bearing hard upon the people and believed to control by corrupt means courts and legislatures; the existence and power of political rings, working for ends purely selfish by taking advantage of a blind and reckless partisan spirit; and finally, the occasional disclosure of alarming rottenness in social life; all these things—exaggerated as the darkness of the picture may be—have coöperated in overcasting the minds of many men with grave doubt and apprehension as to what is to come out of all this. I am sure your experience coincides with mine that every day you can meet, on the streets, and in counting-houses, and on farms, men—not chronic grumblers and fault-finders, nor disappointed politicians—but quiet, unostentatious and unambitious citizens, with no public aspiration but a patriotic interest in the welfare of the country, who earnestly ask and discuss the question: If this mischief be not stopped what will become of the Republic and its democratic institutions, and where are the means to stop it?
This feeling of doubt and apprehension is not the product of artificial agitation. It has been quietly growing and spreading for a long time among the most solid classes of our population, and is gradually affecting the whole tone of society. It shows itself in symptoms which cannot fail to have been noticed by every observing man. The very American eagle refuses to soar on the Fourth of July. The National birthday, barring the firecrackers of the children and the fine clothes of the militia men, has become an excessively sober and commonplace affair. The flaming Fourth of July speech, which formerly was listened to with real delight and enthusiasm, is now apt to meet rather ridicule than applause, and those who consent to serve as Fourth of July orators prefer, for their own credit, critical reviews of the situation, admonitions and warnings, to the self-glorification which formerly
