“You are certainly right,” the preacher resumed. “I was only going to call on Brother Black to say something in a line with the-talk I had with him today. He's got the right idea.” “I'm not a speaker,” Buck Black began, as he stood up. “A man who runs a barber-shop don't have any too much time ter read and study, but I've giv' dis subject a lot o' thought fust an' last. I almost giv' up after dat big trouble in Atlanta; I 'lowed dar wasn't no way out of we-alls' plight, but I think diffunt now. A _white_ man made me see it. I read some'n' yesterday in the biggest paper in dis State. It was written by de editor an' er big owner in it. Gen'men, it was de fust thing I've seed dat seemed ter me ter come fum on high as straight as a bolt of lightnin'. Brother black men, dat editor said dat de white race had tried de whip-lash, de rope, en de firebrand fer forty years en de situation was still as bad as ever. He said de question never would be plumb settled till de superior race extend a kind, helpful hand ter de ignorant black an' lead 'im out er his darkness en sin en crime. Gen'men, dem words went thoo en thoo me. I knowed dat man myself, when I lived in Atlanta; I've seed his honest face en know he meant what he said. He said it was time ter blaze er new trail, er trail dat hain't been blazed befo'--er trail of love en forgiveness en pity, er trail de Lord Jesus Christ would blaze ef he was here in de midst o' dis struggle.” “Dat so, dat so!” Neb Wynn exclaimed, in a rasping whisper. “Gawd know dat de trufe.”