Let us enlarge this comparison.  The sixteen Southern States in ’88 cast sixty-seven per cent of their total vote—­the six New England States but sixty-three per cent of theirs.  By what fair rule shall the stigma be put upon one section while the other escapes?  A congressional election in New York last week, with the polling place in touch of every voter, brought out only 6,000 votes of 28,000—­and the lack of opposition is assigned as the natural cause.  In a district in my State, in which an opposition speech has not been heard in ten years and the polling places are miles apart—­under the unfair reasoning of which my section has been a constant victim—­the small vote is charged to be proof of forcible suppression.  In Virginia an average majority of 12,000, unless hopeless division of the minority, was raised to 42,000; in Iowa, in the same election, a majority of 32,000 was wiped out and an opposition majority of 8,000 was established.  The change of 40,000 votes in Iowa is accepted as political revolution—­in Virginia an increase of 30,000 on a safe majority is declared to be proof of political fraud.

It is deplorable, sir, that in both sections a larger percentage of the vote is not regularly cast, but more inexplicable that this should be so in New England than in the South.  What invites the negro to the ballot-box?  He knows that of all men it has promised him most and yielded him least.  His first appeal to suffrage was the promise of “forty acres and a mule;” his second, the threat that Democratic success meant his re-enslavement.  Both have been proved false in his experience.  He looked for a home, and he got the Freedman’s Bank.  He fought under promise of the loaf, and in victory was denied the crumbs.  Discouraged and deceived, he has realized at last that his best friends are his neighbors with whom his lot is cast, and whose prosperity is bound up in his—­and that he has gained nothing in politics to compensate the loss of their confidence and sympathy, that is at last his best and enduring hope.  And so, without leaders or organization—­and lacking the resolute heroism of my party friends in Vermont that make their hopeless march over the hills a high and inspiring pilgrimage—­he shrewdly measures the occasional agitator, balances his little account with politics, touches up his mule, and jogs down the furrow, letting the mad world wag as it will!

The negro voter can never control in the South, and it would be well if partisans at the North would understand this.  I have seen the white people of a State set about by black hosts until their fate seemed sealed.  But, sir, some brave men, banding them together, would rise as Elisha rose in beleaguered Samaria, and, touching their eyes with faith, bid them look abroad to see the very air “filled with the chariots of Israel and the horsemen thereof.”  If there is any human force that cannot be withstood, it is the power of the banded intelligence and responsibility of a