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.
In Africa, in Liberia, in San Domingo, negro preachers have not flourished, increased, or put their hands upon so many good things as they have done in poor, little, old North America. And the shining hosts of negro school-teachers, flush with the white man’s money, do not wave any palms of victory beyond the limits of the country which is worse than hell, the country whose flag is a dirty, contemptible rag “where the negro is involved.”
Take out of your pocket a five-dollar or one-dollar treasury note, or certificate, and look at the name signed to give it validity.
“Judson W. Lyons, Register of the Treasury.”
Do you find it?
Well, that name has been a legal necessity to every treasury note issued by the Federal Government during the last eight years.
Judson W. Lyons is a negro.