Lucy Wilmot Smith

In Switzerland travelers are shown what is called "The Meeting of the Waters."
It is the conflux of the Rhone and Arno. It is said that as one stands looking at
the wild, rushing Arno, all thoughts of self are forgotten; and, for the time being,
the turbulence thrills and fills the soul. The two rivers, one steady and placid,
the other swift and maddening, flow side by side in the same bed without mix-
ing until a point several miles from the meeting-place is reached, then gradually,
drop by drop, they become one. So it was with the education of the colored
youth in the South. When the public school system was first established we
made a wild rush for the education offered. History will record that never since
the time of Frederick the Great was such a sudden waking up of zeal for the
education of a people. Here and there schools were started and enthusiastic
friends extolled the marvelous aptness of the colored child. It was thought by
many that the Anglo-Saxon standing as the proud monument of centuries
steady climbing, wrestling with kings, battling with priests and the conflicts of
ages, would be left far behind in the race of intellectual advancement. Every-
thing was forgotten except the cramming of heads. All other members of the
body were given a long rest. Honest toil was shunned and the highest ambition
of those who had educational affairs in control seemed to be in cheating the
humbler paths of labor of their rightful heritage to fill the pulpit and teacher's
chair. As time rolled on, a few saw breakers in the distance and gave the alarm.
For a while the two branches of education, that of the head and that of the hand,
took the same direction but refused to become one. By degrees physical culture
was agitated, manual labor introduced in our best schools, and at this time no

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