Senator Dilworthy was large and portly, though not tall—­a pleasant spoken man, a popular man with the people.

He took a lively interest in the town and all the surrounding country, and made many inquiries as to the progress of agriculture, of education, and of religion, and especially as to the condition of the emancipated race.

“Providence,” he said, “has placed them in our hands, and although you and I, General, might have chosen a different destiny for them, under the Constitution, yet Providence knows best.”

“You can’t do much with ’em,” interrupted Col.  Sellers.  “They are a speculating race, sir, disinclined to work for white folks without security, planning how to live by only working for themselves.  Idle, sir, there’s my garden just a ruin of weeds.  Nothing practical in ’em.”

“There is some truth in your observation, Colonel, but you must educate them.”

“You educate the niggro and you make him more speculating than he was before.  If he won’t stick to any industry except for himself now, what will he do then?”

“But, Colonel, the negro when educated will be more able to make his speculations fruitful.”

“Never, sir, never.  He would only have a wider scope to injure himself.  A niggro has no grasp, sir.  Now, a white man can conceive great operations, and carry them out; a niggro can’t.”

“Still,” replied the Senator, “granting that he might injure himself in a worldly point of view, his elevation through education would multiply his chances for the hereafter—­which is the important thing after all, Colonel.  And no matter what the result is, we must fulfill our duty by this being.”

“I’d elevate his soul,” promptly responded the Colonel; “that’s just it; you can’t make his soul too immortal, but I wouldn’t touch him, himself.  Yes, sir! make his soul immortal, but don’t disturb the niggro as he is.”

Of course one of the entertainments offered the Senator was a public reception, held in the court house, at which he made a speech to his fellow citizens.  Col.  Sellers was master of ceremonies.  He escorted the band from the city hotel to Gen. Boswell’s; he marshalled the procession of Masons, of Odd Fellows, and of Firemen, the Good Templars, the Sons of Temperance, the Cadets of Temperance, the Daughters of Rebecca, the Sunday School children, and citizens generally, which followed the Senator to the court house; he bustled about the room long after every one else was seated, and loudly cried “Order!” in the dead silence which preceded the introduction of the Senator by Gen. Boswell.  The occasion was one to call out his finest powers of personal appearance, and one he long dwelt on with pleasure.

This not being an edition of the Congressional Globe it is impossible to give Senator Dilworthy’s speech in full.  He began somewhat as follows: