In Washington City—but that would require a chapter to itself. If there is a Paradise on this earth, a Garden of Eden filled with ceaseless joy for the non-producing, insolent, self-assertive blacks, it is our Capital City of Washington, where more than two thousand negro men and women draw Government pay in federal offices. Oh, that Bishop Turner had described to the Macon Convention one of those “Receptions” at the mansion of Judson Lyons, Register of the Treasury—such as Judson often held. Oh, that the Bishop had told the Convention how many of Judson’s colored guests came in automobiles, which were left lining the sidewalk and obstructing the street. Oh, that the Bishop had described to the Convention the similarity between the negro “Reception” at the mansion of the Register of the Treasury and the white reception of the President of the United States! [Illustration: “Poor down-trodden negro!... he is sometimes compelled to take dinner with John Wanamaker and lunch with Theodore Roosevelt.”] Poor, down-trodden negro! In this land which is worse than hell, it actually happens that he is sometimes compelled to take dinner with John Wanamaker, and to lunch with Theodore Roosevelt! * * * * * The amazement within me grows as I dwell upon the black man’s woes, and I marvel that Doctor Washington, Judson Lyons, Bishop Turner “and others among ’em” do not pack right up and go straight back to dear old Africa. * * * * * And to think that the man who declared this country to be worse than hell is a “negro preacher.” I had supposed that if there was any human being who found the United States an ideal abode, it was the “negro preacher.” He is the one incumbent whom I had been led to believe had a mighty rich thing in salary, and a still richer thing in “_perqueesits_.” If I had been asked to go out and find the man who could unreservedly indorse the proposition that life _is_ worth living, I should have struck a bee line for the nearest negro preacher. Of course, if I had been unable to find _him_, my next choice would have been the negro school-teacher. The army of negro preachers is a shining host, waving palms of victory, and apparently happy; the army of negro school-teachers is another shining host, waving palms of victory, and apparently happy. The white man’s money, directly and indirectly, supplies the sinews of war to both these shining hosts—a fact which it did not suit the purpose of Bishop Turner to mention in the convention which had met to howl, and which, consequently, was bound to howl.