Special Correspondence: 

To The New York Evening Post 

Roanoke, Va., October 1 ~ Booker T. Washington, the noted Negro educator spoke here a few days ago to the white people and the colored people at the Roanoke State Fair. The next day he paid a visit to his old home, at Hale's Ford, in the adjoining county of Franklin. 

     Several of the descendants of the Burroughs family, who formerly owned Mr. Washington, are living in this city, and met him during his visit here. There are also a number of colored people, who were formerly slaves in the country around Hale's Ford, and knew Mr. Washington as a boy, there. The result of this visit has been to revive a great many stories and reminiscences of Mr. Washington's boyhood and to give new life to the Washington legend which has been growing up in this region for several years. 

     Hale's Ford is about twenty-five miles from this city, and a wild and mountainous part of the country. About forty years ago, there was a church and tobacco factory there. The church still remains, but the tobacco factory is gone. So have most of the people who used to live there. The Negroes began moving out directly after the war. They went off to mines in West Virginia. A little later the white people began moving out, also. The poor white people moved down into cotton mill centers, at Danville, and other places. The sons of the planters went to the cities to engage in business. A good many of them are living in Roanoke. There are miles of territory growing up in timber and underbrush, in Franklin County that were formerly planted in tobacco. The present time, the whole region seems to be inhabited mostly by old people, and others who were not able to get away. Like most other places, where the young people have gone out and left the old people behind, Hale's Ford and the country round it is sad, solitary and neglected. 

     Among the first colored people to leave this part of the country, after the war, was Jane Burroughs, or perhaps "Aunt Jane" as they called her. "Aunt Jane" was Mr. Washington's mother. Her husband, who lived on a neighboring plantation, had been carried off by a party of "Yankee" raiders a short time before, and after the surrender, she followed him, taking with her, two sons, Booker and John, and a daughter, Amanda. At that time, Booker Washington, who was then just plain "Booker" was about eight years old, as near as he and the neighbors who knew him, can make out. 

     The old Burroughs homestead contains about two hundred and six acres. No member of the family lives on the old homestead, at present, tho' several descendants are living in other parts of Franklin County. Two of them came over to meet Mr. Washington on the day he visited the place. The man who now has the Burroughs place is known as Jack Robertson. 

     Little of the old home now remains. The old dining room, built of squared logs, where Washington began his first work as a slave, still stands. This work consisted in moving back and forth a huge fan which hung on hinges over the dining table. This fan swung back and forth served to keep the flies off the table while the family was eating. Mr. Washington, in company with a number of old settlers, was able to locate the kitchen, where Mr. Washington was born; the old weave house, near where "Aunt Sophie," who was an elder sister of Jane Burroughs, lived. The old spring is still there, and willow tree, from which Mr. Washington recalled was cut the switch with which he received his first thrashing. 

     One of the old settlers, who is something of a wag, remarked that he had read in the newspaper that Mr. Washington was born in a house with a dirt floor. He said he didn't know as they could show him the house, but the floor was still there. 

     Mr. Washington inquired about Morgan's Mill to which he used to carry corn, and was surprised to find that the Ferguson plantation, which had seemed to him, as a boy, so far away, was actually located within a stone's of the Burroughs house. He remembered the mill especially, because he used to have such difficulty in keeping the sack that held the grain, from falling off the mule he rode. When it did fall off, he was too small to put it back. And sometimes had to wait for hours beside the road until some one came along to help him with it. "I am afraid I wouldn't know the place," said Mr. Washington. "Every thing is changed. But after all, the most remarkable changes that I notice," he continued, laughingly, "is in the size of things. It seems incredible to me that the Ferguson place, where I used to go as a boy, is now only across the road. The old dining room too, is not near as large as it used to be, or at least as it seemed to be once." 

     After looking around the Burroughs place, Mr. Washington went back to the front of the house and stood upon the porch, from which he made a little speech, to his old friends and others who had gathered there to meet him. In the meantime an old bell which hangs on a pole at the back of the house, just such a one as was formerly used to summon the slaves from their quarters, was rung to announce the arrival of Mr. Washington. This brought a considerable number of people, white and colored, from the surrounding plantations. 

