st the almond eyes of the Orient.

The Negro question seems to be the race riddle of our civilization and
it will take much tact, patience and wisdom to solve the problem. It
may be a revelation to some of you to know, that at the rate the negro
race has grown since the Civil War, when the twentieth century goes
out, there will be sixty millions of negroes in one black belt across
the Southland. I say across the Southland because, the main body of
the negro race will never leave the track of the southern sun. The
South held the negro in slavery, the North set him free. We supposed
at the close of the war, he would leave the South and go to live among
his liberators. But after half a century, he is still clinging to the
cotton and the cane, or sitting in his log house home, the "shadowed
livery of the burning sun" upon his brow, the plantation song still
lingering on his lips, the banjo tuned to memory's melodies on his
knee, a clump of kinky-headed pickaninnies playing in the sand about
his cabin door, and there he sits multiplying the Southland and
problemizing the century.

I have not time to discuss at length the solution of the problems
before us, but I hope to present them in such a manner as will help
you to appreciate their importance and how they are linked with the
destiny of the republic.

It seems to me exaltation of character, dignification of labor,
material prosperity, leaving social equality to take care of itself,
makes up the best solution of the negro problem. Social equality does
take care of itself even among the white races. Some of you may have a
white servant who is a good woman, a Christian woman, you expect to
meet her in heaven (if you get there), but she is not admitted to your
social set.

There is a vast difference between social rights and civil rights.
Near Lexington, Ky., where I claim my home, is the country residence
of J.B. Haggin, the multi-millionaire horseman. Soon after the
completion of his mansion home, he gave a reception which cost
thousands of dollars. The "first cut" of society came from far and
near, but I was not invited, nor did I feel slighted, for I had no
claim upon the millionaire magnate socially. But when I meet the great
turf-king on the turnpike, he in his limozine and I in my little
runabout, I say, "Mr. Haggin, give me half the road, sir." Inside his
gates I have no claim, but outside, the turnpike's free, and J.B.
Haggin can't run over me. So the negro has