ten and fifteen minute intervals snatched from overburdened
days in his office. The fact that it was a physical impossibility to
give adequate time and attention to so important a piece of work
distressed him and made him feel even more apologetic about the
product.

The enthusiastic reception of his story by the editors and later by
the public was accordingly particularly surprising and gratifying to
him. After its serial publication he was soon almost overwhelmed with
congratulatory letters and laudatory reviews. Julian Ralph in the New
York _Mail_ and _Express_ wrote in part:

"It does not matter if the reader feels a prejudice against the Negro,
or if he be a Negrophile, or if he has never cared one way or the
other whether the Negro does or does not exist. Whatever be his
feelings, 'Up from Slavery' is as remarkable as the most important
book ever written by an American. That book is 'Uncle Tom's Cabin.'
Booker Washington's story is its echo and its antithesis. 'Uncle Tom's
Cabin' was the wail of a fettered, hope-forsaken race. 'Up from
Slavery' is the triumphant cry of the same race, led by its Moses upon
a trail which leads to an intelligent use of the freedom that came to
it as an almost direct result of Mrs. Stowe's revolutionary novel. 'Up
from Slavery' and 'Uncle Tom's Cabin' are inseparably linked in the
history of our relations with our dark-skinned fellow-citizen. One
book begins precisely where the other left off."

William Dean Howells in the _North American Review_ said of it: "...
What strikes you first and last is his constant common sense. He has
lived heroic poetry, and he can, therefore, afford to talk simple
prose.... The mild might of his adroit, his subtle statesmanship (in
the highest sense it is not less than statesmanship, and involves a
more Philippine problem in our midst), is the only agency to which it
can yield...."

Among the congratulatory letters came one from Athens, Greece, signed
"Bob Burdette, Mrs. Burdette, and the children" which greatly amused
and delighted Mr. Washington. It reads, paraphrasing the passage in
the book where he tells of the insistent stranger who unerringly seeks
him out when he tries to get a little quiet and rest on a train, "'Is
not this Booker T. Washington? We wish to introduce ourselves.' You
see, you can't escape it. We read that sentence, and shouted with
delight over it, in Damascus. I was going to write--'far-away
Damascus'--but no place is far