The purpose of the young men’s political clubs everywhere is to infuse the young voter with the spirit of blind obedience and subjection. He is graciously permitted to serve on club committees as a step toward more important recognition as ward committeeman, or he is given a place of some sort at headquarters during the campaign. There are dozens of ways in which the willing young man may be of use. His illusions rapidly vanish. He is flattered by the attentions of the bosses, who pat him on the back and assure him that they appreciate his loyal devotion to the party. With the hope of preferment before him it is essential that he establish as quickly as possible a reputation for “regularity.” If his wise elders note any restiveness, any tendency toward independence, they at once warn him that he must “play the game straight,” and shut his eyes to the sins of his party. Or if his counsellors sympathize with his predicament they advise him that the only way he can gain a position from which to make his ideas effective is by winning the favor of the bosses and building up a personal following. In a campaign preliminary to a local primary in my city I appealed to a number of young men of good antecedents and rather exceptional education, to oppose a particular candidate. One of them, on coming home from an Eastern university, had introduced himself to me in the name of a great educator who was one of my particular admirations. In every one of these cases I was politely rebuffed. They said the gentleman whose ambitions annoyed me was a “good fellow” and “all right”; they couldn’t see that any good would come of antagonizing him. And they were right. No good did come of it so far as the result was concerned. There are countless ways in which a young lawyer finds his connection with a machine helpful. A word in the right quarter brings him a client--a saloonkeeper, perhaps, who is meeting with resistance in his effort to secure a renewal of his license; or petty criminal cases before magistrates--easily arranged where the machine controls the police. He cannot fail to be impressed with the perfection of a system that so smoothly wields power by indirection. The mystery of it all and the potency of the names of the high powers appeal to his imagination; there is something of romance in it. A deputyship in the office of the prosecuting attorney leads on to a seat in the legislature, and he may go to Congress if he is “good.” He is purchased with a price, bought, and paid for; his status is fixed; he is a second-rate man. And by every such young man in America the ideal of democracy, the hope of republican government, is just so much weakened. V