As every century produced its dominant illusion, so now in the twentieth this singular delusion of a democracy progressing through graded virtue unto a perfect day possessed the race. And here the writer paused to draw another instance from America, not, as he was painstaking to explain, because her inhabitants were different from other men, but because they were the same. He showed how decadence had spread exactly as democracy had spread. He told of the two counties of Ohio where investigation showed the inhabitants to have sold their votes universally—merchants and clergymen, professional men and laborers. Corruption radiated from the English-speaking centers. Law, principle, and integrity had gone first in New England and the South, in the withered branches of Anglo-Saxondom that had broken from the bough. One by one all the traditions of civic honesty had died; and if life was still tolerable in the early twentieth century, when justice was a byword and faith in public men had almost ceased, it was because the State was still largely an abstraction and people could still keep aloof from politics. All the while there existed the same pitiable belief that this democracy would some day become honest, all-good, all-wise; but this was democracy and the fruits of it, and nowhere had it had a fairer chance to inaugurate the millennium. And the same mob that ran blindly after its blind leaders, responsive to every prejudice, to the old Moloch of race-hatred and the old Mammon of dishonesty, would, had it been allowed, have followed an ideal with its fund of inexhaustible loyalty and self-sacrifice. Men had not changed. The Amazon and Congo valleys were drenched with the blood of murdered natives, and democracy yawned, just as the blood of Polish women and children, massacred by State troops, cried from the Colorado mining camps. In former days Christian orders arose to uphold justice and to keep down the devil in man. When Christendom was one, labor guilds had arisen under Catholic auspices whereby all men could live in freedom; now the Pope, impotent, could only issue an encyclical against that oppression of labor which, in its turn, begot hatred and war. The sword of Justice had been snapped in the scabbard. Was this the hope of the world, he asked, this barren, Christless democracy? How many hearts had it broken? How many idealists had sacrificed themselves before this idol, dying with blind faith in a deity that devoured its votaries? Was there no higher hope? Were millions of colored men and women in America to be born forever, black cattle without hope, and die without a part in life? Had not the race at last turned on itself, when the eugenics madness thrust the sword into the heart of every family and made life a more loathsome slavery than any the world had known? What a sinister end to human hopes!