Michael would not have spoken of having them "to deal with,"and the girl behind the counter would not have been thrown into such indignation when she alluded to their conceit and ignorance.Daddy Ben had,so far from being puffed up by the appointment in the Custom House,disapproved of this.I had heard enough about the difference between the old and new generations of the negro of Kings Port to believe it to be true,and Ihad come to discern how evidently it lay at the bottom of many things here:John Mayrant and his kind were a band united by a number of strong ties,but by nothing so much as by their hatred of the modern negro in their town.Yes,I was obliged to believe that the young Kings Port African left to ******* and the ballot,was a worse African than his slave parents;but this afternoon brought me a taste of it more pungent than all the assurances in the world.
I bought my kettle-supporter,and learned from the robber who sold it to me (Kings Port prices for "old things"are the most exorbitant that Iknow anywhere)that a carpenter lived not far from Mrs.Trevise's boarding-house,and that he would make for me the box in which I could pack my various purchases.
"That is,if he's working this week,"added the robber.
"What else would he be doing?"
"It may be his week for getting drunk on what he earned the week before."And upon this he announced with as much bitterness as if he had been John Mayrant or any of his aunts,"That's what Boston philanthropy has done for him."I dared up at this."I suppose that's a Southern argument for reestablishing slavery.""I am not Southern;Breslau is my native town,and I came from New York here to live five years ago.I've seen what your emancipation has done for the black,and I say to you,my friend,honest I don't know a fool from a philanthropist any longer.
He had much right upon his side;and it can be seen daily that philanthropy does not always walk hand-in-hand with wisdom.Does anything or anybody always walk so?Moreover,I am a friend to not many superlatives,and have perceived no saying to be more true than the one that extremes meet:they meet indeed,and folly is their meeting-place.
Nor could I say in the case of the negro which folly were the more ridiculous;--that which expects a race which has lived no one knows how many thousand years in mental nakedness while Confucius,Moses,and Napoleon were flowering upon adjacent human stems,should put on suddenly the white man's intelligence,or that other folly which declares we can do nothing for the African,as if Hampton had not already wrought excellent things for him.I had no mind to enter into all the inextricable error with this Teuton,and it was he who continued:--"Oh,these Boston philanthropists;oh,these know-it-alls!Why don't they stay home?Why do they come down here to worry us with their ignorance?
See here,my friend,let me show you!
He rushed about his shop in a search of distraught eagerness,and with a multitude of small exclamations,until,screeching jubilantly once,he pounced upon a shabby and learned-looking volume.This he brought me,thrusting it with his trembling fingers between my own,and shuffling the open pages.But when the apparently right one was found,he exclaimed,"No,I have better!and dashed away to a pile of pamphlets on the floor,where he began to plough and harrow.Wondering if I was closeted with a maniac,I looked at the book in my passive hand,and saw diagrams of various bones to me unknown,and men's names of which I was equally ignorant--Mivart,Topinard,and more,--but at last that of Huxley.But this agreeable sight was spoiled at once by the quite horrible words Nycticebidoe,platyrrhine,catarrhine,from which I raised my eyes to see him coming at me with two pamphlets,and scolding as he came.
"Are you educated,yes?Have been to college,yes?Then perhaps you will understand."Certainly I understood immediately that he and his pamphlets were as bad as the book,or worse,in their use of a vocabulary designed to cause almost any listener the gravest inconvenience.Common Eocene ancestors occurred at the beginning of his lecture;and I believed that if it got no stronger than this,I could at least preserve the appearance of comprehending him;but it got stronger,and at sacro-iliac notch I may say,without using any grossly exaggerated expression,that I became unconscious.At least,all intelligence left me.When it returned,he was saying.--"But this is only the beginning.Come in here to my crania and jaws."Evidently he held me hypnotized,for he now hurried me unresisting through a back door into a dark little where he turned up the gas,and Isaw shelves as in a museum,to one of which he led me.I suppose that it was curiosity that rendered me thus sheep-like.Upon the shelf were a number of skulls and jaws in admirable condition and graded arrangement,beginning to the left with that flat kind of skull which one associates with gorillas.He resumed his scolding harangue,and for a few brief moments I understood him.Here,told by themselves,was as much of the story of the skulls as we know,from manlike apes through glacial man to the modern senator or railroad president.But my intelligence was destined soon to die away again.
"That is the Caucasian skull:your skull,"he said,touching a specimen at the right.
"Interesting,"I murmured."I'm afraid I know nothing about skulls.""But you shall know someding before you leave,"he retorted,wagging his head at me;and this time it was not the book,but a specimen,that he pushed into my grasp.He gave it a name,not as bad as platyrrhine,but Ifeared worse was coming;then he took it away from me,gave me another skull,and while I obediently held it,pronounced something quite beyond me.
"And what is the translation of that?"he demanded excitedly.
"Tell me,"I feebly answered.
