s well as save his soul."

"We are going to save his soul, and a soul that is to be saved serves to
protect its habitation."

"But you foresee a race war?"

"I foresee racial troubles, which in time may result in a war of
extermination."

"I agree with you, Mr. Brennon," the Major replied. "As time passes it
will become more and more clear that the whites and the negroes cannot
live together. Their interests may be identical, but they are of a
different order and can never agree. And now let us face the truth. What
sowed the seeds of this coming strife? Emancipation? No,
enfranchisement. The other day Mr. Low gave me a copy of the London
Spectator, calling my attention to a thoughtful paper on this very
subject. It deeply impressed me, so much so that I read parts of it a
number of times. Let me see if I can recall one observation that struck
me. Yes, and it is this: 'We want a principle on which republicans can
work and we believe that the one which would be the most fruitful is
that the black people should be declared to be foreign immigrants,
guests of the state, entitled to the benefit of every law and every
privilege, education, for example, but debarred from political power and
from sitting on juries, which latter, indeed, in mixed cases, ought to
be superseded by properly qualified magistrates and judges.' The paper
goes on to show that this would not be oppressive, and that the blacks
would be in the position of a majority of Englishmen prior to 1832, a
position compatible with much happiness. But the trouble is we have gone
too far to retrace our steps. It was easy enough to grant suffrage to
the negro, but to take it away would be a difficult matter. So what are
we to do? To let the negro exercise the full and unrestrained measure of
his suffrage, would, in some communities, reduce the white man to the
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 clea