red.

"What do you think!" said Mrs. Wilkins to me; "Dallas" (her grandson)
"writes me that he has been compelled by the commandant of West Point
to sit next a negro! Did you ever hear the like of that? Is it not
disgraceful? Negroes admitted to West Point!"

"Oh!" I said, "Mrs. Wilkins, there is something even worse than that.
I understand that some of them have been admitted to heaven!"

There was a silence that could be felt. Then dear Mrs. Wilkins said
gravely:

"That is a different matter, Mr. Carnegie."

By far the most precious gift ever received by me up to that time came
about in this manner. Dear Mrs. Wilkins began knitting an afghan, and
during the work many were the inquiries as to whom it was for. No,
the dear queenly old lady would not tell; she kept her secret all the
long months until, Christmas drawing near, the gift finished and
carefully wrapped up, and her card with a few loving words enclosed,
she instructed her daughter to address it to me. It was duly received
in New York. Such a tribute from such a lady! Well, that afghan,
though often shown to dear friends, has not been much used. It is
sacred to me and remains among my precious possessions.

I had been so fortunate as to meet Leila Addison while living in
Pittsburgh, the talented daughter of Dr. Addison, who had died a short
time before. I soon became acquainted with the family and record with
grateful feelings the immense advantage which that acquaintance also
brought to me. Here was another friendship formed with people who had
all the advantages of the higher education. Carlyle had been Mrs.
Addison's tutor for a time, for she was an Edinburgh lady. Her
daughters had been educated abroad and spoke French, Spanish, and
Italian as fluently as English. It was through intercourse with this
family that I first realized the indescribable yet immeasurable gulf
that separates the highly educated from people like myself. But "the
wee drap o' Scotch bluid atween us" proved its potency as usual.

Miss Addison became an ideal friend because she undertook to improve
the rough diamond, if it were indeed a diamond at all. She was my best
friend, because my severest critic. I began to pay strict attention to
my language, and to the English classics, which I now read with great
avidity. I began also to notice how much better it was to be gentle in
tone and manner, polite and courteous to all--in short, better
behaved. Up to this time I had been, perh