they had never been sung as these thousand students sang them.  I saw again all the old plantations that I had ever seen; the whole history of the Negro ran through my mind; and the inexpressible pathos of his life found expression in these songs as I had never before felt it.