     As Mr. Washington stood up to speak, an interesting scene presented itself. What remained of the old aristocracy of the region was gathered directly in front of him. They were mostly grey haired men and women, proud and reserved, they were seated, some of them in chairs, but most of them upon the lawns. Directly behind him were the remnants and descendent of their former slaves. Three or four of 

     In the course of his remarks, Mr. Washington emphasized the fact that he had never been sorry that he was born there, and born as he had been, a slave. He said he had learned a great many things about life, coming up as he had, from that lowly condition in life which he could not have learned if he had been born in any other or higher station. He said that he did not regret the fact that he had been born on a farm, and that he had been born poor. He had learned some things from the farm, and some things from poverty that were worth all that they cost. Saying he thought, now that he had returned after forty years to his birth-place, he owed it to the people who had known him as a boy to tell them something about what had happened to him during the time he had been away, to report, in short, upon his past life; he began telling in a very simple and direct way, the story of what he had achieved, and were his purposes and motives in all that he had thought to do. He said that the most important thing that he had learned was the opportunity that there was in this country for every man, whether he was white or black, if he had the heart and courage to work. He reminded the colored people who were present that it was not too late for them to begin, if they had not already done so, to save a little money to get a home, and to make something of themselves. 

     Just before he reached the conclusion of his speech, he noticed in front of him an ancient rose bush, and he made that the theme of a very pretty and touching peroration. He said this old rose bush reminded him of the story of an old Negro who had lived for many years upon an old Virginia plantation. During the time that he was there several generations had had possession of the plantation, but he was always allowed to remain. Finally a new proprietor came to the plantation; he was still allowed to remain as sort of a gardener, working when he was able, but working pretty much as he himself chose. One day his mistress, who was a young women, and had conceived the idea of fixing up the old house and re-arranging the old garden, called this old man, and pointing to an ancient rose bush, asked him if he felt able to dig it up that morning. The old fellow looked at it for an instance, hesitated, and then bowing politely, as was the custom in the old-fashioned days to which he belonged, said he thought he could. The lady waited a few hours, but nothing had been done to the rose bush, and called the old man back again. She said to him "Uncle Joe, aren't you going to dig up that rose bush for me this morning?" The old man bowed again, politely; his lips trembled a moment as if he wanted to say something, but he didn't. The next day, when the rose bush still remained untouched, the lady called old Joe to her once again, and with considerable irritation, asked him if he did intend to dig up the rose bush as she had asked him to do. The old man bowed again, with the same stately politeness, which he was accustomed to use, and then tears coming to his eyes, he said: "Missus, let me tell you something. My old Missus planted that rose bush there with her own hands when I was a boy. And Missus, these old hands jest can't dig it up nohow. I hope you will excuse me." 

     The point of this story was, there was something precious, and something real in the kindly, and often tender relations, which bound master and slave together, in the days before the war. The new generation that has grown up since that time, as a rule, did not understand, and did not value those old relationships of kindness, and good-will which had bound the two races together, in the old days. "But, my friends," he concluded, "we must not dig up the old rose bush, we must preserve the old kindly relations, because, if they are lost, they can never be replaced." 

     There were a good many interesting incidents that came out in the conversation that occurred during Mr. Washington's visit to the Burroughs homestead. There are a good many people, white and black, here in Roanoke, who knew Mr. Washington when he was a boy and are able to tell interesting stories about him. The man about here who seems to have known him best is S.C. Burroughs, a Franklin County farmer, and the grandson of James Burroughs who was Mr. Washington's master. Mr. Burroughs inquired of Mr. Washington particularly about John Washington, a brother of Mr. Washington, who is now head of the Industrial Department at Tuskegee. 

     "I knew John better than I did Booker," said Mr. Burroughs, "John and I used to play together a great deal. You know we always thought that John was a good deal cleverer than Booker. Booker was rather slow, but John was as bright as a dollar." 

     Perhaps the most interesting fact that Mr. Burroughs told, was that he was now in possession of an inventory of his grandfather's estate in which the names of his slaves and their different values are assessed. James Burroughs, the grandfather, died about 1861. It was when his estate went through the court that this appraisement of his property took place. It is a very interesting fact that Booker T. Washington, upon whom Harvard University recently conferred the honorary degree of Master of Arts, for distinguished service for education and to his country, was valued, at that time, at something like four hundred dollars."