“Banneker continued to calculate and publish almanacs until 1802.
“Mr. Benjamin H. Ellicott, who was a true friend of Banneker, and collected from various sources all the facts concerning him, wrote in a letter as follows: ‘During the whole of his long life he lived respectably and much esteemed by all who became acquainted with him, but more especially by those who could fully appreciate his genius and the extent of his acquirements.’
“Banneker’s head was covered with a thick mass of white hair, which gave him a very dignified and venerable appearance. His dress was invariably of superfine drab broadcloth, made in the old style of a plain coat, with straight collar and long waistcoat, and a broad-brimmed hat. His color was not jet black, but decidedly negro. In size and personal appearance, the statue of Franklin at the library in Philadelphia, as seen from the street, is a perfect likeness of him.
“Banneker died in the year 1804, beloved and respected by all who knew him. Though no monument marks the spot where he was born and lived a true and high life, and was buried, yet history must record that the most original scientific intellect which the South has yet produced was that of the pure African, Benjamin Banneker.”
The above is the story of that wonderful black man told in splendid terms of high and well-deserved praise by a white man. Every little black boy in America may well be fired with inspiration to do something beyond the ordinary by reading the story of Banneker’s life.
It is truly astonishing what a boy can do when once he has made up his mind to do his best. Dr. Len. G. Broughton, the famous pastor of the Tabernacle Baptist church, Atlanta, Ga., in a little book, which he calls “The Modern Prodigal,” has told a very pathetic story about a little boy. It is so true to life, and so typical of what a black or white boy may do under similar circumstances, if he only decides for the true and the right, that I have decided to reproduce the little story in this book. It is well worth reading. Dr. Broughton says:
“Not long after I entered the ministry, I went to a certain town to hold a series of meetings. It was one of these good old Southern towns, the inhabitants of which banked on aristocracy and fed their souls upon the glory of departed days. They had never known what it was to be spiritually warm. The first night I was there I preached to a great audience. It was in my early ministry, when I made many propositions. The first one I made that night was for any one to stand who wanted prayers offered for their friends. As soon as I made it a little boy got up and walked out in the aisle, where he stood looking me square in the face. I said, ‘God bless you, little man,’ and he sat down. I then asked any one who wanted the prayers of God’s people to rise. That boy got out in the aisle again and looked me in the face, and again I said, ‘God bless you.’ I asked if there was anybody present who was willing to accept Jesus. That boy stood up again and looked me in the face, and again I said, ‘God bless you.’ Nobody else stood up that night, and I began to think I had struck about the hardest and coldest crowd I had ever run up against.