of the freedmen.  He maintained that in a free country there could be no safe or logical middle ground between the status of freeman and that of serf.  There has been much criticism because the negro, it is said, acquired the ballot prematurely.  There seemed imperative reasons, besides that of political expediency, for putting the ballot in his hands.  Recent events have demonstrated that this necessity is as great now as then.  The assumption that negroes—­under which generalization are included all men of color, regardless of that sympathy to which kinship at least should entitle many of them—­are unfit to have a voice in government is met by the words of Lincoln, which have all the weight of a political axiom:  “No man can be safely trusted to govern other men without their consent.”  The contention that a class who constitute half the population of a State shall be entirely unrepresented in its councils, because, forsooth, their will there expressed may affect the government of another class of the same general population, is as repugnant to justice and human rights as was the institution of slavery itself.  Such a condition of affairs has not the melodramatic and soul-stirring incidents of chattel slavery, but its effects can be as far-reaching and as debasing.  There has been some manifestation of its possible consequences in the recent outbreaks of lynching and other race oppression in the South.  The practical disfranchisement of the colored people in several States, and the apparent acquiescence by the Supreme Court in the attempted annulment, by restrictive and oppressive laws, of the war amendments to the Constitution, have brought a foretaste of what might be expected should the spirit of the Dred Scott decision become again the paramount law of the land.

On February 7, 1866, Douglass acted as chief spokesman of a committee of leading colored men of the country, who called upon President Johnson to urge the importance of enfranchisement.  Mr. Johnson, true to his Southern instincts, was coldly hostile to the proposition, recounted all the arguments against it, and refused the committee an opportunity to reply.  The matter was not left with Mr. Johnson, however; and the committee turned its attention to the leading Republican statesmen, in whom they found more impressionable material.  Under the leadership of Senators Sumner, Wilson, Wade, and others, the matter was fully argued in Congress, the Democratic party being in opposition, as always in national politics, to any measure enlarging the rights or liberties of the colored race.

In September, 1866, Douglass was elected a delegate from Rochester to the National Loyalists’ Convention at Philadelphia, called to consider the momentous questions of government growing out of the war.  While he had often attended anti-slavery conventions as the representative of a small class of abolitionists, his election to represent a large city in a national convention was so novel a departure from established