Other parents
came to the school to protest in person. Most of the new students
brought a written or a verbal request from their parents to the effect
that they wanted their children taught nothing but books. The more
books, the larger they were, and the longer the titles printed upon
them, the better pleased the students and their parents seemed to be.

I gave little heed to these protests, except that I lost no opportunity
to go into as many parts of the state as I could, for the purpose
of speaking to the parents, and showing them the value of industrial
education. Besides, I talked to the students constantly on the subject.
Notwithstanding the unpopularity of industrial work, the school
continued to increase in numbers to such an extent that by the middle of
the second year there was an attendance of about one hundred and fifty,
representing almost all parts of the state of Alabama, and including a
few from other states.

In the summer of 1882 Miss Davidson and I both went North and engaged in
the work of raising funds for the completion of our new building. On my
way North I stopped in New York to try to get a letter of recommendation
from an officer of a missionary organization who had become somewhat
acquainted with me a few years previous. This man not only refused to
give me the letter, but advised me most earnestly to go back home at
once, and not make any attempt to get money, for he was quite sure that
I would never get more than enough to pay my travelling expenses. I
thanked him for his advice, and proceeded on my journey.

The first place I went to in the North, was Northampton, Mass., where
I spent nearly a half-day in looking for a coloured family with whom I
could board, never dreaming that any hotel would admit me. I was
greatly surprised when I found that I would have no trouble in being
accommodated at a hotel.

We were successful in getting money enough so that on Thanksgiving Day
of that year we held our first service in the chapel of Porter Hall,
although the building was not completed.

In looking about for some one to preach the Thanksgiving sermon, I found
one of the rarest men that it has ever been my privilege to know. This
was the Rev. Robert C. Bedford, a white man from Wisconsin, who was then
pastor of a little coloured Congregational church in Montgomery, Ala.
Before going to Montgomery to look for some one to preach this sermon
I had never heard of Mr. Bedford. He had never heard