What meekness, humility and honesty must not a man of such experiences possess, if, conning them over, pride did not lift up his heart, resentment make his arm restless, and a sense of robbery long-endured, make his present powerful position seem a providential opportunity for retaliation and self-reimbursement! From an abyss of enforced degradation and ignorance and despair he had emerged into the light and life of personal and political liberty, equality, respectability and honor; and the young master whose opportunities he once so earnestly coveted, and before whose absolute will he was forced to bow, now sued for favors at his hands, and found “none so poor to do him reverence.” Was ever the nobility of human nature put to stronger tests than in these two peoples? “Good evening, Mr. Elly,” said a broad-browed, florid-faced, red-haired man in the aisle beside him. “Good evening, Marmor, good evening;” was the hearty response. “Take a seat?” removing his hat to make room. “I will gladly take the seat, if you will just step out and let me turn over the back of this one in front, so that we can have the use of the two sofas, for my feet are at their old tricks and troubling me a good deal. They are easier when I lay them up. One might as well personate ‘Young America’ in this Centennial year when it makes him more comfortable.” “Mind you don’t get them too high now,” said Elly, as they seated themselves after the change, and he spread a newspaper upon the cushion before them, to protect it from Marmor’s boot-blacking. “You might share the misfortune of Ike Partington; and if all your brains _should_ run down into your head, what would become of “The Times?” and Elly laughed and wriggled, in strange and silly contrast with his usually dignified manner. “I don’t furnish brains for “The Times”, said Marmor, “I only publish it. But what is the campaign going to be, do you think?” “Oh, of course we shall win.” Marmor kept his eyes fixed upon his middle finger nail, which he was carefully cutting, and did not reply. Elly scrutinized his face awhile, and then asked, “Don’t you think so?” “I am not so positive as I wish I was.” “You don’t think the colored voters of the State are going back on the party that gave them freedom, and the only one that will preserve it for them? They’ll all vote the Republican ticket, of course.” “Yes, unless they are intimidated.” “Now, Marmor, I’ve seen a hint—or what I take for one—in your paper; but I hope you don’t really think there will be trouble.” “I _am_ afraid there will be trouble. Hanson Baker told me the other day that there are fifteen hundred men ready and waiting to come there and break up the Militia Company in Baconsville, and that they are going to do it; and it is a frequent boast among the men—the white Southerners, I mean—that they will carry the election if they have to do it at the point of the bayonet. They can’t do it honestly, that’s shor’; but I’m afraid there will be trouble.”