position of political nonentity. And no law, no cry about the rights of a down-trodden race, no sentiment expressed abroad, could force the white man to submit quietly to this degradation. Upon the negro's head the poetry of New England has placed a wreath of sentiment. No poet has placed a wreath upon the brow of the California Chinaman, nor upon the head of any foreign element in any of the northern states. Then why this partiality? Is the negro so gentle that he must always be defended, and is the white man of the south so hard of heart that he must always be condemned?" "What you say is perfectly clear to me," the priest replied, "and it is natural that you should defend your position." "It is the only position and the only course left to a thinking and a self-respecting white man," the Major rejoined. "Yes, I will agree to that, too." "Ah, and that's the trouble, Mr. Brennon. You agree while you oppose." "My dear Major, I am not here to oppose, nor to destroy, but to save fragments when the hour of destruction shall have come." "But if your church believes that it can save fragments why doesn't it exert itself to save the whole?" "Major, salvation comes of persuasion and persuasion is slow." "Yes, and let me tell you that your form of religion will never become popular among the negroes. The negro is emotional, and to make a display of his religious agitation is too great a luxury to be given up. Your creed entails too much belief and too little excitement; upon the layman it doesn't confer sufficient importance. The negro must shout and hug. The quiet mysticism of the divine spirit does not satisfy him. He wants to be exorcised; he wants what is known as the mourners'-bench jerks. If his brother loves him he doesn't want a quiet assurance of that fact, conveyed by a year of conduct; he demands a noisy proof, the impulse of a moment of joy."