which were now filled by new men. Many of the smaller places had gone to
colored men, their people having voted almost solidly for the Fusion
ticket. In spite of the fact that the population of Wellington was two
thirds colored, this state of things was gall and wormwood to the
defeated party, of which the Morning Chronicle was the acknowledged
organ. Major Carteret shared this feeling. Only this very morning, while
passing the city hall, on his way to the office, he had seen the steps
of that noble building disfigured by a fringe of job-hunting negroes,
for all the world--to use a local simile--like a string of buzzards
sitting on a rail, awaiting their opportunity to batten upon the
helpless corpse of a moribund city.

Taking for his theme the unfitness of the negro to participate in
government,--an unfitness due to his limited education, his lack of
experience, his criminal tendencies, and more especially to his hopeless
mental and physical inferiority to the white race,--the major had
demonstrated, it seemed to him clearly enough, that the ballot in the
hands of the negro was a menace to the commonwealth. He had argued, with
entire conviction, that the white and black races could never attain
social and political harmony by commingling their blood; he had proved
by several historical parallels that no two unassimilable races could
ever live together except in the relation of superior and inferior; and
he was just dipping his gold pen into the ink to indite his conclusions
from the premises thus established, when Jerry, the porter, announced
two visitors.

"Gin'l Belmont an' Cap'n McBane would like ter see you, suh."

"Show them in, Jerry."