Let me remind my readers what the political situation was in 1911. That situation should be recalled in the light of the preceding fourteen years. In that period (which began with the election of William McKinley as President in 1896), the United States had passed through one of the most momentous epochs in its political history. The election of McKinley by the Republicans, under the leadership of Mark Hanna, marked the culmination of thirty years of materialistic growth in this country--three decades in which the energies of the people were absorbed in the conquest of the West, in the building of our gigantic railroad system, and in the magician-like creation of our stupendous manufacturing industries. Pittsburgh was almost the new capital of a new nation, with its marvellous development of iron and steel. It was followed closely by the great manufacturing centres that sprang up in New York, New England, the Middle West, and Alabama. Monstrous fortunes grew up over night from the exploitation of our natural resources, our boundless supplies of coal, iron, oil, zinc, and lead. Masters of industry, like Carnegie and Rockefeller, amassed gold beyond the wildest dreams of even gem-laden Oriental potentates. Masters of transportation like Commodore Vanderbilt and James J. Hill created new empires for the residence of man, and gathered to themselves princely fortunes. Masters of finance, like J. Pierpont Morgan, sat at the golden headwaters of national enterprise, directing the fertilizing streams of credit, and, by taking toll of them as they passed, accumulated an imperial revenue. Below these men were nameless thousands, of only less ability, aping the masters, and dipping with feverish hands into the golden flood. Mingled with these builders were pick-pockets of finance, pirates of promotion, and skulking jackals of commerce. But--all alike were money-mad. From the Morgans and Hills and Rockefellers and Carnegies, who wrought with far-seeing vision, down to the shopkeepers and smallest manufacturers, nine men in ten were absorbed in the game of riches. Politics, too, had become infected. Public honours were no longer heaped upon patriots and statesmen: the proudest title of distinction was to be called “a captain of industry.” The best brains of the country had been drained out of the public service into business life. Men who, in other days, would have led great public causes, were now presidents of great corporations. Their intellects were taxed to the last limit in the fierce struggle of competition. Their characters were formed and hardened into the inflexible will and ruthless determination of commanders of vast competitive business armies. Men like Morgan, upon whose shoulders rested the responsibility for billions of invested capital, brooked no obstacle that threatened for an instant the security of these vast aggregations of money, nor anything that would stand in the way of their continuous return of profit.