away now. Damascus is very near to
Tuskegee, in fact, only six or seven thousand years older, and not
more than fifty thousand years behind. It must have had a good start,
too, for Abraham went there or sent there to get that wise and tactful
'steward of his house,' Eliezir. But Damascus has always remained in
the same place, whereas Tuskegee has been marching on by leaps and
bounds. But you are a busy man--we have heard that, even in this land.
And I can see you reading this letter five lines at a time. No use
sitting next the window, piling your hand-baggage up in the seat, and
pulling your hat over your eyes, is there? No, for we come along just
the same, sit on the arm of the seat, touch your elbow, and--'Is not
this Booker T. Washington?' We have been travelling for a year. The
_Outlook_ has followed us week by week. And week by week we have
reached out to clasp your hand, and have knelt to thank God for the
story of your life--for its inspiration, its hopefulness, its trust,
its fidelity to duty and purpose. Such a wonderful story, told in the
elegance of simplicity that only a great heart can feel and write. We
paused again and again to say 'God bless him.' And now we send you our
hand clasp and message--'God bless him and all of his.' There, now!
You may pile up your baggage a little higher--pull your hat down over
your eyes a little farther--and pretend to sleep a little harder. We
will leave you. But not in peace. More likely in pieces. For I see
other people, crowding in from the other car, with their glittering
eyes gimleted upon you."

Barret Wendell, Professor of English at Harvard University, wrote him:
"Will you allow me to express the pleasure which your book, 'Up from
Slavery,' has given me? For about twenty years a teacher of English,
and mostly of English composition, I have become perhaps a judge as to
matters of style. Certainly I have grown less and less patient of all
writing which is not simple and efficient; and more and more to
believe in a style which does its work with a simple, manly
distinctness. It is hard to remember when a book, casually taken up,
has proved, in this respect, so satisfactory as yours. No style could
be more simple, more unobtrusive; yet few styles which I know seem, to
me more laden--as distinguished from overburdened--with meaning. On
almost any of your pages you say as much again as most men would say
in the space; yet you say it so simply and easily that one has no