ribbons in their hair; the boys in new suits and creaky shoes; the
great crowd of parents and friends; the flowers, the prizes and
congratulations, made the day seem to me one of the greatest
importance. I was on the program, and played a piano solo which was
received by the audience with that amount of applause which I had come
to look upon as being only the just due of my talent.

But the real enthusiasm was aroused by "Shiny." He was the principal
speaker of the day, and well did he measure up to the honor. He made a
striking picture, that thin little black boy standing on the platform,
dressed in clothes that did not fit him any too well, his eyes burning
with excitement, his shrill, musical voice vibrating in tones of
appealing defiance, and his black face alight with such great
intelligence and earnestness as to be positively handsome. What were
his thoughts when he stepped forward and looked into that crowd of
faces, all white with the exception of a score or so that were lost to
view? I do not know, but I fancy he felt his loneliness. I think there
must have rushed over him a feeling akin to that of a gladiator tossed
into the arena and bade to fight for his life. I think that solitary
little black figure standing there felt that for the particular time
and place he bore the weight and responsibility of his race; that for
him to fail meant general defeat; but he won, and nobly. His oration
was Wendell Phillips's "Toussaint L'Ouverture," a speech which may now
be classed as rhetorical--even, perhaps, bombastic; but as the words
fell from "Shiny's" lips their effect was magical. How so young an
orator could stir so great enthusiasm was to be wondered at. When, in
the famous peroration, his voice, trembling with suppressed emotion,
rose higher and higher and then rested on the name "Toussaint
L'Ouverture," it was like touching an electric button which loosed the
pent-up feelings of his listeners. They actually rose to him.