Wayside Musings 



SPEAKING of hospitality, I could illustrate 

 by the lovely treatment I received from 

 Mrs. Booker T. Washington, at Tuskegee; 

 how I had a room with an old-fashioned fireplace, 

 with the old-fashioned dog-irons, and splendid with 

 the flame of Alabama pine; how when I came from 

 the evening meetings, I found a neat tray on my 

 writing-table, garnished with a glass of Jersey milk 

 and slices of bread; how I was awakened in the 

 morning by the snapping and the indescribably com- 

 fortable sooing of the hearth-fire. The priestess of 

 the domestic altar had sent a messenger who per- 

 formed his sacred rite and retired so silently that I 

 was unconscious of his presence. When I opened 

 my eyes upon the glory that filled the room I knew 

 of the visitant only by the blessing he had left, as 

 he had softly closed the door and gone away. 



And now I write beside a similar hearth, some 

 forty miles from Tuskegee, in the heart of the 

 "Black Belt." It happened in this way: There was 

 a fine-looking and gifted young minister at the con- 

 ference, the Rev. Charles Morris. A pleasing and 

 well-educated young man. Mr. William Benson was 

 persuading Mr. Morris to go home with him. They 



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