against which
I constantly protested. Politically, we were without morals.

The opposing Presidential candidates in 1884 were Grover Cleveland and
James G. Blaine. It was the wonder of the world that the American people
did not make Mr. Blaine President. There was a world-wide amazement also
at the abuse which preceded Mr. Cleveland's election. The whole thing
was a spectacle of the ignorance of men about great men. All sorts of
defamatory reports were spread abroad about them. Men of mind are also
men of temperament. There are two men in every one man, and for this
reason Mr. Blaine was the most misunderstood of great men. To the end of
his brilliant life calumny pursued him. There were all sorts of reports
about him.

One series of reports said that Mr. Blaine was almost unable to walk;
that he was too sick to be seen; that death was for him close at hand,
and his obituaries were in type in many of the printing offices.

The other series of reports said that Mr. Blaine was vigorous; went up
the front steps of his house at a bound; was doing more work than ever,
and was rollicking with mirth. The baleful story was ascribed to his
enemies, who wanted the great man out of the world. The reassuring story
was ascribed to his friends, who wanted to keep him in the ranks of
Presidential possibilities.

The fact is that both reports were true. There were two Mr. Blaines, as
there are two of every mercurial temperament. Of the phlegmatic,
slow-pulsed man there is only one. You see him once and you see him as
he always is. Not so with the nervous organisation. He has as many moods
as the weather, as many changes as the sky. He is bright or dull, serene
or tempestuous, cold or hot, up or down, January or August, day or
night, Arctic or tropical. At Washington, in 1889, I saw the two Blaines
within two hours. I called with my son to see the great Secretary of
State at his office, and although it was his day for seeing foreign
diplomats, he received us with great cordiality. His face was an
illumination; his voice resonant; his manner animated; he was full of
gesticulation. He walked up and down the room describing things under
discussion; fire in his eye, spring in his step. Although about
fifty-nine years of age, he looked forty-five, and strong enough to
wrestle with two or three ordinary men. He had enough vitality for an
athlete.

We parted. My son and I went down the street, made two or three other
calls, and on the w