d there
were none in sight to take their places. We had begun the process of
leveling. We had begun to degrade power, to scatter talent, to pull down
our leaders to the level of the mob, in the name of democracy.

He faced this fact with grave misgivings. He believed that the first
requirement of human society, if it shall live, is the discovery of men
fit to command--to lead.

With the passing of Clay, Calhoun and Webster the Washington on which
he gazed, the Washington of 1852, had ceased to be a forum of great
thought, of high thinking and simple living. It had become the scene of
luxury and extravagance. The two important establishments of the city
were Gautier's, the restaurateur and caterer--the French genius who
prepared the feasts for jeweled youth; and Gait, the jeweler who sold
the precious stones to adorn the visions of beauty at these banquets.

The two political parties had fallen to the lowest depths of groveling
to vote getting by nominating the smallest men ever named for
Presidential honors. The Democrats had passed all their real leaders and
named as standard-bearer an obscure little politician of New Hampshire,
Mr. Franklin Pierce. His sole recommendation for the exalted office was
that he would carry one or two doubtful Northern states and with the
solid South could thus be elected. The Whig convention in Baltimore
had cast but thirty-two votes for Daniel Webster and had nominated a
military figurehead, General Winfield Scott.

The Nation was without a leader. And the low rumble of the crowd--the
growl of the primal beast--could be heard in the distance with
increasing distinctness.

The watcher turned from the White City across the Potomac and slowly
walked into his rose garden. Even in September the riot of color was
beyond description. In the splendor of the full Southern moon could be
seen all shades from deep blood red to pale pink. All sizes from the
tiniest four-leaf wild flowers to the gorgeous white and yellow masses
that reared their forms like waves of the surf. He breathed the perfume
and smiled again. A mocking bird, dropping from the bough of a holly,
was singing the glory of a second blooming.

The scene of entrancing beauty drove the thought of strife from his
heart. He turned back toward the house and its joys of youth.

Sam's sonorous voice was ringing in deliberation the grand call of the
evening's festivities:

"Choose-yo-pardners-fer-de-ol-Virginy-Reel!"

And then the